sollemnitas sanctissimi corporis et sanguinis christi

The body is heavy with all the antibiotics, the cortisone, the breath is still rattling a bit.
Get up, it is early, time tolling and tinkling in the otherwise silent town.

Get a bottle of water, a glass, dissolve the one pill, and use the result to wash down the other two
Read on the tablet untill the head becomes heavy.
Return to bed, it is a bank holiday, a church holiday, what have you,

a holiday and rest in bed. The church bells ring their times as they always do.
Then they go berserk.

Look it up on the computer, Sollemnitas Sanctissimi Corporis et Sanguinis Christi

An important holiday, the churches are calling the faithful. Hear the people pass in the street outsidem, some roll in in cars

The cat is lively, it is excited, there is the sound of another cat in the street. The animal feels it has a mission, a mission to protect and preserve the family group and her space from other cats. Cats are territorial, when it comes to other cats. But the other cat in question is just a simple old tom, huge, belonging to the neighbours.

And the son is up. he is happy, and content, he enjoys the peace and quiet of the early mornings without his parents about.

The rest of the day will be bright, and quiet.

There is another short cacophony of bells sounding from Saint Martins at the end of the street.

It is nine fifteen.

outside the window

it is not far to the window from the bed, listen to the rain at night, the thunder rumble. The thunder is preceeded by a flash, the time between the flash and the thunder shortening all the time. As the storm receeds, the time span lengthens again.

That was in the night, and now there is a damp grey morning, a smell of damp builders rubble from the yard. That must be got rid of!
With every breath acompanied by a bronchial burble realise that somebody else is going to have to move that rubble, let it smell.

There is the sound of bells, the tolling of Saint Martins, and the clattering of Saint Jodoks.
Sort the mornings pills ready for taking, and then go out and make a cup of coffee instead. Gimoco coffee from Italy, bought with attention to the price tag, and very little else.

The sound of the sons alarm clock is loud, the wife shouts threateningly. There is the sound of panicked movement from the next room, the sound is silenced. The sound was an unpleasant buzz.
After a while the wife starts to snore again.

Make some coffee on the small machine.
Read the news on the computer.
Read about madmen who are always happy to assume that fault is in others.
Read about self-serving dotards and abuse of privilege.
Read about the destructive malice of simple entertainers.
Read about greed and destruction

read all about it, learn nothing.

The tawny cat comes in, looks horrified, the one who is usually gone at this hour is sitting at a desk. She jumps on the bed, and settles down. Who knows whether or not she is really horrified behind that furry face and the big predators eyes?

Go to the kitchen, another coffee, a glass of water.
Drop a decongestant pill into the water, doctors orders, take the antibiotic, lil´amoxi, and then a Prednisolon, reminds of Gaddis, agape, and wash the last two down with the first.
Doctor's orders.
Sip the coffee, creamy without milk.
Pleasure.
And think of the days planned excursion to the radiologist.
Shadows, tuberculosis, cancer, bronchitis, nothing at all
It is eight in the morning now, tolling and clattering outside the window

bronchial sores

two minutes to five
sleep has gone, most of the rattle in the lungs has gone to
All is peace and quiet

But for the four bells for the hour, followed by five bells to tell the hour itself.

It is barely light outside, the buildings on the opposite side of the road lit in the soft light reflected from the sky.

There are two empty bottles of water on the sitting room table, but it is so dark still. Next month there  will be the shortest day of the year, and then the dark will encroach on the mornings again.
Life has turned into a mass of disjointed thoughts and disconnected ideas now, things are not going anywhere. The two weeks distance from work, and no big duties to fulfil.

and now it is ten past five, and all is still silent.
Prednisolon has joined the choir of pills to be taken, to quieten the rattling rasping infection in the lungs. These are more pills than one can be comfortable with, but the discomfort of the rasping bronchial infections is worse.
And hopefully will have been worse

Stop being sarcastic

late, it is still holiday time, the weather is bright and sunny. And there is just laziness. It is nice in bed, nice and comfortable.
Guilt takes over, the appointment at the doctor's practice needs to be made, the notes need to be written, the morning shower must be fitted in as well. This is stressful.
Stop being sarcastic and decide to stop being lazy instead.

