The Franconian Diet

I'm just back from god's country. No, not Yorkshire. Franconia. (Try counting the crucifixes and you'll understand how literally true that is.)

To be honest, I'm a bit knacked. My train rolled into Amsterdam Zuid just after 11 o' clock last night. Despite cramming several pigs and half a dozen barrels of beer into my fragile frame, I'd managed to lose a kilo. The Franconian Diet. Could be the next big thing. At a kilo per five days, I'd only need to stay there a year to hit my ideal weight.

Over the next week, I'll tediously recount every sausage, seidla and schnapps. I don't expect to entertain, just record events for posterity. My version of events.

This is my blog. I can, and do, write whatever the flip I want. That's why blogging is so much better than proper journalism. Where some twat tells you what to write, then changes it afterwards. No-one, neither editor, nor proprietor nor advertiser stands between me and thee.