Once Upon A Time in Berlin

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Once Upon
A Time
In Berlin

Regrets, I've had a few....

Since my first trip to Berlin in 1992, I'd always regretted not visiting the Pinguin Club.
It featured very heavily in the Dave Rimmer book, 'Once Upon a time in the East'.
Instead, I spent the nights there drinking in the rip-off bars on the 'Ku-Dam'
or playing Scramble in the Hostel bar, trying in vain to get off with female Backpackers from Denmark.
What we should have done is gone to the Pinguin Club; where we could have had the chance to booze it up with Dave, Mark and the other characters that were mentioned in the book.
During the course of 1994 I read O-U-A-T-I-T-E again (Once upon a time in the East).
I enjoy long soaks in the bath and love to read whilst in the bath.
I would take O-U-A-T-I-T-E with me, and would dip in and out of various chapters.
For me, the ones about Berlin were the best.
I loved the way the author describes the city, it seemed to be the most vibrant and exciting place on earth.
It was considerable more appealing than grey and damp Manchester. My ex Pen Pal Gritta had sent me an A-Z of Berlin.
I would spend long hours reading my book, and would then find the streets that are written about in the A-Z.

A Simple Plan

I must admit, I did become a little bit obsessed with my book and Berlin.
I had to go back there.
I needed to get it out of my system. I wanted to have a drink in the Pinguin, and meet Dave Rimmer.
I made plans.
I located a Hostel that was in staggering distance of the Pinguin.
Cheap flights with STA travel were paid for, and a week booked off work.
There was one problem, I would have to try and convince, my travelling buddy, Jeff to accompany me on this mission to Berlin.
You see, Jeff would never go back to a place where he had already been to.
I met up with him in the Dean-Brook Boozer, on a wet and windy night in June, ‘British summertime eh?’
After a couple of beers and good chat, I hit him with it
"Do you fancy going to Berlin in July”?
He put down his pint and said "Why would I go back there? When I have already ‘done’ Berlin".
"Jeff, just listen, please, I have a plan"
He leaned forward has I laid out the itinerary.
At the end of my spiel he must have been impressed, because he was now nodding in agreement.
I told him
"let’s go and see the real Berlin before its too late”.

The Last of the Famous International Playboys

Dear Reader, I think I should enlighten you about O-U-A-T-I-T-E.
In 1992, at quiz night in the Dean Brook, Jeff brought with him O-U-A-T-I-T-E and said “this is probably the best book I have ever read in my life".
This was indeed high praise coming from him, as he is an absolute bookworm.
Rather than explain to you what it is about, I will print the synopsis that is on the back of the book.
Here goes:

Bored and disillusioned, with Soho media life and oppressed by 80s London, Dave Rimmer felt like history was squeezing him out. In early 1988 he sought refuge in Berlin. Him and fellow ex pats explore West Berlin and the communist East Berlin

and travelled to the old Warsaw Pact countries of Poland, Czechoslovakia, Romania and Hungary. They pushed their luck, got stoned and went shopping in communist capitals, and tried to find a few beers during in the middle of revolution.

Right, ok, I hope that gives you some idea of what O-U-A-T-I-T-E is about.
Now I will retell what happened when we returned to Berlin.

J.F.K -Flown Away- What Else Can I Say?

In late July we touched down at Tegal Airport, then we a caught a bus to the Ku-dam.
From there we took another one to Rathaus Schöneberg.
It was here that JFK in 1962, made his famous speech:
" Ich bin ein Berliner "
which translated as 'I am a Jelly doughnut'.
Our Hostel, StudentenHotel on Meininger Strasse was just a short walk away.
We checked into our room, which was a glorified broom cupboard that had 2 small single beds and a wardrobe.
I was itching to go out and find the Pinguin but it was only 7pm, far too early to go out boozing in Berlin.
We hung about in the hostel bar. I showed Jeff the Map of Schöneberg and where the Pinguin was situated and how close we were to the 'Mecca of Bars'.
At 9am we ventured into the night and went in search for the Pinguin club.
The Pinguin is situated on Wartburgstrasse, which we found quite easily, but then spent quite some time trying find to the bar as there were no signs indicating where it was.
In O-U-A-T-I-T-E, Dave mentions that the bars in Schöneberg play their cards close to chest.
I checked my map again, as we stood in front of a nondescript steel door.
I told Jeff "this must be place".
Jeff just looked back at me non-plussed, shrugged his shoulders and said
"let’s go in then".

