The Germans
This is how it all started, and made me feel that there was future in the prospect of a book arising from this adventure. The Germans in question were staying in the same rather basic pub-based bed and breakfast place as I was, when I first met the owner of what was to be OMF, although she was called "James Thomas" at the time. (How strange it is to say "she" was called "James", but that's tradition for you.)

On the night of the B&B, there was a karaoke taking place, and the chap setting it up was handing out songsheets and generally encouraging people to join in, get it off with a swing like, I suppose. He didn't spend long at my table persuading me, but did try to induce a bunch of lads just finishing their evening meal to take part, but with limited success. He did however, hearing they were German, go back to his CDs, and take a look to see what he could find that would encourage some of them.

To my amazement, and no doubt bafflement of our European partners, the karaoke machine suddenly burst into life with "The Bloody Red Baron". I forget who sang it, but the relevant lines are:
"10, 20, 30, 40, 50 or more,
that Bloody Red Baron is running up the score
Airmen died trying to end that spree
Of the Bloody Red Baron from Germany"

Subtle, huh? That should have got them going, I would have thought. Anyway, no effect, positive or otherwise, and the DJ moved on to other more amenable punters.

It was only the following morning that I learned from mine host over probably the worst cooked breakfast I've ever had, that the lads in question were working for Lidl Supermarkets, going around the country laying the tiled floors in their new retail outlets.

And the reason they responded so indifferently to the "Bloody Red Baron"? It was because they were Latvian. The effort must have gone over the top of their heads at about the same height as the Baron himself.

Back to Home Page