In town this week is a bunch of high-powered biz-types. A large contingent of Germans is among them, adding a little bit of Euro-pizzaz to the joint, even though they stayed at the beach. It’s odd seeing all those well-dressed people about the place. Hugo Boss suits aren’t exactly thick on the ground here in the Tropical Midwest, where Sans-a-Belt pants and trucker hats are the dress of choice.

There are two features of the Germanic business type apart from the cut of their threads. First, they are tall, towering a few hands above most of us, and secondly, they walk around in a cloud of cologne. It’s uncanny – all the men smell like, well, Eurotrash. No Old Spice here.

Oh, and one more thing. Some of them have their own three-engined planes. Nice work if you can get it.