My Dump

The supermarket Penny is the budget supermarket for those on a tight budget. Their slogan is 'Erstmal zu Penny' which means it's the first port of call for the sensible German shopper. In my experience, it's also the the first port of call for the clinically insane German shopper. Hopefully, there isn't something in the food there. I was in line at the counter with a carton of milk, a bag of apples and toilet paper (irrelevant but true). I had placed my basket in the stack by the gum rack before emptying the conten ts onto the conveyor belt. Before I had grabbed the milk out of the basket, the tiny Indian woman behind me put her basket on top of mine. I didn't need to say anything. She saw that her basket didn't fit snugly in the one underneath. She lifted it up and I grabbed my milk quickly out of the way. She smiled sheepishly and apologised. No problem, I insisted. This brief moment, it seems, broke the ice between us. Unfortunately, waiting

So now the German Christmas markets are being targeted. The loveliest and most heart-warming tradition I've ever experienced has been tarnished in a deliberate bid to incite outrage, in a country already ill at ease. There may not be a war on Islam, but a certain faction of Islam is pulling all the stops to bring it about. An unreformed doctrine from the dark ages, intolerant of the slightest concession to modernity is baiting a (reasonably) resentful population. If a secular European is thick headed and easy to manipulate, he will vote for UKIP, Front Nationale or AFD. If a Muslim is thick headed and easy to manipulate, he will be talked into ramming vehicles into innocent crowds to please a vindictive and insane deity. Ecce homo. I suppose that from now, a common feature of the Christmas Market will be the sight of fully armed patrols at every turn and concrete barriers around the perimeters. A night out with the kids in the local square will be shadowed with suspense. Th

I am a civilised man. When I have had my fill of chewing a piece of gum, I choose to dispose of it in a bin. Today was no different. I wanted to be rid of the gum, I saw a bin in the distance and I walked to it. Upon arrival, I remembered that it is not polite to spit in public. So I held the gum between my teeth and lifted it from there using my index finger and thumb. I glided my hand from my mouth to the bin and parted my fingers. The gum held on to my thumb for dear life. Shaking my hand didn't budge it one bit. Pulling it with the other hand only added to the scale of the tragedy. I could describe the farce in more detail over drinks one day. But I will just say that even now, a few hours later, I am still rubbing out bits of gum from between my fingers, palm, shirt sleeve and the hairs of my wrist. Next time, I'll spit.

Last night, I dreamt that I was 18 years old. I was in a place I'd never seen before and talking to people I'd never met before. An old man told me to take my time deciding on what I should study in university. 'You have your whole life ahead of you' he said. I felt like I could fly. I woke up, 20 years older and full of regrets.

I am a collossal hypochondriac and a germophobe. For this reason, the universe always sits the coughing wheezing snifflers in front of or next to me on trains and buses (and airplanes). Today I found myself in front of a violent throat clearer. Everytime he did it, I shook in my seat. But that wasn't it. As he read his free paper, he picked his nose. Not just lightly or fleetingly. He was digging deep. He was fracking for shale gas deep. Having satisfied himself, he rolled his quarry between thumb and index and wiped it on the seat. Now I don't want to sit in a train or read a free paper or even leave the house ever again.

The London Underground was in meltdown today. I was forced to walk from Baker Street to Rathbone Place. I had to get in on time or I'd be toast. A lot of people were out on the street. A short guy in skinny jeans walked very slowly in front of me near Portland Place. I could see he was brandishing something in his left hand by the way his elbow hung out. He was giving it his full attention. 'Hey Dickhead', thought I. 'I'm late for work. Shove that smartphone up your arse and step out of my way!!' When I walked past, I saw that he was holding not a phone, but a paper tray holding three cups of hot coffee.