Throngs of Bavarians in national dress....

... were what I was confronted with this evening at a New Year's reception in Garmisch. CG cajoled me into coming along - that is to say, he practically kidnapped me (I was going to wimp out). It was one of those German-American Let's All Be Friends things... no, I am not familiar with them either, but they're probably a good idea. So off we went, leaving Hedda and Titus in the 'capable' hands of Gaia. In other words, when she's not online, she's a jewel.

We arrived at the Congress Hall and I swapped my nice brown coat for a garish orange ticket. My thoughts of quiet perimeter-mingling with a glass of warm sparkling wine in my hand disappeared instantly when I saw the obligatory queue to meet the mayor. To be honest, I've spent shorter times waiting for a box office hit at the local cinema back in Blighty. (In those halcyon days before you knew you could catch it on DVD and it probably wasn't going to be that good anyway.) Elderly ladies in dirndls and their male counterparts formed the majority of the crowd. I even spotted a monk. Anyway, a half hour soon passed, at least after we'd pushed in behind some Swiss people, and we shook hands with the powers-that-be and made our way to the pleb seats in the auditorium. I'll gloss over the actual programme, which had half the audience asleep within ten minutes, but was considerably livened up by the exceptional brass band on the stage. The best bit of the whole show was when the conductor, on his way to his rostrum, knocked over a huge vase of most unseasonal blooms. A few kind people in the front row handed back some token ferns and a rose, all that could be salvaged really. He was visibly perturbed by his faux-pas, not least because his whole band burst out laughing, but recovered fairly well. I detected a distinct quiver of his stick, however - not normal unless you're in the early stages of Parkinson's disease.

I could go on and on but you'd be bored. Brief summary of what this evening taught me: Bavaria has its own anthem and people actually sing it; if you are Bavarian and wearing the funny felt hat with feathers and badges you don't have to remove it inside a building; the older people are, the more aggressive they are around any kind of buffet; monks drink wine too (white - all the more surprising); the town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen is desperate to win the bid for the 2018 Winter Olympics. Oh, and it is true that the best cubicle to pick in a public toilet is indeed the first. I read this recently, having always avoided it, and have since tested the theory at every opportunity. I can confirm that none of the last 8 'first cubicles' sampled by me have stunk or had skidmarks. And just to be sure, this evening, I pretended to prink at the mirror whilst secretly observing women entering the toilet area of the restroom. Sure enough, not one opted for the first cubicle.

Never say I don't impart useful information in this blog. Anyone tried the haemorrhoid cream on their under-eye area yet?