Sunday, for real

There is a noise in the distance, it sounds like a small engine.Maybe a stone cutter. But today is Sunday, nobody in their right minds would cut stones in the middle of a Bavarian town on Sunday.
Think, what could it be?
There was a party in the market street yesterday, with a stage, and roadies, and stands, perhaps-
That is it.
The town employees are using a portable blower to blow the rubbish left by the partygoers into a heap for collection. Those things make exactly that sound.
All the windows in the flat are open, the hot summer makes any cool air welcome. The cat is sitting in the open window peering out at anything that passes in the street, any birds that fly past art given wishful glances.

The small lights in the yard, the ones that work by solar power, have all gone out now, they are busy charging up for the night's work. They are pleasant in the dark, relieving the pitch blackness of the narrow yard.

Because of the festivities in town, people are up early.
But the family is asleep, they will stay in bed untill ten.

And the living room is a mess.
oh help

No, there is no help for it.

no thought on sunday

Go into the small baker with the son, the bakery that has a small table in the corner, and otherwise two spaces with standing room only. There are four seats at the table.
The table has an elderly couple sitting at it already, drinking breakfast coffee, and talking, two women. They have dispersed their belongings over the table and over the two free seats as well. The son looks up. inguiring?
 Remain standing at the table, drinking coffee, father and son. There were no fresh croisssants today, but they still had one of yesterdays, at half price. Or else ones covered in chocolate, going by the name of Shokocroissant.
Take the plain one from yesterday, the brown covered ones are not fit to start the day with.

The tenant comes in, she is happy and talkative, she is buyin a roll for her breakfast in her office on the ground floor of the house father and son live in.
She is their tenant.
She is cheerful and friendly.

And then, after she has gone.
Take a walk through the old town, awakening in the early sunlight.

solitary

Light is flooding the small town, light issuing from the low sun. It is just before six in the morning, there are one or two people  in the streets and alleys.
Find the small car, it is parked between a tiny Italian APE delivery truck and some obscene Mercedes SUV.
Get in, start the tiny diesel engine, drive forward, then back, and then the vehicle has enough space to leave the small parking space.

Just before the tunnel, the classical radio transmitter starts to play Eleanor Rigby, without lyrics, just a flute playing the song. It sounds stupid and unnecessary, even the classical analysis of Paul Mcartney's methods of composition do not make it any better.
Perhaps it is just not well played.

The radio starts to crackle as soon as the headlamps go on in the tunnel. Turn it down.

It is a strenuous journey, the traffic is inconstant and heavy.

And there is no communication, it is just a solitary half hour journey.

Another day in the office.

Turn left at the traffic lights, drive into the university area, institute buildings everywhere, tall, representative of the science done within. There is a wind tunnel to the right, part of the halls of the faculty for engineering, research buildings to the left, chemistry, and then advanced studies.
Take a left just before the reactor compound starts, and then a right along the fence. There is still a parking spot free at the end of the street. so use that.
Go on foot to the basement entrance of the large pebble decor 1950's building of the physics department. Put the small tag on the keyring to the registration device just inside the door
55 hours plus, that is a lot of time. Time to enjoy somewhere else sometime.
The long cool corridor in the centre of this wing of the building, it seems a hundred yards long, turn right into another such corridor, half way down this, open a metal door set flush to the wall, and climb  the red brick staircase,  up to the ground floor. Another steel door, cross the corridor open the wooden door with the picture of the rose on it and enter the little office.
Open the window to let out the air locked in overnight, and start the computer.
Another day in the office.

Bruell Heiss

the son sits at the other end of the living room table, drinking a cup of milken coffee from a large french china cup.
Apilco, the brand, Deshoulieres the firm, and Limoges is the town it came from.

And the private matter with the youngest brother commented on via email, this morning already, signed sealed and delivered and yet there is no satisfaction in this strife among siblings.

The son looks like a younger version of Albrecht, with his long hair, at the end of the table. But he is wearing a t-shirt, not a fur coat.

Wish him luck, he leaves on his way to school.

and it is going to be another screaming hot day
Bruell Heiss

cat shit

teeth brushed, showered and dressed, go down the stairs, it is now past dawn. The tiny garden lights are still glowing, still charged from yesterdays sunshine. Small globes of cracked glass.

There is a small heap in the hallway, the cat had been locked out all night.

