First of all, did you know that if your husband throws his back out yet again and you say to him, "Gee, honeybunch, I'm really sorry your back is bothering you, that must be really painful. I can't even imagine what it's like though, since you know that I never, ever get back pain" that three days later while you are sitting at the computer minding your own business the karma gods will hunt you down and hurl a lightening bolt into your back causing you to nearly pass out? Yep. Friday morning, left side, just under the shoulder blade. I'm blaming it on too much Pilates. It's gone now, but holy moley, I'm going to be choosing my words more carefully from now on.
Searing back pain did not, however, prevent me from enjoying a rip-roaring weekend of fun because last weekend was the annual Dullsville Stadtfest
- the village fair organized by the butcher, the baker,
the candlestick maker
, a local farmer and a couple of other young men who want to ensure that a good time was had by all.
The first thing you notice when you wander on down to the Stadtfest, conveniently located between the Lutheran church and the elementary school, is the plethora of beer stands. Beer as far as the eye can see with a few cocktails thrown in for the girls and the sissies.
Friday afternoon's festivities began with an appearance by the men's choir that our neighbour sings in - traditional German songs that Germans love to sing along with. Especially those who have had a lot of beer. As soon as they hear these familiar songs, they will lock arms and start to sway to and fro in time to the music. German, being such an economical language, has a word for this action: schunkeln
. Remember that if you ever visit Germany. Ask someone "Wollen wir ein bisschen schunkeln?" and you'll get a big smile.
Next up was a surprise visit from Morgenmän Franky
, a very popular DJ who does the "Guten Morgen Niedersachsen" (Good Morning Lower Saxony Show) for a local radio station
. He autographed postcards for all the kids before introducing Friday's star act.
Billed as the "Mega-Hammer" of the evening, singer Jürgen Drews
has been around since the 70's.
He is a so-called Schlagersänger
- a kind of a kitschy pop singer very popular here. If you click on the link, there's a picture of him with his lovely wife, 31, who seems to have replaced all her original parts at a young age.
He put on a good show, if you like that kind of thing, and considering the energy he has on stage, I was surprised to find out that the guy is 61. He likes to refer to himself as "Onkel Jürgen"
(Uncle Jürgen) and was crowned "Der König von Mallorca"
because of his many appearances at clubs and discos on the Spanish island of Mallorca, a popular German haunt.
We left the fair pretty early on Friday, but Mr. M and the boys went back on Saturday evening to watch part of the World Cup game between Germany and Sweden on the big screen while my aching back and I stayed home to rest. I must say that for someone who managed to skip out of gym class for the entire 6th grade, preferring to read Nancy Drew mysteries in the library with her best friend Suzanne, I had developed an alarming interest in sports as of late and MUST watch every single soccer game right to the end. Perhaps I'm coming down with something.
Those who chose to stay until midnight on Friday or Saturday night were treated to an "Erotic-Show", actually just the same tired old wet T-shirt contest as every year. *yawn* I believe it was won by a 54 year old housewife last year. You do the math. Apparently things went well this year and only started to go pear-shaped (as it were) when a person of colour (is that the correct PC expression?) was up dancing on the stage and a few pea-brained neo-N*zis started insulting him and tried to pull him off the stage. The police were right on it and quite a few arrests were made that night. Lock 'em all up and throw away the key, I say.
Among the other treasures we brought back with us from the fair: three German flags, two rubber ducks,an autographed postcard from a member of the Scorpions hockey team and an offical (but very plastic looking) World Cup soccer ball personally signed by...the butcher, the baker and the farmer. Oh well, this IS Dullsville after all.