Good to know Nuremberg is not THAT long a journey, as I feared. Shorter than Berlin. Three hours from Brussels to Frankfurt, and then 2 hours to Nuremberg. It is a very doable trip if I wanted to make it a regular thing. And 3 hours Brussels to Frankfurt brings Frankfurt back into play next time. I really thought it was longer. I think I feel sexier when I am hungover, reversing my previous thought that it deadens me. It deadens me to all shame really. Going out for the second time late on Thursday night AFTER a massive steak AND Domino’s Pizza, so sleepy, woozy, felt amazing. Maybe drinking in Le Coin for 2 hours before getting the 5-hour train to Nuremberg WILL be good, as I can arrive hungover and sleepy and force myself out again in that state after 10pm Tuesday night in Nuremberg.
So, typical of me, I did nothing in my 2 hours in Brussels, just had some drinks in L’Orient Express, something to eat, then on to my train. In Berlin on my first night, I had some drinks in the hotel bar then went out at midnight, started to head towards Club 77 then just thought I’m not in the mood, so came back for a McDonald’s.
How fantastic that in France President Hollande used to put on a silly motorcycle helmet and sneak out on a moped to see his actress mistress. Can you imagine that happening in Britain? Haha. DSK has hooker parties (described memorably by a judge as “carnage on a mattress”), but Lord Rennard gets sacked and his career destroyed for putting his hand on a few knees. To my bewilderment, I’ve attracted a lot of very beautiful women to me. Quite inadvertently, and I never know what to do in response of course. 115. There is scarcely time to even get to Le Coin and back. After its initially promising start, L’Orient Express has confirmed itself to be a rubbish place for people watching (ogling). I have a devil in me which I like. I have an obsession with strippers, pornography & prostitution which I like. It is the only sign of life in me. It is what keeps me glowing like a firefly. A glow worm. It is the inner fire that fuels me, and keeps me shining. Will I be capable of any erotic excess in Berlin this time? It has been years. Jesus, 120 already, I’m not going anywhere. I will pour myself on to the train to Berlin soon enough.
I either stay here in L’Orient Express the whole time then go back to the station and get my train to Koln/Berlin, or I leave here for a couple of beers in Le Coin then come back. Oh I would love to have one of these young, busty, nubile curvy Belgian girls one day. Frankly my chance has gone. Camilla’s “I’m 21” still haunts me. The great miracle of my life—I’ve never seen a traffic accident in Brussels. The most f—ked up traffic of any city I have ever been to, I cannot believe I have never seen a collision between vehicles. This ice cold Jupiler is slipping down ridiculously easily, I don’t think I will be going anywhere else. Pissed as a newt I’ll board the train for Berlin, and arrive like a pickled onion 8 hours from now.
I do not feel hungry at all. Just want more and more Red Bull; there is an excitement in me. 5 hours then out of here. No point going up to Cine Paris if I cannot enjoy anything afterwards; so yes just stay around Orient Express and Le Coin. Christ with all that beer inside me even before I get on the Berlin train, I am going to be wrecked by the time I get to Berlin. Like my last visit, the first night of arrival will surely be a write off, in reality. 3am Christ this night cannot go fast enough.
No, I will not go to Belvedere this time. My holidays have been reduced to the bestial instincts: drink, sex & food. If I didn’t fancy those two girls enough on the second night then that must mean I didn’t fancy them enough to do anything with them. It is rare I find a floozie I really want to do something with. My bar is set pretty high, believe it or not. It’s got to be someone who blows my mind—an Adelina, a Lucy, a Julia, etc. I’ve not met anyone who quite reaches that status on this trip. Nuremberg, I think, had a few of them. And that is where I return tomorrow, Sunday.
With no more beer in my minibar, and no sign of the minibar lady (who to me is like some kind of goddess, oh goddess of beer), I am forced down to the bar at 1120, which I had preferred to avoid on this trip—I don’t like the bar’s Zipfer as much as I like the minibar Gösser and in my room I can enjoy my music channel. Plans for today, perhaps the U-Bahn up to Wahringer Gurtel Kino, back down to WSK, maybe Burggasse Peep maybe not, then finish off in Café Westend before crashing out back in the hotel; ready to wake in time to go back out tonight. I will save the Belvedere for tomorrow.