Groningen

You're gonna hate me.

After my supreme build up, I realize, like Ediburgh, I cannot complete this story at this time. It was too full of an experience to try to condense at current time of writing where everything is rushed, my mind, though inspired, runs on 5-7 hours of sleep and thus falters with proper...proper...something (see already in this pre-written (for I write my memoirs in a journal than transfer them to the blog) segment my mind waries (not a word? not in my case) my expressions!), and I have not had time to dwell and adore and mend and create and destroy and love and hate the story that shall be told.

So, apologies, but look for an ode to Groningen (one in which I hope I am capable of) when I return to Guildford and my head returns to my high standards of literary capabilities.

Hamburg, though, I think I can do.