Partaaaaaay planning committee

I had the privilege of witnessing the pen-and-paper preparations for a party that’s due to take place next weekend. It’s a stereotype that the Germans are good organisers, and in this instance the stereotype holds true. I would say that they’re planning it like a military campaign, but this is a cliché, and not very accurate: it was probably a lot better planned than most military campaigns.

The amount of drink to be purchased was calculated to the half litre per person, and noted down according to the number of crates to be bought (a typical crate carrying twelve bottles of 0.5 or 0.33cl). Discussion on the finer points of this matter lasted for about an hour. One planner noted that at least ten of her friends did not drink alcohol, so this had to be taken into account; she extrapolated from this number the proportion of the 80-100 guests who would not be drinking, which then had to be supplemented by those guests who would have to drive home.

This observation led into a further discussion of how many cars could be expected, and where they would park. The field below had plenty of space, but it might be wet, in which case it could not be used. They also considered what would happen in an emergency if people could not get out, and if the fire engine could not get in. Up to twenty cars could be parked on the main road up to the motorway underpass, and then perhaps up the track leading into the forest. It was decided that this was legal, or at least not illegal. Signs would have to be set up. At this point the daughter, exasperated with scribbling list after list of things to buy, said that her head was about to explode and gave up.

Eventually, after some debate on the practicalities of supplying electricity from the house to a sound system set up in the back of a horse-box (I’m not sure what that was about), with every i dotted and t crossed to mutual satisfaction, the party preparations could be put aside and genial conversation and anticipation of the party could formally begin.

The hostess-to-be leaned over to me. “And you will meet two blacks,” she said, thinking, perhaps, that this would be a novelty for someone from Britain. “One from Jamaica,” she continued. “But not typical Jamaican. He doesn’t listen to Reggae, doesn’t drink, except Guinness. Normally they only work until they have money, then they just stop. But he’s...” she sat up straight in a properly Germanic, approving manner, “disciplined.”

Deric - who, I should say after my last post about him, is not racist, but has what one might call a complex attitude towards the politics of post-colonial Africa - has been telling me about this Jamaican with great enthusiasm for the last week, ever since he mentioned the neighbour’s party. The first thing he said about the party, in fact, was that a Schwarz would be there, along with some Weiße refugees from Zimbabwe. The Jamaican, Carl, apparently spends three months every year training horses for a local family. Since he doesn’t speak German I’m sure I’ll get to hang out with him at the party, which should be interesting. Herr and Frau K are not invited because of some bad blood that is often alluded to but never explained. Another neighbour, a nightclub and casino owner from Kassel whose house is covered in steel shutters and surrounded by security lights in order to keep away the Croatian mafia, will not be in attendance either. Thankfully.

A full report on the party will follow next weekend, if I'm feeling up to it.