"Holy Emma, what a lovely bint," he groans, wiping a little blood carefully from the photograph. "When you see a Russian rose like this," he goes on, winking invitingly at the girl in the snapshot, "you realise that our lot's Maker must have been in a bad mood the day He made the standard German model, with her hair in a bun, and even the hairs of her cunt tied in braids!"

"That load of Middle Ages shit only a nationality-crazy German's capable of thinking up," says Gregor, contemptuously.

Julius Heide is struck dumb. He has never heard anything like it. To call the national masterpiece 'Die Niebelungen' a load of shit. He notes down the date, time and names of all present on his message pad.

Soon after, the Bavarians begin using noodles and black puddings, which they have brought with them for lunch, as missiles. In only a few minutes of time the whole storehouse begins to look like a blown up field-kitchen. A huge soft cheese sandwich, with onions, comes flying through the air and smashes, like a grenade, against the wall, close to the Old Man.

"It occurs to me, seeing you sitting there chewing on that ancient crust of yours," Porta smiles, broadly. "It comes back to me, that there is a Moroccan dish they call coconut bread. First steal two pieces of white bread from a baker while he is chatting up a girl or something, dip them in cream, pull them through a pan of coconut flour, which you can also steal from the same cunt-crazy baker, and toast them lightly over a small coal fire. They should be served piping hot, with, for example, ice-cold cherries or stewed apricots. I prefer cherries. A cultivated Morrocan eats three or four slices, before taking off his baggy trousers, and moving on to the pleasures of the harem."

"One more word and it'll be your last!" screams Barcelona, drawing his pistol, "I'll blast your brains out, so help me!"

(Er, Porta doesn't stop there of course...)