Shhh. Be very, very quiet. Unless you're Elmer Fudd, in which case you have my permission to be vewwy vewwy quiet.
There are some absolutes in life. Night follows day, the tides do whatever the heck it is that tides do, seasons progress around the calendar and bank balances march inexorably to zero at least a fortnight before payday. And to this list of definites we can add: 'we go to the German Market and Katie spends a significant part of the following day wallowing in bed'.
In fairness, it's not just Katie - I'm feeling somewhat subdued myself. I can't quite understand why, I mean it's not as if we had a late night. In fact, I think we were back home by, erm, around about, um, I think it was...
Oh look, this is silly. Let's have a look at the camera for clues.
Right, some early establishing shots of Victoria Square and the Council House:
Ahh. The Ibuprofen appears to be working now. Right, what else is there on the memory card?
If I remember correctly the beer hut started to get a little busy. It must be hell working in the centre of town, with all this between you and the bus home every evening. Go home for spaghetti hoops, or stay for a quick stein or two?
If I remember correctly, we left the market to go to a small, quiet, intimate bar off a side-street.
Or perhaps not. That'll be the Old Joint Stock then, scene of many a happy evening and cause of many a distressing morning thereafter. This is where they do the chili nacho sharing plate, covered in jalapenos. That might explain why Katie's spent a considerable amount of time in the smallest room of the house this morning.
"But they're so tasty! Maybe I can build up a resistance to them over time..."
Well, looking through these pictures, there's nothing too bad. At least we didn't do that classic 'holding the camera with one hand and pointing it back at your face while you do a cheesy grin' thing, did we?