The cat is a noisy animal, wanting attention at night

29 February 2016
The cat is a noisy animal, wanting attention at night.
 Let it out at four in the morning, it vanishes into the darkness of the stairwell, and back to bed for another hours rest, rudely ended by that seaside melody from the mobile phone Shower, and let the cat back in again. She has realised that the warmth inside the flat is to be preferred to the cold outside, and tours the rooms with a satisfied purr. An attempt is made to sharpen the claws against a bare thigh, catlike, elegant, but this gains nothing but abuse for the luxurious animal.
When clothed, gather all the items needed for work, and leave the house into the cold dry morning. It is exactly half past, going by the sounding at the bells from Martin's church The rattle of an old bicycle sounds fm behind, and passes, a white light attached to the back mudguard. As a means of transport it serves.
 Dolores walking ahead on her way to the bus station, or rather the bus stop. She says 'good morning'. The bog-cotton man is standing about, smoking is cigarette.

There are two new girls serving at railway cafe today, 'they are all alone, and doing their best to deal with the uncoordinated demanding crowds that have materialised on the other side at their counter The television is advertising patent saws and body-building machinery All that work to produce the body beautiful - the smoker with the pigtail passed by outside the cafe on the way to the platforms. He always uses the front part of the train, he takes it all the way into Munich. That is a terminal station, he will be able to leave the platform there sooner than those at the rear end of the train. It is a bad day today, depression and tiredness come together, there is little will to go to work, or to do anything at all.

It is only a quarter past eight in the morning

sleep into the day, continue.

The flat is not tidied, give up. The cat is on the floor, eager to play. Stroke it , she rolls onto her back, presents her tummy and her claws. A strange game, she wants to scratch and tear. She does not realise that  this game is no game for humans. What does a cat realise anyway?

Make a can of coffee, listen to the hiss in the right ear, a steady sound, uncomfortable, but not painful or anything.

The son has been up for some time, but he has gone back to bed again.

Day grey, and the rest and recovery from the week has not taken place fully yet.

The cat is playing with a newspaper now, searching for things assumed to be underneath the white sheet of paper on the floor.

There is nothing there.

She plays with a bobbin of thread instead, throwing it into the air and catching it with her paws, or 

kicking it across the floor and giving chase, or lying in wait and suddenly pouncing onto it.

If it were a mouse it would be in serious trouble, but it is not.

The son has put deep frozen bread rolls into the oven, for breakfast. 

Sunday morning family breakfast is important to him.

The wife is still asleep.

It is only a quarter past eight in the morning

The hot air oven makes a grumbling, a rumbling noise.

Early for a weekend.

A grey day, cold, tempting to just wait for the end of winter and the start of summer. Just to destroy the time untill summer is here again.

But do remember, we do not have eternity. What would we do with it if we did?

would ww be able to waste eternity?

                                                     

that it does not roll all the way back again

now weekend, dumb fuzz head from far too much sleep, slept it for a long time today. Stagger about a bit, untill this mass of flesh and bone has reattained an acceptable functionality, untill the mental systems have gained sufficient acuity to make the decision as to what is to be done next. This is the same as every day, but during the working week a routine has set in, an automatic procedure, which just runs like a machine between five and six in the morning. It can be watched, but that is all.
It is now seven fifty nine, that is much later. Coffee has been made, the computer has been checked, and  the son has been spoken to. He is playing with his friend, his friend is just an online prescence.
The bells sound outside, it is eight in the morning.
The red headed long haired son has not combed the hair hanging down over his back,  it is a tangled mess. But this does not matter to him, he is engrossed in his game, chasing around in a fantasy world in a machine.
He will need to wake up today at some stage, and return to a real world of bad weather and homework

Work was long in the past week, and every evening small progress was made with Babbling Portugese. The journey home is long, and an hour a day attending a mechanised language course is worthwhile. It may never be enough to really understand the poetry in the language, but it may do to appreciate the sound of the words. A small maturity.

But this morning will continue, leave the house, walk, and do a few of the chores pushed ahead for the weekend.
Roll the stone up the hill a short way, and hope that it does not roll all the way back again.

going-to-work breakfast party.

26th February
2016 Awaken, disconnect the mask, go to the desk in the dark '"Three ggarhs for mister Mook". The glasses fall to the floor with a typical sound, they are very light, they are made of titanium wire and plastic. Find the white 'phone turn off the seaside melody. The shower is, as usual, wet and warm. Finish the whole morning procedure off by brushing the teeth with an electric toothbrush. Then, back to the bedroom, find the glasses where they have fallen, get dressed, black shoes today, finally, lock the cat inside, go down the stairs and out into the street. It is dry and cold today
 It is also market day in the town all the stalls are being set up. The man who has his stall inside a plastic tent is busy cutting a rope of sausages into single ones. He is a man with a small pigtail, maybe he is letting his hair grow for the medieval pageant next year. Or maybe he just likes it that way.
Dolores is at the bus stop, just sitting there, huddled in her dark winter coat. She always looks grief-stricken, she always gives a small smile in recognition ot the mornings greeting. The bus has a different driver today, a friendly quiet man. Pay him, and take the five minute, five stop, journey to the railway station.

The pig-tailed smoker is there in hits short sleeved shirt, out in the ice cold morning, smoking his cigarette. Big Blondy is slow today, but that does not matter. Hedgehog is sitting at a different place today, the television is showing a sports programme Blog and drink the large coffee, watch Hedgehog leave, and follow five minutes later.

 Rosenheim diesel train is in, and there is a goods train in the station as well, with an endless stream of tank containers on all of it`s waggons. Maybe forty huge grey cylinders, each one with GATX written on it in white letters.

The train is on time yet again. The carriage fills with a group of official persons who all seem to work in the same office, maybe they are all police officers. They make the same jokes as every day, One of them is in uniform. And they are joined by more of the same sort in Moosburg. They have a thermos flash and paper cups with them, they have an everyday early morning, going-to-work breakfast party. 

a fairytale christmassy idyl, at the end of February

Thursday, and a night of deep sleep, wake to the seaside melody. All the lights are on in the hallway, the son must hate been up during the night. He always forgets to turn off the lights. Let the cat in, she is out in the stairwell. The cut buzzes about, delighted to be inside, rubbing it' s head against legs, beds and chairs. Shower, wash and shave.
The orchid is still alive.
Put together the days clothing, find the glasses in their usual place, and leave for the street.

