Ah, finally, a proper post.
So, back to Germany. We spent a most fantastical week with me, sick as dog, feeling sorry for myself. Laura, being the lovable so-and-so that she is, perservered as best she could, but even she could not pull me from the sorry funk that i was in for the entire duration of our stay there. We still travelled around, to the museum of old houses, where we ate cheese, the local pub, where we ate cheese, family friends houses, where she ate cheese, and cafe after cafe, where oh my god i am so sick of eating freaking cheese.
There were a few shining moments in those last days of Germany-land. My personal favourite was our trip to Hamburg, where we saw the city hall building, the giant lake and the metro system (they sell beer EVERYWHERE, even mcdonald, which sometimes served kronenburg ON TAP) and a number of other star attractions. After a couple of hours and some delicious baguettes, Hildegarde took us to the Panoptikum, a wax museum in the seediest of seedy red light districts. Remember, we had not yet gotten to Amsterdam. When Hildegarde saw Laura and i giggling at a sign promoting ‘gay homo sex’, she procceeded to take me aside and explain to me the complex and varied sexual orientations of the world. This included the ‘homosexuali, transvestatii and lesbos’. Laura laughed so hard she nearly spat out her sparkling water (the only type of water served in bottles in Germany, unless you ask for something different.) Laura later explained to me that her great aunt was quite aware of my gayness, and had even gone as far as to ask if i wore ladies clothing. Oh my god people, do not let a 77 year old woman take you to a red light district.
Germany was beautiful, even beyond my expectations. I had, honestly, expected a harsh and rigid society fearful of its own complicated past. I was so wrong. Instead i found a country so lush and overflowing with kind people, great beer and, seriously, water. Rain and water and rain and water and more rain. It seems that my cliche views of the place served only to make me look silly, and i would return to Germany in a heartbeat. They also had amazing food, which only served to make me both happy, and fat. Oh, lovely family, i have gotten fat. Stupid cheese.
One afternoon i stayed home while Laura went out to visit a nearby town, and i went for a walk. Being so sick, and so far from home, i found i was getting more and more emotional about Rowan passing away, feeling like the one person i’d like to call and tell all this to was the one person who wasn’t available at the time. It’s feeling i’ve revisited throughout the trip, but never as strongly or as overwhelmingly as the time in Germany. I know Laura noticed my stress levels rise and fall, but something about that countryside put me at ease.
After a tearful farewell, a ridiculous amount of chocolate and a promise to email often and oftener, we headed off to Holland.
This famously ended in heartbreak when we got onto the last carriage of the train. People, do NOT MAKE THIS MISTAKE. The last carriage of our train was a smoking carriage. We got on, sat down, and suddenly i noticed that a few seats up a plume of smoke had rushed upward from the passenger. Oh my god, everyone started smoking. I realised Laura was about to have a hernia that i flew into action. I told her to stay put, i, our valiant savour, would scour the train for the seats that would not (in the words of Laura), suck. I ran into the nearby carriage, but seats were full. Carriage after carriage, minute after minute, i was unsuccessful. I ran back to tell her the news, and found a woman whose scorn would scare even the worldiest of men. She told me in no uncertain terms that had i not returned that very instant, she would have thrown my bag out the window and found her own seat. By the time we got to the station, Laura was hugging her bottle of Georgio Armani and rubbing perfume in her hair. Seriously.
The moral of the story? Europe, there is no need for smoking cars.
We arrived in Holland, Amsterdam specifically, to meet Cam and Emily. I was pretty stoked, and was feeling better, so i rushed straight into two painkillers, a mexican dinner, two beers and a joint. The stomach pains were so intense that Laura and i had to leave the party early to get me to bed. At that stage i was so lonely, sad and sick that i just wanted to go home. We woke up the next morning to try again, although i still felt as though i had been punched in the stomach by a guy that resembles Laura’s boyfriend. Laura had, at that time, decided she missed both home and said boyfriend (and he is kind of buff and fancy-pants looking, so i couldn’t really blame her) and got herself tickets home. I rang Cam and Em, who told me in no uncertain terms that if i dared to go home they would kick me in the hoo-hoo, so i opted to stay. I organised to chase Emily to London after Paris, and Laura organised to high tail it out of there.
We spent our last night in Holland in a little bar that we found off the street, where a rather large gentleman sang songs to us. Literally. This man had the loudest voice imaginable, and we were sat directly next to him, so we did the only thing we knew how to do – we glared at him. However, after a couple of jugs of sangria and wine, and a seriously undercooked steak, we began to tap our tables to his exceedingly loud voice and acoustic guitar. Eventually, someone gave us marraccas, and we shook them, much to his amusement. At some point, Cam mentioned to him that i played guiar (cue links to my varous musical accomplishments over the last, say, decade?) The rotund man was CONVINCED that i would sing a song to the crowd, which mostly consisted of drunk tourists (and the other people that were not Cam, Em, Laura and me) Eventually i obliged, ripping the guitar from the hands of some lame-o Holland local, who later gave me her number, and ripped into the only cover song i know – Wonderwall by Oasis. Yes, Jayden, i don’t just sing it at gay bars. This was rather well recieved, so i dedicated a song to my mum, I Like Tea, sang it, and the guitar was rather forcefully taken back from me. Apparently then rotund man had a) heard me call him that or b) had no planned on selling tickets to my one night only tour of the European Union.
As a show of solidarity, Em stole the marracca for me. It’s in my bag right now.
From there we headed to Paris, rather more successfully on a smoke free train that we almost missed. This was due to me finding a newspaper in the bathroom and attempting to learn Dutch while Laura contemplated setting fire to my personal items.
But that is a story for another day. (Most likely tomorrow night)
As for my current situation, i love London. I feel as though i could split my trip into two – being sick, and being in London. This city is amazing, its decication to culture, its access to the world, its myriad of fantastic bands. I have spent my time hanging out with Polly, her flatmate Ian, his brother Andy, their friend Yvette (whom i spent a VERY trashy night in gay Soho with two nights ago), my flatmates in the sharehouse, Cam and Emily and some Swiss tourists. I have seen the musicals Wicked and Billy Elliot, the new Harry Potter movie, and all six hours of the play ‘Angels in America’ performed for the first time in ten years at the Lyric Theatre in Hammersmith over two nights. I have spent over 500 pounds on clothes, books, and booze. I have seen the tower of london, london bridge, covent garden, piccidilly circus, oxford street, leicester square and spent way too much time on the underground. Hell, i even have an Oyster card. I love London, and friends, you’re going to have to work to get me back. The funniest thing, one of the guys i’m living with offered me some design work (Don’t stress Steve and Karen, you’re much cooler anyway) 
I’ve also missed you all, and can’t wait to see you again. At first i struggled to travel alone, but have found it to be immensely rewarding. I have even gotten ridiculously sad in the underground at one in the morning when i have nothing to think about but all of you and Rowan and this whole silly year. But onward and onward dearest friends.
You’re all lovely, and i miss you heaps. NOW WHY CAN’T YOU ALL MOVE HERE TO LIVE WITH ME HMMMMPH?!?
Dave.
