I’m becoming a dwarf

…or so it would seem.

I haven’t drank a magic potion to shrink me to 4’2″

I haven’t grown a beard I can plait1

I haven’t adopted a terrible fake irish/scottish/generic celtish accent2

I haven’t taken to living underground

I haven’t forged (geddit?!) a passionate relationship with a mining pick.

I *am* drinking a beer the size of my head.

If you ask me, the true spiritual home of the dwarves is in fact somewhere in the German-speaking countries. So earlier I was in Vienna, and now I’m in Munich’s largest park (“The English Garden”), one of perhaps 400 or 500 people sitting in the glorious sunshine drinking gorgeous weissbier from heavy, one-litre steins.

This one’s for Brann!

PS: expect a more regular posting schedule from next week; recent work insanity and now this holiday have made it all but impossible of late.

PPS: this was written in the park on my blackberry, and I could save a draft but not post it live. hence the odd timing.

  1. although, thanks to accidentally sleeping in on the morning of the flight, I’m closer to being able to than I ordinarily would be. Think Captain Birdseye, the old one :) []
  2. my abysmal attempts at German don’t count []

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