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About Berlin

Started out last week, right, proper knackered after a pint too many. We shall fight the haze of booze, the fog of war in me head! Stumbled down Soho – not the posh bit, nah, the grimy end where the air stinks of chips and regret. Little known fact: back in Churchill’s day, they’d call em “ladies of the night” – fancy that, like they’re bloody duchesses! Made me chuckle, thinkin of some tart in a tiara, struttin like she owns the place.

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And dude, the vibe here is raw. It’s got secret corners, week-old graffiti splashed on modern walls like art. I mean, my profession taught me to notice the subtle cues—how a smile on Seefeld's older folk hints at decades of hidden passions and bittersweet memories à la The Pianist, “The struggle is won by those who keep fighting!” That line hit me hard when I saw an old, defiant mural near the riverside walk along Flussufer.

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