SHANE’S WORLD #2

Last week a dwarfed illustrator and myself ventured to Germany’s largest city, Berlin. The currywurst loving capital had been given more hype than when Lance Bass got thrown to the moon, so I nearly, but not quite, sharted my loungepants aboard the pumpkin in the sky. Needless to say, when I landed at Schonefeld and was greeted by a conflux of beige Mercedes cabs, I could only ponder as to why this city had been branded as being  ‘The fucking coolest city on the planet right now.’

Aboard the split level peasant wagon train that we found ourselves on, I almost felt like a Jewish kinder who was flocking a gaggle of National Socialists in search of a better existence and less rations. All I was hoping for was to bump’n’grind into Michael Kross and grope his smooth nutsack. I found the TV Tower and a man who farted so loudly that he woke himself up. Here a re a few things that I learnt about my 72 hours in Berlin:

1. Germans, no matter how intensely cold the temperature maybe, will always eat ice-cream whilst walking the streets. They don’t wear fingerless gloves and they don’t give a ficken. I couldn’t possibly do this with a dairy milk Mcflurry on the streets of Spermville On-Sea (Brighton).

2. Berlin is vast. I felt like Jack and Rose without the wardrobe door. An over-acting fish in a big icy sea.Initially really difficult to navigate around if you’ve never been too before, so if you’re considering vacating to the city then get a friend who has been previously to scribble down some sort of itinerary. Otherwise you might end up amidst a gaggle of angry FC Dynamo fans who won’t hesitate in giving you a grade one and force feeding you their Bratwurst.

3. Germans love beer/bier. Cold bottles of beer. Barring graffiti, bottle tops are the most evident litter on the streets. People drink it everywhere! Excuse my generalisation, but in the UK drinking on streets is usually reserved for the hopeless homeless, lads that are destined for some Aussie bar or tweeny females that you’ll see on Party Paramedics, but it’s like some sort of German ‘must-do’. Businessman, women after a hard days graft at the office…EVERYONE is clutching a beer in the paw as they’re riding the S-bahns, shopping for Lederhoses or filling their vintage bags up by the kilo.

4. Getting offered a cigarette in a club means that someone wants to kiss you. Germans still smoke in clubs. Restricted indoor areas are kept to one side so partygoers can have a malignant munch. My dwarfed illustrator friend who is a: Not really a dwarf, but she’s so small that she ski’s on the toenail clippings of a grown adult, and b: She’s a ladyliker. She’s a clam clinger. She’s a lesbian that wears lipstick. She sat silently on the stage as Lil’Kim was serenading us audio wise with her smutty fucking mouth and then a pretty looking wench plonked herself next to her and handed her a cigarette. Throughout the night the aforementioned wench kept pestering Ms Kick Dirt for a smooch. She asked to take her home so that they could grow armpit hair together forever…..

Mostly Been Listening to:  ‘My Drive Thru’ – Pharell Williams/Santigold/Julian Casablancas.

Mostly been watching: German TV. Dubbed Fresh Prince Of Bel Air.

Mostly been reading: ‘The Screwed Up Life Of Charlie 2nd’ by Drew Ferguson.

Next Week: Things I learnt about Berlin: Pt 2.