Hamburg, Factory, Aachen, Factory

Do you notice a pattern here? Is it the just-when-I-thought-things-couldn’t-get any-worse,-they-did pattern? If that’s what you read into today’s chapter heading, you are right. But every cloud has a silver lining – or at least is counterbalanced by something that goes right for a change. And I shall continue to hold onto that thought. No matter what. Really.

The factory near Luebeck did a fine job (the garage door was shut with only a small gap – not enough to allow the Smart to escape or anyone else to enter) and at a reasonable price – cash of course but still reasonable. The trampess handed over all her funds to the tramp and he returned with change. Since plastic is so prevalent, funds are only kept for small treats like a coffee on the hoof or alternatively emergencies. This was clearly in the latter, and rather more expensive than a coffee, category. Still, we headed back towards the mother factory aiming to get there before dinner or at least before bedtime. As we passed the exit to Hamburg the tramp suggested that maybe we should actually spend the night there, go the next day to the Kunsthalle, and then drive on, after all the new door would not be ready for some time (did I mention the tramp offered to let me go back to London while we waited for it? A noble gesture since he intends to wait at the factory) – probably 2 weeks – and the back was secure enough to allow us to park with garage door against the wall in the harbour parking place we didn’t get into only a few days ago. It seemed a sensible suggestion so once more the trampess found herself on her knees changing the destination on the navigation system as the tramp took the next exit and reversed direction. This time all went well, there was plenty of space, we parked just as the tramp wished and awaited the next day.

It was grey and miserable – the perfect day for a museum. The museum, naturally enough, was a very long hike away (much closer to our former, free parking place, but the harbour was more scenic and on a weekday an altogether better place to be). After walking past a very modern building and across what looked like a truncated pyramid we arrived at what should have been, according to my EyeWitness guide, the main entrance to the Kunsthalle. There were people inside, the carved letters over the portal said Kunsthalle, but the door did not budge. A kindly face appeared at the window next to the door; the young man pointed to the modern, rather bureaucratic building we had just passed (no signs, no banners, no seals) and indicated we should go there. We did. It was indeed the new main entrance to the Kunsthalle. We bought tickets (reduced price for seniors on Fridays – it was not Friday - including Kaffee und Kuechen but otherwise no concessions; clearly the Austrians are not yet worried about too many sweets in the diet!). Then we were directed to the basement and told this was the way to cross over to the main building. They didn’t mention that we would be walking through major building/installation works on the way. Once there the logistics of getting to the galleries we were particularly interested in were just as tortured. And every time we needed to alter course, we had to walk through the café and pass the Kuechen! Not so pleasant for those trying to enjoy their treat, and rather crazy from out point of view (did they seriously think I would let the tramp have cake in the middle of the morning???). Furthermore, the paintings were badly hung and badly organised – jewels were hard to find and no special attention was drawn to them. The trampess often had to call an impatient tramp’s attention to something hidden and wonderful. What was the director thinking? Does he/she exit? Does he want people to enjoy the museum? More is the pity because there were many gems in the collection, including many wonderful German paintings (Lovis Corinth in particular but also the Maxes Beckmann and Liebermann other members of the underrated Berlin Secessionist school) as well as rather better know examples of French and Italian painters – this could be an outstanding museum but sadly it is not. More money should have been spent on re-organising and displaying the existing works than on building an expensive, but not beautiful, modern building (the truncated pyramid which covered the cross over between the buildings was solid, ugly and had nothing of the inspiration – or light - of the IMPei pyramids at the Louvre) to display works of questionable interest. The paintings were worth the visit, but the experience was not uplifting, sadly matching the grey, rainy day.

The long walk back to the harbour included a walk through the old part of Hamburg, including the Rathausplatz. Here the blend of old and new architecture works extraordinarily well and the tramp stopped several times to photograph particularly well-conceived modern insertions into the gothic setting. But our attempt to enter the major cathedral was frustrated by closure for a christening so we proceeded back to the harbour and a late lunch. Eager to move on before dusk, we set sail once again in the direction of the mother lode. And there we stayed for 3 more days. Happily the repair went much better than expected, and we have a fully functioning, if somewhat less than beautiful, garage door. The Smart is no longer locked in with no hope of escape and the tramps can go back on the road, fully equipped with all pistons firing, so to speak. And not just all pistons, but the battery as well. It seems all our electrical problems (have I mentioned needing to turn on the generator to make a cup of coffee? Or flush the loo? clearly superior German engineering did not intend that this should not happen) were due to the fact that the battery was not fully charged and the generator not fully connected. The combination was lethal. The tramp’s detailed recording of data had paid off – it was clear that he was not daft, something was wrong. Battery replaced, generator fully hooked up, we really are road worthy! On to Aachen!

