Dealing With Deutschland

The German ambassador had gotten in touch, and requested a short meeting. I suspected this was to forward thanks from Angela Merkel for a small gift I had sent her. I had done the German Republic a small favour, and Dr. Merkel had sent me two tickets for next year's Ring at Bayreuth. Since these tickets are scarcer than hen's teeth, I was grateful, and in return, knowing her background in physics, had forwarded a photo, never released to the press, of the Higgs Bosun. It does pay dividends to have a son working at CERN.

I was partly right.

I had prepared for the meeting with some care. The ambassador had been invited to tea, and I had ensured that all was in order -- the tea brewed, the scones freshly made (my cook Henri excels at this sort of thing) and plenty of wild raspberry jam available. I had also taken care with my appearance, aware that the ambassador was somewhat of a connoisseur in the area of feminine pulchritude. Hence I had selected a white silk blouse to go with a smashing beige hemp jumper designed by my son Sebastian. I then slipped on a Gianfranco Ferre belt, complete with gold buckle. And since the ambassador was on the short side, I stayed away from my stilettos and went with the Roger Vivier sandals.

Yes, I was taking care, but I also wanted a favour from the ambassador.

He arrived, and was duly appreciative of both the tea and scones as well as overlong glances at yours truly from time to time. I knew the man was happily married, but I also knew that his wife didn't much care where he got his appetite, as long as he ate at home.

We then got down to business.

"First," began the ambassador, "I must commend your command of German. Excellent."

"Danke schoen" I replied.

"Of course, the time you spent in the DDR, and that incident with the Stasi --"

"Perhaps best forgotten --"

"All forgotten of course. Secondly, Dr. Merkel was delighted with the photograph from CERN. A truly spectacular discovery. She also has a small request."

Here it comes, I thought.

"Apparently," the ambassador continued, "the libation we make from your sugar beets is proving very popular, and demand has begun to exceed supply. We would like to negotiate for more."

"You're talking about Zuckerruben-Sirup."

"Yes. Many have come to think that it prolongs life."

"Well," I said, "I would certainly love to supply more, but we are at capacity now. However, I do hold certain rights for land expansion, but cannot exercise them. If I could, I would be able to increase supply with no difficulty."

"What is the problem?"

"The rights were negotiated with Yuliya Tymoshenko, who, having lost an election to that twit, Viktor Yanukovych, was immediately hurled into prison. In my attempts to expand, he blocks me at every turn. If he could be brought to see reason...."

"What are you suggesting?"

"It is possible that Dr. Merkel could play a small role here. I understand she has a good relationship with Vladimir Putin."

"That is so," replied the ambassador.

"A word, then, in Putin's tinted ear on the matter might carry some weight. He then could 'persuade' Yanukovych to release that land, and we would be off to the races. An added bonus would be to release Yuliya herself, but that might be asking too much. He really is a bastard."

"I will take the matter under advisement, and see what can be done."

After that the meeting was mostly pleasantries, although I did press the ambassador somewhat on the 'long life' aspect of Zuckerruben-Sirop. He at that point mentioned a news item he had seen out of China, involving a man who had lived 122 years. When asked how he had accomplished this, he said that he had stayed away from tobacco, women and alcohol. Shortly after, he died, and his last words were telling: "I think I've made a huge mistake."

You think?