Austrian Chicken Farm

None told us an Austrian chicken farm travels on the 23:00 from Munich to Berlin in October. And you'd have no idea when falling asleep above the rhythm cycles of the train. Then as consciousness trickled back the next morning (for me it always trickles, rather than snaps, even on this occasion) I realised it was because of the squawking voices beyond the curtain. (The train had bunk-beds either side of the main corridor, and only curtains sealed off one pairing from another). " Frühstuck! Frühstuck! Frühstuck! Oh, ja, ja, ja, ich habe gut geschlafen, sehr sehr gut, oh ich nicht, ich überhaupt nicht, willst du ein kasebrot, oder zwei?, oh, ja, ja, ja, danke, danke, bitte, bitte, bitte, oh caffe, ja caffe, danke, danke, bitte, bitte." All these phrases constantly repeated at shattering pitches by half a dozen middle-aged Austrians, and occasionally the rabble rocked the carriage with an unexpected blow of coordinated group breakfast-laughing. I am told the eruption occurred after the train conductor tip-toed down the corridor to mention that the train would be arriving in Berlin in 45 minutes. For these chickens, all of course packed and ready to go, this meant the whole carriage must be ready for cheerful chatter and witty remarks. Welcome to Berlin. I don't yet speak German (sadly, though I did not envy my German girlfriend, Kristina, the poor girl who learnt all about the ghastly Rosie’s sleeping habits), but it was quite clear this was conversation for the sake of it, an abrasive and desperately irritating morning keenness that got into my ears, under my nose and eventually down through my oesophagus to the very rattle cage of my heart. When I walked down the corridor to more peaceful areas, and then returned, if felt like the last scenes in the Blues Brothers, when the director cuts between Jake and Elwood, seeking the bank manager in silence, and the whole of the New York police department and military in desperate and loud pursuit. Blues Brothers has more class though.