Take me back to dear old Blighty.

Almost a month without posting. It's amazing what having no followers does to your confidence and motivation, isn't it?

I'm back in Germany now after a brief British stint. When I say 'brief', I mean that I intended to stay home for two weeks but ended up having no money to book a flight and my dad finally bailed me out after almost four weeks of doing nothing but watching Jeremy Kyle and eating bacon. Not that this is a bad thing, it was heaven and I wish I was still there doing the same, though my life of pleasure was a decision which I now regret.

I am a stone heavier than when I came to Germany in September. Though I blame this partly on the lack of availablity of foods with a sugar content that doesn't induce instant diabetes or so much salt that you feel your mouth and innards beginning to burn away, I probably eat enough now in one day to leave two baby elephants feeling sated for at least a week. I used to pride myself on weighing less than ten stone (I'm 5'8) and right now I don't weigh that and I feel so fat it almost makes me want to cry. Sadly it doesn't make me want to stop munching on the cheese and onion crisps I paid over the odds for at Subway. I'll most definitely have eaten my Goldbears by 11 too.

One thing I regret even more than my impending weight problem is that my German seems to have reverted back to GCSE standard, and most of the time I'd rather show my bare arse in Primark window than talk German to an actual German. It's not that my German is necessarily bad (though it's not too great either), I just lack the confidence and live in fear of messing up my dative and accusative cases and having a German get offended and stabbing me or something. Or even worse LAUGHING AT ME! Or God forbid judging me. The possibilities are indeed endless, and though the chances are they won't even notice, I'd just rather not risk it and just have everyone in Chester see me bare bum. It seems as if every German has a radar, and they can sense that I'm German just by looking at me this is probably true, sadly. I feel exactly as I did when I first moved out here, in a little town in the former East Germany, judged by harpies every time I dared to wear clothes that looked remotely British. Admittedly, when I drink a bottle of wine, wear a see-through shirt and scream along to the lyrics of 'Fuck Forever' on a night out, I expect to be judged in Germany. But most of the time I am a decent and respectable human being, and I'm sick of feeling foreign.

Don't get me wrong, I love Germany. I'm so grateful that I've had such a fantastic opportunity and I'm sure that I'll look back on this experience as one of the best things I've ever done, but right now I want nothing more than to get catastrophically drunk British style, and have my dad pick up the pieces with a massive fry-up the next day. And maybe to be thin again, but for now I'm being realistic.

Sarah
xx