Day 6 Oporto

Last night we went to a restaurant called 17 Degrees which is on the top of a tower which is the hotel Dom Enrique. To get there we went the other way up the road of which our apartment is at one end. Turns out our apartment is on Brothel Street. Haha! Who knew?

Fabulous views over the city from the restaurant, and had the best meal of the holiday. Wrote a little thank you letter to the chef.

Today we wandered about parts of Oporto we hadn't yet seen then had lunch - sardines! - down by the river. Got ripped off but what the hell. Afterwards we sprawled on a wall in the sun to wait for a boat trip up and down the river. Someone suddenly threw a can of white paint all over us. When I say 'someone' I mean 'a seagull'. Good luck, my arse.

Childishly barged our way through the tourists getting on the boat so we could nab the best seats - outside and in the bow. Froze for a bit in the onshore winds then sheepishly abandoned our prime position and went inside. Lovely view of the city from the river.

Crossed the big bridge to explore the other side, where all the port caves are. Looked round and saw Holly embracing a young man.
'Blimey,' I thought, confused, 'Seagull poo really is lucky for some!'
Turned out it was a friend of hers from college. Spooky bizarre small world innit?

Endured a tour around one of the port caves in return for the free 'tastes' (white is lovely, ruby is better) then walked home. When I say 'walked' I mean 'dragged our carcasses up 2789 steps'.

Tonight we eat in and chill and drink port. Tomorrow we catch a train back to Lisbon, from where I fly back to rainy Wales and Holly gets a bus to Odeceixe to help build arty-farty stuff on an Eco-farm for three weeks, or some such jammy nonsense.

The youth of today, eh? What would I do without them....?

Day 4/5 Oporto

Got on a train to Oporto. Three hour journey up the coast. We both fell asleep.

Found our apartment -€30/night - bloody bargain. Nice one Holz.

Headed down to the river and had a beer watching the little boats sailing up and down. Wandered about the cobbled streets. Architecture fabulous, although more dusty and crumbly than Lisbon. There's more poverty, and certainly more port casualties, in Oporto, than in Lisbon.
Just so happens that there was a huge vintage fair on today (coincidence Holly?). Holly apoplectic with joy. She bought a funky pair of shoes for €2. Annoyingly, she keeps spontaneously exclaiming 'TWO EUROS!' whenever there's a lull in the conversation.

Tried to find grocery store for teabags, bread, milk etc. They don't have one.

Went out for supper. Aperitif of White Port in a bar was cut short by a wino who was mesmerised by Holly. Mesmerised. Had to leave when he tried to touch her legs, as I don't know the Portuguese for 'Enough! Now fuck off...'

Brilliant meal in super-trendy (but not expensive) restaurant Holly 'knew' about (Café Vitoria), then on to an über-cool bar (É Prá Poncha). Über-cool until we walked in anyway. After a couple of Mojitos Holly started doing yoga poses on the dance floor. We left after the Downward Facing Dog Fannyfarts incident.

Eventually found the other bar she wanted to go to - The MouseHaus - on 4th floor above a multi-story carpark which served LETHAL V&Ts. She's a pretty good tour guide, my daughter. I recommend her.

Slept very well.

This morning Holz went off in search of a grocery store again and returned empty handed, so we had Turkish coffee, stale bread and an old cucumber that we'd brought from Lisbon for breakfast.

The plan was to go to Foz, the beach district, and chill on the beach all day. Fat chance with Holly about. We couldn't work out which stupid bus to catch so we got a taxi to drop us at Serralves, a contemporary art gallery with fantastic gardens, and after trudging around there for an hour we walked further west to Foz. It started to rain so we found a lovely glass walled restaurant on the beach and had a long lunch. The sun came out so we thought we'd have coffee on the decking area outside, which was strewn with giant beanbags and beautiful people. I caught my toe on the top step and tripped, sprawling prostate on the floor in the middle of them all. For a moment I considered pretending to be dead. I thought Holly was going to asphyxiate with laughter. She's still chuckling now, the bloody little witch.

Limped up the long stretch of beach, which is lovely, to Fort de Sâo Francisco Xavier, where I got to lie on the sand and chill for 30 seconds, before we caught the bus back into town.

I wonder where we're going tonight?

