QUEEN Victoria would be amused.

If only she could see me now, sipping on punchy Hoflikor, a strong liquor historically made by a pharmacist (medicinal, of course).

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I’m in the German town of Coburg in the Bavaria region, home to Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, who most of us will know simply as Prince Albert.

He was born in Coburg and grew up here before marrying his cousin Victoria in 1840.

Despite Albert’s death at 42, they had nine children, who then married into royal families in Germany, Denmark, Sweden and Russia, producing 42 grandchildren.

No wonder it’s not just the British who feel a royal connection with Coburg.

The town, 57 miles north of Nuremberg, loves its famous couple so much you can dedicate a whole visit just to the royals.

Glug on Prince Albert beer, take a walk down Viktoriastrasse or grab a selfie with a huge fresco of Victoria and Albert down the cobbled alleyway of Kleine Rosengasse.

Stone lions

You can also pay homage to Albert in the market square, where Victoria had a statue erected after his death.

She visited her in-laws several times while he was alive, guide Nora tells me, but her last trip was for the statue’s unveiling.

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She certainly chose a lovely spot for it.

The square is a pretty picture of the past with its half-timbered houses and one of the oldest pharmacists in Germany (the one selling the Hoflikor).

From windows on the side of houses, watchmen would keep an eye on the townsfolk and break up suspicious gatherings — the CCTVs of yesteryear, if you like.

Nora points to stone lions guarding the fountain in the square.

Apparently they are there to spot bad sorts polluting the drinking water.

She then takes me to St Maurice Church, named in honour of a Roman soldier martyred by his employers after he refused to fight Christians.

St Maurice has no connection to Coburg but it needed a patron saint and he was going begging.

Fire-watchers used to sit at the top of the church tower and sound a trumpet every 15 minutes to signify all was OK, and stop themselves falling asleep.

Back in the market square, I’m eyeing a bratwurst stall doing a roaring trade.

The sausage is a bit of a religion in Germany.

In Coburg they are cooked over pine cones and served in a bread roll barely half its size and cut across the top, “the protestant way,” Nora says.

It’s delicious but more bun would make it easier to eat.

“Instead of Christmas trees, why couldn’t Albert have brought us bratwurst?” asks my husband, as we join the never-decreasing queue for a second one.

It’s believed the prince was the first to introduce the tradition when he imported fir trees to the UK from Coburg in the 1800s.

After one too many bratwursts, the 20-minute walk to the mighty fortress Veste Coburg may have been a struggle, but it was worth it.

Sitting high above town, it’s one of the biggest and best-preserved medieval castles in Germany and was home to Martin Luther in 1530 while he was translating the Bible into German.

The “quick” way up involves a steep path and 222 steps (there is also a bus) but the reward for panting our way to the top was a magnificent view from the ramparts into what was once East Germany.

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When the Iron Curtain came down over Europe after the Second World War, Coburg ended up in the West while places surrounding it were trapped in the communist state.

I don’t know about being amused, but Queen Victoria (and Albert) would certainly have been relieved.