Anyone there?

Well, where do I start? Almost 5 months without a single post. All 3 of my followers must be questioning their membership fee. Look no further, here is your compensation:

April - Bikes & Trams

I purchased an old bike and called him Clooney II. Grey, refined with a semi-awkward frame but rides like a dream. That is until you catch the front tyre in tram-tracks, crash ungracefully into the roadworks, wipeout the barrier and stop traffic in both directions. All in front of a busy cafe and slightly shocked bus stop. I laughed it off but don't do that. You look like a cock.

May - Filler

If I'm totally honest I can't remember much of May. So this is a good time to let you know that I am living in Berlin's most-wanted flatshare but not for criminal reasons (they're likely to read this). Michi, 21, a failed band member but with an infectious charm; Jan, 23, never worked a day in his life but always very busy doing nothing, and Eleanor, 21, works everyday of the week and for free. We get on well.

June - June. Tough one.

July - Movement

I leave the agency that I moved here for. Work chat is never a page-turner so I won't dwell on this. In 5 words: performance marketing is not for me. So I moved to a social media network and here I remain since it allows me to Tweet and Like stuff. The most important thing to note here is it occupies 3 days of my week. The other 2 are being filled with some very creative and exciting things! Not yet but they will be. Maybe begin an acting career. Oh hang on...


August - Appearance in a German Sitcom

Yep, I was drafted in by my flat mate Eleanor to act as a Barman in a sitcom staring a very famous (unknown) actor, named Oliver Bender. A barman is an integral component of any bar scene, no less when you're cleaning the bar. Some 5 hours of repeating a 23 second scene rendered me the most mechanical/bored barman in all of Berlin. Nevertheless, this really has potential to path the way for bigger things. That was until I realised just my hands were in shot. Skin cream companies line-up.

September - Awkward

So that brings me to now. I have just started learning German with a tandem partner. There's a very awkward story to tell here but I shall wait to wrap up September when the month closes. Sit tight, it promises a few squirms.

Dish 1: Paris MEATS London (via Germany)

This recipe will serve 2 lucky people.

Cooking time: 5 cigarettes

Ingredients

For the crepe:

4 eggs (pounded)

Flour (handful)

Milk (udderful)

Salt (pinch/grab depending on nationality)

Veg oil (mouthful)

For the filling:

1 whole egg

York ham (UK)

2 slices from any one of the following

Parma ham (IT)

Black Forrest (DE)

Bayonne ham (FR)

Seranno ham (ES)

Parmesan (2 handfulls)

Emmental (sprinkle)

Salt

Pepper

Step 1: make the pancake mix http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1DgmbMMOgA , heat the pan up and cook the crepe

Step 2: flip the crepe over and crack the whole egg onto it. push the white around to help it cook quicker, careful not to break the yolk.

Step 3: place your chosen ham around the egg, making sure the yolk is still visible.

Step 4: cheese time. sprinkle the parmesan over the egg and ham

Step 5: season well.

Step 6: fold the pancake in half. don't panic if the yolk breaks. if it does just speed up the following steps.

Step 7: OPTIONAL - another sprinkle of Parmesan

Step 8: throw on the Emmental around the edge of the pancake. don't worry it wont stick to the pan, it will seal the pancake and give it a delicious nutty flavour.

Step 9: serve.

Eat responsibly.

A Scent of a Man

So my friend Astrid, which I'm told sounds like 'Ashtray' with my English accent, came for drinks at The Weinary last night. An amazing little bar where you drink as much wine as you wish and on the way out you throw money in the pot. Yes, that’s right, no agreed amount, just what you think the night was worth. I can't help but think this wouldn't survive in London.

Anyway, Ashtray was clever because she waited for me to sink 3 glasses of wine and then suggested I joined her the following evening for a group lesson in Tango. Under the influence I agreed. The truth is...the truth doesn't matter actually.

So slightly conscious that I will be shit and make a complete spectacle of myself I watched a few videos on YouTube to get a feel for exactly what Tango dancing involves. This didn't boost my confidence in the slightest so I arranged to view some flats as an alternative. But just as I entertained that idea, Ashtray sent me a friendly SMS reminder to meet at 19:40 in Humboldhain, not far from where we live. Anyway, there was no getting out of it now and so I left the office after work and found my way there. There are two key moments from this evening which I will remember for some time yet. The first being a moment of sheer embarrassment on my part, the second also being a moment of extreme humiliation, on my part.

Even though I attended the workshop with Ashtray they confirmed from the outset that we would be swapping partners throughout, since this is a good way to learn from other people. They pointed at me and said that I would be an exception as it was my first lesson and this was week 4 already. Phew! That put my mind at rest. Well, never works out quite the way you expect, particularly in a foreign country. So about mid way through the class we swap and unfortunately there was an odd number of people which meant SOMEBODY would be left on their own. No guesses as to who. A little embarrassing so I just bowed my head whilst everybody else -I imagine- looked the other way to avoid the wave of awkwardness crashing through the room. I put my hands in my pocket to find something, anything I could fiddle with, but these pockets just weren’t deep enough. The music still hadn’t started at this point to signal the next dance so I edged to the side and walked to my bag to get my phone. I thought I’d take a photo to fill the time. Here it is….


