There we are again. Another week, another message from me to you, my loyal and adoring fans.

What’s that? You don’t like being called that? I’m sorry, but you may not have noticed that this dispatch recently surpassed 100 subscribers! One hundred! That’s part of a gigantic stadium filled with people. Just imagine that!

Anyway! This week started with me lying to Anna.

Even though it might seem that way, I’m actually not a liar. On the contrary, I value honesty and believe it’s better to hear a harsh truth than to be lied to for “my own good.”

Nevertheless, I lied to Anna for her own good, because I’d prepared a little gift for her, and her investigative skills were dangerously close to ruining the surprise. Thankfully, I’m apparently a pathological liar, because she didn’t suspect a thing and was very happy to receive this little robin.

Enough about me and my questionable behaviour.

Let’s dive into this week’s comics.

Stay tuned, there might be a giveaway at the end of this issue where you could win prizes! A PlayStation 5 Pro? A Nintendo Switch 2? Read on to find out!

Monday

I kind of shot myself in the foot by using the context of this comic as the introduction to this newsletter. So now I have absolutely nothing to say about this one. Except this: I used a thicker fineliner and immediately regretted it. That’s what I get for experimenting. Never change a running system!

Tuesday

In Germany, we have the saying "Man muss die Feste feiern, wie sie fallen", which loosely translates to "You have to celebrate the good times as they come". We tried. We failed. Oh well.

Busses are the worst kind of public transportation. Change my mind!

Wednesday

Last time, my hairdresser Ramona and I slightly misjudged both my hair length and the timing between appointments, and I ended up looking like someone who rather enjoys having far too much hair on their head. I’m fortunate not to have thinning hair, despite being a man in his thirties, so it feels a bit tone-deaf to complain about having too much of it. But with hair as thick as mine, it can sometimes become a real nuisance. But I’m not complaining, and I count my blessings.

Thursday

Anna's mother had always dreamed of doing a Wattwanderung, a walk through the Wadden Sea at low tide to one of the nearby islands. So we packed our things, rented a car and a house, and made our way to Germany's north coast, where I'm originally from.

What we didn’t expect: a heatwave with record-breaking temperatures that made being outside a health hazard, ultimately forcing the cancellation of all Wattwanderungen. It was the right decision. It was simply far too hot to spend three hours walking across the waterless sea without shade or quick access to emergency responders in case someone collapsed.

Friday

Being back at the sea did something to me. The sounds, the sights, I love it all. Every summer of my childhood, I spent all six weeks of the holidays by the sea. No internet, barely any infrastructure, just me, my boredom, crabs, seagulls, and the ever-changing tides. Come to think of it, it might be my favourite childhood memory.

I came away from this trip determined to spend more time at the sea. I need to figure out how to get there more regularly.

(That late-evening swim with Anna was magical. One of the prettiest sunsets I’ve ever seen.)

Saturday

We drove to Bremerhaven, very close to where I grew up, to visit the Klimahaus and my father. It was a surreal experience to be in those places with Anna. I usually try to avoid going there, but this time it was nice, even if Linus, my father’s ageing dog, tore a ligament later that day while trying to chase a cat.

Sunday

I went for a run that day and, at one point, paused the workout and just sat by the sea for about 15 minutes, listening to the sounds and watching the water roll in.

Baltrum is one of those strange little places you find on Germany’s islands, where nothing much ever happens except for the twice-daily ferry that brings in and carries away the tourists. I have a peculiar fascination with villages like this. They feel like a theatre production where most of life revolves around serving tourism, but the actors and crew can’t leave the stage when the season ends and no one is left to watch the show.

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That’s it for this week. As it turns out, there isn’t a giveaway with prizes to win this time. But you never know, perhaps next time!

If you’re a paying member, you’ll find a few extra thoughts on my youth at the seaside, along with photos from our little holiday, at the end of this newsletter.

Whether you’re paying or not, I truly appreciate you being here. Reaching 100 subscribers is a huge milestone, and I want you to know how sincerely grateful I am!

Please read this only if you're a paying member: I obviously appreciate you a bit more than the others, but don't let them know that.

Content like this isn’t free in most places. The System AI enjoys this.

What Summer Used to Feel Like

Time felt different when I was a child.

Six weeks of summer break by the sea felt like an endless stretch of unlimited possibility. I spent those weeks with my grandparents on a campsite that didn’t exist outside of summer. The whole thing was built at the beginning of the season and taken down again at the end, because otherwise the storm surges would have carried it all away.

That part of the coast was so deserted that it always felt like nature was only barely allowing people to be there. At first glance, there was nothing. Empty fields, a rocky coastline, and a kind of vast, open emptiness as far as the eye could see.

But when you spend six weeks in a place like that, something shifts in your mind. I remember so many tiny details now, all of them connected to summer heat, the almost complete lack of shade, the ever-present smell of the Wadden Sea, and the silence.