Enter The Pinguin

I pulled open the heavy door and we entered. I was right, it was the Pinguin Club.
At first I thought it was closed as it was completely empty save for the 2 bar staff.
We took seats at the bar and ordered Becks each, which was put on a tab.
I looked around, it was a lot smaller than I imagined it to be.
It was decorated with 50s American Rock memorabilia, lots of black and white of photos of the Beatles and Elvis. It had Diner style seats and a glittering mirror ball, a very cool bar indeed.
The most interesting character in O-U-A-T-I-T-E was Mark Reeder.
He was an ex Manc who moved to Berlin in the early 80s and he helped get Dave over his depression, when he'd moved to Berlin in 1988.
He was the heart and soul of the book.
I was hoping to meet him as much as Dave.
I was intrigued to know where in Manchester he was from.

A Good Reeder

In O-U-A-T-I-T-E, Mark had been working as a barman in the Pinguin club, but the story ended when the wall came down.

Could it be?
He was still working in Pinguin?
Well, we certainly hoped so.
The guy who had served us our ice cold Becks, certainly did fit the bill.
We both sat in silence for awhile, encouraging each other to ask him if he was the man himself.
Then after several more Becks, Jeff ‘chanced his arm’ and said "
excuse me are you Mark Reeder?"
He replied to Jeff in German. Poor Jeff just stammered back something inaudible.
But then he burst out laughing saying "yes I am Mark Reeder"
We told him that we'd come from England to the Pinguin because we'd read O-U-A-T-I-T-E and wanted to see what the Pinguin was like and meet with Dave Rimmer.
Mark turned out to be great company and we engaged him in conversation for an hour or so before it got too busy in the bar, to chat to us.

Oh, Manchester- So Much To Answer For

We talked about O-U-A-T-I-T-E and he told us a few stories that did not make the final edit.
I was a bit disappointed to find out that he originally haled from Denton.
Denton is a boring Residential town in Tameside, five miles from Manchester.
He confirmed that he rarely visits Manchester.
The last time he was there was on New Years Eve.
He'd spent a pleasant night bopping away in the Hacienda.
Somehow he got separated from his friends at the end of the night.
He'd then spent a good few hours in the pissing rain trying in vain to get a cab and when he'd finally succeeded he had to pay the princely some of £60.
"I don't miss Manchester", he raged
"there is only a hand full of decent clubs, but here in Berlin,
you are spoilt for choice on where to go, on any night of the week- and you can always find a cab home"
He went on to tell us, that the only person he really knows now from Manc- land is Barney from New Order, and that Barney was in the Pinguin last week.
Jeff was very impressed by this. Jeff is probably the biggest Joy Division/New Order fan in the world. "Why did we not come last week?"
Jeff said sadly.
I then asked Mark the burning question "Where is the Rimmer man?"
"who Dave?”
I nodded back at him
"well, he'd came in here a couple of nights ago, he may in come later but he is in one of his moods, where he thinks the world is against him".
We stayed in Pinguin until 3am, But the Rimmer man was a no show, so we exited the bar into the dark night, drunk as lords and staggered the short distance back to the hostel.
It had been a 'top' night, we may have not met the great man himself, but at least we now knew that he was still at large in Berlin.
The next morning after a boring continental breakfast, oh how I craved for a full English breakie to soak up my hang-over.

