Life is a Cabaret mein chum

Nearly escaped Germany. Usual method - sand in trousers. Not intentionally though. English people almost unknown up here - at least not since the last lot arrived by parachute.

We have been doing Saga cycling over the flat, flat dykes with many retired Germans for company. In the single file trains across the crappy German tracks Jill treated everyone to her repertoire of old time songs until the segue from Ain't Misbehaving into Lili Marlene drew a few funny looks. The last couple of days have been through very pretty villages and rich seaside towns - think Bournmouth. This was good as it has stopped us saying "that was better in Holland" every five minutes. However, it has to be said that the scenery, cycle tracks, food and locals were all better in Holland.  Teutonic efficiency has taken a battering as well - more kaput ships than working ones and shops whose opening times appear to be decided by a random number generator.

The high spots have been a meal (err, Italian) in a pretty little market town square called Meldorf. Andrew spoke lots of bad Italian and we got free drinks. 12 hours sleep that night! Also we have fallen in love with the German beach chairs, called Tageskuragabes, which look like little wooden  thrones crossed with an ice cream parlour ( Actually we have since  found out we are idiots - this means "daily rate" in German - the proper name is StrandKorbe). If we were into birds we'd also be raving about how many different types we've seen (and heard every morning). We've settled into a rouine of sleeping 10 hours, packing up the tent, cycling, having coffee, cycling, eating...you get the gist. After two whole weeks of brilliant sunshine the suggestion of rain has been met by optimistic Andrew with a spot of Ark building. After all, we are below sea level most of the time.