Germany
Full details of my stay in Germany will follow. Too busy getting drunk to write about getting drunk for the likes of you.

I've been taking hundreds of pictures with my new-ish digital camera, so you can look forward to seeing them online as soon as I get a chance.

Being in the wrong Uberlingen
Greetings from Southern Germany, where U's have two dots on top and people use QWERTZ keyboards. Here I sit, shivering slightly, ensconced in the most comfortable alcove of Fortress Bradley, Owingen. Outside, leather-jacketed locals go about their daily tasks, unaware.

I could begin by boring you with the tedious details of our Journey, but so many exciting things have happened since our arrival that they really must come first. I promise to return to the Journey later. So, without any further a-do, the excitement of Germany!

The Excitement!
Last night we got drunk.

The Journey
Germany is a long way from Eastbourne. If you want to make it in one day, you have to plan ahead. The key was to get an early start, leaving behind the dimming lights of Eastbourne no later than 7am. Just to be sure, I spent the night before on one of Justin's many couches. I awoke at 6am and helped pack the final few essentials of his new life, namely the wide-screen TV, computers, surround-sound system and DVD player. Luxuries such as Justin's bed, furniture, appliances and girlfriend would follow later. Following a few faintly embarrassing PDAs between Justin and Ramona (I hate it when couples go all Schnooky-ookums on you – there really ought to be a law) and a farewell visit from Justin's father, we were off. It was just after 8:30am.

Soon we were in Dover and soon after aboard the ferry, grumbling about the cost of the ticket. It's odd, but it works out cheaper to buy a day return than a one-way ticket. I took a few snaps mid-channel, nothing to write home about, but if you're lucky, I might post them online. I mean, if sharp digital photos of Justin looking at seagulls are your thing, then you're going to have a blast. The rest of you will just have to endure.

For those who don't know, Calais is a bit of a dump. It exists purely for English people to buy cheap alcohol. They load up their cars and return the same day. Some don't even leave the ferry; they buy onboard and return immediately. It avoids the whole nasty issue of English people having to pretend they understand French, and French shopkeepers pretending they don't understand English. The other alternative is to visit the English supermarkets in France, where speaking French is not an issue. While collecting our complimentary bottle of plonk I met one of the stay-a-boarders. The woman in question was buying several hundred pounds worth of cheap cigarettes. From all she said, and from the yellowing, leathery appearance of her skin, she was a regular.

Driving across France was enjoyable, but hardly a blast. The thing about road trips is while they can be fun, unless something goes wrong, there's really not too much to say. We drove too fast, saw some colourful roadside artworks, spent a small fortune on tolls and had fun pretending rest stops were "Wine Factories." Yes, it was that kind of trip.

Road signs in France are good. They help you get places quickly and efficiently. Road signs in Germany are bad. They help you get lost quickly and efficiently. And we found ourselves lost very efficiently indeed. After a missed exit, a frankly unjustifiable side trip to Freiburg and an hour or so narrowly avoiding death in the Black Forest, we made it to the only McDonalds in the world that doesn't have someone who speaks English behind the counters. It was 10:30pm.

After a refreshing meal we set forth again. According to our so-called map we were only minutes from our destination. But no, such was not to be. It doesn't help that every street sign was covered in dirt, that they all contradicted our map and that every word in German sounds like something obscene. It also didn't help that there are two or three Uberlingens in the same general area, depending on who you ask. After much to-ing and fro-ing we found the wrong Uberlingen.

Let me set the scene for you. It's midnight, and we've just spend the better part of two hours taking the wrong roads around the largest lake in Europe and finally, tired and a little angry, we come across a sign for Uberlingen.

Justin: "I'm telling you, this is not it!"
Me: "But the sign says Uberlingen!"
Justin: "No!"
Me “I’m just saying.”
Justin: “It’s not Uberlingen!”
Me: "Maybe this is a different part of town."
Justin: "Where's the lake then?"
Me: "It's dark. How can you be sure?"
Justin: “It’s too small!"
Me: "We're just down the road from Singen, which is were Uberlingen is supposed to be. Are you telling me that there is more than one Singen?"

And so it proved to be. In actual fact there are no less than 700 towns called Singen in Southern Germany, doubtless the influence of the von Trapp family singers and, has already been mentioned, several Uberlingens.

And we were in the wrong one.

If I had a shiny new EURO coin for every time that's happened to me...

Amelie didn't win!
I can't believe some Bosnian film I've never heard of beat out Amelie. Just seconds ago, the only dead cert of the entire Oscar telecast went to the wrong film. So unfair. So fundamentally wrong.

To change the topic completely, I discovered something beautiful yesterday. From website of J.otto Seibold, the peerless animator who brought Olive the Other Reindeer to life, comes Bubblesoap. You could spend an hour exploring with this wonderful creation. Make sure you have the sound turned up.