Been a bad blogger.
Mother said I shouldn’t blog about other people’s children especially when I am being paid to teach them. But seeing as other people’s children constitute 90% of the hilarity and interest of my life these days, this rather limits me.
The problem with this cyber diary silliness is that once you start you feel that if you don’t continue your life will only ever exist as one page, one static insignificant point in internet history. It’s not even like a one hit wonder (even if it were a ‘hit’) becuase they give no promise of continuation. It’s like a tour which finishes after the introductory talk, all you get is safety advice, bad jokes and a the feeling that it’s not gonna be like what it looked in the pictures. Anyway, all I mean is that I have felt guilty ever since I started this that I have not continued. You may even say I have felt under fair amount of (word)press-ure to reblog. SO here goes. For my concience and ye who humour me.
Following mothers advice I shall limit my Kindergarten spiel to one rather mortifying event which includes no Kiddies and reflects only my own humiliation.
After about 5 minutes of living, working and breathing Kindergarten air I had contracted 101 diseases and bugs. Needless to say I had a constant runny nose and a tickle in my throat. At lunch I thought it wise to nip to the pharmacy and buy some vitamin C tablets to protect me from this barrage of foreign antibodies.
An hour later and back on the premises I am found – by three worried mothers – squatting on the bathroom floor attempting to see into into the tiny mirror and trying desperately to wash what appears to be cocaine from my nose and from the sink. Looking up at my audience I begin to laugh inanely at their expressions of concern and bewilderment and explain – ‘Oh – haha – you see, I’m on MEDICATION’ (I accentuate the last word as if it explains everything, in doing so realising that it is really not the appropriate word and if they didn’t think I was on drugs before they most certainly will now. My tendency to garble the English language in awkward situations remains – it seems – as strong as ever.)
I then back out ,muttering ‘Powder yes, haha like SNOW! Mmm cold yes? So COLD! Tablets you see, EXPLODED!! haha.’ and dabbing at my white powder encrusted face with a handful of wet wipes. I then follow the trail of what is in fact crushed dissolvable vitamin c tablets (this does not mean you can dissolve them in your mouth, a very important and not necessarily obvious point, one I shall certainly be writing to the vitamin c men about) along the corridor and back to the cloakroom where I had attempted the hasty consumption of vitamin c tablets which resulted in the cocaine volcano in my mouth and nose. Sighed and smiled. At least I hadn’t tried to smoke the stuff?
Ok too much said already on that front. I like the kinders and usually they like me.
Right, so now it’s Sunday. Today I visited the nearby flohmarkt at Rathaus Schoneberg where I bought:
White leather sheepskin lined boots: 8€ 
Thick wool arran jumper: 8€
Wool gloves: 3€
Leather trousers (ironically of course): 1€
I nearly bought a very lovely but very huge mohair cape for 90€ but luckily thought better of it.
The market was full of junk and probably quite a few fleas (especially on the 1€ tables) but there were quite a few bits and bobs stalls brimming with oddities and mismatched pieces of History which I look forward to rummaging through on a warmer day. (It is still -8 here which is comparatively warm but still not quite mild enough to amble.)
Laden with my spoils in old assorted carrier bags I stumbled into the first open establishment selling coffee to warm my blue fingerkuppen. It turned out to be a nice little kebab shop where I ordered:
1 kaffee: 80 cts
and, much to the owners -and my own – surprise, half a chicken, on its own: 1.50€
I felt awfully I don’t know – German? Eastern? Poor?? Dickhead? Cold? – sitting at a little creaking table in the corner with a black turkish coffee warming my fingerless gloved hands and dressed in new (but old) wool and fur. Could this be it? My own bohemia?
But then. Oh shit. The four year old turkish girl at the next table asks for nutella with her kebab, ruining my timeless moment of rustic citylife. Or maybe she just gets it better than I do? Maybe she’s the real bohemian, the real alternative here. I can’t believe I have been outquirked by a 4 year old girl in a mickey mouse jacket.
Mental note: order nutella with my next currywurst and watch awed eyes widen behind thick rimmed glasses. Ironic FOOD!? How did we not think of that??
On seeing the dish in question in the flesh (and in the nutella) I hasten to add that I sincerely hope ironic eating – at least of the nutella+kebab variety – does not catch on. If anyone had wondered how to make a doner kebab look less appetising well here is your answer. (I had no camera but I’m sure you can use your imagination.)
Oh my GOTT, on a completely different but slightly related note which I can’t believe I neglected to mention before: In Germany,you can get Milka philadelphia!?? That’s like halfway to a cheesecake… in your sandwich. Wow. In fact this discovery nearly prompted me yo do a best/worst things i’ve found blog. But now it’s kinda defunct as chocoloate philly was definitely the highlight.
Ok, so what else have I done? LOADS. Speed through my first 2 weeks?
Walking east then north then east again then back west. Nearly spending all money in COLOURS KREUZBERG pay per kilo vintage ship on coats and dresses. Settle for (real!?) fur purple scarflet for 3€ found in an off road antique shop which was a brilliant purchase and has since slept soundly upon my clavicle.
Take arty photos of nothings.
Marvel at the sense and the shape of Berlin and its skylines and its groundlines which run along like a family of centuries. Follow the pavements stopping only for coffee or a quick look up.
Come across a gallery opening for Erich Rauschenbach. Listen to his speech, understand 3 words, clap and nod all the same. Look at the pictures for 10 minutes smiling and nodding then exit though the back door untouched by the art but exhilirated by my ability to drift through it.
Dinner and wine with friends which is delicious and civilised in German and English. Bar in Wedding. Very drunk Indian man who thinks he’s a millionaire and desperately buys everyone drinks to prove it. Keeps asking for champagne – stupid question as this is Berlin Hipster territory – only bubbles here are ironic speech bubbles screen printed onto your tote bags. End up at a club in mitte where we dance dance dance till 5 or 6.
Walk walk walk this way that way u-bahn s-bahn kaffee pretzel. More snow. Freeze a little getting lost among the nausea of the holocaust and its memorial.
Then my first working week. Getting rather fond of the S1.
A quick trip to Wannsee after work one day is very lovely despite the cold and the huge ghostly villas which block the icy surface from our path.
Friday brings a private tour round the Reichstag which is wonderful in the snow beside the frozen spree. So vast an expanse of meeting rooms and security checks and tunnels, so many tunnels… seem to contradict the significant openness of Norman Foster‘s dome. Where are the decisions made? What are the decisions?Politics seems evermore to be an endless goose chase down miles and miles dim tunnels which cross but never connect, laid out by miners in the dark.
Then for a cocktail in Schoneberg, a bleeding finger, a smokey bar, an even smokier bar in Neukolln and a rejection from Berghain.
A perfect Saturday of hungover shopping and giggling with girls. I finally buy a big warm duvet coat and then it’s time for music, pizza, red wine and a couple of Isreali’s.
Another bar and then a private party which we are led to by some friends from the train. Dancing, talking, a strange coincidence, a blur.
Wake up to more snow. A plan, a turkish bakery for stale provisions, a train a frozen lake, a perfect day. The most beautifully tree trimmed pane of calm. Spread with fresh creamy snow and scattered with black peppercorn marbles which actually look more like burnt matchsticks as they skate and stroll in the rare busyness of this space.
We join them – unfortunately not on skates – and make our way across the frozen depths. Ice hockey, excited dogs,children and sweethearts pulled upon wooden sleighs, yelps and laughter as all skid on black ice, black and white or colour?
A much needed gluwein from a real Haus am See and waiter who looks like Jim Carey’s German doppelganger.
There was more but that’s enough for today.
broken talus 