My name is James. That’s what mother called me.

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Hey, hey Germany! I’ve got some friends coming to visit, how do you feel about keeping up that sunny weather you’ve been tantalising me with all month? No, oh you want to rain. A lot. Oh Germany, you so scumbag.

Despite the few hours of radio silence in which Roz had to call her dad to Facebook message me her number as Kim’s phone had kicked the bucket and for some reason we didn’t plan that alternative option in advance, the tautological twosome finally arrived and there was much happiness to be found, somewhere in their knackered exhausted forms. After a catchup food and drink session, we passed up the option to hit Halle 02 and instead go to bed. Which is where JAMES and the giant peach happened and a tune entered our heads that would never leave.

Upon Nick’s glorious arrival on Saturday, once again followed by much searching and confusion, we sent him right to bed. During which we went to see what Kim will forever refer to as a “schloshh”. And then, with the stirring of Nicholas, we drank. And drank. Being the responsible host that I am, I only drank enough to find a lamppost attractive. Fantastic fireworks, notorious Neckar times and catastrophic Karlstor excitement followed along with many bizarre run-ins between Aaron, myself and the rest with what can only be called SMEG. Or rather, Straight Men Envious of Gays. But they were probably the other meaning of smeg too.

Rainy days in the zoo, chilling times with the Pokemon Movie and many a Japanese meal, it came time to bid farewell to Roz and Kim at which point the weekend became distinctly German with the free burgers and bier courtesy of the Brass Monkey and the wonderful kraut Germans that we all know and love in their linguistically phenomenal forms. More schloshh times and hugs galore, not to mention introducing Nick to an anime or two, and it came time to wave goodbye to the German speaking, French studying Englishman, but not until after Luftansa lied to us about the bus time, nearly stranding Nick without a flight home. But they sent a complimentary taxi in apology so we can hold off their massacre for now.

All in all, a delightful weekend of giggles, girdles and enigmatic tigers. Seeing Heidelberg through new eyes, a fresh love for the beauty hits hard and well. Bring on the jubilee party and more downpour underneath which we rehearse onwards, the shows suddenly bearing closer than ever before, I think it’s time to get whipped into shape, so I can then be whipped on stage…

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