Monuments In Time

I armed myself with my maps and a Time-out guide to Berlin of which the Rimmer Man was Editor.
Berlin was in the middle of a heat wave.
The temperature in the morning was already in the 80s and would rise to 100 degrees by the afternoon.
I rode the S-bahn to Treptower Park.
I was keenly anticipating seeing the WW2 Soviet war monument which I’d seen many photos of in guide books.
I crossed busy Alt-Treptow Street, and then I cut across a massive lawn, where many Berliners were sunning themselves (there were many titties on show); then I walked past a big lake.
I was now standing in front of the Soviet War monument.
Its magnitude took me by surprise, and the workmanship impressed me.
The Soviet Memorial commemorates some 300,000 casualties on the Soviet side during the battle for Berlin in WWII. Beneath the memorial is a mass grave in which the soldiers are buried.
I entered the main field passing between two monuments made of red granite.
They are stylised flags, hanging towards the alley, symbolising grief - like a person bending the head when in grief.
About a dozen Russian soldiers toiled in the hot sun, cutting grass and tiding up, they asked me for Cigarettes. After giving up a full pack of Bensons, I tried to read the many quotes from Stalin that adorns the friezes on either side of the memorial, but they were in Russian and German.
I loved it here.
I sat on a bench for about an hour, soaking in the sunshine and the history.

This How It Feels to Be Lonely

That evening we were back in the Pinguin, knocking back the Becks (The draft beer was still not on). Mark was not working tonight but he was in there with Martyn 'Bungle' Walsh (the Bald Bass player from The Inspiral Carpets).
It was his first time in Berlin and Mark was looking after him and showing him around.
Mark told us that Bungle had been 'controlled' on the U-bahn for having no ticket and was issued a 40 mark fine.
Somehow Mark, in his best German, had talked the Inspectors out of making him pay the fine.
He introduced us to him.
Bungle danced over to us, obviously off his ‘f*cking nut’ on drugs.
He shook our hands and then danced off, back to some big titted blonde, he was chatting up.
We understood.
We were not famous.
We had no coke.
So he was not interested in conversing with us. Well f*ck him, the bald C*nt! With Mark busy schmoozing up to the bald f*cker, we chatted with Gosto the Barman.
He informed us that he was responsible for sleeve design of the O-U-A-T-I-T-E.
He told us about how when the book first came out, souvenir hunters came in and stole pictures from the wall.
Gosto had some great stories and kept us entertained for the rest of the night.
At 1am, Mark and co left for 'Tresor'(the second best club in town, after E-werk).
He came over to us and half heartedly invited us along.
But the dancing fool was pulling at Mark's sleeve saying
"C'mon Mark! Bungle is mad for some raving."
We propped up the bar until 2am and still the Rimmer man did not show up, maybe he had gone on holiday?

In My Bunker, My Bloody Bunker

The next morning I found an interesting leaflet in the foyer of the hostel. It read:

Are you fascinated by the history of the Berlin Wall? East Germany? And The Third Reich? Then this walking tour is the tour for you! 1994 marks the fifth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall and this absorbing tour follows the story of Germany's most notorious Cold War landmark.

This was the tour for me.
I made my way to the meeting place, which was the Checkpoint Charlie museum (best museum in the world, bar none).
At the appointed hour we set off walking to the river Spree.
The tour composed of just 4 people (including me) and the tour leader, an ex-pat called Jez.
As we arrived at the river, his plumy voice droned
"can you see those iron ladders over there? They look the type you get in a swimming pool. Well, they were erected because, in June 1965, 2 people tried to swim the river.
The first one got up in hail bullets but the other one managed to get the west bank, but he could not climb up the bank and he too was mercilessly gunned down; so close but so far.
So the Americans installed them to aid future swimmers."
From there we went to Hermann Goring's Air Ministry building on Wilhelmstrasse.
It was a boring concrete building.
He then showed us some watchtowers and then it was on to the 'Eastside gallery', which is longest stretch of the wall still remaining.
As we ambled along, I said to Jez
"So was you partying at the Brandenburg gate when the wall the came down?”
“Err… no, I only moved to Berlin in 1991"
"1991!” I said amazed “So how do you know where the wall actually stood then?"
"I have a very good city map from 1989" he said proudly.
I thought “what a c*nt". I could have done a better job than him, the Oxbridge educated twat.
We had reached our final destination, the Fuhrer Bunker (it was also Hitler’s last one; that’s if you believe that he actually died there).
I'd been looking forward to seeing where the last dramatic events of Ww2 in Europe took place.
The FuhrerBunker was situated in the subterranean depths below the Reich Chancellery.
The Chancellery was completely destroyed at the end of the war and buried below was Hitler's bunker.
Located near the Berlin Wall, the site was undeveloped and neglected until after reunification.
Then they built a housing estate on the site.
So here I was, with our little group standing in someone's driveway, and Jez was waffling on, telling us that this is the spot, where, directly underneath was the room where Hitler committed suicide.
I scanned the area, and I thought that it must be quite eerie living here, in the knowledge that most evil man in modern history died below.
I wondered if the Estate Agency used this fact as a unique selling point:

