Today I’m having ale and potato chips for lunch. Last night, ice cream for dinner. I was planning a little ice-cream-shop crawl but the first (pistachio with hazelnuts) was so rich and creamy it did me in. In between there were pancakes for breakfast. A snack ‘n’ dessert weekend.
I love how the real ale movement has been belatedly followed by an awakening in the handmade chips guild: Oi! We can’t be doing with that! Those beers deserve better bowlsful!
Landsakes, do I feel cute. I helped someone out with some really boring writing work and feel all neighbourly & useful. We decided to celebrate with a beer. I had opened my two storage boxes (for posting back to Australia) and after months of wearing the exact same clothes ~ same jeans, same orange jumper, same ratty old Tom Waits~as~Jesus t-shirt ~ had dug out my ugg boots: ugg boots! And also a pair of huge dungarees: dungarees! So me and Tom Waits and the dungarees and ugg boots set off for the beer shop. Berlin is twilit. The streets are damp and swishy. Two guys were arguing at an Indian restaurant trestle and the end of their table said, in thick black marker pen, I love you. I loaded up four pockets with beers and came back with my friend’s dog whom he had dressed in honour of my new old clothes in a natty neckerchief. We were the wild West. Which is tame in this town. This looping, roaring, sprawling, sunbathing, dog-loving six-storey city.
Two li’l punks on the footbridge to the Warschauerstrasse station, lounging with legs crossed and outstretched, dog lying between them, begging bowl out and a large sign propped on her legs which says in English: FOR BEER AND WEED. He obviously adores her. They have matching frothy haircuts, blonded and shaved up the sides.