Wet snow is falling outside, the street is wet. Put up the hood, eyes on the cobbles.
Continue
.
The bus shelter is crowded, five people. It is the snow, it is uncomfortable and wet. It is not cold enough here for the snow to remain on the ground as snow, so it melts and makes the ground wet. Dolores sits where she always sits. A grief stricken face. she has a hard life behind her, and a way to go yet.

The bus driver, walrus-lite, corpulent. Walrus-like because of his bald head and his moustache.

A woman runs past outside the bus, dressed up to the nines in her sporting clothing –  going for a morning run.


Rush from the bus into the station building, It is wet. Crunching underfoot, there is broken glass on the ground outside the station, one at the drinkers dropped his bottle in the night. Probably.


B. Blandy serves coffee, a small Espresso for the neighbour, and a large mug for Wildo.

 Hedgehog and Moustachio! talking at their table. Ignore the television set today, it is showing the same advertising stuff as every day.
The platform is dark, that is on account of the overcast sky.  Each light on it´s tall steel support is surrounded by a halo of white flashes on their way to annihilation the ground. It is pretty, in its way. It is to be admired from the shelters on the platform.

the train comes in.

And before reaching Freising, the landscape outside has turned white, a white winters journey turning the way to work in the morning into a fairytale Christmas's idyll, at the end of February.
The snow in the fields is blue in the early light from the overcast sky, and the distant headlamps on the cars out on the main road are yellow in comparison.

They look like followers of some funeral.

24 february 2016
 up, after turning the melody off, naked to the bathroom, taking a towel out of the press on the way. Shower, wash the hair and return to the bedroom, put together the days clothing. The cat is friendly, awaiting it's release from the flat. Shower, glasses, noise cream, and wallet. Pugh up the computer tag and leave the house. Down the ornate alley, with all its restored period houses, it is warmer again. Under the bridge a SUV approaches, the driver does not appear to know that he is in a pedestrian zone. But he swerves fast in time – who was the fool here?   Dolores at the bus stop with a friendly   greeting today, there is the bog-cotton man once more.   The bus driver with the shaven sides to his head is working again today too. The bus is almost full today, wonder why.

 The short haired gent is serving today, assisted by a young black-haired woman. She is slow, precise, and efficient. She does her job at the rate she is getting paid to do it: slowly.
 Hedgehog is wearing a grey skullcap today, perched on the top of his head like a sacking crown.   Television is showing the wonder of double bladed circular saws again. A strange thing, maybe they work. Then the fitness machinery comes on again, all these rising buttocks, the promise of five minutes a day to a perfect body. and then it is time to pass the automatic sliding doors, see the just-arrived Rosenheim Diesel, and descend the stairs to the tiled concrete passage under the tracks. The train is not in yet, it is a bit late today.
 Think of the young woman of nineteen- two days ago, standing arms akimbo on the line of tracks waiting.Splat. No way to go. Madness. Board the train, after watching all of those people following the train as it moves in to couple with the waiting front section. It only moves at walking pasce during this coupling manouever, and the people follow it down the tracks, trying to maintain a position next to a door.
So that they may board first when the doors are unlocked.

They look like followers of some funeral.

That is the end of today's performance

-23 February 2016
The seaside melody from the mobile phone is hidden in a bag on the floor, cannot be found, and goes on and on.
And then into the bathroom, take a shower, shave a bit, and back to find the clothes for the day. The socks and underpants in the wardrobe, in those handy Scandinavian drawers. Bought in bits, assembled at home, and they actually work.
The glasses are on the piano in the living room and the cat is in the hallway, lamenting. There is no way to understand those feline female laments now, the street is waiting, but the bus will not wait.  Due to tiredness, the result of a night of broken sleep, allow the streets to pass. The cobble covering  is dug up in front of the neighbours' house in order to permit the fitting of a fresh drain, have been replaced with concrete and asphalt. A temporary repair. A white delivery truck drives down the main street, rumbling over the cobbles.

Bog cotton man is to be seen in the distance, standing in front of the bench beside the passenger's shelter at the bus stop. He is smoking a cigaretty. It is early to be doing that. The driver arrives in his bus, a young man with the hair on either, no, on both; sides of his head cut so close that it is stubble. The hair on the top of his head is finished as a sort of rock and roll style quiff. He is wearing earrings, many of them, all around the rims of his ears. He takes his money, gives his ticket, and drives just like any other bus driver.

The station front is busy, delivery trucks,  the usual gathering of smokers and drinkers. It is very warm this morning, but the pig- tailed smoker is not there. BB serves coffee, she is in noisy form again today. She is making jokes with the her colleague of the shaved head. She makes the coffee, pressing all the right buttons.
Hedgehog is at his usual place, and the television is showing advertising for some patent cleaning substance. Again.

Descending the stairs to the tunnel leading to the platform a silvery-thing-flutters past. It is a cellophane wrapper, perhaps torn from a package of cigarettes. It floats down and then catches an updraught, and sinks again. It glistens in the lamplight, and rotates a few times. Then it sinks to the floor.
That is the end of today's performance.

Another day in the solitary office

sleep is broken by a seaside melody, cannot find the telephone in the dark, this is misery. Lights on, noise off, lights off, on into the bathroom, wash, brush and shave, pet the excited cat, the cat wanting attention.
Find clothing and leave the house, remembering to take the clock case along. That is a small job for the carpenters, a cabinet to make for a cabinet maker. A German oak case for a French clock.

Leave the house late, five minutes late.
It is a car day today, a day without trains and busses.
Find the blue car in its parking spot opposite the police station. Get in , and start the engine. Reverse out of the parking spot carefully, reverse down the street, turn the car and drive past the police station, then turn left, pass the park and the church, pass the sons school, take a right and a left.