Day 3 Lisbon with Holz

Lovely meal and cocktails at the funky Pharmacia restaurant last night - I drank a Placebo, which was a misnomer, to say the least, and Holly had a Morphia. Then to a bar in Cais do Sodré called Pensoa Amor which used to be a brothel and is still decorated as such. Loved it. And the Long Island Iced Teas.

Today we got up early for a trip to Sintra, a National Park to the west of Lisbon. Got picked up at 9 by Marco and his van from the We Hate Tourism Tours company - he zoomed into the square beeping his horn and doing the peace sign at us as he whizzed around the roundabout and we knew it was going to be a good day. Marco is a photographer with manic enthusiasm and an endearing tic. He asked what I did for a job.
'Deesgusting! Deesgusting! Deesgusting! Deesgusting! DeesGUSTING!' he said. 'Hey! Lemmee ask you one question.. How crazy ARE you?!'
Not as crazy as your driving, mate, I thought.

We stopped in the village of Sintra - very pretty - and had a shot of ginginha (a cherry brandy) in a chocolate cup - then visited the Quinta Da Regaleira which is a magnificent estate tarted up by an eccentric millionaire. Reminded me of Port Meirion, a bit. The gardens are like something from Tolkein, with underground grottoes and waterfalls and a subterranean tower the size of the one in Pisa. Completely magical. Inside the house we climbed a very narrow stone spiral stairway to a tiny turret and at the top there were three members of a Lithuanian Chapter of the Hells Angels. THAT was a surprise. Turns out there's an international Harley Davidson convention at nearby Cascais and the area is TEEMING with fat hairy bikers with teeny weeny peenies. Yuck.

Had a picnic lunch under some trees at a waterfall - Marcos provided bread and chorizo and cheese and olives and wine and it was lovely.
At Cabo da Roca, which is the Western-most point of Europe, Holly and I climbed over a wall on the cliff and did a wee. Marking our European territory, like, innit.
Stopped at the beach at Praia do Guincho and watched the crazy surfers for a bit, then on to Cascais for 'zee best ice cream in zee WORLD!'. He was right - it was.

Back east through Estoril which has the most ENORMOUS casino, which was, apparently, the inspiration for Casino Royale, and then back along the coast to Belém where Marcos procured Pastel de Nata - a cinnamon flavoured custard tart for which Belém is famous.

Great day. Chilling tonight as we're off to Oporto tomorrow.

Lisbon with Holz, Day 2

Went out for dinner last night in an amazing circus-act-supporting place with funky decor and fabulous views, on the other side of town, that Holly 'knew' about. Was lovely. Mojitos, tapas and a bottle of wine. Not sure if it was the combination of all of the above
but things went a bit strange after that. These three gurning drug dealers arrived and they sat gurning at each other intensely, and their presence upset the staff who went to pieces and refused to get our bill for us and were tripping each other up and stuff, and Holly lost her ring. I may have remembered all that wrong.
Took charge of the map because I was convinced there was a shorter route back home. Forgot that Holly is my daughter and therefore won't be told. Battle of wills ensued. Got very lost. Map got thrown on floor and stamped on. Strangers got involved. Tried, and failed, to pull the Parent card. Ah well, we got there in the end. Stubborn little witch. Can't think WHERE she gets it from.
Builders next door started banging things at 8am! Bastards. Accidentally showed everyone on the tram my foof as I stood on balcony inspecting the weather. Eventually got our acts together and got on a tram headed west. Accidentally didn't buy a ticket, although we did try but it was too complicated. Result! Got off at Alcântara and wandered around the LX Factory - a huge arty-farty reclamation of old factories. Found best bookshop ever which had integral bar and coffee shop. Walked west along river front and ate our sandwiches under the mahoosive Pont 25 De Abril, then continued walking west for miiiiiles until we got to Belém. Nice place, nice old monastery. Had beer in sunshine then went to the Berardo Collection - a modern art gallery, most of which I didn't understand but Holly did. I liked it anyway. Well, most of it.
Knackered, we got back on a tram and figured out how to buy a ticket which was just as well because the ticket inspectors got on and nabbed the people who didn't. Hah! Stupid tourists.

