I guess the need for Lebensraum is genetic

I am sitting in a café in Berlin killing a couple of hours while my partner heads off to meet a friend who is such a screaming deluded lefty that it was felt that I would not be able to contain myself. Happily preparing to pen a quick piece on Norseman Gold a bunch of Krauts walk in and bark away in German. I mutter something about being English.

Can you move to smaller table so that we can occupy yours? Hmmm. I guess that the need for Lebensraum did not end in 1945.

Sure. Whatever. I am now sitting in a dark corner taking grim satisfaction from being able to make cheap jokes at their expense as they sprawl all over the benches by the window.