Cruise down the tunnel under the castle at a steady fifty kilometers an hour, an orderly world down here, under the medieval castle. The walls are stained with exhaust fumes, emergency exits every fifty metres. Telephones and fire extinguishers along the walls.

Then out into the town once more, motor along beside the river, at a faster pace, the speed of the car is now one hundred kilometres per hour. Ten minutes later there is the ramp to the Autobahn, and the speed is now one hundred and twenty.
No more is neccessary. no more is needed.

Half an hour later, after threading the car through all the building sites, using the temporary roads, find a parking space.

The car will remain here all day.

Monday morning, nobody has been spoken to, nobody has spoken.
Another day in the solitary office.

Units of area.

icy day out, late awakening on a Sunday. clothing recovered from the floor, this is all not leading any place- time is running away, fleeing from the dreams that are not achieved, unachievable.

If all that is done is done to gain approbation, approval, if that is all that causes happiness then the bliss of solitude, the peace of isolation in beauty is a figment of imagination. If approval were the only measure of quality, then that would lead to a world of people constantly living in fear of chastisement, of disapproval, of nose-wrinklers, unable to provide originality, unable to celebrate originality in others, a constant bland selfishness. Not a thing would be worth doing anymore unless it gains praise, and yes, soon and quickly. Likers and haters, lickers and spitters would run the world.

Maybe they do.
Weak populists abound, those who tell the weak around them that they are not so weak, but belong to the elite. Tell the idiots what they want to hear and they will vote for you

and now awake, agape, now, easy, -easy on this Sunday morning.
The mess in the bedroom, the chaos on the desk.

More guns would not have helped the girl, the sixth victim today, a Kalamazoo. Madmen with murderous equipment.

The machine charged, the gas on, the drink in preparation. The son hugged, He is happy still at yesterday's success. A machine, an old silver apple, taken asunder completely, bit by bit, until the broken power socket could be replaced, then reassembled. And it worked. And the whole thing just for the sake of the achievement itself. And now the machine works, it is understood better, and the knowledge gained by dis assembly and reassembly has inspired confidence in his own abilities.


The coffee is drunk and the mathematics homework is written.
Units of area.

The measurement of space, the size of a carpet relative to the size of a living space.

The size of the bed relative to the room


It is a miserable day, and the scans of the French cave are waiting to be done.
What was not done yesterday can only be done today.

Question?

the feeding of the beast, the cat, who knows what it thinks of weekends. Everyone up late, no early morning pat on the head, nothing.

it is grey outside, day grey, winter grey. Last night was cold, late. The work is finished, the congress of the urban traffic study scientists is done. And in the box.

The cat is persistent, so on with the proper day clothing and off into the kitchen. A mess. It has grown steadily worse since the last clearing.  Last week.
Why do things get worse and not better? Is that entropy? Or just a combination of laziness and slovenly behaviour.
Horrible.

Feed the cat,  a little bit. It is not a starved animal, so it does not need much, just enough to keep it happy. Tinned delight, happiness in a tin can.
After feeding it goes back to sleeping. A hunting carnivore would do the same. Save energy. Spend time caring for itself.

Make a coffee and a breakfast of a slice of bread butter tomato and cheese. The son is up and is pestering with stories of computers, computers appear to be the centre of everything. How did things work in the past without them.

The day is winter grey. and there are too many plans to fulfil. What did Sisyphus plan to do should he eventually have reached the top of the hill? Would that have been all?

The son is at the other end of the table writing things into his book, English vocabulary for school, the many meanings that some words have.

Oh what the hell.
Get another cup of coffee. Tell the son the longest English word used to be antidisestablishmenterianism. A historic expression dealing with one-time political movements..

who knows what it is now.

a training run today

 19 February 2016
 sound in the dark, the alarm from the mobile telephone, the seaside melody. And when it has been shut down, take off all the night clothes and go into the bathroom.
shave and shower.
The cat is like a wraith in the dark, rubbing it's head against legs of humans and legs of chairs.

Use the wife s hairbrush, for the other one has been stolen by the son. Well, not stolen. Borrowed, and not put back.

The street is dim and dry, it seems darker than it usually is. Maybe there is no mist scattering the light from the lamps, may be one of the lamps has broken. Do not know. There is a digger in front of the neighbours house, they have torn up the street for some purpose or other. The Friday market is setting up again in front of the church, blocking the entrance to the store selling clothing, stylishly ignorant, overpowering.

The man in the plastic tent surrounding him and his stall is arranging sausages for sale. Pass the young women walking up the street, modishly monkishly  cowled in the hood of her winter jacket, pass through the gate.

Dolores and the bog cotton man are waiting, she sitting like a ruminant and him smoking under a lamp. No others today.

The smoker in front of the station, big grin, short sleeves and a pigtail.
There are others hanging around here  too. Up the stairs, and in to the cafe . By Blondy is on service again, she is effusively. in good humour today. But as inefficient as ever.  Hedgehog and Moustachio! exchanging jokes, Moustachio! and BB in ribald conversation. Loud, insufferable.

Finally, out on the platform, watch the train come in slowly, a training run today, with instructors in the driver's cabin. It stops, and see a few old men in the train trying to open the still-locked sliding doors. They panic has these fail to open and the train moves on. They do not know that this is a coupling manouevre, and believe that the train is moving on.

When the train stops, they get out, noisy, noisy.

within the limits of propriety

$8 February 2016
 sleep deep, then it is four. The cat, and then go back to sleep again. seaside melody at five, and cannot find the button on the telephone to turn it off. Must listen to the carolling of the' 'phone almost to the point where the melody repeats itself before it is silenced. Wake up the wife with this noise.

