I write this in the comfort of my new house in London. The trip home was an exhausting conclusion to an exhausting week, and I can only feel pity for Shaun as I contemplate waking him from his 1.5 hours of sleep to send him off on his flight to Spain.

In my last post, on Friday, I mentioned we were trying to kill time before checking in at 3pm and having a curative nap. In my previous swearings-off of drinking beer (on account of aforementioned hangover) I had forgotten that passing time in Oktoberfest, of course, means drinking beer. We walked around to three tents before finding one with a table that wasn't quite completely full. In fact it was partially filled with some very nice Germans - Stefan, Wiekbe and Gertel - who spoke English quite well and in an entertaining fashion.

One liter of hair-of-the-dog and some of the most delicious pork steaks and bread dumplings with German coleslaw I've ever had later, and we were exchanging sincere Auf Wiedersehens and phone numbers with Stefan and his crew and moving back to the hostel.

The hostel was in good repair - apparently less than a year old - but it was packed to the proverbials with Aussies and Kiwis. We got our shit sorted, showered and relaxed for a little too long. Shaun slept while I watched Alf, Family Matters and A-Team reruns in German (they do seem to be 80s obsessed in Germany.)

We returned to the festival at about 6 to find that all the tents were full to capacity and had locked their doors. The word 'tent' seems to be some kind of historical artifact here, as they are large halls made of wood, very un-tentlike.

Wandering, trying to allay the disturbing notion that we weren't going to be partaking of the merriment we could see but not reach, we ate bratwurcht and pork rolls before joining the throng in front of the Hofbräuhaus tent front door. The Hofbräuhaus, of course, being the 'pig-pit' - the tent where one is advised not to wear underwear against the very real possiblity of having it swiftly and cruelly removed by the most direct route and thrown on the comic figure swinging from the center of the hall ceiling. This is where the Aussies generally hang out, and the tent we would probably have avoided had not we received notice that Stefan and his crew were in there.

We got in an hour and a half later and found the new crew. They were situated directly in the center of the hall with a bunch of other Germans. At this point I begin to feel that excess verbiage will do little good in conveying the true atmosphere, so I'll try to get the video Shaun filmed edited in some fashion at some stage. I would be remiss if I failed to mention the Ein Prosit song, though, as it is sung most exhuberantly every 10 minutes or so and signifies a massive toast, or as I came to realise quite quickly would be a more accurate term, binge. The best thing about this song is that once you learn the words, you can sing along with the Germans for half the night, it is sung that frequently.

That was how we saw our last full day in Germany. Slept well for a few hours in the hostel, where a Kiwi chick Amy had already crashed. Sleep was interrupted at 4ish by some retard roommate who decided it was more important to have the light on in the bedroom (while he was in the bathroom) than to leave us sleeping peacefully.

The trip back to Köln was relatively uneventful, and at 300kph on the ICE. We had an awesome lunch at the Frau, consisting of herring salad on fried potato, mushroom schnitzel and the house special steak (soft egg broken on top, bean salad.) Then train to Köln/Bonn airport, Germanwings flight to Stansted, 2 hour bus to Victoria station, walked Claudia - a German chick we met on the plane - to her place nearby, caught a series of tubes to Kennington station, then walked back to the house.

Shaun and Mick are about to leave, then I'm gonna sleep. Yes, I care that this drivel should be edited, but I don't care enough to actually edit it.