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We’ve finally finished with Munich but, before we go, here is a snap of a Namibian roadblock. The 50cc Piaggio engine was gunned, fruitlessly, outside the catering tent.. At 8am this morning, passing Giessen on Germany’s A45, I send Crazy Sandra a text. Ooh, I mean I stopped safely, sent the sms while parked and…
The first AC/DC show went swimmingly, I thought. The lighting was superb – a veritable feast for the eyes – and the crowd were buzzing. Daylight began to fade over Leipzig’s Central Stadium as the band entered from stage left. The train – two truck’s worth, remember – crashes onto stage, accompanying a cartoon crash…
The colour of one’s deckchair is crucial: it calls into question one’s sexuality. The good news, then, is that my green deckchair left in Zurich was not in fact ruined, but rescued by another driver: hawk-eyed Ken. The bad news.. Erm, there isn’t any bad news except that most of us could happily have remained…
Justin is my dinner companion in Barcelona, a chap I met on a polar expedition. Well, it was billed as an expedition, requiring high levels of fitness, but really it was a small cruise for duffers. Let’s just say that we were fit before we started. It was a circumnavigation of a Norwegian archipelago in…
A bit more on Neuschwanstein Castle? OK then – I’ll do all the travelling. You just put your feet up. Maxine tells us to have our barcodes ready as we mill about in the courtyard among a hundred other tourists. Ludwig II’s death rather halted construction of this castle -and therefore much of the building’s…
Just in case you were worrying, a train did eventually arrive in Milan – with me on it. Sunburned AC/DC truckers, with cheerful dispositions, proved what good weather I had missed fooling about attempting to scale glaciers. Today, too, is sunny, yet is spent driving and dealing with a menopausal harridan of a policewoman. She…
You didn’t want a blog on Prague, did you? Hasn’t everybody been to Prague? Well, if you haven’t, you ought to go – the City of 1000 Spires is captivating. It is possibly worth avoiding at weekends, though; English men displaying their penises on stag weekends can be a little off-putting. So rather than exploring…
PINK. No, of course I don’t know who she is, but is that just so uncool that it’s almost cool? No, I didn’t think so. Namibian hasn’t a clue either, but we both recognise songs from airtime on the radio. Well, we’ll go and have a little look at her concert – to see what…
Tachographs are a dashed nuisance. Namibian and I awoke yesterday after five hours in bed – separate beds, that is – faced with a dilemma. Either we go immediately, to reach our destination within a regulation “spread-over” period of fifteen hours; or we wait another four hours, to complete a nine-hour daily rest. These hard-and-fast…
Namibian, never a picture of athleticism, has taken a turn for the worse. With sunken eyes and clutching a bottle of cough mixture, he looks like a Peruvian spectacled bear. His nose runs as he asks how far it is to the shopping centre. My reply – ‘ a fifteen-minute walk’ – has him wincing,…
