The Berlin Diaries – Devil’s Mountain, Part 1

Teufelsberg artists impression

One Friday a couple of weeks back, I woke up in bed next to Maya and looked at her while she was sleeping. She’s a sweet, graceful dreamer, not like me whose mouth hangs open with all the elegance of a kicked over dustbin. Our bedsheets were flecked with stubborn glitter from the previous weekend, and we woke every morning that week covered in it. She lay there dreaming, her chest sparkling in the morning light as it rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of her breathing. It was our last day together, she was flying home early the next day. I was due to start work at 9am, and it pained me to think I’d be wasting our last few hours together stuck in an office. Damn it all, I grabbed my phone, called in sick, then rolled over and kissed Maya awake. “We’re going on an adventure,” I told her. Continue reading

The Berlin Diaries -The Bärenquell Guardian


My girlfriend, who for the sake of her privacy we shall refer to as Maya (always liked that name), came to visit me a couple of weeks ago. She doesn’t live in Berlin, which has its ups and downs. On the plus side, the autonomy allows us the freedom to grow as people and not rely too heavily on each other, but the downside is the lonely nights, the constant, grinding heartache, and the fact I get laid but one weekend a month, which as far as I’m concerned is a violation of my human rights. On Maslow’s Heirarchy of Needs, sex may only come in the middle of the table, but listen to me: Maslow is full of shit. Continue reading

The Berlin Diaries – The Mystical Pool of Neukölln

*It’s a dark, blustery evening. You lie in bed, but you cannot sleep. The only thing that will do, you decide, is a bedtime story from your favourite grandfather. You creep downstairs, your teddy grasped tight in your little palm. You enter my office timidly, and find me an old man, reclined in a rich leather armchair by a roaring fire, spectacles perched on the end of my nose. I am quietly perusing a large, ornate copy of Charles Darwin’s Origin of Species. I glance up with a start as you close the door behind you.*

Oh, hello my sweet grandchild! Didn’t hear you come in. It’s that time already, is it? Time for another story, ey? Well, you scamp, come hither and rest your arse upon my knee, and I will thrill you with tales of my youth in Berlin. Today’s story is set way back in 2017, on the 2nd of January. Continue reading