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It has been an exceptionally good summer, but the wind kicks up over the North Sea, hits the graffiti-raked strip clubs of St. Pauli and drifts up the Elbe as I cut my gums on a bone dry brötchen, with nothing more than a crackly sausage and a blob of mustard for company. I turn back towards Hamburg's old quarter, towards centuries-old brick buildings and cobblestone streets and paté of beetroot and fish slapped over with fried eggs.