Tilda Swinton

Every February we Berliners fall over ourselves like gushing teenagers as Hollywood's A-List converges on the city for its annual patting-ourselves-on-the-back festival, otherwise known as the Berlinale. Gossip about celebrity sightings and festival party plans pass the long hours spent standing in impossibly long lines for overpriced tickets to films that one wouldn't even dream of seeing if they were screened any other month of the year.

Last week, as I anxiously awaited a pair of tickets to a fascinating documentary on the complicated emotional life of Norwegian moose stalkers, I fell into a reverie, daydreaming of my favorite VIP at this year's Berlinale. Tilda Swinton - prize-winning actress, ice-queen, pale Scottish priestess of a parsimonious paradise - was heading up the jury this year, charged with deciding who should receive the festival's coveted Golden Bear.

I have enjoyed her work from her beginnings in such early films as Orlando to last year's riotous Coen Brother's film Burn After Reading. Tilda and I actually already have a relationship, as we once passed each other in the lobby of my gym a few years ago - she was leaving the ladies' locker room and I was heading in - to the men's. Thus it's completely reasonable that I began planning how I would entertain her on a magical evening in Berlin.

Of course, since I am a very busy man (and Tilda probably has a few things to get done too) we would have to meet up after I make it home from work and feed my cat. Dinner and a movie is the usual thing these days, so after meeting at her hotel (don't ask which - it's top secret!) we would hop the U-Bahn for a few stops and grab at table at Honigmond.

Below you can read more about Honigmond and how William's date with Tilda evolved....