December 31, 2016 §
I’m at the point in my life now where every time I drink, my bottom bleeds; and there is not much sexy about that. My connection to Vienna Westbahnhof is strong—it is where trains from Western Europe arrive (even if I am no longer coming by train). My connection to Berlin Zoo is strong, it is where trains from Western Europe always used to come to. My connection to Munich Hauptbahnhof is very strong. My connection to Brussels Gare du Midi is very strong. I feel something close to love for these 4 railway stations. Berlin Zoo has been downgraded because of the new Central Railway Station, but I will never desert her. The Central Railway Station is in the middle of a wasteland. The new Vienna Central Railway Station under construction is in the middle of a wasteland.
December 29, 2016 §
Well, all the excitement of my arrival in Vienna yesterday morning has gone. Here in the hotel bar on the second afternoon I feel no excitement. Quite a miserable night. It was my fault, of course: I started drinking at 12 midday, unable to control my excitement, so by 5pm I was already fucked (metaphorically only). I forced myself to struggle on to 8 to try to find something to do but in vain. I was shocked to find Pour Platin—where I lost my Vienna virginity—gone. I mean it is not just closed still, and dark; or not just taken over by a different business; I mean the entire lot has been knocked down. A huge gap in the Gurtel where it used to be, and 50 yards back in the distance, the backs of the houses in the next street. It is like in Star Wars when they come out of hyperspace to find Alderaan gone, just an asteroid storm of rubble where it used to be. There is just bits of rubble where Pour Platin used to be. This is very upsetting to me. Pour Platin gave me my one great night in Vienna, back in 2005. It is still the only time I have ever made love in Vienna. Practically the entire left side of the Gurtel is a wasteland. The Erotic Peep Show on the corner of Menzelstraße was appalling, none of the kabins worked properly, the buttons unusable. I walked all the way back down and the only other place was the Laufhaus 599 which had no one worth seeing. So that was my night in Vienna. I think I am going to have to force myself to seek further afield, away from the Gurtel, to the places I crossed off of my list before leaving home. We will see if this trip can be rescued.
December 8, 2016 §
So it begins. I have left my room to begin my last night in Berlin. I actually feel incredibly nervous. My heart is racing and my hands are shaking. It is good to feel nervous like this; like an actor or a sportsman you need to be a little bit nervous in order to have a good night. Already the first Kindl feels sharper and colder than the one I had last night. Yesterday I was saturated with beer before the evening even began, and I had to give up. That means there are now so many places I need to try to get to tonight. That is the thing about Berlin, there are always so many more places to discover. In London there is nothing for me anymore. Just the —— and that has almost died a death.
December 7, 2016 §
I no longer care about the art museums, Nefertiti, Ishtar Gate, Caravaggio, when I travel; I just want to drink, and eat.
December 7, 2016 §
I was drinking in the hotel bar for a few hours in the end, enjoying the Berliner Kindl so much, and the scary thing is I have absolutely no memory of leaving, or in which direction I turned when I did. My memory starts when I was around Mommsenstraße and Windscheidstraße looking for the Berlin Erotic Centre. BEC itself was a massive disappointment. The store seems to have doubled in size and left just one tiny little corner for the kabins, and the film selection was so small and poor. Mon Cheri was closed, of course, and the only place open in that stretch was Stutti (or is it called Chocolat), just the barmaid. She says the three girls had already gone to a hotel with three businessmen about 10 minutes before I arrived. There was a sexy Turkish woman in black dress outside Sissi Bar, and a sexy blonde outside Monte Carlo, but I pressed on to Club 77 and never came back. The walk back to the hotel afterwards seemed unbelievably long and took forever and I could not believe I had walked all this way before, and as I say, had absolutely no memory of even leaving the hotel.