President Bush was supposed to be in Pakistan on a visit. Instead he has appeared in Afghanistan, saying it’s a surprise visit.

Come on.

Tell us the truth.

He got lost, didn’t he.

He thinks he’s in Kansas…

Okay,

So I said I don't want to mention the Second World War and the Germans.

It's done with. God only knows I've made enough mistakes in my own life not to point the finger at anyone else.

But I did notice, when I passed Reception in the hotel, all the mints that had been on the desk for guests were gone, and the German were all sucking something. I didn't complain naturally. I wasn't bothered. They could have eaten the Night Porter for all I cared. And besides, I didn't want to make a fuss.

Mind you, the last person who said that in connection with the Germans was Neville Chamberlain and the next thing you know, they were in Poland.

Our room in the hotel was tiny. At one point my partner bent over to pick up her shoe, and she nudged me out the window. The door knob took up an eighth of the room. I think, if we had have been in the Hilton, this would have been the Danny Devito Suite; but of course we weren't in the Hilton. Far from it. We were in some dump, surrounded by Germans, in a room slightly bigger than a fridge but a little cooler than an oven. Possibly if we had paid a little more for the room we would have gotten a free midget and some mineral water.

In the corner was a desk, which had a hair-dryer on the wall. It reminded me of those old films where the officer and gentlemen has disgraced himself, and a pistol is left on the desk so he can do the decent thing. By this, I don't mean blow drying, of course, I mean shooting himself. Blow-drying usually isn't as fatal as shooting yourself. Well, not unless the wiring in the room was as bad as the plumbing. My partner had gone for a shower earlier. She turned on the taps attached to the shower unit. It gurgled for a minute, hissed like an asthmatic python and then shot up into the air like a V2 rocket and headed for the centre of London.

And speaking of Germans...

I noticed, on the door, was a little sign saying THIS DOOR ONLY LOCKS FROM THE OUTSIDE. It was getting to feel more like Colditz by the hour.

Where was I...

Yes; the hair-dryer; we never used it. For one thing, I had gotten a little electric shock from trying to turn of the light beside the bed. Trying to use the hair-dryer was probably just asking for trouble. Beside, it had North Mace on it, as the Model type. The way things were going so far, it probably was some kind of Mace dispenser. So, we left it. I decided it might be useful to use on any rats if they turned up during the night, asking for their room back, and if we could spare some cheese.

At one point, over the weekend, I held a door open for one of the elderly German ladies staying in Stalag... I mean the hotel. She smiled... well, lessened the severity of her grimace and called me a 'wanker.' I was shocked for a moment and then remembered the German for 'thanks' is 'danke'.

Silly me

Now I just need to figure out what that strange movement she made with her hand meant.

I've got nothing against the Germans. Germany has invested a lot of money in giving British people jobs throughout the years. Alright they did indirectly by conquering most of Europe, requiring us to mobilise the largest army we've ever had, but lets not split hairs. They did, after all is said and done, give Europe back when they'd finished with it; reluctantly, I admit but it's the thought that counts.

As Basil Fawlty said, 'don't mention the war.' It was a long time ago. That's why I didn't call out the Home Guard when I discovered the hotel we were staying in this weekend was full of Germans. The fact that all the women were rather large and looked like Hermann Goring in drag never crossed my mind. And some of the elderly gentlemen had squints in one eye, as if they had been on one firing squad too many, but hey... last time they were here people were running for the air raid shelters so I mustn't go on about it.

Though, I did have a dream that night, surrounded as I was by German voices, that the only way we could leave the hotel was to dig our way out and try to reach Switzerland.

       
        Well
        Here we are back from London
        We stayed in a hotel. It's not what you think. Hotel brings to mind room service and crisp clean sheets and a mini bar and satellite T.V. This was far from that. Let me just say, the hotel was such a pit, that when I bumped into a lady covered in too much make-up, a short skirt and low cut blouse outside the room, and she asked me if there was anything I'd like, I thought she was a hooker. I said 'no, eh... thanks for offering. I'm not really into that sort of thing.'
        'It will only take a minute,' she said.
        I felt vaguely insulted. How desperate did she think I was?
        'I don't know about that, ' I said, ' but no. Thanks all the same.'
        She looked slightly irritated and said, 'the manager likes me to make sure I do everybody.'
        'He does?'
        'Yes. I must do this floor so I can move on the the Germans.'
        Poor girl. She should've had a mattress strapped to her back. I  was appalled. I knew the room was cheap and we were in a less than salubrious part of London but...
        'That's terrible,' I said.
        She gave me an odd look, and then with a sigh and a wave of her hand she dismissed me.
        'What can I do? If you do not want clean towels in your room that's your business.'
        Clean towels...
        Oh...
        She walked off down the corridor. We did need clean towels. I called after her and said, ' actually, miss! Now you mention it I wouldn't mind a quick couple.'
        'I beg your pardon!'
        'I mean towels... a... ah... couple of towels.'     
   

I had insomnia on Friday night.

I asked a medical freind of mine about it and she said, ' it's quite common nowadays. It'll sort itself out. If I were you I wouldn't  lose any sleep over it.'

.......eh.....okay