Letters to G: I Hate Beer.

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Dear G-or-gina and Poophie,

I hate beer. Would you believe they only sell beer at a beer festival?.. Outrageous!

Ok bye.

“Ill be back in a minute,” I mouthed.

I swam through the crowds, trying to keep my head above water. Until I reached a line about 30 beer wenches deep.

“Greaaat! Great great great great. “ I said to myself

Why is there always a massive line for the girl’s toilet?

Checking that I had my emergency TP in my pocket, I joined the cue.

(They had an abundance of toilet paper)

I was making excellent time.

Less than 5 minutes later it was my turn to... err go to the toilet.

This just doesn’t happen at home.

It’s Oktoberfest and these ladies mean business! No fussing around. I love it! The rest of the world can learn a thing or two about hurrying the hell up!

I hate beer.

But at least the toilets are something to write home about.

Oktoberfest was originally a marriage celebration for Crown Prince Ludwig in 1810. It is now more of an Easter show like festival. Instead of show-bags, art & craft and Fruit and Vegetables there is beer.

And instead of watching the 'flying pig' you eat it.

(after looking for piggy pictures I am considering not eating pig anymore and feel terrible for the pork buns I had for lunch.)

Do you remember when when singles were a cheap hit? Containing one song redone five times. A few listens and your ready to throw it out the window. Oktoberfest reminded me of this. It didn'tmatter what beer 'tent' you chose the same songs were played over and over and 'Ein Prosit' about every 10 -15 minutes, which annoyingly reminds me of 'this is the song that doesn't end'. Fun at first, then annoying but after copious amounts of beer, fun again!

My hand was bruised from holding my stein. However as the stein became lighter I became drunker and I was happy to sing Ein Prosit every 10 minutes.

Play this every ten minutes. I dare you too.

So it turns out that German beer isn't that bad. Even though I was adding lemonade. However when a beer wench bought me water by mistake, an Italian named Chesco leant forward saying, "Listen very closely this is a difficult sentence for me to say."

"OK i'm listening," I said.

“Do you think it is worth coming all this way to Oktoberfest and to not drink the beer?” Laughing at the same time.

I can see Chesco’s point.

I drank a whole stein of beer.

I’m becoming a man.

The mood of Oktoberfest is just so dam jolly. Everyone is a potential candidate to be your new best friend for the night. Except the beer wenches but I don’t blame them. Although the 10,000-15,000 Euros they make during Oktoberfest really should ease the pain.

To the pleasure of most males, a lot of people dress up in traditional Bavarian attire. Those dresses certainly do accentuate ones bust. However my bank balance forced me to feel like a party pooper for three days.

I met a girl from Munich who showed me how to tell the difference between a traditional and non-traditional dress. It’s pretty simply - a real Bavarian girl would never wear her skirt that short. She said this while slightly shaking her head. “What about the hats?” I asked. “No, tourists are the only ones wearing hats.” I still wanted one.

On my third and final night I was settling into my beer. Yes it had lemonade it in and I had skulled a few vodka red bulls outside but whatever. The band was playing Robbie Williams and I was standing on the bench singing with my new best friend having a fantastic time! When he turned to me pointing over my shoulder saying, “ I think now it is time for you to leave and take him with you.” Lachlan had spewed. I got the easy job of leaving. Nick Toovey however took it for the team. He stayed behind, copped surrounding looks of utter disgust and attempted to clean up the pork knuckle that had erupted from within Lachlan. Great guy! Even sacrificed his own jumper.