If there’s one thing liable to put you off smoking, it’s waking up in the morning, ambling onto the balcony, lighting up a tab and staring at a funeral parlour, full-on in the face. The coffins, all oak and mahogany, almost rubbing their handles gleefully as they stare blankly at you.

It’s depressing, though not as depressing as waking up at 7.30am each day to the sound of drilling and banging, and a balcony on Falkensteinstrasse, Kreuzberg, that resembles a war zone; albeit a war zone ensconced in scaffolding.

Not just scaffolding. It seems the works does not involve repainting, per se, but insulation. The Turkish builders are lining the facier with six-inch thick mottled grey and white polystyrene, cemented to the wall and then cut away, before facing with plaster and filling with some sort of insulating goo. I wonder what colour they will eventually paint it. I rather like the mottled hue; it’s rather now, so textile.

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It was meant to be. Roger, the breast-grabbing drunk at Freischwimmer, and Jeremy, the short French drunk guy at Freischwimmer, all live in the same commune. They are friends of Natalia. She explains Roger’s behaviour is down to being dumped last week, and that Jez … well, Jez is Jez.

Jez is certainly Jez. A very friendly Jez. He has invited us to his Neukölln studio, which he shares with five other artists – a painter, an illustrator, graphic designer and two others I can’t be bothered to explain (what am I, their PR!) – all seemingly doing their little bit to gradually turn Berlin into one big artists’ commune.

Jez, an acolyte of the Paris St Germain school of art, works in a Monaco casino for two months of the year, raising enough stakes to spend 10 months working in Berlin.

He has talent. Not that I’m the best judge. I had an ex-girfriend once who was an artist. I thought she was good until authorities assured me she was utter pony!

I can’t let you judge his work, either. I’m not allowed, and don’t want to, take pictures of it, so lets say he has a penchant for painting explosions. Large psychedlic blasts. Natalia says his work would go down well in London, at First Thursdays in the East End. Possibly.

It’s colourful, dramatic, and at times as clever in technique as it is bold in colour (just have a look at his mess – a big colourful mess). I’m not too sure about art, or what to say about it, but I like what i see. He paints explosions and energy well, be it the soft blast of sprouting flowers or fucking huge rocks fucking exploding, all seemingly accompanied by a man, or two, diving into the frame. Hmmm.

“What is he saying, or trying to say” asks Lucy.

“I don’t know,” replies Jez, “I just like painting explosions.”

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