hot and sticky awakening behind the nasal mask. The thing is a nuisance, even if it does help a little. Get up, go to the shower, get rid of some of the stickiness,
get the computer, to write this. Daily notes.
The eyes will not focus properly on things near.
Go to the kitchen, hot drinks. Son awakens, comes out to give a big hug.
nice.
The computer needs to be updated, newer and better software, to fix faults hithertoo unnoticed. So let it work, Make up the coffee for the morning.
Return, the machine has restarted, and wants to know things, say yes or no to automatic internet connections with details of crashes! More data for those who like to play with that kind of thing.
Let the computer finish.
There is a sound of shouting from the window, look out into the alleyway. A butcher’s delivery truck in front of the butchers store, and in the other direction a man carefully loading his bicycle trailer with plastic bags and old toys. He is no longer a young man, hat was long ago.
The trailer is finally piled hig with black plastic bags and other things, and the whole load fixed with stretchable expanders with metal hooks at their ends. Then he goes into the house, and gets his bicycle which he then fixes onto the trailer.
Then he wobble off down the lane.
He has left a tangle of expanders lying on the ground.
The sound of fire brigade klaxon, the Martin’s horns, are to be heard all over the town, approaching, receding. There must be several fire engines, all converging somewhere. They sound like fire brigade horns anyhow, still slightly old fashioned, unlike those electronic horns that the police and the ambulances have.
And then there is silence again.
an undemanding peaceful silence, underscored by the tick of clocks and the sound of children in the distance.
and the pat pat pat pat of footsteps walking down the street outside.
It is only seven in the morning and it is really hot outside.
get the computer, to write this. Daily notes.
The eyes will not focus properly on things near.
Go to the kitchen, hot drinks. Son awakens, comes out to give a big hug.
nice.
The computer needs to be updated, newer and better software, to fix faults hithertoo unnoticed. So let it work, Make up the coffee for the morning.
Return, the machine has restarted, and wants to know things, say yes or no to automatic internet connections with details of crashes! More data for those who like to play with that kind of thing.
Let the computer finish.
There is a sound of shouting from the window, look out into the alleyway. A butcher’s delivery truck in front of the butchers store, and in the other direction a man carefully loading his bicycle trailer with plastic bags and old toys. He is no longer a young man, hat was long ago.
The trailer is finally piled hig with black plastic bags and other things, and the whole load fixed with stretchable expanders with metal hooks at their ends. Then he goes into the house, and gets his bicycle which he then fixes onto the trailer.
Then he wobble off down the lane.
He has left a tangle of expanders lying on the ground.
The sound of fire brigade klaxon, the Martin’s horns, are to be heard all over the town, approaching, receding. There must be several fire engines, all converging somewhere. They sound like fire brigade horns anyhow, still slightly old fashioned, unlike those electronic horns that the police and the ambulances have.
And then there is silence again.
an undemanding peaceful silence, underscored by the tick of clocks and the sound of children in the distance.
and the pat pat pat pat of footsteps walking down the street outside.
It is only seven in the morning and it is really hot outside.
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