With more attention to navigation systems (GPS coordinates and address), destinations, and multiple maps, the tramps set off. It has to be said that the trampess was now in a state of total trepidation since the tramp expects serious navigation from her – just when she thought the navi systems had taken over! As we approached Aachen, the tramp decided that the stellplatz he had chosen was perhaps not so ideal but we could happily park in the car park of the Real supermarket we just spotted (end of trauma for trampess – at least for awhile). Other trucks were doing the same so it seemed safe enough. The tramp wisely unloaded the Smart so as not to be wedged in and unable to release her. After a major visit to the Real to stock up on provisions, the tramps had lunch and then drove into Aachen (one of those multi-fold Falk plans on the trampess’s lap to ensure our perfect arrival – it has to be said that the voice was rather better at guiding us in but the trampess tried to keep up and generally was not surprised when we reached our destination). We headed straight to the cathedral built for Charlemagne (or Karl der Grosse if you are German, as the locals obviously are) where his throne stands (you will, of course, remember that he was crowned emperor in 800 at which time Aachen became the capital of the Holy Roman Empire) and his remains lie in a golden coffer behind the altar (a simple stone cube, faced in sheet gold in 1020 thanks to the magnanimity of Heinrich II). The old Karl was a man of the world and lived to a great old age (I won’t mention the 3 wives – he outlived the first two - or the several mistresses). As a great traveller, he had seen much and had his own ideas of how to build a church. His model was the Byzantine octagon, and the size was modest, the decoration simple. Not a showy emperor (where have we gone wrong??). The cathedral has since been expanded to include a high gothic nave with stained glass windows, a tower and a dome over the original church. The octagonal area with two levels of arches remains the principal seating for the congregation, but the decoration is now dark but glittering mosaics modelled on San Vitale in Ravenna. It is, dear reader, quite stunning. A small, simple jewel. Of course, with the luck the tramps have been having, you would not be remotely surprised to find that the best parts (the Ambo, the shrine with K der G’s remains and the Schatzkammer with the Lotharkreuz and sarcophagus of Proserpina – thought to be the original sarcophagus of KdG until his canonisation when the remains were transferred to the gold shrine) were closed except by guided tours the last one of which had only just departed (it being a half day). We were encouraged to return.

Of course, we did but as the first tour was at 11 and the Couven museum opened at 10, that took priority: a small but rather interesting museum perfectly illustrating the life of an upper middleclass merchant of the 18th century. An apothecary was on the ground floor and contained instruments, weights and measures, and jars. The rest of the building was the home – full of the interests and status symbols of the day: much porcelain imported from China, some fine examples of the first German porcelain by the man who discovered the process (and later, if I am not mistaken, founded the Meissen factory), stunning tiles not just from Holland but from the Middle East and southern Europe as well; numerous paintings of varying degrees of quality and one room of Biedermeier furniture. My very favourite thing of all was a magnificent pagoda chandelier, delicate, colourful and quite unlike anything I had every seen. A small thing, but totally appropriate for a house of the haute bourgeoisie, it was warm inside! (given the cold and rainy day outside, this was a more than a small blessing). From there it was a short walk to the first tour of the cathedral, which meant it was in German (one a day at 2:30, is in English). Trust the trampess’s luck – again - (normally quite good but clearly the tramps are not on a lucky streak) this particular guide spoke the fastest and most complex German she has ever heard; it reminded her of the time she heard Henry Kissinger give an after dinner speech to a small group following a conference on economics and world politics. He had been told, he said, to speak for about 20 minutes on the state of the world and how he saw the next 25 years unfolding (would anyone else be asked to do so much in so little time?). He paused, and then said, “For those of you who know might native tongue, that is about 2 sentences.” It turned out to be more. The tramp, of course, had no difficulty with our German guide, but the trampess had to rely on her eyes, her college memory, and her previous day’s reading. Notwithstanding the impediments, the tour was more than worth it. And KdG’s throne, like his church, was simple – but convincingly royal.

