Enough is enough. Yes, well you may well have a point there. He overtakes me on the A1 in Germany, just before our exit this morning β so far, so good. Then he confidently turns right down a cul-de-sac and has to reverse out, under my benevolent, if despairing, gaze. There was the odd expletive thrown in, too. Lovable teddy bears, however, preparing such marvellous thermos flasks of tea for colleagues, need not be proficient at everything.
Cologne β or Koln, to give its native name β is the city that first produced perfumed liquid. You see, I have a scoop in Bonn, capital of West Germany before reunification.
I ring a guy called Peter, who worked with my grandfather for years as a photographer, and now lives a humble existence down there. Are you coming to visit? Unfortunately, the tram promptly engages in a skirmish with a Honda car, and I have to walk for a bit instead. Dinner is starting to burn with the delay. Peter collects me from Bonn Central in a dilapidated Citroen, a year-old wreck that makes even my car look roadworthy.
The car is the length of a bus, with a bonnet that stretches towards the horizon, and looks absolutely beastly to manoeuvre. Up in the flat, I discreetly ask why his wife Monika wears glasses permanently, yet never seems to look through the lenses.
Whoops, Grandpa is now in the proverbial hot water, and has to do some pretty fast-talking on the telephone to extricate himself. When it is my turn, however, I also have a little music to face.
