This poem came about when I was in a bar in Smithfield and my companion pointed out to me that a group of East Germans had just sat down at a table behind me, or so I thought.
"How can she know they're Germans, never mind East Germans?" I wondered, and looked around but saw no hints that might solve this bizarre mystery. Search as I might through the smokey mists, nothing, not even an echo of a "Ja, meine Liebe", gave me a clue.
Then, like a teenage girl at the back of a bus, I noticed that Griff Rhys-Jones was sitting nearby with a young friend. In a flash, like a dormouse searching for cheddar which suddenly realises it is surrounded by a rich and flavoursome Gorgonzola, all had became clear!
© 1995 Billy O'Flagherty