Wish the son good morning, he is at his computers again, his schoolwork for physics is all over the table.

Make coffee for the wife, she is magically awake as soon as it is brought  to the bedside.

Drink coffee and write these notes.
Listen to the people outside, on the street.
A young woman on her way to work, her heels clicking on the pavement regularily as a clock .

And the sordid mess in the flat, a thing impossible to clean as a participant, it is invisible in parts to the different participants. None are really happy, but all go on.
Wrong.
The cat is happy.
Resolve to ring up the doctor, to make an appointment

Leave that be

Up at four, it is dark, and there is no way that sleeping will work, so up, and take a tablet and read a silly novel about time travel which just derails into a silly account currying to sexual fantasies. Leave that be after half an hour.
Return to bed and sleep, deep and fast until seven.

and wake up to make a cup of coffee.

the coughing has not started yet, the experience of the last weeks has shown that it will only commence later in the day. Perhaps it is a reaction to the doctor's prescribed decongestant. Maybe that is it.

The son is up, the sun is up, it is Sunday, perhaps a walk by the river would be good today. There we are. There is another full week of leave time, please let it not be spent with illness.

The son is listening and watching stories on his computer. Paper books are only for school, for him.
Times have changed.
The quality of print has changed to screen reading iterspersed with pictures, moving and still. With the ease and quality of pictures their value has gone, the work involved in production is no more.
Stop musing, make another cup of coffee, prepare to put on clothes.

Realise that walk, some exercise will surely not be fatal.

The sun is now illuminating the sign of the Portuguese wine bar on the other side of the street.

so relaxing

There is a smell of flour and baking bread in the air this morning. One of the only real bakeries in town is baking cakes and rolls for the days sales. It is a tiny little bakers shop in a neighbouring street, and the smell is there every day but for Sundays and Mondays.
And it is Saturday today.

Eight in the morning.
Breathing still comes easy today, take it easy today. It is surely better to avoid  a relapse.
The son is not up yet, he was playing with his friends, online, late last night.
And he is tired today.

Take the pills, let one dissolve in a glass of water, use it to wash down the big white tablet.

The air from the open window is colder today, listen to the birds singing over the rooftops.
Today will be  a quiet day.
hopefully.

Get up from the seat at the window to make a cup of coffee.
The alert cat starts to beg for food.
So empty the two nearly empty tins onto her green plastic plate.

She pushes her face into the smelly goo and starts to eat. It appears to suit her, she seems to like it.

Then fill the coffee machine and make a cup of strong brown brew, and a slice of bread and cheese.
The son and the wife are still asleep.

Sit at the window a while longer, with a cup of coffee, wonder what will happen today.

e tao relaxante

then for the half,

The light from the window is even and lifeless, emanating from a plain grey, completely occluded sky.
And that is the way things are.
The son is up, his project to bake some morning rolls in progress. It is seven in the morning, and all the bells from the churches have been counted since three this morning.
Four bells, then three bells, fifteen minutes later, one bell, fifteen minutes later, two bells, then another fifteen minutes and three bells.
Then four bells, followed by four bells, then one for the first quarter, then one for the second quarter, then for the half, and then for the third quarter.
Then four bells, followed by five bells, and then all the attendant bells for the quarters, the halves and the three quarter hours.
It proceeds so untill now, one bell, it is eight fifteen in the morning.
The sons baking attempts are finished, the rolls are very flat, but nice. Most unusual.

And the antibiotics have been taken, the decongestant too. The bronchitis has gone away, a weak cough remains. Look up at all the samples given by the dentist yesterday. Three different types of toothpaste, all with attractive names. The old teeth should be happy to have a change from the supermarket's budget paste.

It is time to get up, the cat has been in to say a feline greeting, purring and rubbing her back until her head is scratched.
It is good to be on holidays.
The mornings rush to work will be back, but for now and for another week it is gone.

bad or evil or whatsit?

just sleep
and sleep
and turn off the alarm
and sleep.
the cough is gone
the rasping rattle in the chest is gone
it cannot even be provoked any more.

Just carry on sleeping, for twelve full hours.
who said antibiotics were bad or evil or whatsit?
they are not.
when the right one is found, and it works.