Rushing on to the Schatzkammer on her own (the tramp is rather less interested in chalices and reliquaries), leaving the him to go to a bookstore he had discovered and which did a particularly good number in maps, the trampess was left to explore the treasury. To their credit, the holy fathers of the cathedral were modest in their attributions: many of the relics were “said to be”; these numbered: the hunting horn made from an elephant’s tusk of KdG, his sabre, a piece of Christ’s belt (!), a piece of the rope used in His flagellation (!!), and the bones of many saints. There were also more believable relics and treasures: Margaret of York’s crown, a rather important Cornish chest, and, of course, the promised Lothar cross and Proserpina’s sarcophagus. All beautifully, simply but dramatically displayed (Hamburg take note).

After lunch in a reasonable Thai restaurant (not the Blue Elephant but tolerable – and with an unusually sullen Thai waitress – the trampess had thought this an oxymoron but was sadly proved wrong), the tramps proceeded to the Rathaus which was originally connected to the cathedral and all part of the original Pfalz. The top floor comprised a huge mediaeval hall with paintings and frescoes of KdG’s many triumphs. Downstairs was rather more grand, in the ornate sense of the word, and included two huge, full length portraits of Napoleon and Josephine (not exactly heroes in Germany so one has to ask . . .). After a brief walk around town (a longer one had been taken that morning before anything was open), the tramps went back to the WLW and prepared for take off – the tramp’s goal was Cologne.

And a worthy goal it was, too. But sadly, one which was not achieved, owing to a not so brief encounter with another vehicle after the first intersection from our ever so convenient parking place. As was now SOP the trampess was armed with multiple maps (exiting Aachen, big picture motorway maps, and multiple maps for entering Cologne – her only fear, since the bus parking place we had found in Cologne before moving on to Aachen can only be entered from one direction – approaching from the other direction requires a u-turn that the WLW simply cannot make – and besides u-turns are out of favour at the moment for reasons that do not require stating). The departure was dead simple: exit car park, proceed to intersection (a few hundred metres down the road), turn left and immediately move into the right lane for entering the motorway 200 metres down the road. After that, a clear way to Cologne via motorway and then anxiety for the trampess as to whether she and the voice would agree on the approach post motorway. (I believe I left out any mention of our visit to St. Augustin – wonderful in all respects – and Cologne, before Aachen – visit wonderful, navigation disastrous; no doubt the anxieties of trying to keep up with a very large WLW heading down increasing narrower streets – think of a lobster trap – or a small but speedy Smart while trying to reach off road sites was more than slightly stressful and as such pushed the memory into deep, distant, please-don’t remind-me,-just-memorise-every-street-in-central-Cologne,-know-where-you-are-at-all-times-and-save-your-marriage mode).

The tramp, it must said at the outset, is an outstandingly good driver (after all he did have to drive a 40 tonne articulated lorry in reverse around a corner and then proceed 200 metres, still in reverse, along the road without losing control of the rear 20 tonnes as one small part of getting his HGV licence in Germany), so you must assume, and particularly since such a large vehicle as the WLW cannot speedily turn left, that the tramp looked in all directions once he had a left turn green light before turning into the intersection and moving into the right lane (which is almost inevitable even if going straight since the WLW cannot possible move straight away into the left lane even if she wanted to – she is trim but simply too large, a traditionally built WLW you might say). So the sudden crunch caused by an encounter with a small VW Polo on his right flank slightly behind the front of our beloved WLW (who by this time could be excused for feeling a bit battered) was, to say the least, startling. She was not in any of the tramp’s mirrors or tv cameras (there are 6) and whether she was trying to overtake us on the right or simply sneaking through the left hand turn light herself before it turned red, may never be known.

What is known is that her front bumper and our front wheel cover were interlocked in such a way that for either vehicle to move forward would cause considerably more damage to both. Normally, one would exit the vehicle, exchange insurance details and move on. A bit difficult in the tramp’s case since the only door was blocked by her car, (it should be clear from this that any collisions should only take place on the left side, anything else is just too complicated). Jumping out of the window was perhaps possible, though very awkward and even then probably only with a rope, but re-entering would not be. Plus there was the complication of how to move on without further damage. iPhones and cameras came out. The trampess hung suspended out the front side window and photographed the entwined bumper. She was then instructed by the tramp to photograph the view from the driver’s side (another out of the window effort) back to the intersection to show that the angle of entry from the intersection made his intentions (we won’t even mention the perfect signalling) transparent to anyone who cared to look. Police were summoned but did not appear for over an hour. Meanwhile the intersection was well and truly blocked – at least for large vehicles; cars drove along the central island to pass on the main road and on the side road cars and some very skilled trucks could pass on the right entry slip road that we were not completely blocking (the skill of truck drivers is not to be underestimated and to say that an inch is as good as a mile when applied to a very long vehicle significantly understates what such a manoeuvre requires – as well as a large intake of breath on the trampess’s part). With neither party willing to admit guilt, and with the problem of the interlocking, neither of us moved.

