New Year Rant

Happy New Year etc. I know I shouldn't start the year off with a vitriolic rant but I can't help it. We had a fun day out in Brighton today. A nice fast train ride through the South Downs, then a leisurely amble down to the seafront and along to the pier. Fish & chips on a bench watching the seagull and the choppy seas, then a couple of fairground rides. All good fun. It was dead crowded, full of locals, day trippers, and overseas tourists. Brighton's a fun town and must be one of the places in the UK which is most visited by foreigners.

So why in the name of all that's reasonable should a souvenir shop slap bang in the middle of Brighton's top tourist attraction have a display like this in its window?? Where else in the world would they get away with something like this? In my book, it's a hate crime. Why is it OK for the British (actually make that the English) to get away with inciting violence against Germans, sixty-two years after the end of the war? I'm tempted to make some kind of formal complaint, but they'd only accuse me of lacking a sense of humour. For far too long the English have used their fabled (and largely mythical) sense of humour as an excuse to abuse their neighbours. There was an excellent article about it in the Spiegel a couple of years ago - archive copy here (in German). Here, I'm going to post a translation, apologies in advance for its length and its dodginess, no need to read unless really interested...

What's up with the British sense of humour? British jokes can't make much headway with the new Germany - and with the old one they're just flogging a dead horse.

The best-kept secret of the British sense of humour is that it doesn't exist. At least, not when it comes to the Germans. Sorry, does not compute. It's the fault of both parties, the English as well as the Germans.

What is it we can give them? For ages Germany could at least give British comedians Helmut Kohl. But now all we can offer is people who wash out their yoghurt pots. Not much to laugh about there.

But the thing is there's a demand for it: the inhabitants of the island love Germans first and foremost as 'Nazi Fritz', who can be used in any situation as an excuse for good-humoured Stuka-Headlines: Surrender, Kraut! Perhaps this works for them as therapy to deal with some primitive complex they have about the neighbours making better cars than them. Maybe it's to help remember a time when their country still held together. Or maybe it's there to feed their resentment, as in the advert produced by euro-sceptics which goes: "One Race, One Reich, One Euro!" as a corruption of the phrase used by Hitler?

We ought to let our otherwise greatly admired British friends amuse themselves with this little anachronism and not bother them any further. What good would it do? Anyone that criticises them gets accused of having no sense of humour.

"A load of Sauerkraut"

Still: Nazi Germany remains a stock reference for British comedians' efforts, by contrast the New Germany knocks them for six. 'Nazi Fritz' still works as a joke after the fifth pint of beer, actually perhaps only after the fifth pint, but the English sense of humour simply can't get to grips with Jochen [= generic modern German name] the peace activist.

Until the comedian Harry Enfield created his blond character 'Jurgen the German', who would seize upon unknowing British pedestrians and say: "it is my solemn duty to apologise for the actions of my nation during the Second World War."

That at least is fantastic.

The daft thing there, though, is that this is a closing gag, and with it the whole Nazi thing has been milked to death and the German militarist has disappeared from the radar screens. It's been knocked into the bushes, from where we can only hope that it never returns. Even the British Minister of Culture last year praised the German love of art and classical music, and criticised the lack of it in her fellow countrymen - and all this without mentioning the war! A capital offence!

The Daily Mail went to fetch it, and knocked it straight back. "A load of sauerkraut," they said, and reminded its readers in an awesome display of fine British humour that Germans wear lederhosen, grab their arses and are as queer and eccentric as Mad King Ludwig. And then (get this, it's a cracker!) "they eat dumplings" and the only German film director is called (he shoots!) Leni Riefenstahl and so (he scores!) we're back again at the war, which incidentally the Daily Mail reminds us "we British won."

Please mention the war!

Thus has British comedy (with the glorious exception of John Cleese's "Don't Mention the War!" sketch) been doing the rounds for over sixty uninspired years, whenever the subject of their giant continental neighbour comes up. Certainly a lasting consequence of German aggression, yet another reason why we can never apologise enough. Other than the war, there wasn't much to joke about.

And what little there was has now gone - namely our legendary national victory on the Sunlounger Front. For ages British comedians could poke fun at the German Economic Miracle Tourists for being the first to put their towels by the pool. But even that is no longer the case.

Legendary Kraut-hater Jeremy Clarkson has now revealed in the London Times that: "Sorry, Hans, brassy Brits rule the beaches now." The noisy, red-faced British rule the beaches, while Hans, the pale poofter, can only retreat to the classical concert halls.

It's a crying shame. As a byword for cheeky British comedy Laughing Stock Germany is a total washout. As for cars: who can make jokes about a bunch of provincial engineers? Answer: the Germans, and they do it pretty well. They work with, er, typical German understatement, those people at Audi, managing to plaster this engineering saying all over the Island: "Vorsprung durch Technik."

In German. In the ridiculously clumsy language of the Krauts. They can't speak English, these people from Audi, but they can build cars. And in the ultimate irony, it has nothing to do with the war! Do it again!

Details: Nikon D70, 50mm prime, f/1.8, 1/320s, ISO 200. Brighton, 1 January 2007. Placemark.