Okay, so we're sat by the pool in Kakadu Lodge, Jabiru. We're on reclining chairs facing away from the pool because that's the only place with shade, so we're oblivious of the people coming and going. Then it occurs to me - need pee. So I begin an epic journey from the recliner to the toilets, some 30 yards away. Little did I know that Deutsche Intrigue was waiting for me.
I jumped up and prepared to make my way past the dangerously positioned sprinklers. It was quite enthralling in a 'got nothing better to do with my time' way, so I plotted my path between the criss crossing jets of water with considerable precision.
But then - DISASTER. I looked up at the area beyond the sprinklers. And there, staring me back in the face, were Deutsche Booben. I don't know how they'd escaped in a public place. But there they were, clear as day. NB It was only later that I realised the owner was German.
Well, being caught totally offguard, I was forced to charge through the sprinklers with complete abandon, head down and charging past the offending Booben, hoping they were no longer staring at me. Soaked, and my head filled with penetrating etiquette questions, I peed, then returned to my recliner. Thankfully the Booben and their owner were gone by the time I got back. But then - I turned the corner, and glancing above my recliner I saw the owner of the Booben and her friend - and both appeared to be looking at me!
Gadzooks! What had I done? I am an innocent man, but they were looking at me, and their eyes were saying "Da - da is unser Boobenperverten." I desperately wanted to yell out "Ich bin nicht Boobenperverten". Well, okay, technically speaking I am, but only in a controlled environment. I am not some sort of roaming, free-range Boobenperverten. What would the world be like with wanton Boobenpervertierung going on? Society would collapse beneath the weight of both Booben and Perverten. It's not as nice as it sounds.
Unfortunately I only caught a brief glimpse of these accusing German ladies. Which meant that when a mysterious female wandered past us in the camp kitchen later, I could not tell whether it was the owner of the Booben or not. She did not speak to us at all, but was that because she was uninterested in us, or because she recognised me and did indeed believe me to be Boobenperverten? It was only when I saw her with her friend the next morning that I could positively identify her as the Booben owner.
When I later related the whole terrible tragedy to Cat, she seemed rather amused (damn you, unpredictable womankind), and assured me that since they were German, they might take a more relaxed view of changing in public. AND YET - those staring eyes, those staring Booben - I have been marked, and it may never be safe for me to wander the Black Forest or the crowded, Wurst-filled streets of Berlin. Damn you Booben - why couldn't you just leave me alone?
