I’ve always been a WW2 affection-ado. I might have mentioned this. I used to make little models. I had toy soldiers. I played war games. With myself. I didn’t have any friends. This is probably very understandable for a guy who sits and measures out the blast radius of a frag grenade on green baize. Why I didn’t have a girlfriend until 19 is beyond me.
Anyway I’ve discovered that Dresden is home to an incredible German Military history museum. As I’ve persuaded Katty to call in sick tomorrow and stay, she is subjected to being dragged, against her will, to view tanks, guns, uniforms and such like. She’s not happy. I’m like a kid in a sweet shop. Especially if the sweets are Panzers and Half-Tracks.
If you’re ever in this neck of the woods I would urge you to go. Don’t be put off thinking it’s one for the boys, as the nature of the exhibits, art installations and incredible incite into a troubled nations history eventually won Katty over. The museum is one of the best I’ve been to, well constructed, monumentally enormous, with thousands of interesting memorabilia, artifacts, vehicles, memories and stories. We didn’t have time to get round it all comfortably, but certainly learnt a great deal more than what we thought we already knew about. Heartbreaking in places, astounding in others, fundamentally you come away with a notion you already knew to be true. War is bad. Unless it’s played on a little table with perfect scale model housing, army regiments and wonderfully painted miniature Spitfires. Then it’s fucking fantastic.