Ruby Grimshaw is back from Berlin

“You look tired,” said a friend yesterday. “Have you been ill?” I replied that no, I had not been ill. I had spent a week on holiday in Berlin. I suppose G and I could have spent the whole time drinking coffee on Unter den Linden or shopping in Friedrich Strasse but we decided to see as many of the exhibitions and museums as possible, and what with trying to practise my German, getting to grips with the underground and overland trains and running up and down numerous towers and monuments, I felt I had been tested physically and mentally.

When we visited the grim bunker under Pankstrasse station, built
for a possible nuclear war, we were first given a lecture on the Cold War. We made the mistake of sitting in the front row. The guide kept shooting questions at us like, “What year was the Cuban Missile Crisis?” and “Who was in charge in Russia at the end of WWII?” It was like being at school again. I did live through the Cold War but all I can remember is everyone choosing whom they would like to sleep with in their last ten minutes.

“Even the prostitutes along Oranienburger Strasse looked sad”

Berlin was exciting, but not beautiful. A taxi driver called it a building site and the cranes and graffiti on my photographs testify to this. There were constant pongy waves of sewage, due apparently to a drainage system which was made for a city five times the size of Berlin. Every night gallons of water are poured through the pipes to clear them. I didn’t bother to close the tap when cleaning my teeth after hearing that.

We watched the football final on the restaurant TVs while walking home on our last night. When Chelsea won I remembered just in time that I was in Germany and not to whoop too loudly. There was a sudden quietness and a feeling of anti-climax afterwards. Even the prostitutes along Oranienburger Strasse looked sad.

Meanwhile my poor neighbour has had trouble with my naughty tortoises Mr T, Ernie and Brian. Despite reinforcement of the fence to their enclosure they have been escaping. Ernie managing to crawl down three flights of steps, crash through a barrier of watering cans, cross a patio and arrive at the kitchen back door. With thoughts of the Berlin Wall still in my mind I wondered about using barbed wire and incorporating a guard platform where cat Bella could sit keeping watch. My torties would definitely have enjoyed the visit to Checkpoint Charlie.