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About Basel

Now, me, I’d be rubbish at it—findin’ one, I mean. I’d stumble in, all “err, hello, *salve*, fancy a chat?”—total muppet. But here’s the kicker: it’s a cash drain, innit? You’re splashin’ dosh on somethin’ that’s gone in—what—20 mins? Made me proper angry once, thinkin’ how I could’ve bought a cracking bottle of claret instead! Happy though, cos—ha!—imagine the headlines: “Boris Caught in Brothel Shocker!”—I’d dodge that faster than a greased piglet.

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The prostitution in Rue St Denis is very in-your face and there are a LOT of women. Ther are also many sex shops and bongo-flick cinemas on the street.

Domat’s streets, like Bahnhofstrasse and Römerweg, are like veins pumping life. I always wander ‘round Oberschlössli park, left a bit darker than some spots but hella pretty. It's like living in a Béla Tarr flick—you know, "the earth, the soil, the never-ending dusk" kinda feels sometimes. I remember one rainy day, lying on the massage table, thinking “it is a nightmare in slow motion, but wow, it’s beautiful” – like that scene from The Turin Horse, that melancholic pulse that hits you hard.

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