Lauren Tabbron shares her favourite things to do in Manchester
Jess Astbury regales tales of festivities in warmer climates.
This Easter, my family undertook the epic journey from the surprisingly warm clutches of Yorkshire, across the North sea and the Netherlands, to make our biannual pilgrimage to the 'Green Hell': you may be familiar with race circuits, with the Grand Prix and Nascar (it's not just driving round and round, you know!) but this is something else entirely.
The Nürburgring is nestled in the Eifel mountains (nothing to do with the tower): you're driving along a super twisty turny road at the end of a long and agonizing journey, bored out of your wits, when you hear such a tumult of noise, you would be forgiven for mistaking the location of an airfield nearby. Running parallel to the main road is the final long straight of the Nordschleife ('northern loop' is about the extent of my German), and this is part of twenty kilometers of driving glory. More thrills and fast cars than all the Fast and the Furious movies combined (minus Paul Walker: sadface), and all built round one sleepy little German village (sleepy- pah!).
Granted there is very little for you to do if you're not into cars or going really, really fast. I've been brought up surrounded by cars my whole life, and my idea of heaven is the Ring carpark: every other car is a Porsche, this year was like a Corvette showroom. The new Audi R8 got an extremely favourable reception a few years back. Recession, what recession? If I'm not fighting with my Grandad to be in the front seat (ordinarily he gets dibs because he is the oldest and fastest man on the ring, and might throw up in the back otherwise), I'm fighting to be in the front seat of somebody else's car, or else gawping at the performance car showroom. And, I have to say something about my Dad. You see, he knows the ring quite well. Some say he's not a bad driver. Some say he's fast.
Not to mention Germany itself: the country is remarkable. We stay in a little village way up high, where we're served a huge banquet for breakfast, and for dinner get to have steak with peach, pineapple and the occasional strawberry. Fruit salad with a side of rumpsteak? Must be a German thing.
I'm not the 18-30 package holiday type. Being thrown into the Karussel and holding on for dear life (or alternatively being in a Porsche GT2 and losing half the harness and thus holding on to anything for dear life), is, in my humble little opinion, way better than getting trashed on free bars and consequently (or mercifully?) forgetting everything that transpired within two weeks previous.
But to be honest, I just go for the chocolate.
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