So Mr. Fact had taken himself off for a drink with his pal to a bier-stube in Munich. It was just a bar, nothing special, but in the way of these things rather atmospheric and subterranean.
At a table near the counter there is a grizzly down-and-out slumped in a pool of beer. There is a piano in the corner.
Mr. Fact and his friend order a couple of litres of beer, and take themselves to another table.
All is quiet. There is no one else in the bar. They speak in hushed tones.
Suddenly, the dosser leaps to his feet and charges to the piano, dripping beer from his head.
He collapses on the stool, and begins to play, crashing out a first chord. Mr. Fact and his friend wince.
But then the dosser starts to play the second and third notes, and Mr. Fact ( being a factual sort of person) realises that the music is by Beethoven. The dosser continues most beautifully until the end of the piece. He finishes as many concert pianists do, with arms held straight before him,fingers caressing the keyboard, leaning back, eyes closed in rapture. He holds the last note perfectly.
Then he passes out and topples over backwards onto the floor.
" Just leave him" says the barkeep. " He's the cheapest piano player we've ever had here. He's entitled to 5 litres of beer a night but can't remember beyond two, so we are always marks in (Ed.: it should have been euros). But he does play beautifully doesn't he?"
Mr. Fact agreed - even when the dosser eventually came to and started playing Jazz.