James Bond.

A few weeks ago, myself and Samuel went to see James Bond, auf Deutsch.

We went to the little cinema in G-town, and sat clutching a litre of Coke and some M&Ms. I did not leave this lovely little establishment disappointed; quite the contrary, I left pining for London and all things British.

I had never been quite able to place my finger on the exact thing that seperated us Brits from our charming German friends, until Mr Bond cracked a joke and the only cackles heard in the cinema came from the two naughty expats sitting at the back.

It is not as if German people are not funny, or do not have a sense of humour, it is just that it is starkly different from our own brand of highly ironic, tongue in cheek, take-the-piss-out-of-everyone comedic pessimism. We actively enjoy being miserable, and everyone else being miserable too. We love a stereotype, adore the underdog and hate the know-it-all, successful, smug, wholesome type. We are still in the midsts of a God awful hangover brewed by our gin swigging Victorian ancestors, and so could not possibly let our stiff upper lip waver. Heaven forbid in times of imminant life threatening danger, that we should forget to utter a joke about the weather.

(To be continued when I´m not at school...)