OCR disaster 31 march 2018

awake to the terrible sound of the forgettin alarm on the sons mebite phone. He leans over his side of the bed, and the sonnet stops.
at five minutes later, the same sound> get up, turn off all off the alarm sounds on the more, that that may not happen. again. It is six in the morning.
look out over Dublin bay, The lights of the city to be seen behind those steamy windows.
Then back to bed again, tired, the son has fallen back to sleep.
Later, hear the brother and his wife, up aud about, preparing for the journey to the west of Ireland.
Join the brother at the table, with the news on the computer.
Another day in Ireland, art and notu.. to write these notes,

work in a foreign country.

awaken after a night torn by sleep that did not allow much rest.
worry over organisational things.

There is fog outside, see the trees in the field but Dublin Bay has vanished.

Get up, the brother and the sister in law are swirling and speeding at their early morning work.
The son is slow , asleep, he is thirteen going on fourteen years old. They sleep longer in the morning at that age.


Get up, find clothes, today is the day to meet Louise.
She wants to look at the mother's work, the mother that has been dead for forty three years now.
Still, the volume of work on paper is impressive, impressive to one who knows their facts, who knows about drawing.

And now the brother, his wife, and the son have left, left the building, gone to work.

turning stressful

The awful alarm clock at an ungodly hour, that is bad. The son sleeps on, so wake him, before his machinery wakes the brother and his wife.
It is to late, hear them complain.

Get up, start to work on the computer, yesterdays pictures,

then that alarm clock goes off again, under the son's blanket, muffled.

Go over, tell him to turn that off.

And then the tinnitus sets in, the sore throat, the dizziness.

this is a holiday, it is turning stressful.

Later, hear the son and the brother talk, he will need to be brought to the garden centre later

and then there is the matter of other friends, that should be visited

And this is difficult now, with the discomforts

Get up to make a coffee

and write these notes
and then it is time to go.

traffic of the nearby city

the brother comes into the bedroom, making noises like an alarm clock, beeping noises made by voice, trying to awaken the son from his deep sleep fueled by the Irish air and the activity in the garden centre
The son is in the land of nod, sleeping soundly on his side of the bed. So shake him a bit, untill the eyes open.
He is so tired
And outside the windows, through the drops of condensation, see Dublin bay in the distance, covered in grey light, the last of the street lights on, Dublin watched over by that peninsular mass, like a whale gaurding the bay.

Back to the son, he has fresh clothes on now, and is ready to go, into the living room and the kitchen
the coffee maker that grinds the coffee is working, all that luxury, but lovely to enjoy


The brother is at the table, working his computer, looking, collecting mail from the aether, the end of the paper mail that will survive in a corner of the room in an old shoebox, to the mail that will exist as long as the world wide web of data conduits exists.

And drink the coffee from the machine, standard type and taste.
Talk to the son and the brother, their breakfast of porridge, an exotic syrup of dates on the porridge to satisfy the filial sweet tooth.
And then they are away again, off to design a garden, to make a space in a school yard, paths through herbs and grasses.

The sister in law comes in and complains of her problems with the internet.
but otherwise there is only the sound of the waking traffic of the nearby city.

shifting time zones and the changing seasons

The alarm hoots and honks, the son's blaring smartphone alarm. A klaxon, a diving submarine.
And he sleeps on.
So shake him, wake him.
He has to go off gardening today, talking about landscapes, the fruits of the earth, with the brother.
He is enjoying himself.
But he has set his alarm one hour early, the shifting time zones and the changing seasons are to blame.

Back to sleep he goes.
Lie awake, thinking.


Later, a 'plane's sound overhead.

An hour gone, awaken the young man again

And he gets up and goes.
Get up and look out over the lights of Dublin.

Then into the kitchen
There is the brother up already, looking at his laptop

Tomar café da manha
it is holidays now and there is less time to learn Portuguese.

one for sorrow

black
an alarm, a klaxon, sounds like one from a film about submarines.

Dublin, a clean bed

the son has set his alarm clock early.
Tell him to turn it off.
Go back to sleep.
Sharing a big bed with the son.

Later awake
The light is pouring in through the window again
get up
go to the loo
meet the sister in law on the way there.
Good Morning in a hurry.
On the way back meet the son, he is distraught, he had wanted to be up earlier.

too bad.


Return to the bedroom
Look out over Dublin Bay,
Howth and the mouth of the Liffey.


And a blanket of brown coloured air over the town, smog and dirt.
It used to be more pronounced, but it is still there.