Lisbon with Holly

Landed in Lisbon at 7:30pm and caught the bus into the city centre. Holly had booked an apartment between Cais do Sodré and Bairro Alto, the trendy areas of Lisbon (of course) and as we stepped off Rua de Sâo Paulo onto Largo de Santo Antóninho we found ourselves slapbang in the middle of the most AMAZING street party. Barbecues and beer sellers lined the streets and competing music blared from every bar and balcony. If we hadn't been vaguely aware that 12 June was THE biggest festival in Lisbon we would have thought that Lisbon was the most CRAZY and HAPPENING city in the universe. Was fabulous. (Likewise, had we arrived the following morning, ignorant of the festival, we would have gazed at the litter, urine and vomit-lined streets in dismay and disgust).
Our apartment is on the second floor of a building a little way up the Calçada da Bica Pequena - a very narrow, very steep street up and down which trundles the Elevador da Bica - a two way funicular tram. Lovely apartment, with double balconied windows over-looking the street below.
We dumped our stuff and headed out to the party.
What a fabulous welcome to Lisbon. €1 for a beer and everyone dancing in the streets. The festival is for Santo Antonio, who I think must be the patron saint of sardines.
Later, back in the apartment, a bit pissed and with the munchies, I sent Holly out for some food. She returned, eventually, with some sort of barbecued meat roll with chilli sauce. She was warned off by the guy she bought it off but ignored him. Oh my God. I like hot food, but it was OFF THE SCOVILLE SCALE. For a while there I thought we were both going to die of mouth burn. We'd be found dead in a Lisbon apartment with no tongues and all the taps running.
The partying continued until it got light I think, and we were woken this morning by an army of council workers with water cannons cleaning up the mess.
Went out for provisions, and after a lovely breakfast in the apartment we ventured out to explore the city.
Lisbon is reeeeeally beautiful. And very hilly. We wandered over to Castel de Sâo George, a ruined Moorish castle with fantastic views and then explored the narrow streets of Alfama. Holly has done her 'alternative' research and we stopped for a beer in Portas do Sol, a fabulous bar overlooking the estuary which played really great music (Molotov Jukebox, my new favourites by the way. I'm so hip.) Had lunch under some trees at Miradoura da Graça, a viewpoint at the top of another hill.
Holly keeps getting whistled at. I keep pretending the whistling's directed at me. Holly humours me. I also got Damien Hurst confused with Damien Rice, but I DID IT ON PURPOSE, OK?
Calves aching, we made our way along the riverfront and climbed Miradouro de S. Catarina and collapsed in some armchairs in the garden of a pharmacy-themed bar. Busman's holiday really.

Day 6

The plan was that after breakfast we'd walk along the cliff path to Las Galletas, a fishing village about 3 or 4 miles along the coast, have a coffee, then get a taxi back and spend the day on the beach. God laughs at your plans, ha bloody ha.

Started off OK. The path was a bit tricky as it was through volcanic rock and I was wearing flip flops. We were headed for a lighthouse in the distance which we imagined was close to our destination. When we got there, an hour and a half later, blisters on our feet, and climbed its rocky promontary with relief, expecting to see Las Galletas on the other side, we discovered nothing by miles more rocky pathway meandering into the distance. The sun was up. We were hot, thirsty, dry and blistered. And lost in a lunar landscape.

I consulted google maps on my iPhone. We weren't even half way there. Unable to face the rocky pathway, we decided to take the tarmac track inland from the lighthouse and cut through to a roadway I could see on the map. After about a mile, the skin wearing off my blistered foot with every step, we discovered that our route east was blocked by a vast banana plantation. Bloody google maps didn't show the 12 foot perimeter fence around it. Bloody useless satellites. We plodded on looking for a cut through. Lost. Pissed off. In pain. Richard raised his voice at me at one point. Mistake. Big mistake.

Three hours after we set off we limped into Las Galletas, a handkerchief around one foot, a sunglasses pouch around the other. Holly texted in reply to my wailing text for help: 'It's an ADVENTURE, mum, an ADVENTURE!'. Bloody optimist. Always sees the best in everything. I brought her up all wrong.

Las Galletas is the nicest place on the island I reckon. Lovely little fishing village. We slumped at a bar on the seafront and burnt our faces to a cinder.

The wind had picked up and was being really bloody annoying so after some tapas and Sangria we got a taxi home and chilled on the roof.

After a few drinks and a game of cards on the balcony (Richard has started cheating, I'm sure of it) we mosied up to Monolo's place where he was cooking us paella for 8. When we said '8' we meant 8pm. I think he thought we meant 8 people. Was fabulous. We are fat.

