Ye Sunday Pilgrimage
So, I'm not black and blue in the Black Forest yet - "Nein, nein - das machen wir am nächsten Sonntag!". Ach so...

Because of this, the hour of the pilgrimage draws near. I refer, of course, to my weekly trip to the train station here to get a dead-tree copy of the Sunday Times for a whopping 10 Marks (about IRP 4). Worth every pfennig, even if it's the English version (natch) and it doesn't have the magazine. As long as I get News Review, Sport, Culture and Doors I'm happy. I can see all the tabloid readers wrinkling their noses at the mention of "culture" but don't worry, it's just a glorified TV Guide.

Usually my next destination on leaving the newsagent is to walk around the corner to McDonalds and partake of some junk but not today! (audience gasps). Today I'm being fed by same non-boarders with whom I thought I'd be on the slopes today; it's just their way of apologising for my stupidity, I'm sure. I'm sure it'll be lovely and I know it'll have lots and lots of salad and I really like salad and I hope in fact that there's nothing else but salad 'cos that'd be delicious. Yes indeed. Another lettuce leaf? Oh thank you. Oh no, I normally nibble like this; don't have much of an appetite, you know. If you'll excuse me, I just have to nip down the street to McD's to, er, check something...