The German Market (or whatever it’s called) marks the start of Festive Times for me. A time when it is perfectly acceptable to elbow a stranger in the face or run a pram into their ankles just to move that extra three feet towards a display of weird angel feather wings.
A couple of years ago I accidentally trapped a small child under my skirt navigating the German Market on a weekend, which is why this year we tried to go on a Thursday night, when it was pissing it down. And we STILL couldn’t get in anywhere. I got to the smaller of the two original beer tent things (the one nearest Nelson Mandela Gardens) at 5.40 pm to be told that unless I knew people already in the tent I couldn’t go inside even to look for them. Now I know the Market is famous for having the grumpiest Christmas seasonal staff ever, and that’s part of its charm, but this year the popularity of the beer tents has reached such extremes you literally have to be there from 4 pm in order to have a night out in them with friends later.
We ended up sitting outside opposite the large beer tent with the singing monks in a little shack that also sold mulled wine, and when this got boring and we got hungry decided to give the Market up as a bad job and go to Whitelocks.
Now, I’ve not been to Whitelocks in some time, and the last time I went it didn’t leave the best impression. Dirty, crowded and in need of a bit of a hug. What a transformation! Beautifully brassoed throughout (there is literally nothing more stress releasing that brassoing things, always my favourite job in working in bars), with a roaring fire, friendly staff who encouraged us to dry our sodden shoes by said fire, cracking beer, and FOOD. LOOK AT THE FOOD.
So yes, my German Market Times have failed so far… even though I’ve still managed to buy myself a suitably festive present from them (see below, how cute are they!!!!). But I shall persevere and do the German Market PROPERLY before it goes to be replaced with the Horrible Ice Rink No One Likes or Wants.