I had always been well-known for doing the wrong thing, and I did it now.
I hit him in the solar plexus, expecting him to double up so that I could
get away. German border guards are tougher than that, as I soon found out
when he snatched his gun from its holster and hit me on the side of the head
with the butt. Dazed, I collapsed on to the bed. As he came to stand over me
I remember thinking, “This is it, you’ve had your chips, Tony.’ Then I must
have lost consciousness for a while.

Driving on the right was absolutely terrifying for me as passenger. I
seemed far too close to the vehicles on the other side of the road, and when
we overtook a slower lorry, the oncoming traffic hurtled straight for me.
Pete was a good driver, though, and took no unnecessary risks. After a while
I relaxed and started to notice the strange Flemish town names. My efforts
at pronouncing them made Pete smile, and when I overheard two locals
conversing in a shout outside a bar, my mimicry of them was so accurate that
he nearly drove off the road, laughing so much.

“Come on, pack it in,’ he grinned at me, “you’ll have no voice left if you
go on like that!’ Then, more thoughtfully, he added, “Perhaps this trip
could be fun, after all.’