Wurst for Wear..

Hello, me and the Shoutster are safely returned from our German sojourn. We stayed in Cologne, a city famous for it's massive Gothic cathedral, known simply as the Dom, and is own brand of lager, only brewed locally, called Kolsch. It is a smooth Pilsner style lager, served in small straight glasses of between 0.2 and 0.3 lites. We arrived after a few afternoon beers in Blighty at about nine at night, and having previously visited this fine town, I took the Shoutster off to the Brauhaus Sion, scene of John the Don's infamous sausage question. We skulled a few and polished off half a metre of wurst, and decided to take it easy on the first night, and retired to our hotel for around one in the a.m. Little did I realise at the time but this was to be my latest night. We were up and it on Saturday, straight back on the Kolsh and Wurst, before climbing the Dom, which consists of climbing up 507 steps to the 450 metre plus spire's summit. This was also the last touristy thing we did, as it was off for some refreshing Kolsh. It was a gorgeous day, and after watching the Chelsea/Man United match, found a riverside bar, which proved to be my downfall. I am not sure if it was the sun, or trying to keep with the turbo charged Kolschinater that Shouty had become, but by seven o'clock I was trying to sober up in Starbucks. How the fuck I got back to the hotel I'll never know, but I awoke at midnight in my hotel room, stone cold sober. The same could not be said for the Kolschinater, who had latched onto a group of locals who took him to a bar to sing German drinking songs. After teaching them such English classics as "My garden shed is bigger than this.." and "Should I be City, Should I be Leeds" found himself being awoken by an angel at four in the morning asking if he was OK. He appears to have fallen asleep in the street at around two o'clock in the morning and a passing Samaritan and her boyfriend poured him into a taxi and got him back to the hotel. Of course the next day was Sunday, TSV day, our reason for going, so it was straight to the Sion, for half a metre of sausage, and you guessed it more Kolsch. We continued at a steadier pace than the previous day, having a few in Dusseldorf, before moving onto Monchengladbach. The train ride was slow, but we met a local, who on arrival to us to an off licence, and escorted us to the stadium. Of course this being Germany, they sell real beer at the ground, and you can take it too your seat to watch the game. The Kolschinater was in full flow by now, but his Nemesis was lurking just around the corner. The game was in full flow, an entertaining affair which I will elaborate on more tomorrow when I post Away Days, and it was my turn to get the beers in. We were both wearing TSV shirts, and because there ain't many Lowen fans outside of Munchen, every one assumed we were Bavarian. I was at the bar, and a more stereotypical Bavarian footie fan than you could imagine, started to ramble on at me in German. I pointed out that was English, and he looked bemused for a moment, before tapping the badge on my shirt and growling TSV while pumping his arm, so I followed suit. We were now firm friends (I think), and as I ordered a couple of Pils, he looked horrified, banged the counter and sent them back, telling me in broken english "This kolsch is sweiss, you want alt" and who the devil was I to argue. For those not familiar with the varieties of German beers, this a dark pale ale that packs a devilish punch. After the game it was back on the lash with some Bourussia fans, and more Alt was supped, at a rapidly quicker pace. We said goodbye to our new found buddies, and decided to head to Dortmund, to get tanked up on Union and DAB, both lagers from this town. But the Alt was taking a stranglehold, proving to be Kryptonite to the previously unstoppable Kolschinater, and we both fell in and out of consciousness, until I got the hickups. We finally pulled into Dusseldorf (Shouty thought we were in Dortmund), and headed for the toilets to sort ourselves out. It proved to be the Kolschinater's bed for the next hour our so as he fell asleep on the kaziee, as I set out for Cologne, and my hotel bed. I arrived by God knows what means, having gipped on one train, and managing to change another two times and arrive back at the hotel. Shouty followed me in about half an hour later, having by some magical force landed on the express train. He still nearly cocked up getting back to the hotel, having forgotten the name, but got lucky again with a taxi driver who could make out his drunken ramblings. He tried to rouse me to go back out on the lash, but at the rock and roll time of 11 p.m. we were both tucked up asleep. The next day was a much more sedate day, although the Kolschinater was tricked into drinking two more alts before we made our way back home. Roll on FA Cup final day. Follow this link for full gallery. http://bendersquad.smugmug.com/gallery/4827269_gBgiM#287220157_23jcE