Later, watch the ships come into Dublin port, tiny because of the distance, the big ferry with a plume of brown smoke from its stacks, heavy oil.
Two magpies in the field outside, two for joy

the Pigeon House.

and awaken in a bright room with a blue and white sky outside the windows of the nineteenth century manor house.
A big bright room, the son is on the other side of the bed, white sheets.
And sleep had been deep and undisturbed.
Look out , there is Howth and the Pigeon House.
Think of Joyce, and Anna Livia.
Think
The shutters for the window are white, there is a golf course beyond the field.
And the carpet is beige, it is all in good taste.

Germany of the railway stations and the trains is far away now

The son asleep in his bed

Look around
Ireland again, as in every Easter, all are asleep.
All but one

The bathroom is occupied.

the end of sleep

Get up, it is dark.
The sons alarm clock is buzzing away for no obvious reason.
He sleeps on oblivious.

Go into his room.
Both alarm clocks, seventies style, with big figures on their faces, both beeping in a buzzing choir.

Arrgh! Why! Saturday!

He climbs down from his high bed.
He silences the clocks, pressing all the right buttons.

Go back to bed.
But that was the end of sleep.

Tonight is the flight to Ireland, the Easter visit.
Get up, make coffee, one cup only on the little silver Pavoni.

And in the sitting room the cat pokes her head around the corner of the piano
and stares at the strange sight of a man in a pyjamas at a computer with a cup of coffee.

The son is excited, getting ready to pack.
And yesterday was the first chance to speak to a native speaker,
E legal!
The owner of the portuguese wine bar!

plaited his beard today

The street is wet, and the pavement around the church is covered in snow.

At the small park by the bus stop, five ducks and two pigeons are picking and pecking at a mass of crumbs on the ground.

The bog cotton man is at the bus stop, in the bus shelter. He wishes a good morning. And the teachemam arrives, just as the bus approaches.

The daily dreariness is accentuated by the miserable weather, the rain, the heaps of sodden snow everywhere.

At the railway station, there is the smoker, standing in the rain, slush on the ground everywhere. He is wearing a peaked cap, perhaps to keep his cigarette dry. He is smiling, cheerful, and wishes a good morning.


The people in the cafe are happy and cheerful today, who knows why, The big bald headed man has plaited his beard today. The train is quite empty too, and the landscape is snow covered, there is really nothing today.

Other than that it is Friday, the end of the week, The last day before two weeks break from work, two weeks holidays.

and inches the last few metres

Thursday 22.3.2018
The glasses dissapeared, not to he found in the early morning. Search the whole flat, they are nowhere. Panic at the thought of being late.
Then find them on the ground beside a cabinet in the hall. It is good that they are made of plastic and that they are light. They have not broken.
Far from being late, it is early today. Five minutes early. So look at the phone. Read the news. Mark Zuckerberg and his facebook are in a bit of trouble. They have been showing data to the wrong people.
Leave the house, the weather is still cold. There are batches of snow at the side of the streets and in the gutters. at the bus stop,
At the bus stop, or rather in the park by the bus stop there is the man feeding the ducks. He is making a sound as if he is feeding chickens, a "cheep cheep" sound. This does not seem to worry the ducks at all. They quack and waddle, picking the breadcrumbs from his bag. They do not care if somebody speaks to them in chicken. A flight of five pigeons birds and starts to pick the smaller crumbs. The man just seems to like pretending to be a poultry farmer at five thirty in the morning.

Later on, after the bus ride, after having wished the smoker in front of the station good morning, watch the confusion behind the counter in the cafe. The women are squabbling, ignoring the people waiting for service. The young woman are arguing in some south eastern European language. The bald man with the beard is not there today.

Sit in the waiting room untill the small diesel train from Miihldorf is to be seen outside the cafe window. It always arrives on platform number one, it is a noisy small diesel train.
In what is meanwhile a bright sunny morning, go on out to the platform via the underground tunnel, look out over the tracks and sidings, admire the view. Watch the train arrive, sneaking along the tracks slowly. The arriving train always couples with the train waiting at the platform, so it comes in very slowly. It would not do to ram the waiting train, would it?

so it sneaks in
at walking pace,
opens the doors to let the people out,
closes them again,
and inches the last few metres to complete its coupling.
 

black and white and dirty green

the small things are annoying. The 'phone that should have charged overnight did not, so that now it is almost dead. gather the clothes, the pass card needed for the day, dress, Brush the hair and leave the house.
The alley is cold, there are still a few heaps of iced snow left. A taxi comes speeding up the alley, step onto the pavement. At the church, a driver in a very small car is taking illegal short cut around the church, driving fast in the pedestrian zone. He stops and slowly drives fast.

