‘But the fact remains, Mr Powell, that Klink was a German character. Andrew is simply not a popular name in Germany – during the Second World War and today. You meet almost no Germans called Andrew. There are plenty of Adlers and Wolfgangs and Fritzes and Klauses – but virtually no Andrews. Perhaps none at all. It’s like Americans called Simon – there aren’t any. First name, I mean. Paul Simon is not what I’m getting at.’

‘I stand by the information at hand,’ he said wilfully. ‘Next question.’

‘Hang on! We haven’t finished with this. Pass me a sausage will you?’ Powell nodded very slightly and one of his aides immediately handed me a swollen bratwurst; a Secret Service guy held out a selection of mustards and relishes. ‘Thanks. My point is that you can’t stand by information that’s patently false. It’s irresponsible. I mean, how would you like it if I renamed members of The Brady Bunch?’

A sudden blankness descended on Powell’s face like a shroud. ‘Excuse me for just one moment,’ he said, then moved swiftly to the corner of the backyard behind the pool (he’s very light on his feet for such a big fellow) for what was obviously an emergency pop cultural briefing from a mid-level advisor. A few moments later he returned, just as I was dabbing at my red and yellow mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Would that be the whole names of the entire family? For instance Marcy Brady becomes …’

‘Her name is Marcia,’ I corrected.

‘Marcia Brady would be renamed, for example, Sara-Sue Suggins?’ I nodded, and looked around for a Coke.

‘I can’t see Congress letting that pass,’ Powell said gravely.

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘That’s exactly my point, but, y’know, without the whole Congressional angle.’

General Powell clenched his fists and asked me whom I represented.

‘I represent people all over the world who respect the truth about popular sitcoms; people who will not stand for your grotesque inaccuracies. Them and an Australian newspaper magazine. A very popular one.’

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