I always seem to be running into examples of nominal determinism while walking around my neighbourhood. The hairdresser in the ground floor of my last apartment building was called Monica Scherer (=scissors), the dentist's assistant was Frau Teufel (=devil) and the owner of my favourite flower shop is called Grit Rose.

In other shops I eye their lurid gerberas and think of the scenes in Domicile conjugal where Leaud stands in the courtyard doing impossible things to flowers; Rose's blooms, in contrast, are naturally never less than perfectly fresh and vigorous. Yet her eye is not for flowers alone, but flowers in the context of a home, and along with the bouquets there are lovely accent pieces such as irregular handblown water glasses from Copenhagen or this spectacular 'lamp slip' from Tord Boontje (which I immediately coveted and added to my mental Christmas wish list) or even just green conkers tucked into pink votive holders and hung up in the windows – the sort of frivolous fun that flowers are all about.

Frau Rose, Stargarderstraße 15 (map)