A hairy Norwegian has just collapsed on the television. He has collapsed from walking to excess, in a most peculiar manner, not unlike a speedy chicken, the streets of Berlin. And he has collapsed in to the arms of a giant teddy bear mascot and he appears to be in agonizing pain and I'm bewildered as to why anybody would decide to walk faster than anybody else in the name of sport, to somehow stop yourself from breaking in to a useful long distance trot as the very essence of the activity. Other than sado-masochism what is the point of that? They must be a very strange bunch, the walkers. Some sports are better than others. I can see the point of the pole vault, soaring up high to challenge gravity itself, also the high jump, but I don't get the long jump at all, they are still doing it now when all else is called off in todays lovely Berlin rain. 

We had a grey day ourselves; a few drinks in an undistinguished bar with a view of grey housing, and an adventure, misplaced, to buy a discounted frying pan in a department store. Grey days can be good, especially after last night encounter with ARTIST and artist studio. All too too perfect for me and a bit of a shock. It was lovely, but awash with all the signifiers of success, the palacial flat and another for the art, and well, ART THING. It demanded grey today, because at the end of it, at the middle of it, and at the beginning of it, I couldn't feel anything but those bloody signifiers and felt as much of a buffoon as anybody else.