Road trip: sausage, bullfrog and Klaus-Hans

The ferry from Ramsgate left just after midnight on 1st July, and for the next eight days we puttered through Europe, the Skoda Fabia loaded to the gunnels with my gubbins, my cousin Rob and his luggage stuffed into the passenger seat. We reached Bruges at 5.30am and failed to find anywhere for breakfast so ate a bit of our picnic watching a Liver Bird (or its Flemish equivalent) sunning itself in the dawn light,

not minding Rob's impression of it. Then it was off to Germany via Robertville. We fell over Blankenheim by happy accident, where we met the divine El Vira, but not her amazing parrot who was still kipping. In Aicha, close to the Austrian border, we made friends with happy locals by sticking up both thumbs and chanting 'vier-nul!' - the score by which Germany beat Argentina that afternoon in the world cup. I connected with a bullfrog by doing passable impression of its croaky challenge, but whether it thought I was its True Love or a deadly rival I'll never know. In Austria there wasn't a sniff of an Alp due to persistent hammering rain through lowering cloud; the highlights of Austria were meeting Natalie in Linz,

and Rob finding his scary friend Klaus-Hans. K-H was a six-inch high mannekin in very dodgy lederhosen, sporting manky beard, frothy stein and psychotic grin. His head wobbled and tended to fall off when the car's lurching round corners dislodge K-H from his perch on the dashboard. From Blankenhaim to Magura we had few culinary options but sausage and only a cabbage salad bought in a Hungarian Tesco saved me from porkosis.