The Germans and their fetish for talking bread

The eleventh of September, my fourth day in Germany. It’s a beautiful day. Children are playing in the park, my neighbours are doing their laundry in the garden and our landlord is fixing my television. After all these days of excitement I could finally be able to sit back and relax in front of a screen, watching entertaining programmes while trying to fall asleep. “It should work now”, the land lord yelled in my ear. I decided to expel him from my personal space by telling him that Sebastian also had problems with… something too.

He left. The television was mine. After petting it and whispering consolidating words, I decided to see what German TV had to offer. I pushed the red button on the remote controller, heard a ‘pssshhh’ sound and then the violated screen showed its wonderful beauty. All I could see were grey and white stripes. I almost killed myself.

After a few minutes I noticed that I didn’t turn on the digital television box. Stupid me. I laughed. Eventually it worked, but I only had one channel: the KiKa Lounge. It gave me a trauma. The only thing I could watch was a program about a talking, expired, yellow bread called ‘Bernd das Brot’. A very exciting show though. But eight days later I encouraged myself to jump through the window if they didn’t change the episode I had been watching for more than a week now. I was very surprised to see another tremendous scenario, in which Bernd was a magician. It fascinated me. But not anymore.

It’s the same episode for two months now. I’m already able to predict what Bernd is going to say. That’s not a good sign. When I was in Berlin and saw Bernd das Brot in the Reichstag, I felt some spastic movements coming up. A picture was taken. Wonderful, isn’t it?

If you also want to have some fun, I recommend you to watch this episode a dozen times. Maybe we’ll meet in the psychiatric department of the madhouse.

  

Enjoy and see you on Sunday!