Go to the bathroom, have a shower. The cat is most silent today, there is no apparent reason. But, so what, let it be. Put on a white shirt today. The cat follows all the way to the door and tries to leave the house. This is not allowed, shoo it back down the hallway.
 And daunt the streets, miss all those shops, see the bog cotton man walking on in the distance. And after a short wait, the bus, the driver with the walrus moustache and  Dolores boards the bus first, and leaves it again three stops later. There is activity in front of the station now, the pig tailed smoker gives a friendly wave.
Big Blondy is in the cafe today, still giving the impression that she would rather be elsewhere. Today feels as it it might be a strange day, but everything is much as it always is.
Hedgehog and Moustachio! are both there, sitting at their table underneath the television with its unspeakable advertising for strange tools that solve every day problems better.
 At the railway platform, a young women rushes past, searching for something. She is wearing black tights and a red jacket, and metallic-coloured Doc Marten style boots. She has long fair hair and a worried expression. After the train has come in, and finally, eventually, opens it's doors after completing it's coupling manouver with the waiting carriages, all board the vehicle, with. the usual struggle for the best position. The train does  this coupling every day, moving down the platform slowly, then stopping. Then it starts again with a jerk, and proceeds at a slow walking pace. Many of the waiting passengers, follow it on its way down the platform trying to maintain their favourite position relative to the train.  Then, with a sound of impact and another jerk, the train stops. It slowly opens it's doors to let the passengers waiting inside out and Those outside  in.  

The train is not full today, and finding a window seat at a table is not hard.
 A giggling  combined with slobbering sounds comes from the other side of the carriage. The girl from the platform with the dark tight tights has found whom she was looking for. She is together with a young man, and They are more than obvously fresh lovers. They meet on the train, and embrace in the morning, and make love within the limits  of propriety.
Spring is in the air.

 Somewhere. 

tightly, and lightly clad bums

17-February 2016

the cat's hour at four, she wakes everybody, an hour below the time. A troublesome animal.
Into the bathroom. after having turned off the mobile phone and its melody. The cat follows, and is frightened off by the hiss of the shower. When done, brush the teeth and off into the bedroom again, gather all the clothing for the day, find the glasses and the black pen with the green light. Take up the heavy suitcase with the measuring instrument for work, and leave the house. The cat is in the corridor, a cat-disappointed expression on its face.. The suitcase is heavy, a silver monstrosity made of aluminium sheeting in some Swiss canton. It is so heavy that after passing the crockery shop the arm and the shoulders are sore.

The builders hoarding outside the perfume shop has fallen over and is now lying all over the street, displaying the heaps of waste and building materials formerly hidden behind it. Bog Cotton Head and Dolores are at the bus stop, also two others. A young woman waddled in a stylish anorak is sitting in the corner of the shelter, and two men are standing about.
On boarding the bus, one man steps aside so that he may board the bus last. He engages the bus driver in conversation. The bus is too early, it needs to wait until it is time for it to leave. At this hour the timetable is easily kept,  traffic Is so sparse.

Big Dour Blondy, works in the cafe again getting items and people confused, she does not seem overly capable today. But, all being having been paid for, arrive in the stand-up cafe just as Hedgehog is leaving. Watch the people on the television torturing themselves on some exercising machine, a device promising a shapely body with only ten minutes of use a day. Pictures of their tightly, and lightly clad bums rising and falling, all in unison, men and women. Then before and after pictures, six packs all round.  Miracle! and those who believe may be  wasteful of their money.

And finally, drag the case to the platform. For the Train to Freising. A young woman is discussing the availability of free seating in the interim with her partner, and almost fights with the other people on the platform in her efforts to attain an optimal boarding position as the train finally rolls in.

Seats are not a problem, the train is half empty anyway.

cheap brown wig

16 February 2016
it cannot be true, the cat is making demanding noises, it is only four in the morning, this is  depressing. Let the spoilt feline out, may it have fun outside, in the dark of the yard.
 at four fifty nine, get up and watch the telephone, wait for it to start it's seaside song. When it does go into the shower, the bathroom, say good morning to the orchid, the orchid still alive in the corner by the window get dressed, find a hair brush after a long search, groom the still-damp hair.

See that the hall clock has broken down, it will need looking at some other time, not at this revolting half past five in the morning. Leave the house, it is damp outside. Down the alley, past all the shops, a woman comes around the corner at the perfume shop, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact.

The discount bakery has a mountain of cardboard boxes before its window front, all the empty containers of frozen bakery products from the past weeks. Dolores at the bus stop, impassive. The bog cotton man is there too, fluffy white hair over the nape of his neck. There is a lot of traffic, hundreds of five - seater cars bringing their owner's to work. some are big, and others are not so large-Automobiles are getting steadily larger anyway, people are becoming more and more ostentatious.

The bus, it's driver, short journey to the railway station, good morning to the pig tailed smoker, and face up to a dour Big Blondy, she makes everybody feel that she is doing them a great favour by serving them at all. The television is showing advertisements for non-stick frying pans, and it's Platform time again,the train comes in.

 There is a  man with a wig and thick glasses clutching a case to his chest, wearing a navy blue raincoat, who forces his way aboard the train without letting the people disembark first. An egocentric, an egocentric with a cheap brown wig to hide some kind of baldness.

And now, with the train having left Moos Burg behind, it is time to end this small account, this daily note taking. For Today, anyway.

The tables are tiny, Hedgehog scuttles off.

15 February 2016
 Aware, awake far too early, the cat is making an uproar, and attention. Wanting food she gets attention. 
An hour too early, it is four in the morning and nothing is in order. Up, go to the bathroom, shave. Back to bed again, lie there straight stretched on the mattress, waiting for the seaside melody. Listen to an early morning jet heading for Munich Airport And when the song does sound, at five, as it should, sleep has returned, and it is a rude awakening. 
The cat is excited again, and gets in the way of those morning's searches for clothing. The clock in the hall has stuck, do not know why, so spend a short while repairing it. The cat goes frantic at the flat's door, it wants to leave for the hallway and the stairs. 
So, at five thirty open the door, and go out into the streets all greasy from the morning fog, leaving the cat in the hallway, sitting there alone, wearing a doleful expression; its eyes wide open, pointed ears perked up. 

