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My Berlin probably peaked on 9th November 2014. In a spacious borrowed flat in Mitte, not far from trendy Arkonaplatz, I had countersigned a passport application for a baby just born to friends: Briti

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Life has a bad habit of mirroring art. Sometimes, this can be in a deeply sad way. A while after I wrote about the assumption of guilt in a traumatised young woman with poor social skills, I watched a

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