Want to see Nazi Zombies? Want to Meet Ghosts from the Third Reich? Then his 'two up two down' (well a lot more than 2 down) is the place for you. With off street security (SS).

With this in mind, I mooched back to back to hostel for a much needed siesta.

Fashion - Turn To The Left-Right!

That evening we decided a change of scenery and we ventured out on a pub crawl around Schöneberg.
We had a scribbled list of bars and clubs, on a beer mat, recommend by Gosto.
They were:

Rossli
Turbine
krik
Havana Club
Dshungel

Going on a pub crawl in Berlin is difficult.
It’s not like when you are in Magaluft (Chaddy take note), where all the bars are on the main street.
In Berlin all the cool and trendy hangouts are spread out and are bloody hard to find.
But having said that, we found Rossli bar quite easily; it was located on Eisenacher Strasse.
We got talking to a Swiss guy who worked behind the bar, who turned out to the owner.
We marvelled at the bar’s wall sized papier mache mock-up of the Alps.
The place was dead, except for a couple of denim clad dudes grooving out to Johnny Cash records.
The next place we going to, I knew was going to hard to find, so we got the Swiss guy to phone us a cab and to make sure the driver knew where Dshungel was.
We got dropped off at an unmarked door, a bit like the Pinguin, it was on Nurnberger Strasse, it was not far from where we'd been but we would have never found it on foot.
Dshungel is one Berlin oldest nightclubs; it was in here that David Bowie and Iggy Pop used to party. And it was in here, in O-U-A-T-I-T-E, that Dave got a good twatting by some guy who did not like his hat.
Jeff went to the bar and I found a seat upstairs in on the Balcony.
It felt cool sitting there, checking all the crazy punters who were dancing to Techno.
The place soon became rammed out with many odd-ball characters:
transvestites, people dressed like priests, but most of them were dressed in all black and wearing f*cking sunglasses!
At 2am we emerged from the club and walked to Nollendorfpl.
We went in Cafe 'M' and drank a latte; we needed to chill out after Dshungel.
Our next port of call was to be one of Berlin's most famous discos:
'The Metropol'; the architecture is a stunning reminiscent of 'The Tower of Babel in Fritz Lang's Metropolis.
While we waited in the queue, I told Jeff that I good feeling about this club and maybe we could get lucky with some kinky Berlin Chicks.
"Hey Kris,"
Jeff said as we neared the front of the queue,
"wasn't it here that Dave Rimmer used to work as a Doorman with Mark?"
"Yeah I think you are right".
I then remembered that in ouatite, to kill time in between tearing tickets and stamping wrists, they had dreamt up the Fashion Police or 'Modepolizei'.
I will let Dave explain in his own words:

The idea suited Berlin perfectly. Not only was it world capital of controlling, it was also a horribly vivid nightmare of implausible hairstyles, drab or else violently mismatched colours, too-tight trousers, ugly footwear, silly details and ill-advised facial hair. West Berlin begged for draconian measures in defence of good taste.