The" oldie but goldie" second hand clothes shop in the alley has a lit window with a carefully dressed tailors dummy in its centre. And next to that, the leather tradeswoman's shop. It is in darkness. Angels stamps and Grimms crockery, the leather bag shop and Douglas Perfume, they are all clustered around saint Martin's church, Leave them all behind, pass the freshly cleaned discount bakers, go through the town gate, there is Dolores in the bus shelter. She does' not look happy today, who knows why,  where she is coming from and where she is going to. 
There are more people at the bus stop than usual today, not just the man with the bog cotton hair. There are two young men as well, and what looks like an office worker. Let them all onto the bus first, take care  not to get to close, they smell of damp and sweat and cigarette smoke. 
The bus driver give a disdainful look at the proffered change, then his face lights up, he says 'Kurzstreche?". That guy will go far, he is intelligent. 

Station forecourt is deserted, one of the fellow passengers strides ahead to enter the building first. He is in a hurry, he does not do this regularily. 
Blondy serves coffee, angry expression today, almost hurls the mugs of coffee at the customers. Maybe it is not her day. But she has silenced her inane chatter, and that is a mercy. Hedgehog is in his corner, under the silent television. A nod,-greeting enough- 
The screen is showing inane musicians singing in the countryside, playing guitars on mountain  tops, some with their eyes closed in bliss, some with stupidly raised eyebrows. The countryside would be better off without them, and if the sound were on it would be unbearable. German Pop music, 'Schlager' For the conservative small time populace. Rubbish with a beat. 
The striding man from the bus comes in, he has got himself a roll from the counter, and settles down opposite to Hedgehog. 

The tables are  tiny, Hedgehog scuttles off. 

The mans trousers do not fit properly, they are blue jeans badly cut. 

And the train is in on time • 

ten thirty

nine
blue sky outside the window, no grey depressing vista of a rain-swept courtyard, on the contrary.
It is bright and cheerful.
Awaken to this after a night of disturbed sleep, put away the mask. This is it, this is Sunday. All is ready now for Monday, with the occurrences of Friday still in the mind.
The lights are all on, things are scattered about.
Son has been active again.  Electronics, where would we be without them?

The cat is active, of course. She wants attention, she wants to play. She jumps onto a table and throws down a plastic watch.

The son commences to bake breakfast rolls. They are ready made, from the supermarket. All that needs doing is for them to be put into the pre -warmed oven for five minutes.
Sunday breakfast at the big table is important to him.

The frozen pretzel things are all stuck to each other, they need to thaw first so that they  may be separated. Panic and fury, they will not be ready for  breakfast, for the late breakfast.
So the son starts to practice piano. Ten minutes, timed with a stopwatch. Every day, it is supposed to be better than an hour a week. Time will tell.

Fill up the dishwasher with all the greasy dishes, from yesterday. Find space for the pots smelling of fowl, a foul smell. But that was yesterdays meal.
Soon the machine is running, clearing the plates, pots, and cutlery of grease. Chicken fat dissolved by heat and mingled with tensides turns into something for the municipal sewage treatment plant to deal with. As they deal with all waste that goes down the pipes.

The piano practised, the pretzels unstuck. The cat throws down a small potted plant off of the window ledge, and looks at the mess on the floor from above. She enjoys throwing things down from a height.  Perhaps she imagines that they will then run away, giving her something to chase.
ten

and by the time this is done it is half past

good mr Ning

oh
the cat wants
something, oh the head-
what on earth is up with her?
get up, let the cat out , bathroom,
oh , the clock, it is past eight already

listen, coffee is being made in the kitchen

awake now
the son is up, has been up for some time. His computers are all making whirring sounds, the cat is outside the door wanting to be let in and fed, it is nine in the morning.
Feel bad, the vision is fuzzy, tinnitus' hiss right ear, slowly turning to a whistle.
There are things to be done, rubbish to be cleared,  things to be arranged for and things to be thought of.

A writing desk to restore, an item over a century old, having had rough treatment for the last thirty years.
And things to dispose of, to sell and give away.
An Easter journey to think about, and a wedding to attend,

A cuppa and a silver apple at the window, listen to the saturday traffic outside. And this daily wish is fulfilled, duty done,
learn language later

bom dia

able to leave early as welll

get up before the alarming sound of the seaside melody, and turn it off at once on the way to the bathroom. Wash, shave, brush teeth, stroke the purring super-affectionate cat. Up on its back legs again, head butting the legs.

Clothing for the day, take the car today. It is Friday, why not?
The cat is eager to leave for the stairwell, purring away to itself.

So let it out, and leave the house.
Walk around the back way, looking for the car. It is cold and dry today, All seem to be asleep, there are no lights on anywhere, but for the window light in the charity shop. There is a loud hum from some ventilator in the big Jesuit church.
Walk all the way around the block trying to find the car.
Finally find it, get in and drive off.
The streets are empty, it is only half past five.

There is little of interest, concentrate on driving, drive through the long tunnel, and then along the river. Leave town, head for the motorway.
Will be in work early, and able to leave early as welll.
Hopefully.

through the dark landscape

11. 2.2016
The son is awake, it is half past four. He is making noises, he has found yet another interest. And he is up early to try it out, to run the computer, to talk to his friends about the making of websites.
It is too early for all this. And the cat wants attention too. so sit in the dark, the cat on the lap, happy cat.
 and then the seaside melody. It is five, time for a quick shower – Time to get up. The orchard was forgotten today, never mind. and then the clothing is on, get the bag, and go down the stairs. Pass the cat, the Miriam cat longing  to leave the house for the wild streets, but it may not.
  It is a pet, and they have their duties too.
 The street is dry, and it is cold. There is no traffic, there are no pedestrians. On passing the discount bakery, see that the interior has been flooded, the windows are steamed up.  Dolores is to be seen from a distance, she is in the bus shelter already. go through the central main arch of the town gates, and at the bus stop see that she is wearing a grief- stricken facial expression today. Say good morning, today there is hardly a reaction. White haired man arrives, lights up a cigarette. stay upwind, the smell of tobacco is too much at this early hour.
 The bus is late, a few minutes. The automatic signpost showing the timetable does not work this early either. It prophecies half an hours wait. All nonsense.

