Well, seeing as I’m stranded in the airport awaiting my flight to Barcelona – which is nearly 6 hours behind schedule and ruined our plans of cocktails and a romantic beachside stroll, as we won’t arrive until 4 in the f@&king morning, not that I’m bitter – I thought it high time that I finally sent off a missive about our time in Berlin.
It appears my earlier assertion on facebook, as to what happens in Berlin will probably end up on a porn site, was rather prophetic. No, not me, of course, the weekend wasn’t that crazy – that honour belongs to the time I managed a grand total of 3 hours sleep for an entire weekend and while had marvellous fun at the time, my body certainly let me know in no uncertain terms, for a bout a week afterwards, that I’d crossed a line. Rather, it turned out that there was an adult movie being filmed in the club that one of the official after parties was being held in. Ah, you gotta love the anything goes attitude of the city.
The weekend started off with a delayed flight – I’m sensing a theme – although it was only by an hour. Actually come to think of it, our Eurostar to London was also delayed, so that’s every birthday event with transport trouble…why must the gods toy with me so???
Anyway, despite our slightly tardy arrival, we still had a splendid time on the Friday night, at the Revolver party, which was packed with all sorts of handsome, mischievous lads. It was held in one of my favourite venues, the KitKat Club – a most wonderful rabbit warren of a place, with many a dimly lit corner available for those wanting to become better acquainted with one another. Not to mention a handy pool to wash away your sins when you’re done.
The evening was made even more exciting for me, as I finally got to debut my fabulous, custom-made – courtesy of the ever-so-lovely Jason Chetcuti – PVC kilt. And, I must say that it was something of a rousing success. Not only was it comfortable to dance in, it was also rather attention getting, with many a compliment and hard stare of approval – I do so adore the German directness. On a side note, I quickly learnt, by way of a near miss or two, that if I intend on walking up stairs, the front panel of my kilt needs to be lifted slightly, lest I trip and go sprawling in a most undignified manner.
It was a bit of a struggle to leave bed on the Saturday, but I soldiered on and managed to catch up with a friend for a lateish brunch, before regrouping and going to play in the streets for gay pride. Unlike the Sydney Mardi Gras, the CSD parade is a very relaxed affair with no barriers along the route, allowing us to wander in and out to our hearts’ content. So our merry band of revellers marched alongside many similarly proud individuals wearing all manner of delightful costumes or, in some cases, simply a splash of body paint with everything left free to the wind.
After a short rest back at the apartment, we headed onto the official after parties. The first having a lovely swimming pool floating in the river, where we sipped on our cocktails as the sun set over the city, while watching the boys frolic. The dancing portion of the evening started a few hours later when we were shuttled off to the nearby second club – the one with the ardent filmmakers.
Eventually, we toddled off home and the Sunday consisted of very chilled catch-ups with friends and a mercifully quick flight home. Sad to say, I definitely felt my age for a few days following the festivities but thankfully that soon passed and now I’m ready and raring to party like a teenager once more…if we ever get to leave this damn airport, that is.