Backside of Berlin

What title would you like to read here? Feel free to do so.

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Red matches and campari, with a dash of Leonard Cohen, and the second cup of coffee of today. The kind of hangover that comes with a personalized nametag and high heels. Why am I so frustrated by the apostrophe in “Australian’s spend $60 a week on lottery tickets”? I can forgive grocers and newsagents, but not online insurance companies. Email sent.

Coffee today is furry and thick, a bit like my head.  Can someone please turn the sun down it’s a little bright, ah, that’s better.

I’m fascinated by my new jar of fig jam. There are large green foetus-like objects floating in it.

My new favourite word is Schokokuchen. Don’t expect translation, I want some effort on your part. You can eat it.

Bananas and two pears and an unknown melon. Do you like pickles or do you call them gherkins? I also like die Knoblauchknolle, the garlic bulb.

Have you googled today? One day a few months ago, they replaced the google icon with a game of Pacman that you can actually play, causing me untold delight. Ten minutes of my life well spent, rather than saved.

It sounds rude to ask if you’ve googled today. The kind of thing one shouldn’t inquire about in polite company; a sex act or antisocial drug habit. But have you?

One word for drinking before going out is vorglüen – literally, priming an engine. It’s one of those funny verbs that split in two as soon as you use them. The German language is littered with the remains of split infinitives, the empty husks of Latin cases, and the graves of thousands of ancient exceptions to all the rules.

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