I wish I could tell a tale of a night of high jinks but we did not even get in the club, the radio-controlled bouncers went berserk at the sight of Jeff's baggy jeans, and refused us entry - the bastards.
If only Dave and Mark had been guarding the entrance, I am sure they would have granted us entry, if even they were the 'Modepolizei'.
We decided to call it a night and we headed back to the hostel.
On the way back we popped in the Pinguin for a night cap.
Mark was back behind the bar, he cracked open a couple of Becks for us, as we took our usual stools at the bar.
"Hey guys" Mark said with a mischievous grin,
“You just missed Dave, he left about 20 minutes ago".
Damn and blast! It looked like we were destined never to meet up with the great man.

East is East

It was now Wednesday, and I could no longer put it off any longer, I had to go and visit my ex-pen-pal Gritta.
She lived in Oranienburg which is situated just outside of Berlin at the end of the northern end of S1 S-bahn line.
It took me a good part of 2 hours to get there as I had to change trains a couple of times.
I'd met Gritta courtesy of 'Loot' newspaper.
She’d was a real anglophile and wanted to visited England.
In our correspondence I told her that if she ever comes to Manchester, she could stay at my house (at this time I was sleeping on the fold-out sofa, in the living room at my parent’s house).
One Friday evening I got a call from her telling me that she had booked a flight to Manchester and would be staying for one week.
I told her that it was fine for her to stay.
When I finished speaking to her, I told my mum that Gritta was coming to stay for a week.
Well my dear old Mother went ape-shit and told me in no uncertain terms that she could not stay with us.
She stressed, that there was barely room for me, so there was no f*cking way she could stay.
Shit, now I had to phone up and give her the bad news.
As you can imagine she was not best pleased.
I heard from her about a week later and she told me that she had to cancel her flight and she lost 80% of the price she'd paid.
I felt terrible about messing this poor East German girl, about like this.
So this is why she was my ex-penpel (just in case you were wondering).
That was about 2 years ago and I not heard from her since then.

Friends Reunited

A week before our trip to Berlin, I phoned up and told her I was coming to Berlin for a week and I asked her if she fancied meeting up, so I could say sorry in person for what had happened.
She was obviously surprised to hear from me and she told to ring her up when I arrived.
I rang up from the hostel, but she refused to meet me in Berlin but told me to come to Oranienburg. Which was fine with me, as it gave me the chance to get out of the stifling hot city, plus I could also get to visit Sachsenhausen concentration camp.
She was waiting for me at the rampart of the Station.
She had black hair hung down to her waist at the back-she had a fringe over her forehead that almost covered her almost black eyes.
The nose-not her best feature- was long but not ugly; her face was shallow in complexion.
I already knew from her photo that she was no stunner, she reminded me of the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz.
On the plus side she had a nice slim body - and she was the only the German girl I knew.
I shook her hand and gave her a peck on the cheek, she smiled at me and I knew that she had forgiven me for f*cking up her holiday.

Horror Show

Before seeing the sights of Oranienburg (sic), I insisted that she take to me to Sachsenhausen.
The Camp is situated about 3km from the centre.
We took a leisurely strolled there, hand in hand and soon I had my arm round her.
She gave me a tour of the camp and told me that the last time she had been there was with School.
We marched across the parade ground, this was where inmates had to witness executions and behind the gallows are 2 barrack blocks.
One of the Blocks houses a small museum and the other houses a small cinema, where you can watch a film of the history of the camp.
The camp received its first prisoners in 1936, mostly political opponents but they were soon joined by Gays and Jews and anyone else the deemed anti-social.
It was here that some of the first experiments in organised mass murder were made.
In 1945, The SS marched some 33,000 inmates to the Baltic, where they were packed into boats and sunk in the sea.
But the story didn't end there, the Russian secret police, the MVD, reopened Sachsenhausen as 'Camp 7', they too used for the detention of anyone who opposed the new regime.
After the fall the Wall, mass graves were discovered, containing the remains of 10,000 prisoners.
It was grim viewing indeed, and as we stepped out into the sunlight, I looked at Gritta and she just looked back at me, with her big goofy smile.
Before we had reached the camp, I'd been cracking jokes and singing 'Deutschland Uber Alles’ and generally making a fool of myself, but now as we walked to her house, I felt awkward and lost for words, so I kept my mouth shut.

