Oktoberfest

I write this entry through the heavy fog of a hangover, with the strains of Anton aus Tyrol still thumping in my ears. Fortunately Dr. Bayer has a patented antidote for this very state although I have chosen to skip the Spice Girls part of the cure....

Klaus met me at the airport and immediately whisked me away to the Marienweise where the party was in full swing. As no spaces were available in the Paulaner tent he pulled the old trick of calling an ambulance and carting a whole table away to be sectioned. Statistically he points out the majority would have needed treatment anyway.... Oh to be a respected professional.

As usual Dr. Bayer begins to recommed advanced treatment that either involves surgery illegal in the UK or some type of therapy involving bondage, however when I show him Jane's photos he quickly agrees that councelling is the best way forward. He has of course several cases he can show me tomorrow. More wurst and brezl please.

I quiz Klaus on the habits of sausage eating and mustard in Bavaria as we down our third mass and I note that Dr. Bayer himself meticulously skins the sausage before eating it. What does this tell a German psychologist about a person and how does this differ from an English psychologist's analysis. "With wurst it is politics not psychology" states Klaus, "you are brought up in one camp or the other", and speaking of camp the Tyrolean Dancers (all men) crash onto the stage to much applause.

In a land where the women are all so butch, I wonder as I take another litre stein from our formidable waitress (a brunnhilde carrying at least 30 of same), is there additional pressure on the men to express their feminine sides ? Dr. Bayer dismisses this with a large belch. "These guys are Rheinlanders" he says, "this is why they are gayish. In Bavaria even the men are manly" and as if in support of this statement everyone rises to their feet with a great fanfare, holds steins aloft, and following a signal from the brass band downs the remainder and puts the glasses upside down on their heads. Like most of the foreigners there I spill most of mine.

"Noch mal ein Masse fur der Englander !!!!"

I am still enclined to disagree with Klaus, as midget sized gentlemen with bells on their shoes, flowers on their jackets and feathers in their hats stomp about on stage raising toasts, to everyone and everything. But as my vision is now seriously blurred around the edges, and my third attempt to physically pick up a Brezl fails, I decide to leave the discusssion to tomorrow.

"Ja noch mals bitte...."