An off-duty policeman was the first on the scene. Not of the same polite nature (perhaps owing the great inconvenience being caused to other drivers, him included) he merely screamed at us all to pull up and off to the side of the road to clear the intersection. The tramp politely asked if he would mind photographing the vehicles from the front (something which you, dear reader, understand was impossible for us, trapped as we were inside the WLW) and then we would happily try to disengage. Not a chance. He drove off as quickly as possible muttering as he went. Various discussions continued between the tramp and the other driver, all suitably polite (the politeness of Germans is vastly underrated: had this been in Italy, I can assure you, as I have witnessed such things in the past, jackets would be off and fists in the air). Conversation with a bus driver trapped behind us on the other hand was less so. When the local, on-duty policeman eventually arrived, he took photos from the front (of his own volition), guided the vehicles out of their locked position, and politely (by now, you would expect no less) fined both drivers 35 euros for blocking the intersection which both (of course) accepted with good grace. As it transpires the damage was not as great as it might have been, but nonetheless required immediate attention. Another day, another factory. Let’s just say that the next factory was in a rather obscure location and the way out was no longer onto the motorway as expected. The trampess’s worst nightmare (well, let us be frank, what she had expected to be her worst nightmare, the worst having already happened) was realised, and the entry into Cologne was completely different from the agreed route. God, having been off duty for awhile, finally came back into the picture on the trampess’s side, granted her His blessing by making the route to the bus parking place relatively straight forward, not without some, ah, discussion, but without difficult and certainly without a u-turn.

Hamburg, Luebeck or Bust! And . . . . the winner is . . . . Bust!

The tramp had to wait longer for the spare part than originally expected so Hamburg was delayed yet again. Just as the WLW was about to pull out of the factory and the trampess was saying her last goodbyes to the staff (we are all quite friendly now), the owner came over to find out where we were planning to stay in Hamburg. All the tramp’s careful research was rejected and a new campsite right on the harbour was suggested (much quieter and a very good location; the one in the Stellplatz guide while not a bad location sits under an U-bahn stop and is very noisy; quiet is good and harbour is even better). This change had one small consequence (which is never small but the trampess is improving) which was that the carefully debated navigation routes and entries on both navigation systems (one can never be too careful, but don’t ask me how we decide when they disagree – this is worse than being a parent) had to be re-entered. It is always more stressful to do this when the engine is running, the tramp is in the driver’s seat and the only place for the trampess is on her knees in front of the navi systems. Add a glaring sun to the mix and mistakes can happen. With relative calm, and a few deep breaths before and during, despite the prevailing conditions, the re-entries took place and the drive began. Sound having been restored, the navigation voice once more deigned to speak to us, making the trip much easier. Earphones on and Wagner on the iPod and the trip promised to be pleasant.

Sadly, on arrival in Hamburg (all three maps – from autobahn to big view of city to detailed city map – in full use with full commentary by your trampess and only an occasional comment from the tramp) at the preferred campsite which was really just a parking lot on the harbour – but conveniently located as promised - the tramps were unceremoniously chased away by the parking lot attendant: full – to the gills. I won’t mention that we passed it (with the tramp noting that these places all have gps addresses which get us within 3 meters of the destination so why didn’t we see the entrance in time???!!!) and had to make a u-turn (u-turns do not come naturally to a vehicle over 11m long) – meaning we drove a long way down the road before coming to a rather tight traffic circle where we could reverse direction (tension by this time was mounting in the cockpit) so that this rejection was doubly wounding (and time consuming).