The River

I met Herr and Frau Grossman; both of them seem like your typical Jolly Germans, big beaming smiles and firm handshakes.
Her Dad tried speaking to me but my German was not up to conversations, so I just said 'Ja, Ja' to everything he said.
Gritta collected the ingredients for a picnic and we made our way to the river which was about 100 yards from her house.
It felt great lying on the isolated river bank, feeling the warm sun on my face, eating sausages and cheese and drinking warm beer.
After a while, Gritta suggested that we take a dip in the river.
She stripped off completely, and dived in.
Soon she was beckoning me in, I did not have to think twice, I whipped of my t-shirt and shorts but left on my underpants (after all I am reserved English Gentleman).
The water was warm and soon we were both frockling and splashing around.
She dived under the water and before I knew it, she had whisked of my undies and launched them on to the bank.
I swam after her, eventually grabbing hold of her, I pulled her close to me and I kissed her.
She responded passionately, pushing her tongue deep into my mouth.
We waded over to some bushes that hung over the river. She climbed on top my now throbbing member, then began bobbin up and down, she was moaning quite loudly.
I was a bit concerned in case her Dad decided to check on us,he was ex Stasi (East German secret Police), probably.
We were not disturbed, so the afternoon turned out to very pleasurable indeed.
Gritta wanted me to stay the night.
But I had to get back to Berlin as I had the only key to our room. I got a lift back to the S-bahn Station from her father, on the back of his Scooter.
Then I made the tedious journey back to the hostel. It must have been around 9pm when I arrived back.
I found a very red-faced Jeff sitting in the café, next door to the hostel
"Where the f*ck have you been?"
he shouted furiously
"I have been waiting here for three f*cking hours, for you"
"Jeff, just chill out, I got lost on the U-bahn".
Well I could not tell him the truth, maybe later when he calms down.
I crashed out on my bed, I felt exhausted from the day's actives and I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

At the Rim

I was awoken by Jeff, he was saying
"Kris, wake up, I want to go out".
When I came to my senses I told him that I was not in the mood for drinking tonight and I wanted an early night.
He was not impressed
"Well I want a drink, just come for a couple beers in the Pinguin"
I was seriously not in the mood for going out, but I did feel a bit bad for locking him out of the room all day.
I caved in,
"Right just give me 10 mins, while I get a shower".
All the bar-stools were taken, so we took a sat in the Diner-style seats.
We sat in silence for awhile. I amused myself by peeling the label from my bottle of Becks.
Suddenly, a tall figure loomed in from of me and said,
"I believe you have been looking for me?”
"Err..."
I stammered nervously, I shook his outreached hand
-he then said
"I am Dave Rimmer"
As soon as the 'Rimmer-Man' sat down, the mood of the table changed completely.
Dave is a real larger than life character, full of fun and mischief.
This was the complete opposite of what I thought he would he would be like.
I was expecting a much more sombre person, more serious type.
Instead, he was a friendly, gregarious, cool dude.
He was amazed that we came to Berlin because of O-U-A-T-I-T-E.
I think at first he may have been worried that we were a pair of crazed Stalkers.
Especially after we'd told him, in 1992, we had been to all the same places in Eastern Europe that he and Mark had visited in O-U-A-T-I-T-E.
But after a few more beers, and good conversation, he could see that we were just a couple of normal guys (well I am anyway).
I told him that I just got back from visiting Sachsenhausen and he said,
"Its piss-poor as concentration camp goes, there is not much to see".
I had to laugh at his frankness and also he was right.
I have visited Auschwitz and Dachau.
At these camps, you get far better feeling of what it must have been like being an inmate in one of these inhumane places.
We asked Dave many questions about the book, such as:
What happened to Norman? Do you still see Trevor?
And what happened went you went doing bar work in Greece?
No one had seen Norman, he had disappeared completely.
Trevor got ill and blamed it on the meat he had eaten while they were travelling in Romania (Dave and Mark are both veggies).
I never did get an answer to what happened in Greece, I think it must have had a real bad experience and he wanted to never speak of it again.
As he chain-smoked his way through my duty-free Bensons, he regaled us with tales of his travels, which did not make the final edit of O-U-A-T-I-T-E.
He had so many amusing stories and they were told with such wit, that both Jeff and I were laughing, practically non stop.
All too soon he stubbed out the last cig, from my packet, and went back to his drinking buddies at the bar.
But not before he invited us to Ex 'n' Pop, the following evening.