 At the station it has started to snow large white flakes. Yomer's cafe is being run by the bald shaven man today. He sees the crowd coming from the bus, and calls for help from his colleagues. A dark haired girl appears; and proceeds to get in the way. If she does the job long enough she will learn. Today is a day of ill humour, sore back and loud tinnitus. All of these travelling companions, unknown in earlier life, all part of it now.

Ten minutes later, out on the platform in a minor snowstorm, read the notice that the train is to be delayed for ten minutes more due to a defective level crossing down the line.
Indulge in a change of habit and step into the waiting part of the train at the end of the platform.It is crowded, but it is dry.
Find a free seat beside a sleeping woman, an office worker going by her general appearance and attire. The man opposite has a cloth bag on the table before him, with a children's nursery rhyme printed upon it. The last free seat around the small table is taken by a young woman with black-rimmed spectacles and a black jacket. Her hair is sleek black too. She takes out her book and reads.
That is the way in which the journey from Lands hut to Freising is experienced today.

The train rushes through the dark landscape, wobbling seriously. These are small commuter trains, cheap, and with poor suspension. They are unable  to absorb the irregularities in these tracks laid across the marshy countryside beside the river.

The train is in, the snow is falling,

10Th February 2016
Deep sleep, awaken to the sound of the seaside melody
Fumble about trying to find the 'phone in the dark.
There are so many other things on the desk.
The cat, purring loudly, now awake too.
The animal is nocturnal.
Bathroom, shower, brush the teeth. They feel manky after the night's rest.
On returning to the bedroom the cat rubs its head against the bare legs.
and then, when all the clothing is on, a short rest is taken sitting on the bed.
The cat jumps onto the knees, a thing it never really had done ever before, sat there, purring.
The streets are wet, it is a soggy snow that is raining down, falling straight, dissolving almost at once upon hitting the ground.
The municipal sweepers are cleaning the streets using their blowing machines to clear the corners of waste left by yesterdays party.
Ash Wednesday today.
Dolores in the bus shelter, good morning
gut en Morgan.
A mighty lit truck approaches from the distance, and she gets up, thinking that this is the bus.
As it becomes apparent that she has erred, she smiles in embarrassment.
That is the first ever that a visible emotion is to be seen on her face.
When the real bus has come, and been boarded, and left again at the station, the snow has gained in solidity, each snowflake now larger.
The butterfly eyelashes, Anastasia pipes up, "coffee?" Literally "großer Kaffee?"
and then the eyelashes flutter away to the
next customer, and the next, to return
again when the paper mug is full, and a
short 'Tschuss", and that is the end at that
for the day.
There are two young Chinese in the space usually occupied by the man we name Hedge­hog.

He is thin, drinking water, and smiling
silently.
She is voluble, and does
not stop talking even when her mouth is full.
She is not as thin as the man, and seems to
have a lot to say.

In Chinese of course.

The train is in, the snow is falling,
more slowly now, in larger flakes

Anastasie of the minky eyelashes

9 February 296 There is an alarm sound at four forty five. It is the son's, he must have left it on from yesterday. Then is no reason for him to get up so early otherwise. The buzzing sound stops.
 Wait. and then-at four fifty nine, get up, go to the small table, and wait. The seaside melody sounds from the mobile' phone. Wipe over the glass surface with two fingers, and the sound goes away.

 So to the bathroom, a shave whilst the shower warms up. The shaver is a cheap item. the cord will not remain plugged into the device. Too bad. A nuisance. Shower taken, the body dried of the surplus surface water, the clothes put on and the hair combed. All one movement these days. Look into the mirror to see if the hair is on end or flat. Take a breath, a break.

Hear the cat calling, there is no telling from where really. Eventually see that she is outside the glass door, in the cold stairwell. Let her in, her tail is bristled huge, she is excited to be let in, she must have been outside all night. She is attentive, rubbing her head against the leg, standing on her hind paws only, begging to have her head stroked. She is happy to be in the warm part of the house again. 

Leave the house at five thirty, time to catch the bus. The alley, monochromatic in the streetlight light, bare. The Angels Philatelists, Grimm's store for kitchen and crockery. Doodle and his leather store, all crowd around the church. Presumably for the days entertainment a stage has been set up in the middle of the main street. Today is shrove tiesday, this is a day when some of the Germans go berserk, act the fool, behave the clowns. Start the fast, the start of Lent, the end of winter. Many of the people save all year to act the fool on these days. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, it with all be over them, the faithful with a smear of ashes on their few heads.

 The bus, Dolores, she getting off at the Hofomgerweg, barely able to walk. She is exhausted tired, just going by appearances.
Normal s Cafe, the welcoming grin from the man with the shaven hair , large paper mug of coffee, a plastic lid. Hedgehog in the corner, exchanges words and laughs with

Anastasie of the minky eyelashes, lepidopterously long, fluttery and sooty. The style of the times. 

Rosenheim Diesel arrives, non electric noises, the roar of a combustion engine, not the whine of bearings, the hum of electricity driving electromagnets. The trains are all empty, there are few people under way today.

solder day

8 February 2016
 sound of the son's alarm buzzing in his room. He will go to work today too, he has his school holidays. He will pay a visit to his fathers job. So that  he can learn how to solder.  The wife gets up to make sure that he is awake. He usually gets up much later, but today is different.
The cat is confused. There is far too  much activity today The shower was taken the night before, the bags are packed, the son is excited.  He is to learn how to solder today, how to solder his electronic bits for the computer.
  Wait for the two bells, the half hour bells. Talk a little, but both are jaded.  The confused cat leaves for the hallway, goes down the stairs, then up again.
As "father and son go down the lane crepuscular, cold, creepy, the two bells sound in Mortins church, The Angel's stamp collectors shop on the other side of the road.

 The discount bakery is brightly lit  , inside it is heing cleaned.  Dolores is ahead, passing through the town gates on her way to the bus stop There is a bird singing, a thrush, a blackbird, who knows. A forlorn squeaking noise in the dark, the small bird in the bushes,.  Its open beak is to be seen, as it makes sounds that would normally only be expected in springtime.