Contract score: Richard 868 Luce 768

Day 5

Drove up the volcano, and down the other side. The way up was picturesque and terrifying - a whacky races road clinging to the hill side - and I had one hand gripping the door handle and my left foot hard down on an imaginary brake all the way up. We reached the rim (2100m) and descended into the lunar landscape of the crater. It was impressive but Lanzarote does volcanic better, I reckon. Apart from the massive central Del Teide peak with a cable car up the side taking people to the peak. No bloody way. You must be bloody joking.
Drove down the other side to the north coast. Half way down we descended into the clouds. Weird. The vegetation on the north coast is entirely different because it's cooler and more damp - looked like England all of a sudden; bracken and grass and dense greenery (and grey murky weather). The plan had been to spend the afternoon on a beach on the north coast but the weather was so crap there that we jumped on the autopiste and scooted back round the island to the south. Struggled on to the beautiful beach at El Medano, where the gale force winds had brought out all the insane kite and windsurfers. Was wearing Ali Baba pants (as they call them in India) and as I stepped onto the beach the wind caught them and I did my own special kind of upside down paragliding. I think the surfing dudes were impressed.

Chilled on roof, cooked Spag Napolitana and played cards.

Contract Score: Rich 688 Luce 574

Cheating bastard.

Also...

Forgot to mention:

Contract Score: Richard 490 Luce 436

Bastard.

Day 4

Having 'done' the west coast yesterday and found the beaches too crowded, too small and too black, we drove up the east coast today looking for something better.
The east coast couldn't be more different from the west. It's almost entirely devoid of tourists, and for good reason: the coast line is rocky, battered by 80mph onshore winds and blotted by power stations and huge industrial estates. We headed back to our village on the southernmost tip of the island.

Went for a coffee in Pearl's Pantry. Pearl and her family used to own a pub in Milton Keynes but the sold up and moved here just before the smoking ban killed their business. We thought we'd pick Pearl's brains for some insider knowledge about the best beaches and unspoiled spots on the island, away from too many tourists. She looked at us blankly. We mentioned the west and east coasts we'd visited, but the terms 'north', 'south', 'east' and 'west' seemed to go over her head. We produced a map to help her but she had trouble orientating herself until we pointed out to her where she lives.

Embarrassed by the fact that after two days we apparently knew more about the island she's lived on for the past FIVE YEARS, I changed the subject and asked Pearl what she missed most about England.

'Swedes,' she said, a faraway look in her eyes. 'I long for swedes....'
'Oh, and paracetamol,' she added, as she disappeared back indoors.

We spent the afternoon next to the pool on the roof of our apartment block. The apartments are all privately owned and not generally holiday lets, and as none of the owners seem to be in residence at the moment we had the roof to ourselves. Which was very nice considering it's become apparent that we don't like people much.

After a few early evening drinks and a Contract session on the balcony we wandered up the road to the Tappas Bar, next to Pearl's Pantry. Monola, the owner, is our new best friend. He cooked us some spectacular fresh fish the other night, and tonight he bought us a wonderful selection of tappas.

Next to our apartment are some huge cliffs. As soon as it gets dark an almighty eery racket starts. It's a sound I've never heard before and quite creepy. It sounds like a host of children are in terrible distress and the only means they have of communicating it is via a comb and a piece of grease proof paper. We worked out fairly quickly that the noise was made by birds living in the cliffs and we asked Monola about them.

'Birds!' he said, spreading his arms widely. 'Beeg, brown birds! The man bird ees talking to ze lady bird. Zey leeve in ze caves in ze cliffs. I find out ze English name... Wait...' and he ran off into his bar.

A middle aged man staggered out of the bar.

'You English then?' he slurred in an East End accent. 'You wanna know about the birds?'
'We just wondered what they were called...'
'Seagulls,' he said. 'They only make that noise at night.'

Then he swayed off into the night.

'I always thought they was elephants,' said Pearl from next door. Pearl is clearly retarded.

A family at the next table get up to leave. The grown up daughter stops as they pass our table.

'I thought they were monkeys to start with but I googled it,' she said. 'They're birds. Called Corry Shearwaters.'

We thank her, our faith in English Humankind restored.

As they walk away the father says:
'This time tomorrow we'll be over the Bay of Biscay.'
'Where's the Bay of Biscay?' asks his young son.
'Between Portugal and Morocco, son, between Portugal and Morocco.'

Nope. It's gone again.

