What the actual fugg? They’ve changed the Fucking name!

You only have to watch The Sound of Music to know that Austrians have no sense of humour. Recent devastating news has confirmed this. 

The Fucking ambience

There’s a village in Austria called Fucking that I have had the absolute pleasure of visiting.

But you wouldn’t fucking believe it… they’re changing the Fucking name. 

What the actual fuck? Fucking is a perfectly Fucking good name. 

I can attest that Fucking is a quaint Fucking village. I had an absolute Fucking wonderful day.

The good burghers of Fucking are apparently sick of the Fucking tourists and are changing the Fucking name, which has only been the Fucking name since 1070. The Fucking change takes effect January 1.

It’s an absolute travesty. The local Fucking pub will suffer… many Fucking visitors have enjoyed a Fucking good lunch there. I even bought some official Fucking beer.

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The Fucking officials are reportedly annoyed with Fucking tourists stealing the Fucking signs and spoiling the Fucking ambience. Trust me, there was no Fucking ambience. I didn’t see a living Fucking soul.

It gets worse… they’re changing the Fucking name to Fugging. 

What the actual fugg does Fugging even mean?

How the fugg could they even think this is a Fugging good name?

Who gives a flying fugg about a fugging village in the middle of fugging nowhere called Fugging?

I realise that’s what they fugging well want, but they can seriously fugg right off. 

For fug’s sake, stop fugging around and just go back to the old Fucking name. 

©Steve Williams 2020

A Fucking road trip (Fucking, Austria)

“Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Fucking?”
(with apologies to that Bangor-loving band Fiddler’s Dram).

The very quaint Fucking village

Indeed we did. It is the first time I have typed the word “Fucking” into the car’s GPS system. Though I have directed that word towards it many times.

Setting out from Munich, myself and two esteemed media colleagues (let’s call them Jane and Phil) embarked on a day trip to Fucking, a village just four kilometres east of the German border.
Why? To quote Sir Edmund Hillary, (who possibly never went to Fucking), “because it is there.”
Also for the giggling, childish entertainment value. And the selfies.

Fucking is quiet, very quiet — it is a tiny, picturesque rural village, with only one hundred
Fucking residents.

I was expecting to see tourist coaches spewing out pissed Aussie bogans and English chavs,
intent on stealing the Fucking signs. Thankfully no.

There is not much in Fucking at all. There are no Fucking shops, no Fucking restaurants, not even
a Fucking hotel. The only Fucking living things we encountered were some Fucking cows,
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We enjoyed an excellent lunch at the Gasthof Lindlbauer in the next village of Haid, with an interesting decor of former Fucking animals, though we still had a lovely Fucking view.
The very hospitable waitress asked if we’d come for the Fucking experience, and duly presented us with bottles of Fucking Hell beer. Prost!

On reflection, it was a truly Fucking memorable day.

The Fucking directions

This Fucking way

A former Fucking resident

Another Fucking sign

The Fucking end

Words and images ©Steve Williams 2015