“Hello,” a friendly young man from Istanbul said to my wife at the bar. “You look like you would be good at making babies.”
It was four years since we’d last been clubbing. We were a bit out of practice. We’d moved to Berlin with a nine-month-old baby, then another one had happened, and then there was the small matter of the pandemic shutting down the city’s nightlife.
We felt, to be frank, like the little boy on a family day out in The Perishers, the old Daily Mirror comic strip: “Is this what is known as ‘having fun’?”
Slowly Berlin is returning to something like its old self, a distinctive blend of sleaze, art-school hauteur, excruciatingly earnest drum circle house parties, curtain-twitching neighbours,