Battle Fatigue

There are points in any sojourn in foreign lands when you feel distinctly fatigued by a culture you do not understand; when events cease to be frivolously amusing or charming and become creepy and disturbing, and when you realise it's all wearing you out. In such circumstances, somebody mention to Alain de Bolton that holidays are hard work.
I had such a moment today when I saw the band playing patriotic tunes in the shopping centre were wearing jackboots. 'Look! Jackboots!!' I said, and low and behold, the fatigue soon had me thinking that the Germans were somehow well suited to Nazism. Of course they can't be can they, but the fatigue just sank me into prejudice, like in the Numbskulls. When that happens, the darkness descends, and you start to see everybody as giants, or think the children are playing too aggressively; you wonder at why there are so many women singing from boats on the TV, why there is also a competition involving men pulling nails from planks, and why there are so many model railway enthusiasts. You get suspicious.
So we are three flights up of our four flight rock, and to get away from taking pictures like the one above it's trip to the zoo.