Back in the DDR

Escape to Berlin, that's us, where the girls waft by on their bicycles with their bones and their breasts and their blond hair and their babies (some carried in strange carts sleeping in safety belts) as if on a kind existential autopilot. Our hosts said of this particular bit of Berlin 'You'll love it, It's just like Notting Hill' Well as you no doubt well understand I hate fucking Notting Hill, but thats long distant friends for you, they are unlikely to get your preferences quite right. But, hell, here we are in a land necessarily historically tranquilized for our own beneficial period of tranquilization, and I'm in some bar where they play that anonymous dreaming tranquilizer music and the beer is good and there's virtually nobody here which makes it a lot better than Notting Hill. If my friends had said,'It's like Notting Hill but with nobody in it', I'd have been fine.

But when we arrived last night we were of course a little befuddled. There was no tv in the living room for instance. German ways may be hard to absorb, and we are clearly in a flat vacated by a mum and her young twins (tv sits on the floor elsewhere). Therefore, in search of televisual entertainments, I was faced by the complete set of The Wombles to be viewed from the bed (on video!- and no ice making facilities!- door falls off ice making bit of fridge). Still, we are now happily settling in (and truly grateful if mum is reading this!) and should be right as rain in a month.

I once visited Womble creator Mike Batt's country pile. Never let it be said that creating the Wombles couldn't have a huge effect on the material aspects of life. I was there at a wedding, and there was much Womble memorabilia in evidence. My friend said 'I'm not leaving without a Womble stuffed up my arse'. Those were the days.