Well, no. Despite the urban myth that John F Kennedy mistakenly described himself as a jam doughnut, people from Berlin do call themselves Berliners, and only people from other places in Germany call a Pfannkuchen a Berliner.

But having spent three weeks in Berlin, I am yearning to return. There is so much there that I enjoyed, and don't find in London.

Dr Johnson said that when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. But then again, he never sat for 45 minutes on the upstairs of a London bus packed with passengers, slowly snailing up the Walworth Road.

In Berlin, we travelled on the S-bahn out to Wannsee - 45 minutes in a clean and spacious carriage, with people of all ages wheeling bikes on board - and having lots of room to take them - and then we were out among forest and lakes, and the whole thing was so calm and untroubled that I didn't want to leave.

And the food - there was a kerfuffle a few months ago, when French President Chirac joked with the German and Russian leaders that the only thing the British had contributed to the world of food was BSE. The British papers make a fuss about that, but while it's true that you can get good food in Britain, and some British chefs are among the most innovative in Europe, you just don't get the sort of good food in this country that you get, routinely and affordably, in countries like France and Germany.

So I got my hair cut in Berlin, for 10 Euro in a place called Friseur Ohne Name (Hairdresser without a name). Then I got a pair of Camper shoes in a shop called Barfuss Oder Lackschuh (Barefoot or Patent Leather Shoes), and finally a new pair of Oxydo glasses with matching sunglasses in Apollo Optik.

And I ate lots of decent food. I even ate currywurst, which though not exactly decent food, is decently satisfying in a comfort food sort of way. I can't believe the English have never attempted a version - it's basically a fried and sliced sausage covered in ketchup and currypowder. Which sounds disgusting but is actually appealing. And certainly better for your health than a deep fried Mars bar.

I would really like to be a Berliner. But I don't think that's a likely prospect for the near future. Sigh.

The good news is Caitriona can now speak several words. The bad news is they're German words.

Well, actually that's not a bad thing, especially since she seems to understand when we speak to her in either language. And the words she knows tend to be from both. For instance, Buch (book), Baby, Ball, and Schuh (shoe). And her pronunciation is a bit wacky - Buch is 'bikh', shoe is 'oofsh'. She says 'Vauvau' instead of 'Bowwow' for a dog, but I'm working on that.

She seemed to take ages to say any words at all, and sometimes she used a word only once and then never again, and she started by saying 'nana' for food, then it became 'na?' in a rising tone, then just 'uh?' in a tone of 'why have you not given me food yet?'.

It's confusing for bilingual kids, but she seems to be getting the hang of it. I'm astounded by what she actually appears to understand. Tell her in either language to take her shoes out into the hallway and she will do exactly that.

Or else she look at you with an expression that says, in either language, 'do you really think I have time to do that?'.

So here we are in Berlin again. I've left my job - but only for a few weeks before I start my new one. In the meantime, we are taking advantage of my brother in law's absence in Austria to move into his Berlin flat for a few weeks. It's quieter than London. Unfortunately, it's also colder and rainier than London, which I didn't think was possible.

This is me outside the Reichstag building - well, actually outside the glass dome, but inside and on top of the building itself. Here's an interesting piece of information. If you've got a baby buggy, you can skip the long queues out front and get special access to the lift that takes you to the top. It's almost worth having a baby for that alone.