A Stroll Down Karl Marx Allee

Stares of disbelief, the odd smile and a blush (she was married, nach). A couple of unreconstructed Nazi skinheads - tame once they realise I have no fear to exploit (remember kids, it's the racists who are afraid, lost, seeking identity through some bizarre idea of extreme nationalism).

The architecture was clean, functional - all boxes for maximal use of space without any regard to style - true Stalinist architecture.

You can imagine a typical competition entry of the period. Alcoholic architect - essentially a totality of broken dreams and betrayed ideals, stirs from his drunken funk on the morning of a competition deadline. The city's Communist Party bosses expect an entry from him. What to do? He grabs a shoebox from atop the wardrobe. He sticks an imposing arch at the front, with some bollox about Communist solidarity inscribed on a plaque to be attached beside it - as well as a monument to fallen Soviet comrades. He submits it. Voila! It's accepted and built. Face it, truth is stranger than fiction.

Strange how the GDR-era TV Tower, was encased in grey the moment I entered East Berlin.