The beer is, sadly, alcohol free. He offers me some but I’ve had that Erdinger Alkoholfrei and it’s bloody horrible, so no thanks. I shield him with that blue wrap while he changes out of his fairly stinky running kit, and we walk - slowly - to try and find somewhere to eat and drink. He wants to keep his legs moving, even though they hurt a bit, and that’s a good job because we take ages to find somewhere.
We start off by walking along the river. I’ve got a bone to pick with the river in Berlin. It’s fucking shit. There are loads of boat tours, all huge boats, but I swear there is virtually nothing picturesque to see from them. Maybe the weather isn’t helping, but most of the architecture is terrible anyway and, no, I’m not having it, it’s a shit river and there shouldn’t be so many tours along it. Fuck off, Spree.
Right. After walking for a while we reach a giant train station and stop to look up how to get to Brewdog Berlin. At this point my phone decides it doesn’t really like being connected to the network, so we can’t actually look up anything at all. So we wander in what we think is the direction of Alexanderplatz, and soon there’s a sign telling us there’s a brewery 47.11 metres away.
The level of specificity makes me laugh out loud. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better sign. We go in, get a table for two, and order a couple of kolsch and some food. I manage to get through it mostly in German, which is good. Finally, for the first time in 3 months, Kevin’s on the sauce!
Food arrives. I’ve got currywurst and chips, he’s got a couple of fried eggs with potatoes, bacon cubes, and a load of spinach. It’s all very nice, and quite cheap. We want to order more beer and a couple of desserts but it takes us well over 20 minutes to attract any member of staff’s attention - the place is heaving, full of marathon runners and their hangers on, but seemingly only 3 people working the floor. Eventually we decide bollocks to this, and just about get someone’s attention to pay.
We leave, and walk in what we think is the right direction but, suspiciously, there are fucking loads of people walking towards us. So we turn backwards, and the big tower looms. Wait, what? Both of us are massively freaked out by this, our senses of direction entirely bamboozled. There is no way the platz should be that way, but, well, whatever.
His legs are working pretty well still, and it’s not raining, so we walk. It’s pretty similar to the reverse of Saturday morning, through the art market and past the Ampelmann store and etc. Then I remember: I’ve got my real camera, with optical zoom! I can get a photo of a bloke chinning a horse!