I checked out of my own personal hostel and continued riding the teutonic rails westwards to the small town of Titisee, which has nothing to do with exposed breasts but everything to do with the Black Forest, in which it is nestled beside a large lake. As the train rocked to our destination I was excited to see the densely-packed trees appear on each side of the track complete with a  dusting of snow, gleefully received by the party of schoolkids in my carriage. The most annoying of them - quite an accolade, as they were a number of contenders vying for the title - was repeating es schneet (it’s snowing) on a loop.

The school party also disembarked at Titisee, and went on ahead in a puttering school bus. I mounted up and headed in the same direction, pedalling alongside the lake. As I made my way I could swear I heard a faint es schneet on the wind coming from the direction of the hostel. I braced myself for the worst.

Luckily, when I arrived there was no sign of the schoolkids. In fact, there was no sign of anyone at all apart from a single staff member who rather formally and woodenly ran me through the house rules - vich musst be obeyt! - such as the 10pm curfew, by which time I needed to be tucked up in bed in my pyjamas or they’d switch the spotlights on and release the hounds. This was fine by me; the options for debauchery in Titisee seemed slim to none.

I took Ron out again to tour its few streets for some sustinence. The restaurant I plumped for hit the spot, with some truly friendly locals serving me up a  bird on a plate with some fresh German pilsner and a genuine piece of  Black Forest Gateau (yes, I know - dreadfully cheesy in all but taste).

I went the whole hog, ordering fresh coffee to polish off a great meal whilst watching some Japanese tourists try to extract the most out of the snowy ghosttown that was Titisee, then retired to the hostel for the duration; I fancied watching a German film.

The hostel chap had run through the facilities, and had pointed out a video player. Unfortunately, he failed to mention there were no videos. Likewise with the DVD player: no DVDs. Resorting to the TV, which had, er, no remote control, I watched the sole channel - tuned to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air - for as long as I could take, but starting to feel a bit under the weather, I took an early night. Party hard…

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