I depart for my oldest mate’s stag weekend in Berlin tomorrow, or I should say at a ludi-chris time of tomorrow morning from east midlands airport – y’know the one that resembles an art gallery with all the art stolen by corporate chain stores desperately vying at eye level by trying to convince you that you’ve forgotten something of upmost importance for your holiday like a pocket teamaid or automated pillow fluffer?
Although we arrive at 10am Friday with T-minus 60 hours to be ‘Brits abroad up to no good but not quite banged up’, I arrive armed with ‘Around Berlin in 80 Beers’ written by the unfortunately named Peter Sutcliffe. It turns out that rather than being the Yorkshire Ripper allowed conditional release to undertake trans-euro express trips comparing the Deustche capital’s finest brewpubs & historic beer styles until he recalls victim’s burial sites, Peter Sutcliffe is much less dangerously an economics analyst in Whitehall (though this is an also increasingly edgy profession in Jack the ‘other’ Ripper’s former slashing grounds) who runs the Foreign Beer Bar at Battersea Beer Fest & lives in Berlin half the time.
There is a 9 hour bar crawl included in his book which I suspect is a good 7 hours historic context & padding between bars but still, anywhere David Hasselhoff has sung about Looking for Freedom along a 155 kilometre long wall in a LED-flashing jacket is good enough for me. Typing of Herr Hasselhoff, did you know his surname translates as Hazelnut House? No, neither did he until recently according to the latest Big Issue but then he didn’t know where Austria is & his ancestors were from Bremen, the flaming ninnyhead.
To anything less than the best of Berlin’s brews I say “Spulwasser!” (“waste water”). At least this time around on a stag weekend I won’t be having to grapple with a shaved ape-cum-cold turkey junkie in an illuminous man-kini posing like Kate Winslet on a toddler’s mini go-kart outside a respectable rural family pub on the Broads (but that’s a tale for another blog entry). Partridge calls Norfolk the Provence of Britain and Berlin’s just as flat but not quite as wet with buildings even known to rise above 2 storeys!
As my dear pal Alex commented “if you mange to drink all 80 beers in 60 hours you deserve a medal, that’s roughly 1.3 beers an hour, which you’ll have to increase to approximately 2.2 an hour once you’ve factored in sleep time, but as the ancient Germanic proverb goes ‘you can sleep when you’re dead’ – so maybe it’s possible”.
I will make sure that in any tight spot I just think to myself “What would Uter Zorker, The Simpsons plump & gluttonous exchange student, say in this situation?”
Cheers to you Pete ‘I’m a drinker not a ripper’ Sutcliffe!