Get up, make a cup of coffee
the son has returned from his excursion
sit in the sitting room in the night clothes (¡disgusting!)
but never mind.
The son returns from his morning excursion.
Read the news, get the impression that the queen of hearts has found her male counterpart, wild threats and indiscriminate anger.

The cat is up and happy.
It is bright day, bright high cloud.
There is the sound of a circular saw outside, people are still working on the building site.

Make a second cup. swallow the morning's antibiotic pill, must finish the course.

And hope that the bronchitis never comes back.

Doctor's orders

awake to a painless morning, relax, look at the light pouring into the window, over the heap of clothes deposited on the chair.
test the caught, it has lessened, test the frightening creaking in the lungs and the throat. This has almost gone away completely.
Maybe the doctor has now found the right antibiotic. Maybe it was just time.

Rest in bed, relax.
Turned off the sounds from the tablet long ago.
Relax and wait a while.

The groan of the sons alarm from the next room on the other side of the kitchen. Hear the sounds of him struggling out of bed.
The alarm's sound changes it's tone, then is silent.

It is good to feel better again.
Time to enjoy the holidays.
Get up, take a shower.
And then return to the bedroom, gather up the clothing.
Take a seat in the window, put some water from a bottle into a glass, drop in an effervescent tablet and watch it dissolve. An decongestant, so it says on the package. Doctor's orders.
And when it has finished dissolving, use the liquid to wash down one of those big wide antibiotic pills. It belongs to the penicillin group, so the leaflet explained.
In the hope of further improvement, swallow it down. Doctor's orders.

Then up, to the kitchen. Turn on the coffee machine, let it warm up. Meanwhile, two slices of toast, and some tomato and cheese, and a bit of onion. A spicy breakfast.
Fill the coffee maker with ground coffee, press the button.

Balance the cup and the sandwich on a wooden board, and with the computer in the other hand, carry the whole lot to the table in the living room.
Read the news, eat the sandwich, drink coffee.
A nice start to the day.
Today is the day to go to the dentist.
for a check on the condition of the teeth.
At eight thirty.
There is the sound of a circular saw outside.
It is seven thirty, the building workers on one of the houses have started their operations.

The son gets up, all teenager sleepy, good morning. He is on his Whitsun break from school.

Time to make another cup, and then to brush the teeth, and then to wander across the streets and squares to the dentist's surgery.

break

and the cough has not gone, this is now a serious nuisance.
The cat is on the bed, purring, on the wife's side, cuddled.
Misery on a lovely day, the cough and catarrh will not go away.

Cut out the self pity, you sop, get up, take a shower, rinse of the sleep and sweat and so forth accrued during the night. Turn on the air dryer upon leaving

Return, the cat is still there, starts to purr again. Yellow eyes with dark rims, tawny fur.
Pat the cat on the head, the eyes close for a fraction of a second.

Get dressed, fresh underwear, go to the kitchen, turn on the coffee maker, grind some coffee.
Make a cup.
Use the small grey American Macine, made in China to see the days news. Not a lot, the cinderella story of royalty, the madness of mannerless megalomaniacs. And one in particular, capitalising on the educational deficits of years past.
Stop musing.
Drink coffee.
Make a doctors appointment.
Say good morning to the son.
Working away at his computers.
Comes out of his room, plays a few notes on the piano.

Whitsun holidays, a break from work.

get on with the day

forget to turn of the five in the morning alarm call on the tablet. And the sound weaves it's way into the dreams untill the truth of the matter comes to the ears and the eyes find the stop button on the screen for the finger to touch.
Silence.
The bronchitis has quietened a bit, it is possible to take a deep breath without coughing. That is good.
And just go back to sleep, there is no urgency to wake up. It is Whit Monday, fifty days after Easter.

There is no work today, it is verboten to make noise. And the town is silent.

Later, it is half past six, the light from the window, and the loud purring of the cat, sounding like a small speedy snore. She is happy for some reason.

The first drink of the day, made. A cup of coffee, same as yesterday. The taste both bitter and acidic.

