roundabout.

Silence this morning, it will be a day to take the car to work, remain resting in the bed until it is six thirty in the morning. The air in the bathroom is cold and the shower is too hot. The orchid is still alive, and looking good.
In the bedroom again, find the underwear for the day and, whilst getting dressed the son comes in, distraught. He has a sore throat and has lost his voice.
Well, tell him to stay calm, he will find it again.
The wife stays in bed, she is unwell.
The cat is confused.


Find the coat the shoes and take the bag and leave the house. Walk up the street and around the corner, to the parking spot of the small blue car. Adjust the seats, to suit my size, start the engine, back out into the street.

Then down the road to the spot where it widens, and turn the car, to go back to the junction, take a right and drive all the way past Saint Jodoks church, to reach the tunnel under the castle.

The bore of the tunnel has walls blackened by the soot from the exhausts of all of the thousands of cars that drive through it every day. It is lit by dim sodium lamps up at its highest point, and there is an emergency exit every fifty metres.  There are also fire points regularly every fifty meters.



Leave that depressing highway to hell, take a left turn, and, after having left the town drive along beside the river. The radio is playing serious music.
Serious music for serious people.
Turn off the noisy ventilator in order to be able to hear better.

No idea - oh- Dvorak?

Ok.
But the were just talking about a 16 year-old who founded a string quartett.
Never mind the radio, the car ahead has just braked, we are reaching a roundabout.