Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Monday, 25 July 2016
Frühstück before breakfast? No fear!
So we come down to the breakfast room in Frieburg, Germany, and we all have hangovers. As usual, Mick's is the worst hangover.
If we have a minor head-cold - a common event in a three month tour - then Mick's, of course, has to be worse than ours. It is worse than ours by a factor of about ten, and worse than influenza by a factor of about three. He is a professional actor.
The waiter asks us all individually if we would like tea or coffee, and we answer in the same language as asked. It's not V2 Rocket science - tee oder kaffee?. Then he comes to Mick.
Mick just says, "I would like some breakfast, please" - in English - in a reasonably polite manner. The waiter repeats the question, and Mick repeats his answer, but this time a little more curtly.
German breakfasts in hotels such as ours usually involve a choice of cereal, some bread, processed ham, processed cheese plus a croissant with a sachet of jam if you are lucky, and all can be - must be - collected by hand at a table somewhere in the room. They were world leaders in the concept of personal breakfast rubbish bins, though. The waiter's only job is to ask you if you want tea or coffee.
So the waiter asked the question again as us two Brits looked on in mute amusment, to see what would happen next. This is when Mick had a major melt-down.
"I JUST WANT SOME FUCKING BREAKFAST, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? VIER STÜCKE! VIER STÜCKE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! VIER STÜCKE!"
The waiter gave up, and walked back to the kitchen.
Corrine looked at me as Mick put his aching head in his hands and smiled conspiritorially.
"You do realise that you have just asked the waiter for 'four pieces', don't you?"