Chucked away the theory book. The more the academic waxes lyrical about the poverty and the pain of Baudelaire, it seems the less convincing he becomes. I have known several Baudelaire's in my time, there's Floppy Tom for instance. Floppy Tom got bared from most of Soho, and you could never work out how the guy who knew so much (about writing) got the time to read it all- what with his dedication to being pissed out of his mind. I have 'flaneured' and I have 'derived' with the best of them, and the academics book slowly began to STINK as I remembered this.

So it's back to the basic activity of holidays- the searching out of new objects. The street markets of Berlin are perfect for this, and we graze them happily, looking for objects. It's probably why our home is so full of crap- but it is all crap that means something to us. It is a delicate operation and involves much disappointment, but I think I've found something Zaha would REALLY HATE just up the road. It is a figurine. Might use it to start my course at the AA. Unfortunately it is horribly expensive and this reminds me of those holidays one had as a child- where there was only so much pocket money. Luckily, on holiday, you don't think of money in quite the same was as you do at home, so I may well still find myself with the figure of an adolescent girl splayed on her arse stroking an erect cat. Let's see.