Went to the German equivalent of Boots today. Everything in store was shipshape and Superdrug fashion until I found the aisles for wine and cat food. Rather unnerving in a chemist. Still, it’s nice that I’ve finally found a shop where I can buy all my daily essentials (toothpaste, salmon Cesar and a fruity Pinot Noir) all in one place.

Sorry to learn about the damage that storms are doing around the world, especially in India. I have been reading that developing nations have a lot of work to do to adapt their infrastructure for challenges of the present climate, let alone a future climate altered by greenhouse gases. Happily for you, dear readers, I cannot whinge about climate change today, because I have been sheltered from any media comment surrounding these storms. To and from work I have been listening to Deutsche Kultur Radio, which is the closest I can find to the Today programme on Radio 4. The difference is that DKR plays horrific jazz and Lighthouse Family numbers between interviews, and goes a bit easier on its guests than John Humphrys would (presumably because the German guests have had the fight sapped out of them by the afore-mentioned muzak).

The point is that because my German is still more Duplo than Lego Technik, I only understand the news in very broad brushstrokes. Tony Blair has gone, I think, and may go somewhere else. Poland was up to something naughty in the EU, dunno what. Germans drink 40 million bottles of vodka a year. Or, the average German drinks 40 bottles of vodka a year. One of the two. It’s quite nice, being in a bubble.

When I cave in to my cravings for spoken English media, I have been turning to NPR: the American National Public Radio played for the benefit of the forces over here. This is a quite marvellous aural resource that frankly by itself justifies my move to the Fatherland. For a start, there are weather reports for all of the discerning traveller’s top destinations: Germany, Italy, Norway, Iraq (always “110 degrees and dusty”). Then there are extraordinary public service adverts for soldiers, imploring them to, “Visit your transition office at least 12 months before your separation,” and letting them know that ”It takes a man to be a dad. Call 001-970-DAD,” or “Heard the latest rumour about where your husband or wife will be deployed next? Rumour is a piece of gossip spread by word of mouth. That’s the dictionary definition. Rumours can destroy morale. Talk to your duty commander to get the real deal.” My favourite so far goes along the lines of:

<classical music interlude> Wry voiceover: “That’s not the kind of music I’d usually listen to.” <fade music> Perkier voice: “Hi, I’m Mary-Jo Flange. You can always choose between Beethoven and Bo Diddly. That’s discriminatory choice. But don’t discriminate between people because of their colour, race or gender…”

The NPR highlight, though, is Paul Harvey, who I had never heard of but appears to be a news-reading legend. He sounds about 97. I suspect he has been in the same window-less studio in Kansas City since 1974, reading out sheets of news shoved under his door fresh from the wires. He stutters, pauses inappropriately, stresses completely the wrong syllables, and has the listener in the palm of his hand.

If you woke at 3am to one of Harvey’s bulletins, you wouldn’t know you weren’t still sleeping. I know, because I wrote this down in wonderment last night: ”… a full-sized stuffed bear with a KIND FACE. A mechanical BEAR designed to take soldiers… away from combat. IN Karachi PakisTAN, rain and wind have killed HUNDREDS… philanthropy is the Greater Good GOLF NEWS! … he freed himself… by cutting off two FINGers with a pocketknife… Association of Retired Persons - ARP!… Cheese prices are on the up and inCREASing… It’s something everywhere: in the mangrove swamps of Uttar Pradesh, hungry TIGERS are looking for anything potable…”

A better example of the goodness of radio you couldn’t hope to find. Well, that’s all the news that’s fit to print today.