A little less than a year before the wall came down I spent a couple of wintry days in east Berlin.  Until last week I had never been back and it was fascinating to see what changes it had undergone and to see the western side of the city for the first time.

The obvious change of course is the disappearance of the wall.  Here's the Brandenburg Gate in 1988 complete with barbed wire, wall and look-out towers standing in a desolate no man's land.

Now despite the plethora of snaps that digital cameras allow us to take in contrast to the old 36 exposure cassettes I don't have a comparable 2012 picture to share with you.  If I did you'd see that both sides of the avenue leading to the gate have been built up and that the area in front of it is awash with cycle rickshaws, human statues, fake GDR guards, junk food stalls and other tourist tat.  The bottom section of the gate itself was obscured by hoardings emblazoned with the initials of a TV company whose vans were parked under the lintel.  Behind them was scaffolding that I think held up the giant screen on which Germany's Euro 2012 games were being shown. Rather like digital photos it was a case of more is less.

Another less than beautiful change has occurred in Alexanderplatz.  There were lots more people in it than in this picture but since pictures of a square jam-packed with chain stores and fast-food restaurants has little appeal I didn't even take a photo.

The cathedral and its grounds seem pretty much the same

and on the positive side many, many buildings have been refurbished (the museums for instance)

and the smelly putt putt Trabants have gone to the great garage in the sky.





Over in the west the great architectural triumph is the Reichstag.  What an amazing building; the combination of its glorious 19th century walls and towers and contemporary interior topped by Norman Foster's beautiful glass dome is extraordinary - and lunch on the roof terrace was just as wonderful.

 Elsewhere in the west I was keen to see the Kurfürstendamm but its heyday is long past.  It was just a long Princes Street without the benefit of gardens and castle.

Back in the east a great pleasure was to see a play at the Berliner Ensemble.  OK much of the dialogue, let's say 99.9%, was incomprehensible but we got the main idea and with Siobhan's help at the interval and afterwards all became clear. The seats were only 5 euros (we could have stood for 2) and the theatre itself (Theater am Schiffbauerdamm) is lovely.  Inside it doesn't look as though it can have changed at all since it was built in 1896.

What may or may not have changed is the final resting place of the ensemble's founder and most famous director, Bertold Brecht.  Together with his wife Helene Weigel he's buried in the  Dorotheenstädtischer and Friedrichswerder Cemetery but according to my photographic record not in the same spot as in 1988.  Could a German Burke and Hare have been at work?

According to Melvyn Bragg, whose opinion was echoed by the numerous academics I have heard pronouncing on the subject these last few days, Ulysses by James Joyce is amongst the most influential but least read books of the 20th century.

My own copy has languished on one shelf or other for over 40 years, being taken on holiday now and then with the firm declaration that this year I would read it and then being replaced with no more than a page or two turned.  There's a postcard of Taunton between pages 138 and 139.  I imagine it got there on the occasion I accompanied my aunt by train between Taunton and Kirkcaldy one snowy festive season in the 90s and I suppose it marks my furthest point of penetration.

But I am in good company.  For instance Niamh Cusack who performed the Molly Bloom monologue in yesterday's brilliant dramatisation on Radio 4 admitted to never having read the book, except obviously for her bit.  I saw the monologue done on-stage once but it didn't grab me whereas the radio one did.  It's reckoned to be the longest sentence in world literature running in my edition from page 659 to page 704.

Several commentators declared this to be the best place to start reading and maybe that's true but I wouldn't bother reading any of it as long as the dramatisation with which the BBC celebrated Bloomsday 2012 is available.  Get it now.

I've read 138 times as much of Ulysses as of Finnegan's Wake but I'm now formally abandoning any ambition to read it.  I'm hanging on for the BBC to dramatise it.  

I've long mourned the passing of Mr Boni's so was delighted this afternoon to discover a more than worthy successor, in the ice-cream stakes at least, in Afterz.

I don't know how many transformations Mr Boni's former premises have gone through but the most recent, a Punjabi restaurant, has ceded part of the site to the enjoyment of ice-cream treats, soft drinks, cakes and confectionery.

I had a Cherry Glaze which the extensive menu describes as made of cherry and coffee ice-cream, amarena cherries, whipped cream, chocolate blossom, shortcake pieces and cherry sauce.  To call it yummy would be to damn it with faint praise.  It was galactic.

There are a few Koranic inscriptions on the walls inherited no doubt from the Punjabis (assuming they are not from the Indian Punjab) or from the Kurds who preceded them but this is not halal ice-cream.  It's good Scottish-Italian from Equis in Cambuslang.

No future visit to the Kings or the Cameo will be complete without a courtesy call to Afterz and what a pick-me-up after loading a van in Home Street.

It was indeed early arrival at the Cameo that caused me to stroll in that direction and I strolled back alongside a much more contented inner man to see an absolutely brilliant and entertaining documentary about Woody Allen.  It's got great clips from his years as a standup, from TV interviews and talk shows, and from his movies.  There are keen observations from actors, critics, producers etc etc. Enjoyable for anyone but  fascinating for Woody Allen fans.

It was a bit of a damp squib when Djokovic double-faulted in the fourth set and thus failed to become the first man since Rod Laver to hold all four grand slam titles simultaneously, but it was a great match.

All Nadal for the first two sets, then a gradual climb back for Djokovic and as the rain lashed down yesterday evening Nadal got more and more out of sorts.  Djokovic handled the conditions so much better but with the resumption of play today, despite a brief interlude of rain, the dryer and eventually even sunny conditions allowed Nadal to resurrect his clay court supremacy and claim the French title for the seventh time.

Roll on Wimbledon.

At the ECA degree show there is a superb documentary about the protests last year in the Yemen.  You can't believe the bravery of the cameramen covering the events. It's already been shown at several festivals and will no doubt appear again.  You can see a trailer on Youtube and here's a short interview with the director and some extracts from the film.

I'd gone to see one of the films that I was involved in because although it will be screened at Filmhouse shortly its on an evening when I have to rehearse our Fringe show.  In fact when I walked in one I hadn't expected to see, 16 Across -  Knitting a Statement , was flickering across the wall near life size.  The Matinee Idol wasn't projected while I was there but I was able to watch it on a computer screen.  It looked lovely in muted sepia tones and it was fascinating to see how the green screen we filmed against had been replaced by proper backgrounds.  There are bits and pieces of it on Facebook but to see the whole thing (which obviously you are dying to) get to the degree show tomorrow or Filmhouse on the 19th.   

Between watching the French Open Tennis championships and providing translations for my yachting chum's revived transatlantic and amazon sailing enterprise, not to mention devilish cavorting in the Faustus rehearsal room, I've managed to transfer my holiday snaps to the computer.

Here's a general view of the Iguasu Falls and a general non-view of Christ the Redeemer.

What a difference a day makes.

From the blistering heat of  autumn in Buzios to chilly CDG and EDI where June is doing its best to bust out all over but not succeeding too well.