Down theater street, there is a young woman walking fast, hair all done up in a knot on top. There is a lot of traffic today, there is no obvious reason for this.
At the bus stop, there is nobody. The bus stop is deserted, took over to the small house containing the weather station, there are two men. One is standing there watching the other feed the ducks from a plastic bag.
The bus ariwes, the teacher man too. Let the man board the bus first, then pay the driver his fare.

The railway forecourt is bare of people too, the cold weather has reduced the amount of bicycles standing about. Not so many people are using their bicycles.

 In the Café the uniforms of the service people appear to have been charged. They are wearing yellow T-shirts now, with a Y for Yormas written on them. Pay for the coffee with the fully stamped diccountcard.



Sit down in the waiting room, and greet Norbert Hedgehog. A friendly man.
The train is on time, and it is bright outside by the line the train gets to Moosburg. The sky is an even cloudy pale grey, and the landscape is pure black and white and dirty green with the snow and the winter grass.

it is not christmas

 
awaken early, go to the loo, then brush the teeth. Return to bed, and the alarm sounds on the tablet. After turning it off, return to the bathroom, have a warm shower.
And when that is done, back to the bedroom, the clothing from the wardrobe, be ready to leave the house at half past five.
-
the alley has downtrodden snow all over it, and a small powdering of fresher snow that had fallen during the night. Sometimes the road surface in slippery., but mostly it has salt and grit on it. It is cold and inhospitable, the snow and ice gleaming out of the dark.
There are utility vehicles with salt hoppers attached to their rear loading platforms and orange lights attached to their. roofs. These are  the vehicles of auxiliary snow moving people, contractors to the town. They use there vehicles in winter this way, they are gardening firms and farmers.
at the bus stop wish the bog cotton man a good morning, he is all wrapped up against the cold. He is the only one there today. The bus arrives, the money is counted out onto the drivers till, and the small ticket is put into the pocket. Today is Tuesday, yesterday's illness is over.
Get a large cup of coffee from the cafe in the railway station, the woman on service is barely awake. But the bald man with the beard is fretting about behind the counter, and is making her work faster. He is impatient today, he is not as friendly as usual.
Observe two older people, older men, talking about their job. They are pensioners, earning extra money. They are very officious, they have to approach people all day and ask them where they are going to and where they are from, and what hind of tickets they use. A job perfect  to busy­bodies.
The train leaves platform six to divorce through a white perfect Christmas landscape.
Except that it is not Christmas It is Easter.

ill and tired

The decision made the night before is put into effect today, the pain in the back has not gone, "stay at home before it gets worse again"

so turn off the alarm, sleep on
Hear the son pack up his things for school, get up and wish him a good day, he has a test again today.
Go to the coffee machine, but carry the container for biological waste out to the balcony first. The alternative would be to coax the coffee grounds down the plughole, but that would block the drains- if  not today then tomorrow.

There is snow on the balcony, it has not melted, it has remained in white heaps on the balustrades, covering the spaces in the yard. It is not really cold, it is barely freezing, the snow will probably vanish during the day.
Fill the little sieve with coffee, fit it into the machine, place a cup underneath it.
Press the button, and the brown liquid pours out. Brown froth on top, a nice little cup of very strong coffee.

Using the computer, write an excuse to the official at work, just one line, incapable today.

A weekday no busses, no trains, no tensions in the office.
All done

Write the notes on the computer.
And there is nothing to say, but that it is quiet.
The clock is slow, turn the wieght on the bottom, shorten the pendulum, reset the hands on the dial.
Let us hope that it will keep better time now.

The cat is fascinated

watch the snow float down out of the sky into the tiny unkempt yard at the back of the house. From the warm comfort of the bed.
Get up, for the bathroom, it is not really cold, still the snow outside, floating down, larger flakes, and then smaller,
neve

It has covered the roofs a full hand deep now, a white mass with soft corners.
Put on the clothes, get up to see what the son is doing. He is in front of his computer now, watching a video of somebody explaining an electronic part that has been dismantled
Set up the coffee machine, then go to the window, open it, the cat is there at once, looking out at the neighbour clearing the snow from the piece of pavement in front of her house.
As the law requires.

The cat is fascinated.
Falling white flakes, small and bright.
Listen to the snow ploughs out on the main street.
In a fit of Teutonic efficiency they are pushing the snow away on a Sunday, when nobody needs to be going anywhere anyway.

