And I'm talking at 8am in the morning, at 11pm at night, after having dinner, before having breakfast, on the worst hangover of my life, inbetween eating other bratwursts...the list goes on (and on and on and on). If I had to make a guess at the sheer distance of sausage we managed to consume over the course of four days in Berlin, I'd have to pop the figure at approx 98km. No exageration. Yet, somehow I didn't manage to take one photo of the thing at any point of our holiday which I can only say is a sheer testament to my tunnel-visioned-bratwurst-eating devotion. So instead, you'll just have to look at some #architectureporn. Which I know is not as good as #bratwurstporn, I'M SORRY.
You know you're doing the holiday thing right when you find yourself in a foreign city in your pyjamas at 8pm, knackered from a long day of sightseeing (read: alchocol and food sampling), with a fat ass room service pizza, a bottle of prosecco and your fave little human. *peace out emoji*