Once more on her knees, this time in Friday night traffic (did I mention the trip took at least two hours longer than it should have owing to exceptional traffic entering the city?), the trampess re-entered the original destination. I will spare you, dear reader, the details of the journey from one campsite to the other but let’s just say that we did make it and it was relatively straight forward, though by now definitely past our supper time. As we entered the correct street (and from that vantage point saw nothing like a campsite even though the street was not so very long) the tramp re-iterated the gps location remark and decided to check out our destination on foot before committing the vehicle (one does not wish to be like a lobster in a trap – able to enter, not able to exit). Wise decision, as it was as described: under the U-bahn and very noisy. In the meantime, the tramp spotted a legal parking space (free even) behind a truck (safety in numbers) and the area being largely industrial would be quiet on the weekend. We circled the block and settled in for the night – indeed for the weekend. And while the view of the impounded by customs car lot we were next to was less than what we have become accustomed to, we were happy to call it home for the night.

Our patience and acceptance were rewarded the next day with sun. But instead of sightseeing we, of necessity, turned to finding a suitable supermarket. Not so easy in an industrial area (there were warehouses selling food to retailers but no retailers and even though the tramps eat large quantities of vegetables even we do not qualify, nor could we carry, a wholesale quantity of all that we needed). Nonetheless, after half an hour walking, and some good directions from the nearest petrol station, we arrived at a more than adequate supermarket, called Real – hopeful, no? Not, the tramp told me, an upmarket brand but the produce was actually very fresh with a huge organic selection. Your trampess was in vegan heaven. Of course the walk back to the WLW was also half an hour only this time the tramps were laden (running out of olive oil is a serious matter and one bottle will not do – not to mention the trampess’s tipple). Still, in good spirits, with the sun shining we arrived home and the trampess made lunch – 11:30 is a very early lunch but since the morning had been spent doing errands the afternoon had to be extended to allow for the purpose of being in Hamburg: to see Hamburg.

The tramp decided that such a nice day should not be spent inside a museum (along with churches always first on the trampess’s list) to which the trampess could only concur, so we set out to the harbour and the site of all the old warehouses (Speicherstadt). It has to be said when the Germans do urban renewal they don’t mess around. The old buildings are beautifully restored, the new ones are striking (more about which later) and the space for pedestrians (and bikes) is well thought out – as long as you remember that bikes are everywhere, silent and have their own lane – perish the thought that you should walk on red bricks when you should be walking on stone! There is a marvellous maritime museum, a stunning walk along the harbour with restaurants and cafes (all of which look remarkably un-German – no bier and bratwurst here). The number of cranes and building sites is unbelievable but there is enough already finished to understand just how fabulous this area will be, and indeed already is. We kept walking past the still-being-built-concert hall (the subject of much controversy as the original budget was 180m euros and is now expected to reach 500m euros), which can be visited for a small fee in a guided tour, (they have to bridge that 320m somehow) and as the tramp loves building sites as much as he loves harbours the tour was added to the to do list, and then carried on along the water until we reached the working harbour – and principal tourist area. After finally reaching our original (campsite) destination there and finding that Monday morning would be a good time to arrive, we returned to the boats offering tours of the harbour. What better to do on a sunny afternoon than take a boat around the second largest harbour in Europe (Rotterdam, in case you were wondering – please see the Turner painting in the Frick – it was big back then, as indeed was Hamburg, which in fact may be on the opposite wall). Swimming docks, shipyards, container ships coming and going, tugboats waiting for action – and we weren’t walking any more (not much more a trampess could want after about 8 miles non-stop – excluding the morning’s shopping). The long walk home was interrupted by a coffee in one of the cafes in the rather nicer part of the harbour and a determination to visit the concert hall and the maritime museum the next day.

It was good that we did the harbour tour on Saturday – being on the top deck of a boat on a grey, rainy day is not fun. Neither, as it turns out, is waiting to see if there are returns for the concert hall tour (apparently it sells out as quickly as the Ring at Covent Garden – in a few minutes the tickets for one month, three months in advance, are sold out). The trampess, who can always find good coffee in a storm, found a student hangout which had soya cappuccinos (a small miracle in German where the word soja generally produces a screwed up expression and the German equivalent of “come again?”) and silent(!) videos made by Red Bull of extreme sports (worth the detour) on the wall. The return to the model of the concert hall (where there was a brief lecture, and a number of videos plus schematics of the building) resulted in no returns so the tramps set off for the nearby maritime museum in a splendidly redone old warehouse, situated on a canal, reached by going over an old iron bridge and with a marvellous piazza in front. Nine storeys of outstanding exhibitions left your tramps panting (texting accelerated – it is a long standing rule that everyone’s pace in a museum is different, the larger the museum therefore, the greater the distance between the tramps becomes - near the end as it was well past lunchtime and the tramp wondered if the chef would ever make it to the end; she did). The possibility of lunch out had been vetoed the previous day – the tramp declared his willingness to take the trampess out but not if it meant eating the only possible (and pathetic) choice on the menu that would satisfy our vegan eating habits. The one restaurant that looked a distinct possibility was Thai (a good solution in London) but the posted menu revealed not one vegetarian (we won’t even speak of the extremist vegan) option. So, in the full understand of what is meant by an army moves on its stomach, the tramps rumbled home and lunch was finally served at about 3pm. The rules of hiking should now be applied to cities: either eat a bigger breakfast or always have chocolate and nuts in the handbag.

