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Diary

Berlin baby

February 16, 2007 by Mo Fanning Leave a Comment

Writing and reading - Mo FanningThere’s a reason why Berlin hotels offer attractive room rates in January and February. Nobody wants to go. It’s cold. Colder than anywhere you’ve ever been. Think about how cold that is, then make it colder.

Did that stop me and my beloved from booking a fancy schmanzy hotel and first class travel to the once divided German capital? “We’ll wrap up warm,” I said. Prices like this are too good to miss.

On a Friday morning at the start of February, we boarded the aptly named ICE train at Amsterdam Central. Fellow passengers wore the sorts of fur-lined coats, hats and boots favoured by Cossacks and those used to sub-Arctic conditions. It was the first hint we might have it wrong.

Six hours later, Berlin’s Hauptbahnhof loomed. Thrilled by the architecture, we rushed into the open air. Iconic buildings everywhere. OK, it was a tad chilly – bone-numbingly cold, in fact. But what the heck, we’d get a nice warm taxi to our nice warm hotel then find a nice warm bar for dinner and a few beers.

But back to the main event. I can’t stress enough.

It was cold.

On our first evening, searching for somewhere, anywhere to eat, we walked miles. “Please can we go in somewhere, anywhere,” I begged, as all feeling below the waist vanished. Eventually, we did what all good culture vultures do when in Germany. We ate Greek. I fought back the start of a sniffle.

Our cunning plan to beat over-enthusiastic central heating by opening a window, left our room feeling like a fridge. I ran a hot bath. I got into the hot bath. I noticed the bathroom floor was two inches under water – as was our room. I heard loud explosion of travel iron fusing entire wing of hotel followed by angry hammering on door.

We were moved to a room that had all the charm of a wrestler’s spittoon. ‘It’s the only room left,’ snapped the fräulein on reception, who was already miffed at having to deal with a queue of disgruntled guests. Guests who found themselves without water or electricity. They knew whose fault it was, she’d told them.

The next morning at breakfast, conversation stopped as we walked in. People nudged each other and muttered in the hotel lobby. In shops, I’m certain fingers were pointed. I swear a woman in a Cossack Hat said, ‘That’s the pair who fused half the lights in the city.’

And it was still cold.

By Sunday morning, a sniffle gave way to flu. Not man flu. The real thing – throwing up, shivering, aching all over, unable to get out of bed flu. ‘Rooms must be vacated by ten,’ insisted reception. The implication being that their pet Alsatians wanted their beds back.

The train journey back was miserable. The carriage was like a mobile chest clinic, with fellow travellers coughing and wheezing and groaning into Amsterdam, where I took to my bed and vowed to never again book anything that seemed too good to miss.

Filed Under: Diary, Travel Tagged With: Berlin, Germany, Hotels, Travel, Weather

January is a month for loss

January 5, 2007 by Mo Fanning Leave a Comment

British Writer Mo FanningJanuary is always the month to sit back and look shocked as your waistline joins forces with your wallet to reap revenge for the indignities you’ve made both suffer in the name of ‘having a good time’. Despite all my very good intentions and to the best of my knowledge, having had a pretty lousy Christmas, my bank balance is indeed shrinking in direct proportion to my increasing girth.

I refuse to become one of those people who start hitting the gym with a vengeance just because it is a new year. I remain convinced that this is little more than akin to taking a few steps along that proverbial well intentioned pathway to hell. I’ve peered through the windows and I’ve seen it. Gyms across the country are currently packed with people who remain convinced that paying through the nose for a crappy towel, water bottle and a shiny new gym pass is enough to make you the buff envy of your friends within a few weeks. They wobble around, staring in awe at the machines, occasionally trying a few of the more familiar ones – bikes and treadmills – before heading for a sauna, shower and the exit, never to return again. I know because I am often one of these people. This year I have vowed not to re-embark on working my booty until February at the earliest.