Day 3

Drove up the west coast, glancing very briefly at the overpopulated hideousness of Playa de las Americas etc. So many people swigging so much beer, shovelling in so much food and producing so much sewage in such a small area makes me feel a bit sick.

Went as far as Los Gigantes, a nice little fishing village nestled beneath the most GIGANTIC cliffs. Tried to take a picture but it's impossible to do them justice.

Stopped at Puerto Santiago, which has a little beach with soft fine warm black sand. Black sand is just wrong. Also, it gets extremely hot and we were marooned on our little beach towels for the afternoon, like a couple of castaways with bright red noses.

Lovely evening on our huge balcony. Cooked some chicken with eight hundred cloves of garlic and got a bit sloshed playing Contract and listening to Marvin Gaye. Developed into Balcony Disco followed by the Whirley Pits.

Contract score: Rich 246 Lucy 252

Tenerife '12

Been a bit stressed out lately, man, so Rich and I have booked a week in an apartment in a very quiet village in Tenerife. The requirements were no stress and a bit of sunshine. So far so good.

Easy flight with SleazyJet on Saturday from Brizzle. Only shouted at Rich a little bit as he expertly drove the hire car that I point blank refuse to drive on the basis that everything's upside down and back to front.

Fifteen minutes later we were at the apartment, which is modern and luxurious and is equipped with every single thing you could want, including 217 CDs, a billion towels and hair straighteners. Am on mission to find something we need that it lacks. Am failing. It's starting to piss me off. (Today I found a box of tea lights and a selection of sun lotion.)

Slept so well. So quiet, what with no dogs barking, cats scratching, ducks quacking or cockerels crowing. Peaceful countryside my arse. If you want a bit of kip, give me a holiday resort any day. Hope Holly and Grace are coping with them all at home *snigger*.

Rich woke me up with a glass of ice cold juice he found in the fridge. Turned out it was Sangria. Ah well.

Drove east along the coast to Playa Tejita. Few nuddies about for entertainment. I've no problem with naturism; it's just not my thing. Makes me laugh. Saw a man with the most massive todger I've ever seen. HUGE. And his girlfriend wore nothing but a short wet neon green T-shirt and a Brazilian. Didn't seem very 'naturist' to me. More 'exhibitionist'.

Noticed that none of the men strutting up and down the beach with their oversized willies wanging about go for a dip in the freezing cold sea. Can't think why.

Started a game of 'contract' (bit like Bridge but easier to understand) on the balcony whilst watching the sunset. Fabulous.

Wandered up to a local bar and had a plate of fish. I wore expensive cream linen. And drank Sangria. Whilst on my period. Was chaos.

Current Contract score: Rich 60 Luce 60

BERLIN Day 4 (continued)

..n June.

Oops.

BERLIN Day 4

Really fabulous meal last night at the Tappas bar. Fell asleep upside down in the bed and kept waking up and getting freaked out by the two fat American tourists on the wall above our bed.

Guess what? Blue skies! The sun is shining!

After breakfast eggs on the riverside we headed north towards the Jewish Quarter. Second attempt to visit the KW gallery en route was thwarted as it doesn't open until noon. Sigh.

Visited the Western Berlin Wall memorial which was interesting and sad and helped me understand, a little bit, what it was actually all about.

Strolled on to Zionskirchplatz and sat out in the sunshine, with rugs over our knees, drinking coffee. Very peaceful.

Have developed massive blister on ball of my left foot, so limped back south towards the river. Third attempt to visit KW thwarted as lady informed us it's closed until Saturday. Ah well. I guess it wasn't meant to be.

Instead we went to C/O Berlin; in a once-very-grand crumbly mansion at the eastern end of Orienstrasse. Downstairs was an exhibition of photographs by Ron Galella (Paparazzi Extraordinaire) which was fabulous (although ironically we were 'verboten' from taking any pics), and by contrast upstairs was a shocking and powerful exhibition by Gundula Schulze Eldowy. Sobering stuff.

Late lunch/early supper, and now whiling away an hour or so in that great little Café Bar I told you about, before getting a cab to the airport.

Berlin is lovely, and oddly the parts on the eastern side of the former wall seem much lovelier than those on the west. Although I guess that probably wasn't the case thirty years ago.

Our catchphrase for this trip, something we found ourselves saying over and over again, was: 'I bet this is lovely in the summer..'

