Barely a brick remains but in the shadow of the past, inspiration and creativity thrive in Berlin, David Whitley writes.

High on the wall is a cartoonish picture of a cat with its neck in a noose. “This guy doesn’t like cats,” Stu explains. “So he thinks of various ways to kill them. Some of them are really quite inventive but mostly he just hangs them.”

Stu is an Irishman who came to Berlin to work as a financial analyst. He was made redundant when the hedge fund house of cards began to tumble and has since become engrossed in Berlin’s street-art scene. He now earns a living taking visitors around the “alternative” Berlin the squats, the artist communes, the independent galleries and, of course, walls covered in graffiti of varying quality.

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LIVING: WHEN THE DIARY of my first month in Berlin was printed here a few months ago, a sub-editor with a great deal more insight than I possess titled it “Falling for Berlin”. At that point, I was still in denial. “Jeez,” I thought, “it’s not like I’m in love. I’m just here to have a good time. No strings, no commitment, no German grammar,” writes LOUISE EAST

Six months on, I’m in the throes of a full-blown crush and like all newly besotted people, I’m kind of insufferable. On a bad day, I’ll argue that Berlin is woven from a blend of cashmere and unicorn milk known to solve nine out of 10 Middle Eastern crises and eliminate e-mail spam.

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