Popping Into EX 'n' Pop

Thursday night's at Ex 'n' Pop was poetry/open mike night.
We made the short walk to Potsdamer Strasse and entered the bar.
We found Dave at the Bar knocking back the spirits.
While we waited for the show to start, Dave told us about the legend that was Ex 'n' Pop:
"This place has cleaned its act up in the last few years, they used to be paint peeling from the walls, the Bar staff were all crazy, they would take pleasure from smashing the empties in a big bin behind the bar.
The back rooms were sometimes used for sex, but more often for the use of speed and smack.
This used to be a real Anarchist bar.
Members from Einsturzende Neubauten (German punk band) would come hear to party.
I have had many, many wild nights in here."
The first act was an American, who with an acoustic guitar, sang depressing songs about living in a rat infested apartment with only a 'one bar fire' to keep him warm.
Dave pulled a faced and whispered
"Depressing f*cking shit".
This rest of the artists were not much better but Dave kept us entertained with a story about the time, when he got up on the mic and read extracts from his diary, aged eight years old.
Most of it centres around his love for 'Fireball XL 5', the classic Gerry Anderson show, which was piloted by Steve Zodiac. "I went down a f*cking storm"
he said with real pride.
There is only so much shite poetry and zany, offbeat, entertainment that a man can take, so we moved on to 'The Zoolou bar.

A Smash Hit

While we waited at the bar to get served, Dave told us that only 'a stone's throw from here', on Haupstrasse, was where David Bowie and Iggy Pop used to share a flat together.
It was amazing to think that just around the corner from here, is where greatest solo artist ever, once lived.
Back in the early eighties, up to 1986, Dave worked as Journalist for the greatest pop magazine ever: Smash Hits.
I bought this magazine religiously from 1978 to 1986 (the golden age of British pop, between the end of punk and live aid).
It had everything: song lyrics, great interviews, colour posters and you got to know what was Paul Young's worst Job - working in a weed killer factory.
Dave got to meet and interview popstars, of whom, most of them I had pined on my bedroom wall.
I must admit, I went into overdrive asking him about my heroes.
“So what was Stuart Adamson like then?", "Did you interview Adam Ant?", "Did you ever meet Paul Weller?”
He answered all my questions.
"Never met Stuart Adamson, Adam Ant was a pain in the ass and Paul Weller was a normal bloke but a bit boring".
I could see that he getting fed-up with my mithering but I asked one final question.
“Who was the best popstar that you interview?”
"Boy George, I got to know him well, when I interviewed in Japan, he is a funny geezer and he still sends me a postcard every now and then".
As the night wore on, Dave introduced us to many wild and wacky characters. I got fairly rat-arsed, drinking far too many Jack Daniels.
At around about 3am, we bide Dave farewell, he was busy chatting up some washed-out bleached blonde. We shook hands and thanked him for a most interesting evening.
As we walked past Bowie's old gaff, we high-fived, it had a brilliant night out- Mission accomplished!
Friday night, was our last night in Berlin, so where else could we go?
It had to be the Pinguin club.

How Does It Feel, To Treat Me Like You Do?

