Eight days can go very quickly. That was the last time I wrote something here, and I didn’t think it was that long ago.

I’m told that for the first time ever people are reading this dilapidated little blog. It reaffirms the fact that there’s no such as free speech as long as you know people are reading what you’re publishing – you wouldn’t dare write some things about them.

Anyway, knowing that an ethical dissertation on the merits, or lack of, of badmouthing people I know will lose readers, I move onwards and upwards to the tales of travel.



On the weekend I was at a little, “touristical” place in the Black Forest called Titisee. The name is not derived from a half forgotten peep show, but from something to do with the fact it’s by a lake (which had a layer of ice on it when I was there), and the German word for lake is see.

Now, knowing that people are time poor and don’t like reading all that much, here are some pictures – the tool of choice for the lazy blogger:



Everyone carries on about how marvellous snow is – and it is wonderful and idyllic – but it really doesn’t jazz up photography, does it?

So there was snow, proper snow, the real deal sort of stuff where it’s heaped in people’s drive ways and is mixed in with dirt on the sleepers of the railway tracks that run into the station. 

Titisee is a shortish train trip from Freiburg HBF and the line heads up into the Black Forest through small tunnels on the sides of mountains with bare rock faces. There are pine trees everywhere, and little creeks and just before the train pulls into the station you notice the snow, something no longer in the distance.

And all the while I was appreciating this first real experience of snow, I kept thinking one thing: Why didn’t I bring a bloody scarf?


“And now in other news…”


I only noticed it today. It’s been said the best place to hide something is above eye-level. This only works in the science faculty’s advantage.

Above the front bench, radiating out on the ceiling above its centre is a big, black blast mark.

Now I know it’s there its an ominous presence. A black thunder cloud making its cameo when the teacher gets cranky.

Perhaps it was the talk of the school for weeks. A teacher stuff up; or perhaps it was a lunchtime escapade – illicit of course. Sadly, there’s no commemorative plaque to explain.

Whatever the case, it doesn’t make me feel all that comfortable about the teacher who’s handling sulphuric acid and a Bunsen burner – at the same time, in one hand.



Postcards should be bought. I’ve bought a few, and even have the stamps to go with them, but I’ll buy a whole stack and sit down and write ‘em. People who’ve commented on this blog or accosted me before I left get first preference. Although, there are family considerations that have to made, too.

I should get a map so I know where I am in relation to things, even just in Freiburg. I’ve got the gist of my location in Germany thanks to my daily effort to decipher (not quite reading, yet) the weather report in the paper. Along with the TV guide it’s the only bit I can piece together enough to understand.

Get a German Grammar – a little book with all the secrets, explained in English.

Photos – should take more. Of people and things and places and whatever else. But I’m too busy looking at them myself to think about taking pictures. Besides, there was a study that proved people who don’t take pictures of exhibits in museums remember them more afterwards than those who do. But this won’t look good framed or in albums pulled out to cause the boredom of visitors after dinner…

1 comment:

  1. I think I took about 1000 photos when I travelled Europe and I might have looked at them once (when I was putting them into albums) so don't bother, unless you're in the actual photo yourself. Knit a scarf.