Berlin, Berlin ...
You are so vast, so casually consumed with your own biggery that I do not - I cannot - know you.
A shame, but the show, that daily punctuation point, can sometimes tell as much or more about a cities character as any tourist monument* or drunken journey around its bars.
I conclude, then - crazy. A little younger, a little fresher, a little less stable than other huge urban sprawls. Perhaps less sure of whatever the hell it is. Dark, mighty and with a relatively cheap standard of living - a little, it must be said, like my balls.
This is why we don't give Jack a microphone ...
Truly, sticking your finger in a colleagues mouth when they yawn ('mouth-rape') will never feel the same again.
Magnet, the club, is packed tonight. Here's as close as I could get to the stage to film a little of Pulled Apart By Horses...
Our show, whilst perhaps not as on-the-point as Cologne was helped by an utterly incredible crowd who carry Kelson half the length of the venue amongst the final, stupid notes; I attempt to get some footage of it but was rather distracted by the act of playing.
Still, all good ...
and BAD things ...
... pull a man towards his fate.
*ie. The Brandenburg Gate or the Cheltenham branch of Lidl, it's all the same to me*1
*1 No, it's not.
ps. you will have to excuse me the irregular, late blogs - i'm afraid internet access needs to be substantial to upload the goddamn fucking videos. Please, bear with me.