One snowy afternoon in December, me and the Kraut, stormed the old fortress of Domitz. Escorted there by her parents, who managed to endure our adolescent type gigglings with considerable courage.
Built in 1230, this huge fortress could have held the entire population of the little town, and believe me buddy, there is no way you would burrow out of this place.
Forget those tunnels, forget it.
The English sauntered along in 1620, and er, well sauntered off again.
“Zee English ran away!” screeched the Kraut, giggling madly as we viewed the educational displays of the fort’s history.
“Yessh!” I hissed “But they always come back!” Her parents were very understanding and we all set off to explore the paths that ran round the fortress.
The Kraut led the way.
She was not pleased when I dawdled, snapping away with me new camera – and she made her feelings known.
“Hurry up!”
So I did and we completed the circuit and did the tour of the fort’s carefully arranged rooms – we took pictures that were not allowed, and got into trouble. The Kraut took this one.
We snuck up to the very top level, and while the guide was trying to catch us, took another illicit pic – it’s a long way down. (shot by..CENSORED)
The snow gave everything a very Dr Zhivago touch, and Britta got the starring role. Drat, why ain’t I a blonde?
Omar Sharif, eat your heart out, ain’t she a peach?
4 comments:
And her hat is better looking than your one. har har har
Why you beastie....my hat is the expression of taste!
Both hats are the expression of two completely different philosophies....
Eh? No one tells me anything! Most aggrieved I am, considering that I was led, if not bamboozled, into getting that hat.
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