The son wants to go out to the bakery shop.
Put the depressions away and agree to go.

nice

stay in bed, the bed, stay there.
it is cold outside
in the room.

Awake later
the wife says that the heating failed in the night.

Oh.

The son comes in, all dressed to go, to go for a morning walk,
So get dressed

And go


It is a chilly bright morning
walk down the alley, to the New Town Street

A small bakery shop,
a cup of coffee, a croissant
a bottle of coke, a cake
a chat

nice

brush-like mass of black hair

16th of March, 2018
Linger abed for a few minutes more after sleep was ended by the strumming sound from the tablet. get up, brush the teeth and take a quick shower, to clean the mind and the body. The morning shower has become more important, it has become difficult to wake up so early without it.



At the junction of the church squire and the Old Town street young woman approaches, all a wrapped up against the cold, her hair done in plaits wrapped around the back of her head. A man hurries past, past the church, and the man in the brown outfit with the name tag on his belt crosses Theater street on his way down towards the quarter of town known as Nicola. It is comparatively for the early hour, a total of three people!
Walk down Theater street, on the way through the town gate see the bog cotton man at the distant bus stop. and there is Dolores too, sitting in the bus shutter. There is another man approaching, he is wearing colourful clothes, as if he was going to take part in some sporting competition. A small car stops at the edge of the main road, the driver leans over and opens the passenger door. She is wearing a headscar. It is Dolores' lift.
The old woman scuttles over to the waiting ear, driving  off speedily as soon as she has closed the door.
so tired today. Tell out the money needed for the bus fare, be the last to board the bus. Pay the driver, a man with a brush-like mass of black hair on his head, and the a seat in the front half of the bus.
And
just before the bus stop at the station, get up, stand at the door, press the button. When the bus stops be the first off the bus, stride across the open space before the station. There is no man with a pigtail the ashtray today, and so enter the station hallway. There is a woman there, muttering hto herself about the police. A small, to all appearances unhappy woman. It is now five fifty, time for coffee at Yorma's.
The fidgety man is at the counter, he. pushes forward and puts his order in first. He presses his voice past a constricted throat, a strange squeaky phenomemon. It sounds as if he is trying to be loud and quiet at the same time. A while later, well-seven minutes later, listen to the loudspeaker announcements. Each announcement is heralded by a gong sound, two chimes, the seond higher than the first.
It is the same interval of pitch as the strumming sound from the tablet, in the morning. The first two notes. Never noticed that before. And the same timing too
There are fewer people on the plat form today, and the train has fewer people too. Today is Friday, and later on there with he a barber's appointment.
 A short day at work.

dealing with harder times

Get up.
slow today.
Take a shower.
the warmth should help.
Just like a lizard. Return to the bedroom, take fresh clothes from the wardrobe get dressed, be presentable.
The town is dry and deserted, but for the other lone man walking down the main street. He is going to work, he has a white identity tag attached to his belt. The paths cross, the one on his way to the bus stop by the river, the other tagged one on down to the other end of town.

The Mareis bakery at the town gate is lit, a yellow glow. It is a tiny bakery shop, yet it has a wide selection of wares, delivered fresh every morning.
Dolores is hidden in the bus shelter, almost invisible in the corner. She glances up, and gives a tired bow. she is not up to wishing any good mornings today.
The money is counted, ready for the bus driver. Be the last on board the bus. sit down at the very back, try to avoid contact with other people. Being gregarious is not so great at this hour of the morning. In the cafe, the bald bearded man is serving together with the short girl (ela e baixa e gorda) with the big black-rimmed glasses. The two of them get on well together, they are making jokes, talking to each other in put-on squeaky voices. They have a good working atmosphere, she is the boss, the Team leader. That is written in embroidered letters on the front of her uniform T-shirt. Written in small serious letters over her right breast.
Take the coffee cup to the last remaining comfortable low stools in the cafe. Say hello to Norbert Hedgehog on the way. Settle down, to write these notes. There is a haggard man in a green military parka in the corner of the cafe. He is sleeping, his head cradled in his arms on the table in front of him. There is baggage in the form of large plastic refuse sacks beside him, He has a wild wild beard on a thin haggard face, and when he awakens, when his eyes are opened, he looks tired and exhausted. He is a man who is dealing with harder times.
There are holiday makers on board the train again, whole rows of seating are buried in baggage and rucksacks, suitcases in the aisles. The railway company makes no provision for peoples baggage, and the people would probably use no such provision, even if it was available. ×