What I did on my 'holidays'

Greetings from sunny Bremerhaven. It was quite sunny actually, but that picture is of the back-drop to a tiny theatre bar run by a charming and extremely camp, gay Dutchman called Warnda.

We stayed close to the house where President Obama lives, and every morning as we walked past, he came to the window and gave us a cheery smile. As far as I am concerned, Obama is an A-Lister, unlike HRH Prince Michael of Kent (and his wife, also called Michael) who Britta met whilst we were away. I think Britta was only invited to the garden party so that Michael could practice her German (he said with bitter jealousy).

I spent quite a bit of time practicing my German too (Noch ein bier, bitte) but my Dutch is more or less non-existant, so I had to scream in English at the poor KLM ladies when we missed our connection in Amsterdam, and were threatened with an overnight stay there with a 3rd rate flight early next morning.

The plane from Bristol was 10 minutes late leaving, and we were told by the pilot that there would be no problem catching the Bremen connection in Schipol, so we relaxed. I think he didn't want us to create a fuss by having a screaming-fit on his plane, so he omitted to tell us that Gate B30 was a twenty minute run from Arrivals.

Even running on those moving rubber walkways did not give us enough time to catch the bloody connection, and it has also been about 30 years since H.I. last ran (I have never moved above a brisk walking-pace in my life), so by the time we arrived at B30, I was dripping with sweat and could only stand there, breathing hoarsely into the face of the frightened looking young woman dressed in Sky-Blue.

She sent us back the 2 miles to the departure office, and they said the next plane out was the following morning. This is when I started screaming in English, and when she said that the only other possibility was to send us to Paris, and from thence to Hamburg, which we later found out was under about 3 metres of water due to a burst dam on the Elbe. More screaming from me.

She eventually and reluctantly gave us two boarding-passes to an 8 o'clock flight, say that they might let us onboard, if they felt like it. They did, but our friend had to spend the whole day in Bremen with no explanation as to where we were. For some reason, my phone did not work for an hour in Amsterdam, and when it did he thought I was joking about missing the plane.

The rest of the trip was quite pleasant, but I am afraid that I cannot recommend Northern Germany for it's culinary expertise. The beer is nice though.

Footnote: I was reminded about 'genteel' Bath once again when we arrived back in town and had to stop the car because of a drunken brawl in the middle of Milsom Street. This sort of unsocial behaviour is extremely rare in almost every country but Britain. Crowds of drunken yobs in the street is something I would not miss.