Monday morning meant driving to Luebeck where the tramps were to see the finest example of Backsteingothik in the cathedral (no point in staying in Hamburg to go to the museum since museums are closed on Mondays), churches (unless closed for restoration) are always open. The tramp had given the trampess a gift of the navigation system manual in English, had located a Stellplatz (with full coordinates) in Luebeck and the trampess dutifully put the gps data into the first navigation system and the address into the second (reliable but slightly more old fashioned) . It wasn’t til well beyond Luebeck on the motor way that the trampess remarked that it looked like the tramps wouldn’t be walking to the cathedral. The tramp nearly jumped out of the driver’s seat and said that we would, the spot he had chosen was only a short walk from the centre. The trampess referred to the Stellplatz guide book and read the description. The tramp took the next exit from the autobahn and pulled off the road as soon as was safely possible. It was a grim tramp that repeated the words that have hung over our heads this spring: “we have to get better at this”. Another set of coordinates was entered. And that should have been that. But it wasn’t. the command: Wenn moeglich bitte wenden (if possible make a u-turn) was for once taken literally by the tramp. The trampess could not quite believe the manoeuvre the tramp was about to perform but said nothing (John Gray says men do not like to have their driving prowess questioned) so the trampess bit her tongue (knowing that even in a more benign state the tramp might have taken offense, but certainly in the current state such a suggestion might re-open discussion about the Oder-Neisse line). No one came to a screeching halt and the WLW proceeded in the opposite direction.

You might therefore expect, dear reader, that I was reporting on the delights of Luebeck, having had our spirits restored by our visit to the cathedral and our bodies by a coffee and perhaps one, little, delicious piece of Luebecker marzipan (my Polish grandmother’s favourite – when she was worried about becoming diabetic, which she never did, she allowed herself one small piece a month – you will not be surprised to know that she lived well into her nineties with that kind of discipline), but I am not, and we are not in Luebeck (nor did we ever get there)– we are in some truck factory forecourt waiting for the door of the garage (of the WLW) to be secured so that the German autobahn police who stopped us are content that our progress (now back to our factory not to either Luebeck or Hamburg) will not kill or maim anyone sharing the autobahn with us (they might have been less friendly if they had seen the tramp’s u-turn but luckily they did not – they only spotted us as we drove past a petrol station – our rear door, unbeknownst to us, badly ajar). They gave chase - not that it was hard to catch us given our top allowed speed of 80km/hr. So, suddenly in front of us was a car marked Polizei – looks more ferocious in German with that Z – blue flashing lights on top and a flashing red sign on the back window screen: Bitte folgen; which means, as you have no doubt guessed, Please follow. Polite notice but not really an invitation given the nature of the car signalling. When the tramp got out of the car he must have nearly fainted. Possibly not optimal behaviour for demonstrating complete awareness and control of the vehicle, but no one gets out of a tight spot better than the tramp (apologies to George Clooney). The gap between the garage door and the main frame of the car was more than enough for your trampess to squeeze through. Not exactly falling on the ground, but certainly not inspiring to anyone following!

It is only fair to add at this point that the trampess’s own desire to beg the tramp not to make a u-turn had nothing to do with foreseeing the incident which actually caused the accident (the bottom of our garage door catching the top of a small pillar in the lay-by where we had been contemplating our fate), so any thought that I was trying to prevent the disaster that ensued would have been badly misplaced. And even if I had told him to please not make the u-turn any notion that “I told you so” was applicable would also not have been and would only have added insult to injury. It was clear, the only thing for the trampess to do was to start cooking. So here we are, post lunch, waiting til we are pronounced safe enough to return to my favourite factory.