If we ever come back to Berlin we'll definitely come i

BERLIN Day 3

Woken by a text and an image arriving on my phone from a dear friend, sent in error. Was intended for his girlfriend as a belated Valentine's message. Would love to share but having immediately realised his error he freaked, panicked and INSISTED I delete. Suffice to say they caused MUCH hilarity at this end and resulted in Rich and I spending the morning composing apt responses. Unfortunately not many words rhyme with 'labia' (which may indeed be either red or blue, as @bettybluetoyou will testify.)

Today was icy and windy. Bitte, in fact (haha, geddit?). After our breakfast eggs we set off up the riverside path, following the river Spree west past the Reichstag and the stonking brand new government buildings, which are BEAUTIFUL. Weirdly, I think Norman Foster was involved in their design. Anyway, there doesn't appear to be a lot of austerity going down in Berlin, ANGELA BLOODY MERKEL.

Generally speaking Berlin pavements are well-gritted. Not so the riverside path. Was compacted ice and having spent my last weekend at work manipulating fractured wrist after fractured wrist and cursing the idiots who go out in icy weather, I was a bit neurotic - a broken wrist is all I bloody need, frankly - and we literally tottered along to the Tiergarten - the massive park west of Brandenburg Gate. We picked our way through the park to the Victory Column, in the centre, which could be reached via a network of pristine subways and tunnels with sculptural light
installations and not a puddle of piss in sight (get that, Boris). Ironically, right in the middle was a busker, belting out 'Streets of London' and we joined in at the top of our echo-y voices. Was a surreal moment.

Tottered on through the park, and around the Zoological Gardens WHICH I REFUSED TO VISIT AS IT CONTAINS LARGE ANIMALS AND WHAT'S MORE SO SHOULD BLOODY YOU, and on to the western and hence surprisingly unattractive Charlottenburg. Went to KaDeWe, a Department store akin to Harrods, specifically to visit the Wintergarden restaurant on the top floor (as recommended by @smartie999 and @anotherjulia). Was lovely. You wouldn't belieeeeeve the buffet selections - which you pay for by weight; they weigh your plate at the till. Sorts the fat bastards out from the skinny bints. And the rich from the poor. Unfortunately, or fortunately, we'd not long had breakfast so we settled for a humungous cake each instead. Wonderful.

Traipsed on up the canal to Potsdamer Plaza. Didn't like it here AT ALL. All steel and metal and trying much too hard. You know the type.

Back up Eberstrasse, past the very bleak memorial to Murdered European Jews, and back to our new favourite bar - Boese-Buben Bar at the east end of Marienstrasse. Candlelit, wall-to-wall books and mellow music.

I reckon we've walked about six miles a day since we've been here. I reckon I deserve this glass of wine. I'd also like a foot massage please. Cheers, Big Ears.

BERLIN DAY 2

Eggs for breakfast then jumped on a bus to Ostbahnhof to see The Wall. There is a stretch of about 300 metres where the wall is still intact, and on the East side it is a gallery - various artists have done pertinent graffiti art. The west side is just a load of genuine graffiti. It's rather beautiful actually. For some reason I'd imagined the wall to be much wider than it is - it's less than a foot wide - but it's still very imposing.

We walked along the length of the wall, adjacent to the river Spree which was full of great creaking lumps of ice, then crossed the river via the Oberbaumbr bridge. The sun was shining and it was all rather lovely.

We wandered the streets of the Turkish area of Kreuzburg, stopping at a little café for a coffee and to warm our hands in front of the open fire. We took a short cut through a scary park on our way to the Turkish market at Maybachufer. There were some very dodgy-looking characters standing about behaving very oddly. Drug-dealing I think. So we got the Hell outta there.

The Turkish market was exotic and the architecture in Kreuzburg is grand. We continued walking along the Urbanhaden canal - which was frozen solid and full of ice-skaters - all the way to the bottom of Friedrichstrasse, where we checked out Check Point Charlie.

At school my two least favourite subjects were German and History, hence Berlin is a confusing place to me. Check Point Charlie is guarded by American soldiers. Uh? WHAT THE FOOK HAS IT GOT TO DO WITH AMERICA? I don't get it.

Also, if only I could stop Richard from goose-stepping across all the pelican crossings...

