Well, I survived the golf, easily the most boring assignment I have had to endure. It’s the only boring one, in fact, that I’ve had to endure.
Golf itself has to be the most pointless, utterly futile waste of time, effort and grass, for everyone involved.
I was being paid, but other people actually voluntarily travelled and voluntarily watched grown men wasting their lives by strolling around on grass.
It was excruciating. There’s no other word for it. Well, there are two words for it. Fucking excruciating.
You weren’t allowed make any noise or movements when these highly paid geniuses were about to take a shot. Wardens holding up signs saying “Ruhe Bitte” attested to that. You weren’t allowed burp, you weren’t allowed fart, you weren’t allowed scratch your arse.
I wanted to scratch my arse, just for something to do. Instead I looked at the trees, wondered how many had been cut down to make way for the golf course, how many animals had been inconvenienced, what little joy the spectators must have in their insignificant lives if they can get kicks from this non-sport.
It wasn’t just me. One spectator was asleep in his chair on the Friday. I couldn’t even enjoy its relaxation factor – I was too angry about the futility of it all to be able to relax.
It did get mildly interesting at the end on the last day, when it became apparent someone might actually win the fucking thing and it would all be over. Someone did and it was. The relief!
The golf itself was the only problem. They looked after me very well. The catering was the best I’ve had anywhere – roast spuds, steaks, veal and lamb dinners with as many sandwiches and drinks as you could eat/drink – and they gave me gifts too, presumably by way of apology for boring the arse off me.
They gave me a Hugo Boss money clip made from gold or silver or something. Evidently golfers and their brethren have so many loose bank notes floating around in their pockets that they need clamps to hold them altogether. Well, I don’t. The thing weighed a ton so I left it in the hotel.
But I did eat like a king over the five days or whatever it was. On Sunday I had a brunch and two dinners. I felt I had to celebrate once the golf finished up so I treated myself to an Allgäuer Lendenpfanderl (Schweinerücken) auf Butterspätzle mit Schwammerl & Röstzwiebeln. Jaysus, it was lovely, all washed down with the most delicious of beers.
I like that, in Munich, you have to stress that you want a “small beer” so they don’t come back with a liter!
Yeah, Munich is starting to grow on me. Some of the Münchkins I met were incredibly friendly. And the food and drink is without a shadow of a doubt the best in Germany. Sorry Berlin, but Currywurst is not a reason to be proud.
I did find a Späti of sorts at the Hauptbahnhof, but because it was the only one around it was a target for all the bottle gatherers, freaks and winos in the city. I stayed in a rundown part of town, too. It was good.
Yesterday I’d to go up to see Pep Guardiola introduced amid great fanfare by Bayern Munich. It was like the return of the messiah – there were even more journalists (more than 240) than aboard Edward Snowden’s non-flight to Cuba – but he spoke very well in German, said all you’d expect him to say, and revealed that his German teacher is a Borussia Dortmund fan.
Thankfully he didn’t drag the arse out of it like the golfers had done and once I’d finished my report I found myself on a train back to Berlin. Homeward bound, baby!