Berlin - a Christmas Fairytale

Someone up there must have dropped a huge bag of icing sugar or flour or Magnesia or cocaine or something. I like to think that it was Saint Peter or a tleast his stupid intern, but the local Newspaper (Der Tagesspiegel) tells me that it was indeed Tiefdruckgebiet Holger! The city looks like one of those lovely gingerbread houses decorated with Gummibärchen and lollipops and what have you, the sort of things WE never had because my mother just couldn't be bothered, but let's not talk about that.

Till deep in the night you can hear the screams of people racing down the hill in Viktoriapark on their sleds and I have to think back to Christmas 1984, when I got a Toboggan, a luvely nice red Toboggan for my birthday, which I loved a lot and which took me on extremely short rides, as we used to live in the valley of the Rhine, respectively extremely long and bold, sometimes almost fatal rides, or so it seemed to me, when I was staying with my granny, who lived on the top of a mountain in the Alpes.

Anyway, that was my Toboggan, my first ever ride (apart from my little blue bike, but that was used when I got it), and I sure wish it was with me now, because I want to go down the Viktoriapark hill screaming and yelling in the middle of the night, too! But there's no sled to be found here, as Jo broke his last year. Darn it. We haven't had that much snow in years and somehow I will get my hands on some go-down-the-snowy-hill-extremely-fast device in order to use it! In some way or other I will!
If you see a girl late at night, going up a hill with a black rubbish-bag in her hand... GO BUY HER A TOBOGGAN!!