Hello you.
I know, I know, it’s a sad time here at World Hangover. ‘Tis true, The Berlin Diaries are, for now, over. Dry your tears, sweet reader, and keep your chin up, for there remain many bright days ahead. In the mean time, I have decided I will be writing regular articles on world famous adventurers whom I admire, which should hopefully be of interest to all three people who read this blog (Hi Mum!), but to be honest I just mostly want to write anything because I love writing.
THAT SAID
I realise that many of my ‘Berlin Diaries’ are without pictures. Yes, I refuse to patronise you by subsidising large blocks of text with images in a effort/reward format. It’s the same reason I don’t write ‘listicles’, and I don’t use bullet points. We’re all adults here. We all pay taxes, we all more or less understand where babies come from, and we can damn well spare the quantum of attention required to read an actual paragraph without fifteen GIFs and a musical interlude.
HOWEVER
As it is Christmas, and Christmas is the time when you can justify doing pretty much anything by making doe eyes and saying ‘but it’s Christmas’, I would like to present to you, true to the title of this blog post which I have thus far utterly ignored, a collection of photographs from my time in Berlin. Enjoy.
ME AT THE BATTENBURG GATE OR SUMMAT
I cut my arm on a rusty wall in Sisyphos.
Gay rights protest outside Come Backpackers hostel. Woo!
Come Backpackers. Home!
A BIG TRAIN
Sex/art exhibition. Check out dem buns. Hers aren’t bad, either.
Performance art. It was so horrible.
Checkpoint Charlie. Just out of shot: a fucking McDonalds.
Bowie lived on the same street I did.
Headlines on the day Trump got elected. Right on, Die Zeit.
Berlin Spoken Word
IDK, a bit of Berlin Wall
nice
Fell over running home with a kebab
Had to go to a job interview with this
This black square was in an art gallery and it can be yours for the bargain price of FOUR THOUSAND EUROS WHAT THE FUCK
‘Say it loud, say it clear, refugees are welcome here!’ Fuck yeah.
Browsing the endless piles of probably-stolen shite at the flea market.
Booze, fairylights and fire. Germans do Christmas markets right.
My boy Owen Jones doing a wicked hot talk about Brexit (ugh), the rise of the far right (UGH), Trump (FUCKING UGH) and Socialism (Woo!)
A statue with the best bum I’ve ever seen.
My house
A big hippo we found.
Kurfurstenstrasse on a foggy night, looking film noir as fuck.
And there we have it, I have cherry picked some of my fave photos for you. Yes, my camera is shit, yes, my photography skills are lacking, yes, around 20% of these photos are of my own bleeding arms. But apart from that, they’re pretty cool, no?
Now, I’m struggling to find a good point to end this article. Usually I tell stories, which provide a narrative structure to the diary and give me a nice point at which to bid you farewell.
How the hell do you end photo collections?
Uh.
Bye?