So, it’s the summer of ’06 and the World Cup is underway. England are playing Paraguay here in Frankfurt and the local authorities have setup massive screens on…check it….ON the river. Around 20,000 England fans are lining the river bank and generally enjoying themselves.
I have, without a shadow of a doubt, the two cutest kids on the planet BTW – I submit into evidence, exhibit 1:
No…they aren’t under arrest, they are doing their bit for international relations This shot should give you an idea of how many people were on the river bank. Bear in mind that there were the same number (if not more) on the side where I took the photo. Also, exhibit 2 for the cuteness stakes:
Unfortunately, all efforts to remove the screen and get it into my apartment were in vain… I did consider building a new apartment simply around the screen, but felt this may have been obvious to the authorities.
Anyhoo – Onto my generous, helpful and, dare I say, caring nature…
On the way back home following the game (and immediately after the 1st pic of this post was taken), I was approached by 2 bright lads from Manchester. I say bright as I was carrying my kids, whilst wearing an England top, carrying and England flag, next to Sarah (also wearing an England top) and with Brandon-Lee on my shoulders (in full England kit) and Zak next to me (full England kit also. Do you see a theme? I am also fairly certain you can guess what comes next….
“Do you speak English?” says bright chap #1 and possible Mensa member.
“No, we are from Botswana and speak very little of the English language you refer to in your initial question” <— Word for word I promise.
“No need to be sarcastic” says bright chap #2 (who at this point raises my opinion of his intelligence by a factor of 10). We will ignore the fact that it is me, so therefore there is every need to be sarcastic…however, he doesn’t know me so I apologise and we continue.
To save you having to read a page of quotes, the upshot is that they would like to know if I know of anywhere they can stay for a couple of nights, the local YMCA* equivelant is full apparently.
Being the helpful soul I am, I direct them to the nearest place that I can think of that has lots of rooms, plenty of beds and a decent maid “service” (ahem)….. I live in Germany, do I really need to explain more than that?
Ok, ok, get on with it.
A brothel….I sent them to a brothel. It would probably be ok if I hadn’t sent them with instructions…
“Head over to the big hotel building over there, the one with the pink curtains on every floor. Head through the pair of giant Betty Boop legs** and into the building. You will have to wander around until you find a room where the door is open. When you do, walk in and that can be your room. If you bump into one of the maids…just ask them how much”
Aren’t I a helpful soul?
And yes, I watched them go over the bridge and into the “hotel”
* Cue references to gay tribute bands and bad karaoke renditions of “In the Navy”
** I shit you not, I will post pics as soon as I remember to take some