We found Mark in a talkative mood. I asked him why he had come to live in Berlin.
” I moved in here in 1978, Id always been fascinated by its cold war atmosphere, living in the shadow of the wall, it became my Disneyland."
"What did you for work" I asked him interrupting his flow.
"Well, after a few months of ducking and diving, I became 'Factory Records' representative for Germany.
I got really into the 'The Berlin New wave Punk' and I was in a few bands and I produced a couple of bands that had minor hits in Germany."
Then he said something that astounded us:
"I am responsible for the best selling 12inch single for all time - Blue Monday.”
"What! How!" we asked, shaking our heads, almost in unison.
"When Joy Division became New Order, I thought they may need a new direction, so I sent to Barney, cassette-types of new underground electronic disco music.
I knew that Barney was a big electronic music fan and I was secretly hoping to inspire him to make great music again."
"Wow, Mark, you sure have great stories"
I told him, not entirely sure whether to believe him or not.
Mark was closing the bar up early as he going to the E-Werk and he invited us along, with a promise of being on the guest list.
But we had an early morning start the next day, so it was not a probably good idea to party until the dawn.
While we were discussing the pros and cons, Mark put 2 cups of coffee down in front of us, each with a small round biscuit on the saucers.
He said
"you two guys have been good customers and also great company- enjoy".
The biscuits were made from hash, the same ones, that Mark, Dave and the rest of guys would consume, when they were travelling around Eastern Europe; to aid there enjoyment of all things crap.
I rolled it around in my fingers, and contemplated whether to take it or not. Then I thought "fuck it, why not".

Hitting The Berlin Wall

Twenty minutes later, I felt really nauseous, I slipped of my stool and staggered outside and puked up all over the pavement.
Feeling somewhat better, I went back inside to finish my coffee.
Mark had finished putting the towels on top of the pumps and said to us,
"So what you guys doing then?”
I told Jeff to go, but I was not going because I was feeling rough.
Jeff did not go.
We shook hands with Mark and thanked him for a marvellous time.
We arrived back at the hostel at 1.30am.
We had to wake up at 6am, for our flight. Sleep would not come, the combination of the strong coffee and hash biscuits kept me awake for most of the night and I worried that I would wake up late and miss the flight home.
Sometime in the night, while I dozed, Jeff sat bolt upright in his bed and screamed
"the wall - there’s a face on the wall!”
"Jeff"
I said trying my best to calm him down,
"you are having a bad trip".
He looked around confused, then lay back down, while I giggled at his absurd outburst.
We made the flight and all too soon we back in boring Manchester.
That evening I was out with 'Team Moston' knocking back the bottles of 'Becks', telling anyone who would listen to me about the most amazing week I had in just spent in Berlin.
“Hey Just flew in....Berlin!"

Epilogue

Gritta and I, Never met again. I got an occasional letter from her from time to time.
In 1997, I brought the New Order CD box set and there in the liner notes, amazing, was Barney 'fessing up' to the fact that it was Mark Reeder had greatly influenced him to write Blue Monday.
I returned to Berlin at Christmas, 1996, But things had changed, Dave had left Berlin and Mark no longer worked in the Pinguin. I looked him up in the phone directory and I had a brief telephone chat with him.
He was going to E-Werk for the New Year Eve, while I had to go the F*cking Brandenburg with my new penpal, Ina Ehlers, and watch the pissing fireworks, standing in freezing cold. It was minus 30, too cold to even get pissed, I just wanted to get back to her flat in Prenzlauer Berg and thaw out.
I have never returned to Berlin, but with the Invention of the Internet, I managed to get in touch with
Mark Reeder.
He was still living in Berlin, he now had his own record label and was producing new bands.
He told me that Dave was spending most of his time in Morocco as he had a girlfriend there, as Mark put it "doing his Lawrence of Arabia bit".
Recently I added Dave as one of Facebook friends and, during an on-line chat, I discovered that he was
back living in Berlin and writing a new book.
Well I hope he's new composition is as half as good his masterpiece 'Once upon a time in the east'.

---

Photos

Bungle
I Could not find a photo of the 'Baldy' on the Internet.

Jazzt Jeff
Oh Yah, I Certain that Underneath us now, is Hitler's last Resting place.....