You'll be pleased to hear (most of you, at least) that I made it back from Munich alive. Just about. A couple of weeks in a sanatorium should have me almost as good as new. Or what passes for new in an old bastard like me.
Munich is a beery town. I already knew that. A very beery town. The industrial scale on which it's served can be quite intimidating. Even for such an enthusiastic pisshead as me. Seeing a waitress with 3 gallons of beer in her mits brings this fact home. Or when a 50 litre barrel is emptied in 15 minutes.
Binge drinking. There's a lot of that going on in Munich. A single beer in some places gets you into the binge-drinking zone, as defined by various twats in Britain. Germans couldn't give a toss about such twaddle. Especially in Bavaria. Or "ladies glasses". Or the rubbish that women don't like beer as much as men.
More details of my trip will follow. That's a threat. (Shouldn't that be "promise"?). Vicariously drink every Maß and crunch every Schweinehaxe along with me. Book the sanatorium now.
A mouth full of South - When I moved to the south side of Glasgow fifteen years ago, I’d never lived quite so close to such a wide range of pubs before. I could nip out late at ni...
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