Hitler's Table Talk

BRITISH FURY OVER NORWAY 309
uniform. The English returned whence they had come, long
enough to ask for instructions—and it's to this chance circumstance
we owed our ability to be the first to land.
The best proof that these swine wanted to try something that
time is that they're in a state of fury. The fact is, we frustrated
their intentions by having our information published in the
Norwegian and Danish press.
What a post-mortem they must have held to find out how we
were informed!
As for their Sicilian intrigues, they've been nipped in the
bud by Kesselring's arrival.
147 loth February 1942, evening
SPECIAL GUEST: HIMMLER
Motor cars and their drivers.
Adolf Müller's the man to whom I owe the fact that I
understand the art of driving a car.
Müller had very much vexed me by saying that my car was
not a car but a saucepan, that my drivers drove like dummies,
and that if I went on as I was doing, it wouldn't last long.
"When a car loses one of its wheels," he said (this is what had
just happened to mine), "it's ready for the scrap-heap, and so
is its driver." Thus Müller.
Since he was going to Würzburg to buy a rotary press, Müller
suggested I should come with him. He arrived at our rendezvous
very oddly attired, and his knickerbockers were only a
detail in this rig-out. When he told me he would himself drive
his car, my first reaction was to inform him that I wouldn't
come with him. "Get in," he told me, "and you'll learn what
it is to drive a car." I must honestly confess that the journey
was a revelation to me. Unlike most people, I'm always ready
to learn.
The car itself, first of all, was a sixteen-horse Benz, and it was
in absolutely impeccable condition. By comparison, I saw at
once all the faults of my own car. And I must add that Müller
drove wonderfully well.