As freebies go it might be said to lack a certain something. This weekend a rival newspaper (oh, all right, The Independent) dangled two remarkable goodies in front of promiscuous readers. A CD on Saturday. And then a book on Sunday. So far, so very mainstream marketing concept. Offer readers a few tracks from the Streets, or the Stones, and then follow up with a slice of chick-lit or a repackaged classic.

But what was remarkable about this offer was the daring nature of the content. Not daring in a raunchily provocative sense, but daring in the presumptions made about what might interest the discriminating consumer. For the CD and book set were a teach-yourself-German course. For many of us with memories of German grammar from school, the offer would have been as tempting as the chance to acquire a set of GCSE chemistry papers or a slide square and graph paper with our weekend reads.

Yes, I know that the selling point of a German course this year would be the help it might give anyone venturing over for the World Cup. But of all the concerns those following England might have, I don’t think that expressing themselves properly in the subjunctive mood will be among them.

Nevertheless, I for one am still prepared to salute the effort. Not just out of admiration for the quixotic turn media marketing may be taking (who knows what’s next? Essential Latin Grammars dished out free with every Daily Mirror? The Daily Mail offering The Critique of Pure Reason as a partwork?) but out of liking for Germany itself.

Any attempt made to engender understanding of, or affection towards, Germany gets my vote. Given a choice of any other European nation in which to holiday, I’d choose Germany every time. Better wine than Spain. Nicer countryside than France. Richer culture than Italy. My top suggestion for any weekend break would, unhesitatingly, be Berlin. A stroll along Unter den Linden, a visit to the traditional glories of Museum Island, immersion in the contemporary art of the Hamburger Bahnhof, shopping along the Kurfürstendamm, a contemplative drink in the Hotel Adlon, dinner in any one of several great restaurants. Berlin, like New York, offers the visitor beautifully laid-out classical culture in an environment of vibrant modernity. In contrast to the stuffiness of Paris and Rome, Berlin feels youthful and engaged with the moment.

My affection goes beyond an appreciation of what the capital has to offer. I think that German is a more pleasing language than either French (which sounds alternately unctuous or pushy to my ear) or Italian (which I still invest with an inescapably comic quality). I defy anyone listening to Schubert’s Winterreise or Tristan und Isolde to deny the inherent musicality of German.

And, while I’m on the subject, there’s no use denying that my affection for Germany is influenced by my belief that it produced one of the undoubted artistic geniuses in Richard Wagner. Germany has a prouder musical tradition — from Bach to Strauss — than any other nation, even Russia. And Wagner sits at the pinnacle — a musical innovator and dramatic visionary whose massive personal failings only make his art all the more compelling.

I appreciate that there are some aspects to German life and culture which others may not enjoy in quite the way I do. As previous readers of this column will know, large meals that combine red meat and fat-drenched starch are close to my idea of heaven. And that’s just for breakfast. I am not a huge beer-drinker, which may seem an impediment. But I still hold to the view, genuinely widespread among connoisseurs in Britain until a generation ago, that Germany produces some of the world’s best whites and Riesling is a grape to cherish.

I drive a German-designed car (although it was manufactured in the Czech Republic). And because I drive it like a Hollywood star (Mr Magoo), I am eternally grateful to German designers for their willingness to put reliability before looks. Its also a quality one observes in the nation’s central defenders.

For all that, I shall still be hoping that this year’s World Cup ends in an England victory. But for different reasons perhaps than most, I do hope it’s Germany they meet in the final.

Rank ingratitude to good old Tommy

Visiting a defence base in the course of my work last week, I was struck once again by the impressiveness of the British Army’s officers. In a world where a disregard for other people’s time has become almost standard (consider the inability of so many services to respect fixed appointments) the calm, ordered punctuality was just one reminder of their professionalism. The men and women I met, from all ranks, and serving in a far-from-glamorous unit, were well briefed on current affairs, engaging conversationalists, intellectually curious and had clearly given a great deal of thought to how their profession was seen in a changing, and critical, world. These virtues sit alongside a willingness to risk their lives in our service. So when I read that Prince Harry and fellow officer cadets had been celebrating the end of their time at Sandhurst with a visit to a lap-dancing bar I thought of Rudyard Kipling:

We aren’t no thin red ’eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;

An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints, Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints.

And let us pray that they never will . . .

Bush whacking

What’s wrong with us in a nutshell. A series to be continued. Item one. Iran sponsors terrorism, and its leadership is pledged to the elimination of another nation. It’s trying to acquire a nuclear weapon. Its leaders explain that the Holocaust never happened. But, never mind, they’re going to make good where the Nazis left off by obliterating the Jewish people. Meanwhile, the American President asks his top team what can be done to stop this. And then the entire media-political consensus allocates their time not to analysing Iran but to worrying about what America might do. Moral? The key to being respected in British life, when faced with any tough question, is always blame George Bush.

The author is Conservative MP for Surrey Heath.

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