From Hampton Court to Hamburg
On travelling between British public history and German memory politics

When I woke up on Monday, I had no idea where I was. I sat bolt upright in bed, worried that I’d overslept and missed something important. But what? A flight? A lecture? An interview? And what time was it anyway?
As I came to, I looked around and found that I was in a large, loft-style room with exposed brick walls and huge double-aspect windows. Everything looked effortlessly stylish. Of course, it came back to me, I was in Hamburg.
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