SO. I left you after Berlin Part 2, having broken into an abandoned children's hospital and narrowly avoided slicing my feet apart on broken glass and general detritus. From my trusty photos, it would seem that the following days involved more heart-attack breakfasts and plenty of spiky German architecture:
With half an hour to go before the death of 2014, we snatched an U-bahn to some Iranian friend of a Finnish friend's flat and arrived in time to hug every new cool-kid in sight and generally enjoy being in a top-floor apartment to watch the city blow itself up (in a fun New Year way, not in a weird/terrible war way). Good times all round. Until a stupid person did a stupid thing followed by another stupid thing, which resulted in dancing, throat-punching, crying, frantic arm-rubbing, massages from HUGE strangers and ultimately MUCH DRAMA AND EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS until we eventually stumbled back to the flat at 6.30am, tripping over a multitude of fire-work corpses along the way (see picture of the street below).
Why does this always happen to me in Berlin? Why? I'm going back in 2016 for a Stag Do (ladies allowed) so everyone - save all your issues for then, and then we can all cry and punch each other and go home happy and confused.