I'm sure they mean well....

At first, the novelty was appealing.

A walk round the supermarket saw Max 'pick-up' all sorts of freebies from garlic fried potatoes to little pots of strawberry yoghurt. At the butcher's he was given hunks of Fleischwurst (something akin to a high meat content luncheon meat) and at the baker's he got soft pretzels and biscuits. Even the lady at the supermarket meat counter asked 'wui der kloana a Wiener odr a Stück Gelbwurst' (whether the little one would like a fistful of German meat of one description or another). But I soon learned that, however cute it looked, Max in the trolley at ten thirty with a piece of bread bigger than his head in one hand and an obscenely huge sausage would mean he would look askance at my nutrious warm lunch an hour or so later and our sacrasanct routine would be out of synch for the whole day. The young man, of course, loved it. He soon cottoned on, vociferously complaining 'more, more, more' a hundred times at even the slightest glimpse of a baker's or meat counter vitrine. I liked the fact that he was becoming a true little German sausage afficionado but I just had to be careful with the timing. However, although sausages and bread really aren't THAT bad for toddlers, this little cultural more goes beyond a bit of hearty German elevenses. Max has been given dextrose tablets (?) from the chemists, Werthers Originals from strangers (wishing to placate a crying boy who is complaining that I have taken away a pen he was poking down his throat before putting him in the bike trailer – believe me depriving him of his boiled sweet caused renewed outrage) and the wonderful lady in the supermarket (just before teatime) who, on hearing Max's gigantinormous trolley tantrum (due to me having to get him and my frozen food home but him preferring to stay and play on the electric 'bike, bike, bike', 'car, car, car' or 'buth, buth, buth' (Max never says a word only once)) handed him an ice-cream in a packet telling me that 'now the poor little lad needn't cry anymore'. Well-meant I am sure but this latter trantrum resurfaced wth renewed vigour when I had to remove the ice-cream and plop it into the bin just as he got through the wrapper with his teeth – visualise the scene - me singing 'bye-bye ice-cream' in tense tones trying to drown out Max's wailing with a fixed smile trying to warm the cold stares of passers by. Wonderful experience.

I guess this particular novelty is rapidly wearing off...