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About Munich

Oh, and the oils – don’t get me started! Slippery as a politician’s promise, stinking of lavender or some hippy crap. Last time I got dragged into one – mate’s stag do, total stitch-up – I’m sliding off the table, yelling, “This ain’t sensual, it’s a bloody oil slick!” Still, that line from the flick, “Love needs care,” pops in me head. Maybe that’s it – sexual-massage done right’s meant to feel like someone gives a toss. Dunno, I’m too cynical for that malarky.

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So, right off the bat, the heart of Pleinfeld beats along Hauptstrasse. That street’s a riot of life – cute little cafes, odd antique shops, and, of course, my own business tucked away near Marktplatz. I remember, one sunny afternoon, a fella strolled by and whispered, “You know, this is the pulse of our town,” and I was all, “Yeah, baby, indeed!” Such moments, you see, are like verses from that film – raw, unfiltered, and… well, a tad bit scandalous.

Killarney’s twinning status examined