Read the news, claims and statements that sound more like wishful thinking than fact. The British bulldog is smashing delicate structures, and the old American is behaving like a muscle-bound vandal. And all this to remain in power, eager to please those that they hope will vote for their structures.
The biggest enemies of democracy are those who do not vote, those apathetic ones, those that say their laziness is a policy, their indecision a plan that will change things. It will do no such thing.

The son's grating alarm clock sounds,
Like father, like son.
He need not get up either.
He turns up in the living room, sleep still in his face. He says something indistinct, lies down on the couch, and falls asleep.

Decide to have another cup of coffee,  and let us get on with the day.
The son expresses his desire to go into the café.
O refeitorio

French porcelain cup

a strange awakening,nthe groan of the son's alarm clock threading it's way in to become part of a dream, which ends with the alarm clock and being awake in bed.
Test the lungs, that bronchitis-like problem. They feel better, the cough is not as bad, the congestion is withdrawing.

Bathroom, brush the residues of the night's sleep away from the teeth. There is still dust in the hair from yesterday's walk through the attic. Make the decision to shower later. Return to the bedroom, consider, and then get up to make a cup of coffee, using the practical little Pavoni machine. The coffee is a thick turgid brown mass, like some German politics. The white French porcelain cup shows it off nicely, take the whole lot in to the computer, now in the bedroom window. The first sip of  the brown brew is lovely, and watch the computer start. See what the politics in the world have done, and find it irritating that so much importance is attached to the comparison between the size of the crowds at a wedding and the crowds at a corrupt clown's inauguration. Politics and humour, but it is funny that size matters to everybody, no matter what they claim.


Musings done, get up and take a shower, consider the conversion of the bathroom as the hot water sprays down over the head, onto the back, onto the legs. Add soap, a short scrub, and all is ready for the day.
Return to the bedroom, the wife is still asleep, put aside yesterdays greas-collared shirt, find fresh clothing in the wardrobe. And when all is done, the clothes on, go to the son's room, he is up and getting dressed. He wants to go to the small café. Agree, but he must dress first, and comb his long red hair. His hair is long, he is frequently taken for a girl. But he is to have it as he wants it, as long as it will grow that way. This may not be for ever.

And whilst waiting, and waiting, write these notes for the morning into the small computer, directly into the web that has more to do with politics than anybody had anticipated. Ever.
Try to think of a title for this text.
French porcelain, the shiny little cup by a firm called Apilco, awaits it´s second filling

Lest they do harm

the window seat, sit look out. Wish for an old man's seat, a high backed armchair with ears to prevent the head rolling off to one side.
It is a lovely day, look out into the view of the back yard, a disgusting mess.
And with the blasted awful bronhitis there will be no chance to get rid of it, no strength in the arms no air in the lungs.


Leave the self pity be, ignore it now. The weather is lovely.
The sound of the first small boy to get up sounds outside, they had a little party last night, a small party playing computer games all night, All yesterday evening.
And now the silence of the early Saturday morning.

The sun has reached out to the upper balcony of the old house, there is a colourful kite hanging there in the shape of a boat. The sails glow in the sunlight. There is a plant pot up there too.
There is also so much to be done.
A big house is a thing of beauty.
But it makes for a lot of work.

Remember the antibiotics.
These do not appear to have done much good.
But take them all, finish the course.
Lest they do harm.

Shout at her in Turkish

the bronchitis will not go away, not as speedily as had been hoped.
Awake before the alarm, hear the church bells, then the tablet starts to make its noises. Silence that.
Take a shower, brush the teeth.
And when all is done, there are five minutes to spare. sit in the flagstone-floored hall, waiting for the time to pass.
Wait for the two bells from Saint Martins church.
Hurry down the alley, cross the market place, and go on down the theater street to the big neo-gothic town gate. The ducks and the pigeons are all there, all having been fed already, the ground still covered in small cubes of cut bread. But there are many hungry pigeons, they will get rid of it, and then spread the results of their digestion over the buildings and monuments of the old town.
The man who feeds the birds is spreading more breadcrumbs on the wall along the river, he seems to see that as his mission. It is not so that the animals would be undernourished, now in the spring, but he seems to derive pleasure from feeding them. And it is not really spring anymore, it is summer.

