Drunk, mostly. It might have been the best two weeks ever, and will be hard to summarise. Almost as hard as the thought of going back to school tomorrow, at 7.50am, when all I've done for two weeks is have fun. Not that it's a hard job or anything, but it still feels like a drag compared to constant partying in various cities.
Muenster Oktoberfest proved almost as amazing as actual Oktoberfest and also proved that Dave Wateridge can always be trusted to provide us with a decent Germ night out, as well as being trusted to get wasted, naked, sick and chucked out by security. Oh, and according to the adverts now found all over Muenster, he also gives 'die beste blasen'.
Other ferien trips included me, Pippa and Bertpfeif discovering Bochum Stadtpark which was a bit lovely, and also me and Pippa being tourists around Koeln. We climbed the Dom. It's a nice Dom, I think it's my favourite building in the world.
Our holiday in Amsterdam (our Holidam or Damoliday) was pretty special. Pedaloing was a highlight, even though it rained. To be fair, after seeing Blink 182 in the rain over summer, I'm starting to think rain can actually improve things, or at the very least make a situation a bit more jokes. We also sampled some clubbing; once accompanied by some 16 year old German children at a club full of strange pervy men, then the next night to a pretty special (probably gay, pirate-themed) bar, where Max experienced some random guy trying to snog him without permission, and Pippa got enclosed in a circle of guys. It was a rapey sort of place...in a fun way...
After Dam, I went to Wijhe where I was looked after and cooked for by my Oma for two nights, and got to hang out with my Mum, Dad and sister. My mum brought me over a suitcase full of awesome stuff I missed from home, like posters and blutac and baked beans. My sister brought me some chocolate covered ants.
I had a bit of a mare coming back from Holland. Disclaimer for the benefit of all Germs: just because a train says on the front that its final destination is Dortmund Hbf, does not mean it will necessarily go all the way to Dortmund Hbf. If it's anything like the train I got on, it will take you as far as a place called Coesfeld, then without warning (OK, I had my headphones in but as far as I'm concerned there was NOT considerable warning) turn around and start going back the other way. If you then ask someone what just happened and why the train is no longer going to Dortmund, be prepared to not have any idea what they are saying to you because a week in Holland has rendered you incapable of speaking German.
If you then get off at the next stop in a panic to get on a train going back in the preferable direction, don't expect any signs or even a station to be present at this stop. The only available help at the stop I got off at was a board telling me when the next train claiming to go to Dortmund would get there, and a pakistani man who didn't speak German and really did not speak good enough English for me to have a clue what he was trying to say (he also claimed he spoke French but looked at me blankly when I tried to explain my problem en francais).
Turns out there was a rail replacement bus (SEV Bus, which could really stand for anything) from Coesfeld. I worked this out from reading a very complicated sign on the train; there was nothing to indicate this before I got on the train and really, who reads signs on trains anyway? Germany is out to confuse me.
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This is taking me a bloody long time to write. It has been a busy two weeks, after all, and I should really go to bed soon in preparation for the return of ridiculous early starts (and 2 hour working days, four days a week. Life is an uphill struggle).
On Thursday night, myself and Joe Chaplin travelled to Aachen to visit Sophie and Ali; we tried to go out to club called B9 for 'euro night', which was actually where drinks cost a euro, rather than being some sort of eurotrash/eurovision type party. Unfortunately, we had opted to 'pre-drink', a common concept in the UK. In Germany, it seems you cannot turn up to a club drunk and expect to be allowed in, rather than the usual UK attitude of letting you in as long as you can stand reasonably well with minimal assistance and are capable of holding up your ID.
I'll leave you with the knowledge that I don't like Queen and I don't really like X Factor, but I seem to be watching a girl wearing some seriously strange headwear, singing a Queen song on X Factor. Maybe it is time I went back to work.
Dora.
xxx
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