If they are not taking their big butch dogs for a walk, nicht lead, of course, Berliners seemingly take their drink for a stroll. Usually it’s a beer, though often it’s Bionade, the lurid-coloured drink of choice invented by master brewer, and more importantly to him probably, patent holder, Dieter Leipold.

Bio stands for organic, and its brewed organically innit (”Fermentation naturlicher”, as it says on the label). You don’t see Berliners drinking anything else, apart from beer that is. The drink, naturally, fermented Herr Leipold millions.

Try the litschi (lychee), pictured above (OK, most bottles don’t stand up like this, that would defy gravity, but it’s getting late and technology is annoying me, like a Jack Russell, albeit one not shagging my leg).

At least I think it’s lychee. Rather refreshing, and not half as sweet as some of the other flavours. Lets call them orange, pink, green, red and purple.

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Why do the Germans have those odd toilet bowls, the one with a flat shelf which leaves one’s deposits readily available for immediate inspection, like an early morning roll call for der stuhls?

I’ve heard various descriptions of the toilet: “Viewing platform”, “the lay and display”, “the flush and brush”; or “the continental shelf.” (the word continental applies, I’m sure, to European geography, not the medical condition)

Immediate inspection may hold the key. When I asked mein Deutsche friend, wondering whether the shelf allows immediate assessment as to your state of health, she replied: “Ja, I guess so. Never really thought about it.”

Marcus implied it was down to the lack of splash, and therefore more hygienic. Another chum suggested it was down to the amount of water the flush conserved.

Not every toilet has this shelf life, of course, and it seems das bogs are being slowly replaced with the Anglo pot, but most Deutsche bogs still do. Without going into details, it’s quite irksome, espceially for the senses, albeit sometimes engaging, depending on one’s deposit.

There’s nothing quite like leaving the toilet and thinking, “Well done fellah, still on course for a good innings, you’ve been a good boy.”

The again, there’s nicht worse than leaving thinking, “Easy Tiger!”

For more on this subject, and it may need parental guidance, click here.

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I was right to be paranoid about the 240 euro bike. Leaving it outside my Prenzlauer Berg abode, in a bike stand for two weekend nights, I return to find it keeled over. After unlocking it, I find the back wheel has buckled. Bang goes my 150 euros resale.

Not so. The bike man at spezialrad.de bike shop, or fahrradstadt, is ever-so helpful, and immediately pushes it back into shape, studiously twisting and reprogramming the spokes to engineer the perfect turning circle.

He tells me that at weekends, some kids have an excess of “criminal energy”, and it has become a bit of a sport for them to stamp on bikes lying prone, and alone, in stands such as mine. It’s a mild crime compared to the unruly, armed feral youths in London, for whom the vandalism of stamping on a bike wheel is but fare for toddlers.

Unfortunately, and rather embarrassingly, I have cycled through some dog scheisse – an everyday hazard in Berlin, especially given the size of the dogs and the fact they run free, nicht lead. The wheel is turning right before Stefan’s very nose.

He recounts a tale, about how one day he had been biking through puddles, only to get home and smell dog scheisse. He checked his clothes, his boots, but no trace of the evil dirt. Dreizig minuten later,  still somewhat befuddled, he looked in the mirror and spotted a fleck  right under his nose.

“I’d had my mudguards removed and it sprayed up … I always call them scheisseguards now.”

The anecdote was as free as the repair job. He didn’t charge me. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Life’s too short. See you Thursday.”

This man is a God. He can probably walk on water, as well as cycle on it.

* Photo courtesy of artsy Lucy Hull

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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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