But by the time I took the photo the lady instructor walked over and asked me to return as she wanted to teach me the ‘6 step’. Actually, she wanted to me to partner with a gentleman who had arrived late. No big deal, it’s just a dude. This gentleman, was clean shaven with a short and tidy haircut. He was probably just over 40 years, with a slight belly and a round face to suit it. He looked at me and as the instructor signaled with her eyes for us to commence he walked towards me. He then walked around me and shot off, leaving me with my hands in the air ready for the embrace. Oh my god. I couldn’t believe it. He had bailed in front of everyone. How rude! The instructor had a deprecating look on her face, to match mine, and rescued my rejected arms. What an absolute shambles. And what a nob

Plastics.

As I roamed a nearby Kasier Supermarket this evening, located next to the plasters, I found this delight.

NEWS FLASH: CAT IS CONFIRMED PREGNANT

The Life of Mammals

Er, so I moved out from Esther's 2 Sundays ago - a shame because even though I slept on the floor and the house chain smoked, I could have regressed seamlessly into student living. A bit worrying I thought. Or perhaps its just my little brain yearning for advance education, a Masters perhaps...in media. Gosh. That would be obscene.

Quite a few catastrophes have taken place, involving a cat or cats rather. Deliberate pun there. Thank you. You're getting the shortened version however. The cat at the flat (the Polish one) has no name. They all call it various things and unsurprisingly it doesn't come to any one. Well this beloved cat is a 'flat' cat, in the sense its not allowed outside. A little cruel, I think so too.

Well I was leaving the flat one evening and the cat escaped. I panicked and ran out the door to catch the little shit and she ran up the next flight of stairs (outside the flatdoor). So I crept behind her and went in for the kill. Useless. She ran up another floor, where there were 3 guys leaving their flat to go out for some drinks. Not anymore they weren't. The cat ran into their flat and as I leaped up the stairs they asked if it was my cat. I went 'Yes, kind of. It's from my flat. Well its not my flat, but I'm living there.' They were like 'It's in our flat. What's it called?' I looked blankly...

The neighbours looked slightly perturbed as they were in a rush so I suggested picking the cat up later. After all its still in the flat, just not our flat. So I went and sipped a few delicious beers and like a parent who had just dropped off their child, I forgot about it.

Regrettably it materialised that there were 3 male cats in this fat. And what Attenborough would describe as the very life of mammals I would describe as really unfortunate. My little cat was thrown into some sort of cat sex party and its likely the house will be expecting a somewhat unexpected litter. On the plus side I can now say 'immaculate conception' in German.

Where's Maggi?

The house or flatshare i'm crashing at in the 'interim' is as European as it gets. German, French, Italian, Austrian and Spanish. Even the cat's Polish. We could probably bypass Brussels. One thing I noticed is that they (all students) study. They wake up at 8, start Uni at 9 and work all day until 8 or 9pm. They come home and study more. When they asked me what I studied I made up some bullshit about the hard slog I endured for the love of New Media - it translates well. I thought British education was the best in the world? Or is this just the legacy from empirical times. I think so.

So, there has already been a couple of awkward and embarrassing moments in the house - just 24hrs in. I have kept two housemates awake from my snoring. Fuck, what can I do? I told her to wake me up next time but she nervously claimed she didn't know me. She doesn't to be fair. Good point.

At dinner they fall into a pretty undecipherable dialogue aka German. This evening I tried my bestest to understand what the hell they were talking about and I gathered they were talking about making that night's dinner - Esther (the host) referenced chilli concarne which is what we were eating. It sounded like their friend Maggie had made the dish and they were laughing about it, presumably at Maggie's expense. So I interrupted and asked where Maggie was and why if she had made dinner wasn't eating with us. This, I found out, is why....

Click here: Maggie

Where's Maggi? On my plate.

no phone. no upgrade. no cheese.

After a seamless trip through T5 - actually that's bullshit. I get served a ham and cheese croissant without cheese. So, with my power wife Stringer who happened to be flying out the same day I brought it to the waiter's attention who then told his senior, which was a joke because she sulked like a 4yr old who didn't get the pony she asked for. So I opened the croissant and showed her the absence of cheese. The senior (child) then groaned that she had made the croissant herself and that there was cheese in there. In which case it was invisible. Bitch.

I also bumped into an old friend at checkin who turned out was now working for BA, which did surprise me. She checked me in and muttered something about not upgrading me because there were still plenty of seats in Euro Traveller. Whatever, if you can do it when it's busy you can do it when it's quiet.

So I then go straight through security and head to the Sony shop to pick up some much needed headphones (Voak poured whisky on them at the final house party). Nothing in there takes my fancy so I plod on to Dixons. Semi-helpful staff but since I can't try them on I pass. The assistant assures me there's nowhere else to purchase headphones in the terminal so its these or nothing. I sniff a commission based pay and take my chances. Just as well: HMV, Soundsystem and Electronics Centre. Terminal 5 is NOT working.

Everything between talking off and landing was seamless. It was. Until I get on the wrong bus and get off at the wrong stop and then realise I have lost my iPhone - it's on the wrong bus. Would be painful in London, unbearable when you arrive in a new city. And then like another stab in the face I realise I can't ring my host or indeed confirm the exact location. I am definitely being shat on.

So with literally no other option I try and navigate my way to the U-bahn she wrote in her text: Karl Marx Strasse. I rack my head and recall the reference to a green tattoo shop. 125 or 152, it was one or the other. I work my way out of the station against the face ripping wind - its minus 21 -and like a green beacon I see All Star Tattoo. Its stopped shitting on me.

All this unfortunately means I can't inter splice heavy text with images. I will go back and litter as soon as I can but first I need to get my hands on a phone, a shit one so I can lose it.