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following a conspiracy hatched by resentful and small-minded university professors. Little seemed to have changedsince my time, when once I had hopefully submitted my designs and drawings to the Vienna Academy. Devoured by envy, mediocrities continue at every turn to obstruct the lively genius who parades his talents undeterred. They cannot stomach the fact that his brilliance easily outshines the feeble glow of their own pitiful aura.
    Oh well.
    My new circumstances certainly needed getting used to, but with some satisfaction I was able to conclude that, for the moment at least, there was no acute danger, even though there were inconveniences. As is normal with creative minds, my recent tendency had been to work for long periods, but also to take long rests, so as to preserve my habitual freshness and speed of response. The newspaper seller, however, would open up his kiosk at the crack of dawn, which meant that I, despite the fact that I frequently continued with my studies into the early hours of the morning, could not count on any restorative sleep thereafter. What made it worse was that this gentleman had an irritating need to talk in the mornings, whereas at that time of day I usually required a period of reorientation. Even on the very first morning he swept jauntily into the kiosk with the words, “So, mein Führer, how did you sleep?”
    Without waiting for a second, he opened his vending window and allowed a particularly bright light to dazzle the interior of the kiosk. I moaned, screwed up my tormented eyes, and endeavoured to recall where I found myself. I was not in the Führerbunker, this was as clear as the daylight flooding into my makeshift lodgings. Had we been at headquarters I wouldhave had the oaf court-martialled and shot there and then; this early-morning terror was undermining morale – why, it was practically sabotage! I retained my composure all the same, took on board my new situation, and reassured myself that this cretin probably had no alternative, given his livelihood; indeed, in his own blundering way I expect he was even trying to do his best by me.
    “Time to rock and roll,” the newspaper vendor announced cryptically. “Come on, give us a hand!” He nodded towards a number of portable magazine racks, and dragged one of them outside.
    Still exhausted, I sighed and struggled to my feet to help him. What irony: yesterday I was repositioning the 12th Army; today it was magazine racks. My gaze fell on the new issue of
Hunting and Hounds
. Some things had not changed, then. Although I had never been one for hunting – on the contrary, I had always looked upon it rather critically – at that moment I was gripped by the desire to flee this unfamiliar environment and roam the countryside with a dog at my heels, observing at close proximity the comings and goings of the natural world … I snapped out of my reverie. Within a few minutes the two of us had set up his kiosk for the day. The newspaper seller fetched two deckchairs and put them out in the sun. He invited me to sit, took a packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt, flicked a couple through the aperture and offered me one.
    “I don’t smoke,” I said, shaking my head. “Thanks anyway.”
    He put a cigarette to his lips, took a lighter from his trouser pocket and lit it. Drawing in the smoke and exhaling with greatpleasure, he said, “Ahhh – now for a coffee! Would you like one? I’ve only got instant, I’m afraid.”
    The British must still be blockading the seas. It was a problem I’d had to deal with often enough, so it was hardly a surprise that, in my absence, the new Reich leadership – whatever form it now took or whichever name it went by – continued to be vexed by this predicament and was still searching for a solution. The brave, stoic German Volk had been forced to make do with substitutes for so long. I recalled that this alternative to coffee had been known as “ersatz”, and immediately I