Welcome to Munich

I've just arrived in Munich, ready and raring to go for six weeks at the Sueddeutsche Zeitung.

On the first night, i took a look at the sights and as the evening wore on and i got bored i thought i'd go for a beer.

My attempt to find a place 'known for a regular clientele of cynical journalists' failed, so i stopped into a small pub and sat down. The first person i noticed was a man sitting at the bar, sporting a bald head, moustache and leather trousers.

But that doesn't seem unusual in Germany, and leather trousers are particularly en vogue round here. So i sat at the bar and started reading my paper.

My eyes browsed over the wall...there was a heart-shaped valentine's card that said (in German) 'To my lovely boy' or something along those lines...then there was a photo collage with a joke about arses i didn't understand. Christina Aguilera was playing on the jukebox and Cher was next up.

It struck me as odd that no-one in the photos, and indeed the bar, was female. I put it down to South German machismo and went back to my paper. But as i read Simon Hoggart, i became painfully aware of leather boy to my left looking at me. Probably just intrigued by my English paper, i guessed.

More regulars, men - some leather-clad, came in and sat around me, trapping me, like a lamb in a barrel of wolves, in a circle of big butch German men. They began making jokes that i couldn't quite understand, and eyeing me strangely. Realisation dawned.

Now i'm no homophobe, but i've seen a lot of horror movies and being leered at by enormous locals is not my cup of beer. So i finished my drink and stood up to leave.

At which point the mouth-breather on my right accused me of running off because he'd sat down next to me at the bar. I mumbled something like 'Not in the least mate. Don't be silly.' And legged it.

Why does this sort of thing always happen to me?