Ich Liebe den Deutschen Markt

A buzzing excitement always fills me when I know that I am going somewhere I only get the chance to go to once in a blue moon. It is as if I’m a child once again.

Walking from the dirty, musky underground car park into the piercing night air I feel an incredible sense of wonder about what the evening has to offer. Slipping through Nottingham’s maze-like side streets under a light, warm and steady attack of rain I know I’m going to see some wonderful things here; things which could only be pulled out of a fairytale and set before our hungry eyes. I marvel at the possibilities of whether or not the cobbled street I walk on was once roamed by Robin Hood and his Merry Men in the distant and hazy past. As we snake in and out of the winding roads and masses of people, my companion and I discuss the things that may be at the German market, for this is where we were going.

Before I can take in another breath of bitter English air my eyes are transfixed on the first stall.

I hope the next stalls will have more German and little less uhh… fruit kebab.