Focus on finding my centre with deep breathing exercises while protectively cradling my Bio Dinkelbrot.
Ahhh... the wonderful craziness of Berlin! I turn up that Twin Shadows/Beirut song on my iPod. Mental note: blog it!
The only question is: Doc Martin to the head or a vinyl Yo Majesty LP wedged between his spokes.
Unless they spill my Caras Houseblend Mild on my iPhone, I couldn’t care less: too busy trending on Twitter.
Unless I score an invitation to the VIP opening of that Belgian-Fijian fusion spot, I’ll join that oyster party at Grill Royal or dig my heels into the Soho House roof terrace... and on to Cookies or Weekend, where there will be some coke and networking with media-type pals.
Get the juices flowing with a WG party (unless there’s a free-booze art opening), before a soft taco at Santa Maria, a vodka and Club Mate at a Späti and head to Kleine Reise later. MDMA optional.
Some palatable German grub at Markthalle or Prater over a glass of Spätburgunder, or homemade antipasti at Francucci’s followed by improv jazz at B-Flat, maybe a nightcap at Der Goldene Hahn and a joint at home afterwards.
Start with a meatless kebab from Vöner and a Sterni. Hit up Silver (‘You’re leaving the hetero normativ zone’) Future, Roses or Hangar. If I find some cheap speed, I might have to pay my respects at RAW Tempel.
Original fittings! A one-of-a-kind storefront-studio-space. Graffiti and grim on the outside, 1980s vintage barstools and a healthy dose of random gems from the Treptow Market inside.
Altbau. High ceilings with Stuck, stripped original floorboards, non-toxic-paint, huge rustic dining table, trees outside. Family antiques and art by friends I don’t get to see enough of these days.
An old factory turned LGBT commune – dogs, drugs and politics!
A 200 sq. metre loft with floor-to-ceiling windows. Minimalist please – I’ll take original furniture by Shiro Kuramata and Bo Concept, and get everything else from Stilwerk.
Not compulsory, but a great idea. Berlin offers the perfect balance of green space, trilingual education opportunities and Waldorf-Kitas
I’ve done some babysitting… Maybe one day, but I’d like to finish my big project or maybe get my Master’s first.
We already have too many little snot-nosed brats running about the place – the planet hardly needs more mouths to feed.
Waistline altering and time-consuming. But with some serious Bauch-Express training and a dedicated nanny... Dressed in the gorgeous kids stuff from Galeries Lafayette, a baby would look good on me. Angelina, Heidi, von der Leyen: successful women do the Mutter-thing!
A platinum lipstick lesbian, or a quiet anarchist piercing-Typ whom I can corrupt. A healthy appetite for late night kink wouldn’t go amiss.
A successful man who knows his Boss from his Fred Perry. His own Soho House member card and a table with his name on it at Borchardt are musts.
Someone who’s equally comfortable changing nappies as (s)he is sprinkling balsamic glaze. Long summer afternoons by Wannsee or walking through the snow in Volkspark Friedrichshain.
Ironic mustache and an awesome vinyl collection. He knows his Kraut from his prog. Maybe called Carlos. Or Ulrike, in which case, no strings attached.
Still experiencing the Berghain dance floor or squeezing into Sing Blackbird for vegan eggs and a little vintage shopping.
Hardcore cross-training at the gym or a Bikram session then relaxing with a latte and fast WLAN at 103 Bar.
Nothing as relaxing as a good multiple-hour tattoo session to start the weekend.
At the Kollwitzplatz or any other organic/farmer’s market to handpick homemade goat cheese and saucisson with walnuts for tomorrow’s brunch.
Tantric foreplay with wholesome climax on our XL ‘Jailhousefuck bed’ – Gotan Project playing on the stereo.
On top! Me that is. How else am I going to show off my new La Perla lingerie from Blush?
Top, bottom, blow jobs for poets. Always eager to experience the native tongue.