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We won two World Wars just to let them take over our city centres: the gammon food critic visits a German Christmas market

Restaurant reviews by Justin Tanner, our retired food critic who reckons Thatcher would have sorted out these striking nurses in a heartbeat.

CHURCHILL would be turning in his grave. We sent the Krauts packing and for what? To let them take over our city centres like Operation Overlord never happened?

But ‘tis the season for goodwill and all that, and they’ve said they’re sorry for the Third Reich so I’ll give it a cautious once-over as it’s only Birmingham. Baffles me as to why Britain’s second city feels the need to morph into fucking Dusseldorf every December but still.

Besides it’s the only bit of ‘festivity’ I’ll have to put up with this year. The ex-wife’s not one of those who invites me round and the son swerves me at Christmas because I’m a miserable sod. Fine with me, I hate buying presents.

First impressions? It’s heaving and I’m keeping one hand on my wallet. You have to be streetwise with this many non-indigenous about. Ideally put it down your pants next to your tackle. See them try to grab that.

I had a look around the stalls before trying the food, soak up the atmosphere. It’s a load of tat. Funny-flavoured fudge, wooden dolls we wouldn’t have gone near in the fucking 1950s, gaudy scarves and hats. If this is a German Christmas no wonder they were so keen to invade the rest of the world.

To drink there’s glühwein, a palatable Lidl red they’ve seen fit to throw fruit and a cinnamon stick in then heated until the alcohol evaporates. I’m glad the Yanks captured the Eagle’s Nest and drank Hitler’s personal vintages if this is how much respect they have for wine.

Food? Truly hideous hot dogs with frankfurters that look like camels’ cocks in mustard. Bratwurst which is gristly, chewy and only fit for dogs. How do they think they can improve on the British breakfast banger?

It doesn’t get better. Schnitzels – who takes a lovely steak, batters it flat and rolls it in breadcrumbs? Even McDonald’s aren’t that fucking stupid. The pretzels are the bastard offspring of a bag of crisps and burnt toast. They went in the bin.

But I’ll say this for Fritz, he can brew beer. So I washed down their unpalatable shit with six or seven flagons until I couldn’t taste it anymore, and next thing I know I’m chucking the lot up behind someone’s puppet stall.

The lad starts shouting at me in German, I cordially reply that I don’t speak his language because we won the fucking war, and I’m thrown out. A true born Englishman in my own country. Disgraceful.

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Sex with a work colleague: the don'ts and seriously, don'ts

WHEN you’re feeling idealistic and seven sambucas down at the office party, workplace romance can seem less maniacal than all the evidence suggests.

Don’t do it. History knows you’re wrong. Everyone who’s ever quit a job they liked because of an ex they hate knows you’re wrong. But if you’re determined to take the plunge and put your line manager’s cock where your mouth is, here’s what not to do:

Don’t assume nobody knows

Just because you’ve managed to avoid referring to each other as ‘baby’ during conference calls or CCing in colleagues about where you’re meeting later doesn’t mean they’re not onto you. They are. Everyone knows, and everyone’s waiting for that moment you stay late, fuck at your desk and security releases the footage faster than you can photocopy your tits.

Don’t tell everyone

But just because they already know doesn’t mean you should tell them. That means your affair passes from illicit and discussed only in memes in various WhatsApps to tiresome and irritating. However in love you are everyone will be gunning for it to end badly, like Harry and Meghan without the cash. And you’ll find the secrecy was key to her orgasm. The attraction will wither faster than a cock next to a staple gun.

Don’t get cocky

It’s expected that any office fuck ends in tears and vengeful group emails, but the horny, naive fools having the fling are blind enough to assume they’ll be the exception. That your 55-year-old married CEO will leave his wife and kids for you. That hot Sam will come out after a few blowjobs in the stationary cupboard. That even if it doesn’t work, you’ll be fine attending meetings with a woman who once shoved a finger up your arse.

Don’t step up the PDAs

Nothing will make colleagues want to ruin your love like seeing you playing footsie or bringing in joint leftovers for lunch and booking a canteen table for two. Even friends will be going through HR’s policy on sexual harrassment line by line. Treat each other with haughty contempt. It’ll make the sex better.

Don’t do it again

You tried it and it blew up in your face. You spent six months rushing to the loo in tears whenever his name was mentioned. What do you do next? Hook up with some other luckless fucker to make your ex jealous, heedless of the fact that like with children, it’s never a good idea the second time. Stop trying to convince yourself Dave in IT is DTF and find another amusement, like microdosing shrooms.

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