I’m in an Italian restaurant in Echterdingen near Stuttgart airport. It’s called (in English) The Flying Ship which from the outside looks like a Bavarian Bierstube, with lorries parked in front, a pitstop. Inside, the decor is nautical or, this week, Christmassy. Most of the waiters are Italian and I have ordered a pizza.
I ate too much today, starting with a large English breakfast at Caffè Caffè on Broad Street in Teddington. Then I burned a few calories hauling my luggage to Emma’s house and tidying up there for a couple of hours. I also took a walk to deliver a Christmas card to the home of a couple who know my mother and live nearby. Lunch was at Chow Chow with my daughter during her lunch break––Singaporean chow mein.
The flight from Heathrow was fine, with a phenomenal tail wind, but behind me, an aging German businessman was chatting up a young, Indian-British girl in a loud voice, to the embarrassment of all around. The lady sitting next to me swore under her breath, or hardly, and ordered a gin and tonic. We talked, to drown out the chat-lines; she was embarking on a cultural tour of Swabia with some of the other passengers, starting at Schwäbisch Hall this evening.
The Italians have just presented me with an enormous spinach strewn pizza, calling me Signora. It’s very good.
(I then slept for 11 hours.)