Turn on the light, look more closely. It is a long streak of faeces. Disgusting, but it needs to be removed. The cat itself looks on, from a position half way up the stairs. Find the workshop metal dustpan, shovel the mess up, put it into the rubbish bin. Wash the dustpan with the hose pipe in the garden. Take a bucket, a rag, and a scrubbing brush and scrub the area with water, take up the water with a rag and throw the water down the back yard drain. Turn off the water to the hosepipe.

This has caused a delay of ten minutes, it is now five thirty five. The cat looks on, still.

Tidy away the utensils.

Go up the stairs, to the bathroom, wash the hands, soap and hot water.

It is the cool morning of what will be yet another hot day,  policemen leaving the station greeting others arriving, this seems to be the time where shifts change, go around the corner, start the engine of the tiny car, and start to move, a clear sky with a sun that has just cleared the horizon blazing early.

Miriam

Miriam comes over and holds her head forward. Stroke the short fur on her head, between the ears, the big eyes looking up, then they close.

She starts to purr.

It is early, the shower outside is over, and the warm shower in the bathroom is over too.

Miriam rushes ahead into the kitchen, her four legs a mechanical blur under the tawny furred body, tail erect with excitement. Open the refrigerator, take out the can, and put some of the contents onto her plate.

She feeds, a bit. The catfood is too cold.

Make a cup of coffee.

Make a slice of toast.

The day can start.

The morning is cool, but the day promises to be hot. There is condensed water on the outside of the car, obscuring vision. Take a smal cloth and wipe the windows.

And then start the long run to work, there will be heavy traffic on the motorway today.

54

The son is excited, he is up early, he has already made coffee, three cups. one for his still sleeping mother, one for his father, and one for himself.

Drink and think.
There is a plan to take the car to work, and to print the missing posters, ready for those who have to leave early on Monday morning. There is no point in hurting people, even if they are late.

Walk through the town, along the back alleys by the police station, and then on past the small park by the Jodok's church.
Take the black car to work. A small black two seater Smart.
And at work, print the five posters.
The son helps, and finds some useful parts in the computer waste.

And then, the little exercise in Sunday work is done.
Drive back to Landshut, it is fifty four kilometres.

This will be much the same type of day as yesterday.

Saturday morning, awake dizzy again, sore headed.
For the past seven months, no alcohol in any form taken, at all.
That eliminates one likely cause of the symptoms.
No idea at all.
Take a shower, have a cup of coffee.
The son is up, he wants to go to the café, the bakery shop.
So off we go.
He is tall, and thin, and has long red hair.
He attracts glances from many women in the street, see this, wonder about it.
An eccentric fourteen year old who will be fifteen soon.
As always, he is slow making his mind up at the café.
There is an old man there, with a peaked cap, dressed in light summer clothing.
Constantly changing his pose at the high counter whilst he is waiting for his order, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his righ elbow on the counter holding his left hand, then he drops the hand and holds his head, then his left hand on his hip.
He never stays still, constantly changing his pose.
He must be at least seventy.

There is a group of younger men in the bakery store, putting together an order to take outside.

The man in the fruit store opposite is filling the trunk of his car with empty fruit crates. And the owner of the sports articles shop arrives to open up his shop. He has a big Volkswagen van with wide tyres, bodywork covered in matte black foil, with the name of his shop written upon it.
He obliterates the view of his shop with this van, using the private parking spot in front of his entrance.

This will be much the same type of day as yesterday.

monument

Leave the maroon red door of the house behind, the door that was most likely to have been made over a  cerntury ago. Follow the son down the alley, now in the first light of the day. He wishes to go to the café, the little bakery shop.

So be it.

He is very tall and thin for his age, he has very long red hair. That is his wish, it lets him feel good and look unusual. He walks ahead, rounds the corner from the church alley into the new market street. There is a large war memorial in the street, a pathetic monument which does not fit well into the street. It has recently been cleaned, it is now a mass of white stone, depicting figures growing out of a tree-like object.

A man is taking photos of it with a small camera. Many people do that. Maybe it is because the monument is so clean and white now. And there is the Landshut castle on the hill behind it. It is like a ready-made composite postcard. All you need to do is press the button.

The cafe is just a few yards down from the monument.

A cake and a cup of black coffee.

A piece of strawberry flan and a milky coffee.

The father, nearly sixty four.

The son, nearly fifteen.

