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This is something I know as sure as too many stouts will give you pain the next day. It all started in when I was a chubby ten year old. My mother, father, sister and I hopped on a plane and landed in London. My first memories of the UK were the cathedrals of Westminster Abbey and the gorgeous surrounds of Scotland. I remember we attended a fake wedding in the little town of Gretna Green, where my sister was the bridesmaid.
While the experience was weird, the photo we took is etched in my mind. My stock standard attire back then was tight shorts pulled up way too high and my beloved royal blue tracksuit. The Eiffel Tower and Heidelberg Castle were things to behold, but undoubtedly the highlights were the scenery of Austria and the Greek Islands. Importantly, we also visited family in Macedonia and ate like food was going out of style. Visiting the Eiffel Tower for the first time in my favourite getup. Thirteen long passed before I would see the shores of Europe again.
One of my best friends was living in Munich, so why not see him during Oktoberfest? Unfortunately, just prior to this, I was mugged in Prague and arrived in the lederhosen-clad city with slight concussion.
It affected my drinking ability a little bit, but I still held my own. This time, I booked a one-way ticket to Madrid and obtained a working holiday visa for the UK. I had no idea when my money would run out and when I would have to work, but the adventure was about to begin.