OK, you lot, you asked for it
OK, where was I?

Oh yes, the lovely Ursula. She left Nice with her school chums and I remained for a while…[imagine hitting the fast-forward button for a bit]…met crazy Parisian/Algerian girl, just friends, went to Paris with her, then London with me briefly, then back to France to pick grapes, hitch-hiking, met people, did stuff, grapes finished, rang Ursula as she lived in Minfeld nr. Karlsruhe in the German grape producing area of Pfalz. She said she could arrange grape-picking work for me near her, I could stay at her house. Verdict: result! I got on a train in southern France with a couple of litres of red wine in my pack and somehow managed to arrive at Karlsruhe minus the red wine, in a train packed with young French army conscripts. [back to normal speed]

At the station, there was my lover looking really good. I found out her Dad owned a car dealership so she had the pick of the cars as run-abouts. We put my rucksack in the boot of a Renault 25 and she floored it home, which was a three storey detached residence next to the dealership.

Now, looking back on it, her folks were really good, I had been living in a tent for most of the previous month, was smelly, un-shaven and dirty. I was also foreign. I was also older than their clean-living, sweet-smelling, angelic daughter. So, I met Mutti and Varti and also her big brother (uh-oh). Ursula had warned me about him; he had ‘issues’, his fiancée had just dumped him, he was drinking too much and he’d attempted suicide.

Soooo, we went to her room where she very kindly asked if I wanted a shower, and boy, you know those few occasions when you feel completely transformed by a wash? Well, this was one of those times. Being German and with a big house, their walk in shower was the dog’s danglies, I emerged, wrapped in a towel and went back to her room. The change had the desired effect as she pounced on me and we rolled on the bed. It was late at night by this time, and everyone was in bed, she was due to sleep in the spare room, but took the time to make sure I was comfortable…which included taking her clothes off and impaling herself on me the ‘wrong way round’, while I lay on my back with the perfect view of possibly the nicest bottom east the Rhine as it rose and fell, rose and fell…

Sorry about that…ahem! So, she left me not quite as clean as I had been ten minutes before, but a hell of lot sleepier and about two fluid ounces lighter.

Now, you lot know that I always try to tell the truth, or at least as much of it as I can remember, so it’s confession time now. I didn’t love Ursula. In fact, hands up who remembers ‘Girl-of-my-dreams’? Yes, I was still in love with her, but that had been the summer before, and it was months since I had had any contact with her. I knew Ursula was in love with me, and I was using her like the horrid man I was. Question was, was this bad of me? She loved me, I was here with her, giving her pleasure, I hadn’t said I loved her – well, not since that moment on the beach, and it doesn’t count if you say it in a foreign language, right? I was enjoying myself greatly but truthfully, it would have been better for her if I’d stayed away…anyway, too late for that now, go to sleep Che, it’ll all work out OK in the morning.

Next day, lovely German breakfast, rolls, ham, salami, cheese, coffee, then Ursula took me to work. School had started back so she dropped me off on her way in. She, or her Dad, had fixed me up with some local wine-maker as a grape picker, so I was dropped off in a near-by village, called…Scheidt, yes, I can truly say I was in Scheidt every morning before I even started work.

The work was fine; very different from Languedoc Roussillon though, much taller vines, grown over wires, more widely spaced, tractors etc. It was also a hell of a lot colder, greener and wetter than the rosy Southern hillside terraces. There was one guy there that spoke very good English - he’d spent a year or so in London when he was younger - and he told me what to do. Most of the workers were local rural German women and they seemed to think I was something of an oddity, but we got on fine. At lunchtime, there was good grub at long tressle tables and at the end of the day, I was dropped off back in Scheidt, and there was my little angel in her Renault 19.

To cut a novel down to a novella, each evening Ursula and I would go out as soon as I was showered and changed. We usually went into Karlsruhe to a café/bar called the Krokodil or somesuch. Here we would drink beer and she would tell me how unhappy she was, how she couldn’t bear it at home any more, the atmosphere was horrible, her brother only came out of his room to find more booze or shout at people, a couple of times he’d hit her. Her parents were running out of patience and snapping all the time, they were only polite when I was around; there were lots of tears.

Throughout all of this I was useless. Like the bloke I am, I didn’t know what to say, what to do or how to act. Basically, all I wanted to do was work, get some money, have sex if at all possible and move on. Unfortunately for me, the sex was out now, the atmosphere or something someone had said made it too dangerous.

We had some good times, the first weekend we went to a neuer wein and chestnuts party. A couple of hours walking in the woods collecting chestnuts, then bottles of the new wine, still fizzy and roasted chestnuts a-plenty. We also went to a gig where one of Ursula’s friends called Timo was playing in a surprisingly good but weird band: a couple of black Americans from a nearby air force base and four white german kids – very funky, very tight. I met some of Ursula’s friends, one of whom sticks in my mind, her name was Trixie and she was a peach! She clearly fancied the arse off me and the feeling was mutual – I’m ashamed to say I even copped a lovely feel of her arse outside the club when Ursula went to fetch the car…

…perhaps that is why I was so frisky when we got home. When Ursula came in to say good night, I was starkers (always sleep in the nude) and she consented to a quick cuddle, though I knew nothing else was on the cards. Suddenly, the door opened and we heard Mutti’s voice say something before it slammed shut again. Shit! She’d seen my naked bod on top of her - admittedly clothed – daughter.

More tears, Ursula went out, sounds of shouting, doors banging…let me tell you, shouting in German is more scary than other shouting, well it is if you’re naked in a German house, young and, let’s not forget, Jewish.

Later on, Ursula helped me pack and at first light she took me to the station (I can’t remember which car it was) and helped me buy a ticket. I was going back to Nice where I knew a lovely 15 year old girl with friendly parents who’d put me up for a bit.

We did the old waiting for a train routine: checked the platform, checked it was on time, went for a coffee, had a cigarette or two, didn’t really talk much, held hands. Men aren’t really strong silent types, they just can’t think of anything useful to say most of the time. Train came in, and then something strange happened, I started crying. Real tears, streaming down my face. I tried to hide them from Ursula, well, I made it look as if I was trying to hide them, but made damn sure she noticed [told you I told the truth], then clung to her for one last kiss, our tears mingling, I hauled my rucksack onto my back and climbed aboard. By the time I found a seat, the train was moving, and the tears continued to stream down my face as we pulled out of the station, I could hardly make out the figure of Ursula running beside my window on the platform.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 24 Nov 2006, 15:32, Reply)