The German Civil Servant (male variety)

Male German civil servants are in a class of their own. I write, in particular, of those who work in a Rathaus/town hall or any kind of administrative centre, and not so much the management, but the lower ranks. I imagine that their job description would include such criteria:

Dress Code:

Jeans, preferably mid-blue denim or faded

Belt*

Tee-shirt

Waistcoat**

Unremarkable shoes in any shade of beige

Some form of facial hair, neatly trimmed

*Of which the buckle must not be visible, rather hidden from view of the 'customer' by a large, pendulous beer belly

** Any colour acceptable. Note to the reader - whilst you may find the combination of tee-shirt and waistcoast strange, even tasteless, it represents for the wearer a token nod to the formality of their official capacity.

Must-have characteristics:

The ability to ignore 'customers', even when they are positioned clearly on the other side of a glass door and it is already 5 minutes past the time allotted for the appointment

The need to eat a second breakfast, usually no more than 2 hours after the first, which will consist of a large bread roll stuffed with some kind of indefinable pork product. Crumbs of the said roll will still be evident, at least 30 minutes after consumption, in or around the facial hair area

The ability to make any 'customer' feel extremely small and to make it clear that ANY papers/forms presented by the 'customer' are WRONG and cannot be processed

Enough said.

How to endear yourself to your new postman

You can't miss our postman. Not only does he sport a fetching yellow and blue outfit, but he has a beard down to his navel. We call him the Hairy Postman. He seems quite sweet really, speaks 'Bayerisch', which means I don't understand more than 50% of his words. Anyway, you want to be on the right side of your postman. After all, they have more insight than most into your private goings-on, e.g. your online shopping habit. So when he rang at the door the other day, Hedda happened to be walking past. Instead of opening it, she yelled, "Mummy, the hairy postman's here!"

I'll just have to hope he doesn't understand English.

The weird white stone

Unloading the washing machine just now, I found the following items in that rubbery seal part where things always get stuck: a pen with Darthvader on it, a grey tissue, a hairclip and a white stone. The first three items I put in the bin as they were all beyond redemption. The white stone, however, is a frequent visitor to my w/m, in fact I can't count the times I've found it in there. So, not wishing to evoke the wrath of any evil spirits, I put it back in.

You know you're in trouble when...

... you talk to your tumble dryer - "I'll be there in a minute!" or "Shut up, I know you've finished!" (particularly if you have the beeping type, like me)

... you spend 2 hours online researching robot vacuum cleaners, reading hundreds of customer reviews and THEN you dream about such a device, that very night

... you start a blog about housework.

It's like this. I'm a Brit in Bavaria, moved here 2 weeks ago. Some of you might know that the Germans make much of the word housewife, or as they say, 'Hausfrau'. One is supposed to take pride in one's work and be ready to swap tips at the drop of a hat. One relishes a sunny day, as that means a prime window-cleaning opportunity, AND you can hang your kids' duvets out on the balcony to get rid of all the evil bacteria. Don't even get me started on the recycling, I'll save that treasure for another time.

So I'm starting this blog, as I KNOW there must be millions of people out there who, like me, hate housework but are, for various reasons, locked into a futile domestic cycle, a treadmill from which they will never descend unless they (a) win the lottery or (b) die. Maybe we can comfort one another with banal tips and labour-saving ideas. Or maybe we can just moan about whatever task is getting on our respective nerves.

Must go and mash some potatoes... Talk to you soon!