We walked on up to Unter Den Linden, through the Brandenburg Gate and to the Reichstag - an incredibly impressive building with a huge glass dome that one can visit provided one has registered on-line, two days in advance. Which we hadn't. Ah well. It looked a bit scary to me. We probably would've bottled out anyway.

Went for a meal in a posh-looking brasserie next to the hotel. It was terrible. Really terrible service and really crap food. And reeeeally expensive. Never mind. We have found our 'favourite' bar, a Tappas place called VOLVER (hahahaha) just up the road. So we finished the evening there. Mellow. And with sore feet.

BERLIN

Originally I'd planned to take Rich to Norfolk for his birthday trip. Neither of us have been to the east coast of England and on the internet I found a lovely looking little cottage in a pretty coastal village with lots of pubs and a Michelin-starred restaurant nearby. Unfortunately the holiday cottage company reckoned that, as mid-February was the 'high' season (seriously?), they would only allow me to book a cottage for a whole week. So I told them to get stuffed and booked three days in Berlin instead, which was cheaper. As it happened the Landrover conked out the day before we left so it's just as well we didn't go for the Norfolk option - throw in the cost of a hire car for a week and a fortnight in Florida would've been cheaper.

I managed to keep our destination a secret until we reached airport security, although he sussed we were flying somewhere when I chucked all of his toiletries out of his luggage. He didn't shriek with excitement when I gave him his boarding pass, but then Richard has never shrieked with excitement in his entire life and, although I had it on good authority from a number of sources, including Holly (@hollygable), that Berlin is ROCKING, I admit that to the uninitiated it does sound a little grey. And cold.

We arrived at our hotel (a funky little place called Art Hotel Luise on Luissenstrasse, close to the Reichstag) at about 11pm German time, and having dumped our luggage, set off to find a rocking bar for a nightcap. It was about minus 10 degrees and snowing and we made the fatal mistake of exiting our hotel and turning right. Three miles of trudging about the freezing pavements later and we hadn't found a single likely-looking establishment. Or in fact any establishment at all, that wasn't locked and barred. This was a bit depressing to be honest, although we've since come to realise that had we turned left, rather than right, we would have happened across many a cosy bar within 200 yards. But at the time it was a bit of a downer. I guess it was the equivalent of stomping around London's Parliament Square or Horseguard's Parade at 11pm on a Sunday night, going 'But where are the BARS? I thought London was supposed to be SWINGING.'

Maybe I should point out here that, ordinarily, I'd rise above such minor set backs, and view this experience as an adventure; a bit of a laugh. But due to life dealing me a few bummer cards lately, I've been struggling to remain buoyant. It was Richard's birthday the next day and I wasn't sure I was up to the task.

Next day started OK. Rich liked his presents. We found a nice place for breakfast, overlooking the frozen river Spree. Three eggs and ham on rye bread set us up nicely, and we set off for Tachela, a huge apartment block at the top end of Oranienburger Strasse which has become a massive squat, occupied by artists. Amazing place. You have to go there. It was incredible.

Next stop was KW on Auguste Strasse. Unfortunately this was closed on Mondays. I was disproportionately sad about that.

Rich is the sort of person who is variously described as 'laid back and easy-going' or 'completely lacking enthusiasm' depending on what mood I'm in. At this point it seemed to me he was the latter, and feeling unequal to the task of motivating both of us, I slumped.

He took my hand and headed for a bar, where an Irish Coffee hit some sort of 'spot' and next thing I knew tears were spilling effortlessly and silently out of my eyes. Fucking Hell. Fucking fucking arsing Hell. It was Rich's fucking BIRTHDAY for fuck's sake. Birthdays are a BIG DEAL.

Anyway. Better out than in, as they say. I felt better, although a bit sheepish, after that and so we went up the Fernsehturm Tower. This is a massive phallus that acts as a landmark all over Berlin. Fortunately it's solid and you don't have to climb up it (we do badly at wobbly towers - we failed in Bruges, Prague and didn't even attempt the Eiffel Tower) but you get whizzed up in a lift and then spewed out at the top before you have the chance to freak out. Was nice up there. And there was a bar.

Was quite a trek back so we jumped on a train. We couldn't work out how to buy a ticket so didn't bother, and fortunately got away with it. Could've been a disaster though, getting arrested in East Berlin an' all.

Found a lovely Vietnamese Restaurant and had a stupendous (early) dinner and hit the sack by 8pm. Rock and roll, baby. Rock and roll.