Both sit in the bakery's window.

In the middle of the street, there is the monument.

on the othere side of the street -

an insurance broker,

a closed cheese shop,

a fruit shop,

and a shop for sports articles.

After the coffee, take a short walk down to the river.

Watch the ducks.

Today is a day off.

failure

the will to get up failed today.
it is a holiday
there is no need.
and the head is buzzing
dizzy
concentration is off
what is wrong?
Having been up late last night maybe

lovely, so bare of people

the light at a quarter to five, the darkness of the night receeding. The yard outside is a crepescular blue, a dark space in pale light. The cat is calling from outside the bedroom door. Open the door, let her in. She makes a grunting sound and rubs her back against the legs. A request for attention.

Turn off the alarm that has not sounded yet, it is on the mobile telephone.
Go to the bathroom, take a towel from the cupboard on the way.
Go for a piss, take a warm shower, dry using the fresh towel, and return to the bedroom.
Select clothes from the wardrobe, and put them on.
Sit down to put on the shoes, shoo the cat away.
She comes back and jumps up onto the white clad knees.

Stroke her back twice, then she rushes off again.
Dat scatty cat.

Then, to the kitchen. Look through the glass door, there are young men lying about on the floor. Schoolboys after the sons party. They had been playing on computers for half the night.

Make an early morning cup of coffee.

Sit down and drink it.

And leave the house at a quarter to six, the start of a day at work.
The streets to the alley where the little black car is parked are lovely, so bare of people.

nothing worthwhile

why does the cat rub her head on the bathroom tiles, her head, then her back, paws in the air, all excited.
No real idea.
The shower is done, put on the clothes for the day, then make a cup of coffee.

The short walk to the car in the cool dim morning of what is going to be a hot day.
The car starts with no problem.
Slowly drive through the old part of town, then enter the tunnel,
The traffic is dense, but more or less peaceful

Nobody has been met, and there is nobody to talk to.
Listen to the car's radio, the classical station Bayern Vier, old music today, a pianist later.
The whole time drafting behind a truck, save diesel fuel.
There is nothing worthwhile to talk about.

early on the way to work

awake, it is early, there is no way that sleep will come again.
Four bells sound outside, from the many church towers of Landshut, a discordant medley. It is getting light, birds are singing.

Get up, go to the loo, the bathroom
banho
Think of learning Portuguese, there is work today.
It is four thirty in the morning.
Switch off the alarm, delete the alarm by mistake.
Sleepy, but not tired.
The cat wants attention.
Perhaps she is perplexed, why up so early?
Shower.
The cat is lying on her back, purring, on the stones in front of the bathroom. Bend down, scratch her head. She tries to catch the hand, not realising that her claws cause humans pain.
Put on the clothes laid out the night before, make coffee.

And by the time the coffee is made, and drunk, it is half past five.
The alley is bright, and up ahead there is a man using the solitude of the early morning to walk up the middle of the road. He is wearing black trousers and a business shirt. Round the corner, and see him up ahead closing in on a large Bavarian sports utility vehicle. He opens the door with the radio key, gets in and starts the engine.

Another one early on the way to work.

but who cares?

There is a puddle in the middle of the floor in the kitchen.
Look up at the cieling, is there a dark patch there, an area of dripping damp?
Nothing to be seen there.
Look down at the patch. Isolated in the centre of the floor.
find a rag
wipe it up, sniff the rag. There is no scent of anything, it is likely to be nothing else but water.
Look around, see that the floor is dirty, and there are remains of yesterdays popcorn session all over the floor. The son had made popcorn again, and some of it just burst out of the pan.
Find the sweeping brush after a short search. It is in the son's room, lying on the floor. He has had intentions of cleaning up his room but had not progressed well in their realisation.
Carefully sweep the kitchen floor. A small heap.
And now the dustpan is missing. Not to be found easily. As a result, take a small piece of cardboard, use the floor brush to gather the dirt and dust and put the card and the sweepings into the rubbish bin.

The family is asleep.
But for the cat.
It is up, and indicates that it would like food.
So feed it.


Give up, this is not my struggle.
Give up, these are people with different objectives.
Read the news,
It is now nine on this Sunday morning
Think about making another cup of coffee
Think about taking a shower.

but who cares?

café da manha

At the small table, at the secretaire abbatant, reading the news on the computer, read about pirates and  drones delivering grainy pictures. Grain is digital, the times of Tri-X pan are gone now.
Read about Brexit and Irish problems, demanding their rights and charity with the same voice, just demanding.