At the bus stop, say giod morning to Dolores, she is sitting in the bus shelter. The bog cotton man is standing there smoking, his hair waving unite in the breeze.
Good morning
A short man - approaches, a man with a self important stumpy gait, goes to the bus shelter, and sits down beside Dolores. He starts to shout at her in Turkish, the volume and the guttural language grating on the nerves so early in the morning. She answers quietly in the same language.

Coffee at Yomas, the card is full, free coffee today, and a new card. The big bald man shouts "Andrea. as he sees that there is a sudden crowd of customers there, and that he is going to need help.

The train rolls through a landscape deep green because of all the wet and the heat.
The day will be damp, and warm.

Free coffee tomorrow!

A pair of ducks fly past the bus stop, very low- flying, maybe three metres off the road. They are in very tight formation, almost the one animal. They fly across the road, and then vanish from view around the corner of the theater building. They are quite large birds, and they seem in a a hurry.
Two flying ducks.

Dolores arrives from the bakery shop, she has a happy smile on her face. Not sad anymore perhaps something has charged in her life. The bog cotton man is there too, he nods. He is wearing a pair of laceless plimsols, the kind that just slip on. The eyelets for the laces have been reduced to decorative elements.
The bus arrives, and now give the driver the exact change. The driver has a wedding ring on the fingers of her right kind, and some other rings too, she is not old, but her face looks as if she works hard and is tired.
The railway station shows the usual activity. the smoker at his usual place, the delivery van for the bakery shop backed up to the stairs at the main entrance.

The bald man is in the cafe again, he has a good memory, he knows the order. He puts the tenth and final stamp on the discount card. Free coffee tomorrow!

The muffins in the canteen at work.

actually rinse the face, apply some shaving foam shave the last few day's stubble away. Brush the teeth, and that is it, ready for the days clothing. It will only be noticed later that the antibiotics were forgotten. The cat is attentive, and friendly, rubbing her hard little bony head against the arms and the legs. Then she starts to lick the wooden parts of the seat. Perhaps it is something in the laquer that makes her do that.
and
The alley is cool, blue grey light from an overcast sky, reflecting in the cobbles, dulling the brickwork of the church. The colourful, old houses, mostly gentrified now all in muted down colours now because of that crepuscular light.

A police car drives up the old market place quickly, followed by a four delivery trucks. The stores all take on their stocks now for the day, to avoid the crowds of pedestrians that will show later.


There is a mixed flock of birds outside the bakery today, all picking and pecking at the waste bread on the ground, all the waste that had fallen out of the plastic panniers during the early morning delivery.
They are mostly pigeons, but there be ducks and sparrows there too.

Out on the space between the weather station and the bus stop there is a solitary duck, a drake, sitting on the ground, just like a decoy duck. The bog cotton man approaches the weather station, and the duck, unlike a decoy duck, swivels it's head to look at the source of the approaching footsteps. In a flurry of rapid wing movement it does an almost-vertical ascent and flies away, clearing the railing by the river to then vanish into the distance over the small power station on the other side of the river. The bog cotton man studies the dials on the weather station, and then proceeds on to the bus shelter, lighting a cigarette.
Check the contents of the wallet, see that there are enough coins to pay the bus driver, and notice that the stamp card for muffins is full. That means that the next muffin will be free

↳ The muffins in the canteen at work.

There is no smoker at the station today, but a very large delivery truck backed up to the station's entrance

Quiet returns

15th of May 2018 get up and shower, a night of really broken sleep. There was no counting of sheep before a sound sleep, it was just staying awake and looking at the cieling, or out of the open window or listening to the snores from the other side of the bed. listen to the cat, purring.
and then sleep in the morning, when it its really time to get up.
In the alley, there is the sound of a shop alarm, some very loud siren. Pass the shop that it belongs to, it is the Superdry store, complete with a very high red flashing beacon on the shop front. The alarm stops, abruptly The early morning quiet returns.
There are two dudes on the ground in front of the Bakery. The one, the duck, is sitting on the ground, her legs tucked in. The other, the drake, is standing beside her, looking important in his colourful plumage.
Neaer to the bus shelter, a small flight of pigeons passes, and makes a group around the weather station. They may be waiting for food, for the man with the plastic bags who spreads breadcrumbs. For the ducks and the pigeons.