I pretend Germany doesn’t interest me, that there’s something too grotesque about the past; too complicated. We walked by the Polish Cultural centre, Murray asked if I wanted to go in and I declined: “I can’t, I’ll probably just start crying.” So Berlin, all its older buildings pockmarked and crumbling by WWII bullet marks and shrapnel. I emailed my friend Malcolm: “It’s like walking through Medal of Honour for PS2,” but actually it really made me choked up. Like on these very sidewalks, there was a battle, there was rubble and blood. A battle for my family, a gunfight for our future. I know, I know, there are still wars going on today, but, at risk of total selfishness, I admit that this is the only one that directly affected my family.
So our gig is at a former bunker or wine cellar, its original use we are not sure of, but either is feasible. During the show I noticed actual mortar from the domed brick ceiling had fallen onto my keyboard. Actual mortar. Like where does that ever happen, except in some semi-centennial, aged cavern?
This place is fucked but there is something I like about it. Also, at every show in this country, I swear there has been a couple making out every night. Now that’s special.
I had a dream about food. It’s reached that point in the tour, where I get insanely homesick, jealous of other people’s house plants. So I dreamt about food, I invented a recipe in my sleep. It goes like this: take an eggplant and scoop out all the guts but leave about 1cm of pulp next to the skin. Ok now take the pulp and cook it up with onions, garlic, rice and some sunflower seeds, mushrooms and parmesan or something like that. THEN get some green beans, cut into 1 inch pieces and blanched. Now fill the eggplant shell three-quarters of the way with the rice mixture, then top it with the green beans, then some shredded mozza cheese. Just a sprinkle. Then bake for like 30 minutes at 350C. Serve with fresh tomato sauce. Holy fuck that would be really good. I can’t wait to try making it when I get home.
Wow I’m such a loser. I finished typing this after our gig in Munich. We played in some building that is three hundred years older than I am.