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|Written by Cindy-Lou Dale|
|Thursday, 14 February 2008 18:00|
Whilst goose-stepping around Traben-Trarbach with an utterly charming and elderly guide (with a rudimentary knowledge of English) we happened upon a little square with some historical significance. Fritz halted the party under a chestnut tree and proceeded explaining something when my eye was caught by a rotund little man advancing upon us. He held a tray of 5 wine glasses (the guide’s wife, Gisela, had joined us) and promptly proceeded handing drinks around. We spoke in numerous tongues about what I was doing there, who I was writing for... yackity, yackity, yack. My glass was refreshed and we yacked some more about restaurant business and Riesling wine.
It was at his restaurant my daughter, Penny-Lane, and I dined later that night.
The owner, Richard, promised an evening of local specialities which initially caused some anxiety when observing a fellow diner stabbing at something on his plate resembling boiled liver.
This was when I discovered two additional irritations I should add to my ever-increasing list of dislikes, you see when I see something standing askew or out of place my nerves cannot bear and I cannot focus until it’s been rectified. Last night it was the loud ticking of a clock and a heavy breather.
In between courses I mooched around the restaurant straightening all their picture frames, and when no one was looking I stopped the pendulum of the loud ticking clock and tried to ignore the breathing noises of the little pug-like man at the adjoining table. Eventually I became so distressed I asked if he needed a tissue to blow his nose. Evidently he took this as an invitation to converse and spent a good 20 minutes telling me about his grand home in North Carolina, his fabulous job, his three ex wives and how much he earns.
After two prearranged photo-shoots I drove home to the soothing sounds of Black Sabbath and Metallica.