In the railway station, Anastasia serves coffee, and a cocoa for the son. Also a buttered  pretzel.  There is no hedgehog today, all is quiet,  people are on holidays., the beginning of Lent.  Watch the  television up on the wall As always, television is full of people selling gimmicks. Now it is blenders to make strange fruit drinks. Blenders with taps on the front.
    Then the marketing couple shows some miraculous cleaning liquid. Anything to  make money. the son laughs, at the assumed voices, unheard, but always the same, the man earnest and rational and the woman exclaiming an effusion of amazement.

Her demeanor is expressive of her being  so deadly impressed by this cool bloke showing her how to remove the burnt grease from an oven tray.

The cat does not want food, she wants to play

wake in the dark
it is sunday morning
the cat does not know the days of the week  and it does not have a conception for a day of rest.
Thus it makes noises, expresses it's desires early.

doze and laze, go and say hello to the orchid in the bathroom, do all the things that one does when one is actually doing nothing worth remembering.
Hear strange sounds, a grumbling sort of rumble. Is the son playing didgeridoo?
No it is the alarm, he has found a new sound

get  up, into the clothes resting beside the bed, the cat is delighted.
The cat does not want food, she wants to play.

Make breakfast, blog a bit, make a few three dimensional models on the computer.
Glow and sparkle for the physicists.
And Sunday is a day to be enjoyed.

Let us leave and go for a morning drink and a pastry in the discount bakery.

long rest morning, get up, make coffee still wearing those night clothes. Why not, why on earth change? Just sort things a bit. Use the bathroom. Saturday, no work. Friday spent watching the Vanities at work celebrating their own brilliance, giving each other awards and things in a cramped old lecture theatre. Spend time recovering from this academic congress.

Tinnitus and coffee, son screaming in frustration at his computer. He cannot imagine a situation without a multicoloured screen and a hand operated guide to move things about in a manner now called intuitive, but is actually the result of training. Mouse operation has little to do with intuition, it needs to be learnt and trained like so many other things.
Punched cards would be a nightmare, stacks of papers, typed output, a world grown and died inside the space of a lifetime.

Tidy up all the used clothing, smelly socks, underwear of meanwhile doubtful hygienic quality, and sit at the living room table writing these notes for the future.
The son has his clothes on, those clothes suitable for use on the streets. Bells are ringing, church bells sounding in loud celebration of saturday´s services.

It is nine fifty seven now, the son is ready to go now. He has left the rest of the world waiting, finishing his play with the machines.
He is eleven, he is only playing.

Let us leave and go for a morning drink and a pastry in the discount bakery.

people on holidays, celebrating.

5 February 2016
 Waiting for the alarm to sound, the cat Miriam purring at the foot of the bed. A happy sounding cat. The seaside melody from the mobile phone, and off to the orchid, the shower, toothbrush and shaver. Find a different pair of shoes today, rescue them from the attic. Yesterday's rain soaked the other ones, they are not dry yet. Dust them off, they will be okay for today. Pet the cat once more and leave the house, the streets are dry today.
The market stall owners are setting up their wares in the Friday morning main street food market. They are shouting advice to each other, likely shouting just out of habit.
 Dolores and the man with the bog cotton hair are at the bus stop Wish dololres her good morning. The bus driver is a young man with gel in his hair, he does not seem to be at all happy to be up at this hour . But he drives well, the bus ride is smooth That is pleasant.

 The station forecourt is deserted, the steps well decorated with cigarette butts, and spilt beer. The cleaners have not been yet, and the filth remains: Why are railway stations always such an attraction for inebriates and smokers?
 Anastasia, solitary behind her counter, just looks, turns around and put on a coffee. Not a word. And then there are other customers, all chattering away, all buying breakfasts, and Lattes, and god only knows what other concoct­ions.
 Hedgehog is at his place under the television, he gives a friendly grating. The television is showing  advertising for twin-bladed circular saws  again. There is even footage of a man cutt­ing an egg in two. He is holding the egg in such a way that if he makes a mistake guiding the cut­ting device, it will take his thumb off. Why would we cut raw hen's eggs with a circular hand saw anyway?  The blades rotate in opposition, the device must make a very broad cut.
 Hedgehog leaves the waiting room, says goodbye. He has never done that before. It only takes three years. Two young street cleaners take his place, all  dressed up in that municipal safety orange. They are loud, they are young. People are loud in this country, in this state. They will drown in sound that which they cannot push aside with their elbows.


Train time, today the train is empty, people on holidays, celebrating.

Listen to the tinnitus' hiss,

4.2.2016
 seaside song, telephone lost in the dark, it is there, but where exactly? When found, turn it off, shower, return to pack the bag get the days clothing together. check the contents of the bag. The cat is very attentive today, it purrs and holds its head at an angle so that it can be scratched between the ears. The eyeglasses are in the living room. Fetch them too.
At just after half past five leave for the streets. It is only very slightly later than usual, but the streets have many more people wandering up and down, waiting in front of shops and standing at corners smoking. Smoking another cigarette before the day begins.
A small garden tractor belonging to the municipality is busy scattering salt on all the pedestrian ways in  expectation of snow today. It is a noisy thing with a salt hopper mounted on its rear and an orange flashing beacon on it's roof.
Good morning Dolores, and here is the bus. Five minutes later there is the shirt sleeved, pig tailed, grey haired smoker. Good morning too. For the first time ever, Anastasia seems ever so slightly  disorganised. she is dealing with all her customers at once, as usual, there is just the very slight impression of her being stressed. Perhaps a hard night, or something.
Greet Hedgehog, the man in the blue overall and the chubby face, standing at his table reading his tabloid newspaper. A nod and ever such a slight bow.
Orange clad municipal workers are at another table discussing the methodology of cleaning public stairwells. The one is in favour of using a petrol consuming blowing apparatus. He does not seem To think of the noise .
• Try to imagine being wakened at five by the sound of a street cleaner using an unsilenceable wind maker in front of the bedroom window. There are worse things, but that would be high up an some scale quantifying nuisance.
The train in  according to the announcement. Head for the Tracks. in the grey chill morning, a morning felt to be cold.
Passing carriages at the platform as the train sneaks silently past moving in to gently con­tact the carriages already at the platform. Eventually it halts, groups of passengers form at the entrance doors awaiting the doors. After a pause, these open.
 Sitting at a small talk of wood coloured plastic table in silence, writing these notes.
Listen to the tinnitus' hiss, unbroken for some years, and feel the eyes droop in the warmth of the railway carriage.

