Spanish Knights

Sid here. Sid Schweinsteiger. Thank you Antonia for the password clue. We are able to watch Premier League football in the civilised German prison system. I am hopeful of transfer soon to the open prison. Frau Reiniger has been a brick, as you English say. Those who have met Helga in the flesh will agree with this description. She visits without fail and I am happy to announce our forthcoming marriage which will be presided over by Herr Direktor. The open system has conjugal visits.

The German system is geared totally to rehabilitation and I have been successfully rehabilitated thanks to Herr Direktor and his team. And thanks to the love of a good woman, Helga. I am allowed one hour on the Internet, though my usual sites are prohibited. I also must not use certain words so please bare  stay with me.

Antonia brought you to the point of that wonderful evening at my former entertainment bar in sunny Spain. There are many good things about prison life. Not the least of them is to be able to relive those exceptional moments in my mind and on the DVD player, over and over again.

As a bar owner, much of the work is routine. But some nights there is a special feeling in the air, unrelated to the aroma from the Servicios. My eyes caught fire when Caroline and Antonia walked in, accompanied by their two fine men colleagues. I recognised them immediately from the orienteering exercise even though they looked different in their glamorous clothes and make-up. They spotted me at the end of the bar. I pretended I was a customer, not wishing to scare them away. But once in my office upstairs I called Melody and told to her the good news. Our candidates were about to audition.

As a service to the local community and to boost tourism, I allowed my facilities to be used on Thursday nights for amateur theatrics and, if I may go so far as to use the word, burlesque. My generosity extended to giving a token prize of two hundred euro to the woman who achieved the greatest popularity from the attentive audience. Most weeks the prize was awarded to a most athletic local woman, Inocenta, who happened to be the daughter of the chief of police.

On this night, Inocenta, for all her imaginative use of the pole, was merely the warm up act. The mixed crowd was won over by the taste and poise of the British performers (though Antonia pretended to be Swedish). Their enthusiasm was not dented at all when Helena, she of the notorious hen party, was sick over the audience in the middle of her 'act'. It added, I think, an element of danger to the proceedings.

I did not know until I read Robert's blog that Antonia had practised before, but with rear view it is obvious to me that she was almost a professional. If I have any money left after the fines I would pay her for a new performance. Yet it was the redhead with the stagename Bluebell who captured the hearts of the audience and the two hundred euro. She stormed to victory. Melody, who had come down to the bar to watch from my office with me, knew immediately that Caroline was the perfect honey for our little trap.