Read, all the views of the differing publishers, the different hues the same events are depicted with.

The cat jumps up onto the knees, digging the claws into the the thinly clothed flesh to pull her weight onto the human knees. She rolls onto her back, she wants her fur stroked, and her head scratched. Loose cat hairs accumulate on the hand, and on the cloth of the trousers. The animal purrs, butting her head against the hand to demand more scratching.

Go to the kitchen to make a second cup of coffee, nearly tripping over the fawning cat. She wants food now. There is a half empty tin of cat food in the refrigerator, put half of the slimy stuff onto the cat's plate. She feeds, carefully. She prefers it warm, but it is straight from the fridge. Warming up food for the cat is not part of the deal. Replace the tin into the space in the refrigerator. Make yet another cup of coffee.

The notes done so far, the son rises. It is eight forty in the morning. He is not capable of speaking, he is still stuck in his teenage dreams. Make him an offer, an excursion to the cafe. He loves the cafe.

course

the son in the cafe again, standing indecisive before the counter, trying to make up his mind as to what he wants.

He picks a strawberry flan

And a milky coffee.

There is an old lady there, she lives in the Binder gasse, a neighbouring alley, just by the police station.

She spends time explaining how much work it is keeping an old house.

Walk through the market, stop of at the bank. Collect some money from the telling machine, then walk down to the river.

Sit down at the waters edge, watch the sleeping ducks.

And the days just drift on in their steady depressing course, 

noisy Mustang

the night was strange, it's remainders like a weight on conscious thought, bogging it down, keeping it from any movement, blurring the vision, causing the hissing in the back of the head to block the clarity of the sound coming in through the open bedroom window.

Sit on the chair by the bed, take up the laptop and read the news. The president of America admits to being corrupt, to accepting campaign gifts from the enemies of the country, and he sees no wrong in that.
None.
The son.
He comes into the bedroom and asks his father whether or not - the café
oK

Need to read an article first and then have a shower.
An article by an American inquiring about Brexit.
Being answered to by a british nationalist,
who admits that his people were ill informed.
In the past.
They do not have a clue.
So 'e sez

Take a shower, wash off yesterday's plaster covering the healing wound on the little finger.
wash the hair.

And leave the bathroom.
Get fresh underwear from the wardrobe, dress for the day.
Tell the son that all is ready.

The café
on the corner
A croissant
A cake
two coffees.
Thats all
There are two other people there, they drink their coffee.
A man arrives, grey hair.
He parks his car in front of the café
A noisy Mustang.
He is known, he is a self assertive person.

different doctor

Wednesday, 27th June

It is bright outside so get up. That is all. The cat

is on the bed, asleep. The wife is asleep. There is no sound from the son's room, he is probably asleep too.

Look around the kitchen, the living room. It is untidy, never mind.

Turn on the coffee machine, wash th old grounds  away in the sink. Clean the sink, and fill the little sieve with coffee grounds. Put the assembly

with the coffee down beside the machine. In the corridor next  to the kitchen there in a

cupboard with all the crockery in it, take a large Apilco cup, and place it under the coffee machine.

Read the news in the bedroom, on the small grey laptop computer.

And then, the alarm sounds, that is the one set on the mobile phone, to remind of the doctor's appointment. A different doctor this time, this

has nothing to do with the injured hand.

.

The wife is awake now, she asks for a bottle

of water. The cat is awake too.

get dressed, leave the house. Walk Through

the sleeping town.

A town still sleepy at a quarter to eight in the morning.

There is the sound of police sirens in the background. A police car in a hurry. Then

another. Just walk on. It is only a ten minute walk to the doctor's practice, and

arrive in the building just in time.-climb  the

stairs to the

waiting room.

the old town

there is the sound of the son's alarm clock in the background, behind the dream, the realisation of daylight coming in through the dirty glass of the closed window. Struggle with being awake now, really – sleep and dreams would be better now.

Sit up, check the time. It is half past six in the morning.

Oh

The son comes in with a cup of hot black coffee

- that is nice of him - 

Then he explains that he has been working at his Latin.

that is good.

Sit there, read the news, the Americans, the British, the French and the Germans.F

That American is running the show for short term gain,

the pompous ass.

