The room was already red and washed out and after a joint and plenty of cheap bottled beer so was I. A dangerous moment. Inspiration in this state can fast break into obsession. This time I was hypnotised by this nice bit of wall and a sketch in my massive new Dali book: I convinced canny Andreas to let me at it. Its the first place I painted for cash (having practiced enough in Cafe Sludge, then run out of walls); that's partly why it's my favourite local in Prenzlauerberg. Cosy and just as warm as you want in Deepest Berlin Winter, thanks to a big self-built coal oven. Its the place to fall in love, and I did; play chess with a mate, or collapse on a sofa after a freezing night's binging downtown. For the three rooms (red, ochre, azure blue) Andreas thought the one mural was enough. I would have filled every bit of space; Dali in one hand, beer in the other, spliff in the other; and then ruined the place. After three day's work I was about a hundred and fifty marks better off (£50). Excellent. I had at last found a pleasing way to generate cash for buying food and extravagant accessories. These were squat-living days and for the work I was most grateful. For the confidence Andreas showed in a hallucinating foreigner, I still am.