Katya has gone away to visit her boy-friend in Hanover, we have the flat to ourselves. But anxious to become orientated we set off to view the city, happened upon the 12th century church half-levelled by world war II and left to posterity, came accross poetry emerging from under our feet on a boardwalk by the cathedral.
On crossing Rosenthaler Platz Germany score against Argentina, and folk erupt all around in suprised applause. Grinning people grinning at each other, grinning at me. Walking a busy city thronged with folk can be alienating but not today. Near there we fall upon a leather couch outside a tatoo shop and forget about walking and the disgruntling owner.
Upon Kastanienallee every bar, of which there are many has a television oustide and a good crowd of people around it. All bikes take to the road, and for us walkers we party-hop from screen to screen.
Flat back at the flat, I return to the open highway in search of dinner ingredients, and am further beaten up by the sun. Home again and fed and a minor domestic disagreement later we embark upon the town and though a little foot-sore it is nice for there to be two unsunny sides of the street so we don't have to crisscross. Guided by Map-Nav we get to the bar we aimed for, but the drinks are too expensive so we down an hour with a bottle of red oustide an off license with a down of mood gentleman. Bolstered by the bottle, we flew around the dance floor of another bar as if on the Wall of Death, and thus expediating the process of alcohol recyling I could just about manage to make basic conversational manouvres with some nearly scrupulous english people. We were lucky, nearly scupulous is good for strangers in a bar, supiciousness or over-eager-egging-the-puddingness will shade over any faces fixed under the sternest atificial lighting. Home, bed, tune in tomorrow if you are able still...