Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Berlin ain't ready
Our trip to Berlin started with 45 minutes fitful sleep and perhaps the worst Wetherspoons breakfast ever. But it became muchos better. We were flying over for the German leg of the Warp20 parties and, unsurprisingly, it was totally off the hook. Little sleep, maximum booze, the constant playing of 'fives' - even sightseeing and visiting a Christmas market.
Plus we raved it up at Berghain/Panorama bar for the electronic hoe down. We left after a breakfast of jager and it was still going strong. The great Andrew Weatherall, Rustie, Hudson Mohawke and Sheffield's Winston Hazel were all representing. You can't take cameras into the club but it was almost too strong to mention. Power station vibes, music loud enough to knock you over and never ending techno. Weatherall's moustache was looking pretty cocksure while Winston Hazel kicked off about half six and went all bleepy on our ravy arses.
The next day involved more boozing and eating before manning up and heading downstairs for a spot of djing in the bar below our apartment with the aforementioned Winnie. Safe as fook mate. We heard more about the intricacies of Weatherall's facial hair, drank even more, danced til half five, snatched 45 minutes kip before stumbling into a taxi to the airport. I was probably drunk on that flight. It was amazing and the following day was one full of despondence. Classic Icarus vibes.
Drinking Sex on the beach. In a dark bar with a fake beach.
The beach. That sand gets everywhere.
Enjoying a delicious takeaway.
Discussing tactics behind fives and the cons of eating red meat just before bed
A loser of fives. Man up.
The beautiful artwork above the bed. Not fear inducing at all. No way.
Pining for Wurst
The Wurst arrives
Cafe Einstein. The best eggs ever.
Chicken. Not children.
Knock off jager. The only way to warm up for the all night German rave.
Post energy drink flex.
Pope Benedict XVI. As a baby. Germany does it better.