There's something so romantic about winter and I don't know whether that's just because

I'm a bit for homebody and I love a 5th but I think it's just the holiday period is just

for me it's the most romantic period and I think anyone who's listened to my records

will know that I'm quite a big fan of romance.

Joy in every sip with red carp snout back at Starbucks.

Then the evening of Monday, February 27, 1933 puts the hamstangle the Nazi press chief

is having a lie down.

He should have been at Joseph Goebbels' apartment tonight, dining with Adolf Hitler.

But, felled by a touch of flu, he snuggled up in his temporary quarters within Herman Goebbels'

official residence, the palace of the Reichstag president.

At 9.30pm, hamstangle is rudely awakened.

It's the housekeeper.

It takes a moment for his fog to clear, but there can be no mistaking her words.

The Reichstag she's shrieking.

It's on fire.

Hamstangle staggers to the window, to the south of the silhouettes of the capital's grand

buildings, the foreign ministry, the Rekoko splendor of the Reich chancelry, the great frame

of the Brandenburg Gate.

But, to the west, just across the way, the sky is a glow.

Angry flames are looking at the great glass dome of the German parliament building.

A pole of black smoke billows into the night.

With sirens rising in the background, hamstangle scrambles for the phone.

...