One good thing about January is that it means the return of ‘Celebrity Big Brother’. For those who don’t watch, it is a show which throws together a whole bunch of very minor stars with very major egos in one house and allows them to bitch, fight and whinge for Britain over a three week period while we eager viewers lap up their misery. This year it all got off to a steady start. The ‘celebs’ were as ropey as ever. We were offered Leo Sayer, H  from Steps and former Kenny Everett sidekick Cleo Rocos. It had all the pulling power of a provincial panto. Then the producers played what they hoped would be a trump card. They introduced a new ‘family’. The better known element being all round ‘famous for being famous’ personality Jade Goody. She was joined by her one-armed ex-Rastafarian lesbian mother and nineteen year old football agent boyfriend. Fireworks immediately erupted, the media focussed on what it decided was racist bullying of another contestant Bollywood Actress Shilpa Shetty. To be honest, it gave the show the shot in the arm it needed. Before they arrived, it was about as interesting as watching paint dry. Channel 4 was vilified by the Murdoch controlled British popular press. From the outside looking in, the show seemed to sum up everything bad about British society.

We’ve become a nation that no longer gives people the benefit of the doubt. We no longer think it is our place to take people to one side and show them the error of their ways. Nobody has the time. We’d rather just have our opinions pre-packed and force fed. When the right bandwagon comes past, we happily leap on board. If someone is being called a racist bully, we’ll join in with the chants. It makes us feel good about ourselves, as if we personally are fighting racism or bullying. We aren’t.

In the aftermath of recent events, three girls’ professional reputations lie in ruins. They did little worse than any of the rest of us might do when faced with hours of boredom, a bit too much to drink and finding ourselves in a room of strangers, deprived of all friends or outside stimulation. They had a good old bitch fest, a right bellyache. Now they are being repackaged as the new face of evil. The press has stood by pontificating and yet still putting the boot in. The way these people have been vilified is equally unacceptable. Why should someone be subject to death threats and have their effigy burned on the streets? If ignorance is to blame, why can’t someone just sit down and explain to Jade and her cronies that what they did was wrong? And when they do show any remorse, why can’t we accept this. How much more do we think we have the right to demand from people whose names we would have been hard pressed to recall pre-Christmas?

I’m already bored with seeing long lens pictures of these nobodies, why can’t the paps get to work on something far more interesting? I personally would pay good money for shots of humourless food Nazi Dr. Gillian McKeith PhD (qualification from a non-accredited US correspondence college) tucking into a bucket of KFC and a four pack of Special Brew on a park bench. Why does someone who claims to promote good health look so poorly?

Much as I want to say ‘enough with the moaning’, I can’t. I know now that it is a part of my heritage. The other day I was speaking to an Australian guy. The subject got around to ‘Whinging Poms‘. I wasn’t insulted when he told me that he was tiring of hearing the Brits he worked with indulging in a good old moan, because he is right. We love nothing more than a whinge. Personally I feel my day is wasted if I haven’t had a good old whine about some stupid Dutch law or the utter lack of customer focus in this country. I’d be as bad back home though, so no need for any one nation to take this personally.

I’ll close then by having a good old go about the weather. Why isn’t it getting cold? This is January for goodness sake. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but I really do think it is getting beyond a joke now. We need a decent cold snap. In my street, trees were starting to blossom on New Year’s Day! What is worse is I’ve already been bitten by my first mossie of the year.

Fact of the Month:

Lavender And Tea Tree Oils May Cause Breast Growth In Boys.

Filed Under: Amsterdam, Diary Tagged With: Big Brother, Bullying, Celebs, Diary, Diets, Gym, Weather

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About Mo Fanning

Mo Fanning

Mo Fanning (@mofanning) tells jokes on a stage and writes contemporary fiction. He’s the bestselling author of The Armchair Bride. Mo makes fabulous tea – milk in last – and is a Society of Authors member and cancer bore.

 
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The Armchair Bride by Mo Fanning
this is (not) america
Five Gold Rings by Mo Fanning
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Please Find Attached by Mo Fanning

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