The wrong kind of history

My sister visited and we went to see the stretch of the wall left up at Bernauerstr. I’d been before to the remaining part of the wall in Kreuzberg, which is covered in art and has been reclaimed as a gallery space, in a very Kreuzberg kind of a way. The wall left in Mitte is nothing like that, it’s bare and grey and sinister, and in each gap where it was pulled down they’ve put up one plain wooden cross to mark all the people who died trying to get across it. The fact that it was twilight and drizzling when we went did nothing to dispel the baleful atmosphere.

Berlin open relationships are a bit too weird for me. Surely it’s more reasonable behaviour for the girlfriend of someone you’ve slept with to chase you with a broken off bottle stem than to come and tell you how much she’s been looking forward to meeting you?

Keep mistaking my front door for the church’s and trying to force my key into its lock when arriving back in the early hours.