This is what the whole world would be doing on a Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war.

To the very few absolute truths in the world, I add another.

People who sell plastic mugs for seven dollars are cunts.

I'm referring to the obscenely tacky practice of taking the sort of thing you'd piss in at the doctor's surgery, restyling it, slapping a sticker on it and unloading it on a sap "Celebrating his connection with the fatherland"

There were more wretched goings on at yesterday's annual salute to the dour Hun and the efficient Teuton.

Most readily coming to mind is the boorish behaviour exhibited by TJ Crom and Mr Contamination. On a quest for "Loose women", this pair managed to alienate a great proportion of the female patronage, and- considering the size of some of the square-jawed security guards- are lucky to be alive.

There is a special kind of repellance attached to two yelling drunk men all too willing to play "Girl, you'll be a woman soon" with an ever younger and uglier stream of the fairer sex. "When there's grass on the wicket, it's time to play cricket."

Indeed.

Apart from the occasional nod to the Germanic premise of the event (Notably shooting and oompah music) , it was hard to see the appeal of paying an entry fee for the privilege of being overcharged for food and beverage. This is particularly so when the oompah is drowned out by Greenday, and the shooting was diluted to the point where even a lunatic with a fat gut, mullet and waving US flag was allowed to take part.

All the above suggests that an awful time was had, which is not the case. A man doesn't allow his wallet to be hoovered for nine hours if he's having a bad time. The only explanation I can find is that I was attracted with car -wreck fascination to the unfolding drama and could only be pried away when my wallet was well and truly barren.

If such an experience normally makes for a good time, then next year I may give the Schutzenfest a miss, bring a deck chair to Yatala prison and watch brutality instead.