Ice Ice Baby

In the slack of the first week back when you are looking for some kind of entertainment to take your mind off the fact that you’re writing 11 at the end of everything now, look no further than the streets of Berlin.

I am currently performing my new Dorothy Hamill homage piece all over the streets of this fine city.

The boots that I was assured had excellent grip apparently do not, as the bruise on my ass will happily confirm. So in lieu of any kind of traction, I have converted every walk into an Ice Skating Extravaganza.

Bears On Ice, the show taking Berlin by storm, starting a couple of days into the New Year when the temperature raised to a barmy 3C then dropped down to below freezing again. The top layer of snow melted, then froze again.

When I said that I was getting sick of the snow and was ready for something else, this wasn’t what I had in mind.

I currently slide my way around the streets of Berlin, head down looking at the shiny glacial sheet stretched out before me, arms out flailing like a flightless bird, feet up and down like a wind up robot. I’ve looked pretty bad walking down some streets in this lifetime; drunk in Singapore, 90s fashion in Sydney, carless in LA, in nothing but a red union suit in San Francisco and without my wallet.

However, my Icescapades in Berlin, really are taking gold right now.

A little aside; there is a rather curious anthropological phenomenon that takes place this time of year. People throw cigarette butts, wrappers, flyers on the ground, where other people also let their dogs crap and neglect to pick it up. This all gets left in the snow, amongst the firework detritus of New Year, perfectly preserved by the cold. A little thaw, a little cold snap and the next thing you know you have an archaeological dig ready to rock.

Admittedly the carbon dating will only take you back a couple of weeks, but still, there lies the party season history of Berlin, beautifully preserved for the whole of the winter in its icy display case.

Anyway, back to the Marx Bros film… In the uber-fashionable shopping area of Mitte one day, I step out of the way of some shoppers, foot goes down on an icy patch, I lose all sensation of balance.

I slide, I flail, I recover.

I slide, I flail, I recover.

Time stops.

I crash in slow motion, ass first onto the icy gravelled pathway. The Timberland Boots finally delivered on the threat they had been making all week. I recover fast, and even though I am unharmed, my ego is in an ambulance somewhere.

I can’t wait to get back to Amsterdam. At least there all I have to step over are stoned people.


About Some Gay Guy

I'm getting divorced. So... yeah.
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