The Beacon and the Ball

Guten tag everyone! I would say my mini break in Germany this week has taught me some language skills, but that would be a lie because I stayed in a town that (Wikipedia has led me to believe) has the largest American population outside of the USA. I guess in some ways it was a cultural experience. I learned that Americans don't use duvets (despite the fact that, in my opinion, a bed is simply not a bed without one), picked up a new song called 'Red Solo Cup', which has been stuck in my head for 2 days and is slowly driving me mad, and came to conclusion that eating mac and cheese imported from the US is likely to cut about 5 years off your life expectancy.

"2 delayed flights"

I left Exeter on Friday 13th. My day started at 4:45am after 3 hours sleep, and I was dragging half my body weight in luggage through the city before the sun was up. At one point I was so tired and disorientated that I saw my shadow and literally screamed. Travelling on such an unlucky day, I wasn't surprised when I lost my train ticket and had to buy another one. I was slightly more surprised and considerably annoyed when I realised the man had charged me for 2 tickets. Come on! It isn't as if ticket inspectors work on commission!

After hauling all my bags out of the train station at Bristol (and then back in again to get to the ATM), I held up the shuttle bus by not being able to get my ridiculous case into the luggage rack. At first I was judging every man on the bus for their lack of chivalry, but then I remembered I looked like some kind of half-dead hag and so I couldn't really blame them. After 2 delayed flights and an unpleasant business at the Mac counter in Amsterdam, when the sales assistant kept me waiting for 30 minutes to buy concealer when there was no queue (and she, unlike the ticket inspector, was working on commission, so judge that logic of that for yourselves), I finally got to Frankfurt. By the time I got to Kaiserslautern my impatience with the entire world burned in my eyes and showed through my freshly applied 3 inches of make-up ("Yes, Beacon, I am just naturally this fabulous").

This is just the Beacon, being 'an enigma'

That evening I was thrown in at the deep end, meeting a room full of the Beacon's friends, all of whom enjoyed the novelty of my accent, but could barely understand what I was saying. It took me a while to get over the initial feeling of being in an American sitcom (surely that accent is always followed by canned laughter?), but everyone was lovely and I had a fantastic time. We played some kind of high-tech version of charades on the Ipad called 'Heads Up', which was hilarious. I highly recommend it. Then the Beacon tried to get me to take part in Just Dance on the Wii, which I declined for the health and safety of everyone in the vicinity.

The next evening was the night of the ball. In reality, it wasn't a ball. It was a Christmas party. I just insisted on referring to it as a ball so I could feel like Cinderella. I had sparkly princess shoes and everything! Although I don't recall Cinderella ever sitting on the sink in the bathroom, cursing under her breath at the mangled state of her feet.

Despite the fact that there were no Cliff Richard songs or Christmas crackers, it was so beautiful and festive. And everyone was so nice! I don't think that British people are particularly rude, but we do tend to have that 'British reserve'. We're a bit socially awkward, like Hugh Grant. Walking into a room full of Americans was like nothing I've ever experienced in the UK. Everyone was so keen to introduce themselves. I learned the names of more people in that party than I have people I've had classes with over the last 3 years in uni. Cue me drunkenly insisting 5 hours later that "Americans are just the nicest people in the whole world". Another couple of parties like that one and I may well be talking about how America is a beacon of hope for the rest of the world.

After the party, more or less everyone headed to a club in town and I could no longer escape inevitable humiliation. I cannot dance. Everyone I tell that to seems to think I'm either modest or crazy because 'everyone can dance'. Then they see my attempt at it and realise how wrong they were. Grinding being the preferred dance move of the Americans, the situation was more complicated than usual because I had to keep in time with the Beacon, who seemed genuinely stunned at how little rhythm I had. 3 different people attempted to teach me how to do it, but I simply could not get my hips to move the way they were meant to and, as always when I dance, my fingers started jabbing the air in wild motions without me having any control over them.

The next day was spent in large part recovering from the tequila shots and me fighting with the blankets (a problem that easily could have been solved by a duvet. I'm just saying). And in the evening things got all Christmassy. The Beacon and I went out to get logs for the fire and we watched Love Actually. I wore a tiny Santa hat with bells on, much to the Beacon's obvious distaste. What a Scrooge!

"the new love of my life"

And on my last night we went into town to explore a real German Christmas market, where I discovered the new love of my life. Crepes with melted white chocolate. Where have you been all my life? Needless to say, by the time I was done eating it there was white chocolate everywhere. It was carnage. But it was great. I washed it down with a mug of Gluhwein, which I suppose is similar to mulled wine. Whatever. It was warm and alcoholic.

The trip home on Tuesday took about 16 hours from start to finish. By then a large part of the festive cheer I'd acquired had worn off and I had morphed back into half-dead hag. But I had such an amazing time. It's always lovely to spend time with the Beacon. I especially appreciate being able to poke him, mess up his hair, and generally annoy him in all the ways our Facetime conversations don't allow. But this was an extra special trip because I got to be Cinderella...and stuff my face with crepes.