such a saw

Seaside song in the dark. Stumble across the room and turn the moboile phone off. That ist that, move on to say hello and good morning to the cat and the orchid.
Turn on the shower.
After all this has been done, carry on to gather all of the items needed for the day. The black bag is full of coffee pads, bought yesterday. This is for the coffee breaks  at work, saving money, bring your own rather than using the dispenser at work.
Down the damp lane,  after having made sure that the cat is locked in.
For some reason, stop to admire the stone frieze at the end of the church, surrounding a small chapel filled with memorials for the dead.
A white truck passes slowly down the main street, unmarked, pristine. Maybe it is just a new delivery truck, not yet decorated with the firms by logos.
Boxes that used to contain deep frozen bakery products are piled high in front of the discount bakery's window. They must have cleared out a store room, they are disposing, of their accumulated waste.
Dolores sitting in the dark of the shelter at the bus stop, says good morning. There is a woman there with a very large suitcase too. Maybe going to the airport, an off-season holiday.
Cool, efficient, friendly bus driver is is tired, he is doing his job.
That pony tailed smoker is in front of the station, standing in the smokers square, consuming an early cigarette. He say' s good morning, a greeting almost indistinguishable from the word for' stomach in german. This may be his accent. The big is doing service duty in the cafe again. Big coffee is taken, is, further items are politely refused. The memory of all of those boxes, empty, of frozen bakery goods lingerz, the thought of ancient bread comes to mind, of eastern workers making german bakery products for the lowest imaginable wage, these items then being sold here, all of which producing a disproportionate profit down the line.
Write standing at the tall table, looking at stupid adverts for double bladed circular power saws on the silent television. They will cut anything, and are on special offer for the home builder. A night at the opera would be preferable and would cost the same as such a saw.
"The train is to be in shortly, time to go"

appear to be sleeping. Maybe they really are.

2.2.16
The mobile iphone makes noises in the night, announcing the arrival of mail, and finally to say that it has been loaded, that it has received enough electricity. The machine is a noisy nuisance, but it is needed to ensure awakening in the morning.

And all this at ten past four. sleep again, the seaside melody sounds, and it is time to shower, time for the orchid.
Time for the cat, too. It is in early-morning mode, friendly, stretching itself, yawning, purring.

There is no change for the bus driver today, he remains friendly even in the face of this adversity.

A big girl, the big girl from yesterday, is serving at the Yorma's cafe, she always asks whether or not the order is complete. She has tattoos on her wrist, christian religious symbols. She works fast, the coffee machine is slow.

Hedgehog in the corner, reading his paper., under the television showing early morning advertisements for household detergents, and then body building apparatus again. People straining their bodies; trying to regain the shapes of early youth. Wish all the dreamers success.
Repair to platform, downstairs, upstairs. Walk down to the distant end, and await the arrival of the second half of the train. It rolls in slowly, at a little more than walking pace, ready to couple with the part  waiting down at the end of the platform. People walk along beside the doors of the carriage. They wish to be on board first, just in case there are no seats left over for them. They walk along beside a slowly. moving train, trying to be at a door when it stops. It is a fair sport to watch.

The train was not full at all, there are many seats to to be had here. People reading papers, studying their mobile telephones.  A year ago, there where more laptops. These small computers appear to have gone out of fashion.

After Moos burg, for whatever reasons, the fellow passengers in the carriage all close their eyes and sit back,  appear to be sleeping.
Maybe they really are.

and darkened the dawn out of existence.

1st of February, awake too early, take the mobile phone into the bathroom, to be prepared when the alarm goes off. As the water is pouring from the shower head, and after the teeth have been brushed the seaside melody, accompanied by a frustrated buzz sounds. Turn it off, shower, turn that off too, dry the wet body, till it is just dry.
Traverse the cold single glazed corridor, listen to the rain pouring from the sky, splashing against the concrete of the yard, dripping from the eaves.. A wet day. The cat is up, going about cat business, a morning greeting. The wife is up, silent. The bathroom, occupied. Early, seventeen past five.. All is well, pick fresh clothing from the wardrobe. gather all the bits and bots into the black bag, go down the stairs. The cat follows, shyly. It's farewell from the bad isolation, a forlorn look, sitting onthe cold concrete flags.
 The street, the alley, is soaked with the rain.The rain is pouring out of a wind still sky, pouring out at the dark, making the cobbles glisten. The coat of the jacket, sold as water resistant, surrenders all resistance and is soaked in seconds.
 A truck is backing third down the street, its driver expects no pedestrians at this hour. He brakes startled   suddenly as eye contact is established. The man is awake now.

 Mushroom-like, Dolores on the shining street holding an umbrella to keep her fur dry, to stop the rain filling her Leopardskin print hand-bag..
 Water is dripping from the ailing cieling of the bus's cabin, soaked seats. At the station tell the driver. He will not be able to do much about it either. The bus is just not waterproof.
 Drag the feet on the mats laid out in the station foyer, laid out to absorb some of the water carried in on the people's feet.
 The new girl at Yormer's serves. the coffee quickly, Anastasia checks, she is keeping an eye on her. That is all. The cafes television is showing advertisement  for mixers. A grey haired man and a blonde woman. The man appears to be explaining the technology, the woman is gaping in amazement and applauding. It is good that the sound is off. That kind of advertising nonsense would be hard to take at this early measly hour, forcing itself on the conscious mind as sounds do. It is hard to bear away from a disturbing sound, harder than looking away from a disturbing sight.

 The train boarded, and Moosburg left behind. And it is not light outside. Not yet, the dark rain clouds have covered the sky and darkened the dawn out of existence.