The British, now free of their Empire, do not seem to want a trade union that is not under theirs to rule.

And the French concerned with their own, and the Italians expecting a free lunch.

Take a warm shower, put on the day clothes, and go for the doctor's appointment. The son gives a quick hug, a morning's greeting. The son is on his holidays, he is talking to one of his friends on the computer now. They are playing games.

The doctor is in the building next door to the big church, that is only a five minute walk.

Lave the house , it is a bright overcast day, this is Tuesday, the beginning of the week.

The old town is looking well.

Otherwise silence

A silent Monday, another German holiday. There is the sound of a pigeon cooing outside, distant thunder too. A police car with it's horn on leaves the police station at the end of the road.
Otherwise there is nothing.
The cat is awake, but that is all, the son is asleep, the wife is asleep.
And that pigeon outside, constantly cooing
And it has rained, the streets are wet, the thunder is louder now. There may be a storm approaching.

It is nine in the morning in Landshut, there is the sound of rain outside, stronger, and the light is failing.
The bells in the church sound for the hour, thirty seconds late.

Sit happily in the darkening living room, there is the sound of the rain for company. A car passing in the distance. Otherwise silence

seventh Sunday

There is the sound of the ticking clock, the electromagnetic Brillie clock.
ta tick ta tick.
Otherewise there is silence in the flat, there is silence in the street outside.
Eight in the morning.
Whit Sunday.
All have gone on their holidays.
The town is silent
no cars to be heard outside
on this bright sunny summer Sunday.
The family is asleep, but for one sitting at his computer
writing notes
Looking at the chaos in the sitting room
this is not as bad as on other days
There is enough there to look bad, but not so much that it is impossible to deal with.


But the silence is fantastic
Silence from the road outside
The silence of people sleeping

Just the occasional call of a crow
and there is a rumble of rubber car tyres on a cobbled street , distant, fading.

make a cup of coffee
and enjoy the peace and quiet

bicycle

it is two in the afternoon, there is fuss and disgust in the home, there is no chance of finding peace to enjoy the day.

Take the son to the cafe in the morning, then do a bit of shopping.

In the supermarket he espies a can of bicycle cleaner

tell him to buy it for himself if he wants it

he does not understand.

Later, at home, he goes to his little home money bank

He takes out two Euros

and goes back to the supermarket.

And buys an aerosol of patent bicycle cleaner.

Now he has cleaned his bicycle

no way back to sleep

Friday, June 7,

2019

It was an early and rude awakening today, the

son's passiom for alarm clocks ripping

all thought of sleep to shreds. 

get up, the son has remained in bed. go to the

bathroom

, go to the loo. And upon returning to the living room, all the alarms go off again.

He has alarms set on his mobile 'phone, he has alarms set on the two digital clocks that

he had collected years ago.

Turn on the coffee maker, empty the metal sieve.. Turn on the coffee grinder, and wait

until it has finished its noise. Then fill the little sieve and clamp it to the bottom of the

coffee machine.

Press the button.

The coffee is hot black, and bitter.

Sit down

and read the news. It is warm

outside already, the summer has started again. Will it be as hot and long as the last

one? The son comes in with another cup of coffee

Niow there is no way back to sleep again.

1/2 hr

Thursday, Jane 6 i. 2019

Traffic in the morning, get into the Tiny car

ear, reverse once, forward, reverse again,

forward, indicate, and leave the space at

side of the road. Drive on until the

road widens, do a U-turn, and drive

on through the town, past the church,

past the son's school.

Then, the right turn

into the tunnel under the castle. Drive on,

then there is the light, the open space ahead, for the fairground.

Turn left, move along with the traffic.

Turn left again

, and left again, up

the hill.. Take two Turns right, into the

park place. A ten minute drive, to the

hospital.

. get a ticket from the machine,

leave it in the car. There are two hours free

parking for visitors.

Back to hospital, to collect a form.

Back to hospital, to have physiotherapy.

Half an hour.

no event

the son has gone to school, after his morning's work, and making coffee.
Look out of the window in the living room, there are young people on the road, on their way to school. There are a number of different types of school, vocational, secondary, and hight school in that corner of town. It will be a hot day, they are all dressed lightly, in shorts, the skin still pale. They look good.
Look down, the son is just leaving the house, he closes the red door behind him. Call, he looks up, he is surprised. But now he is in cool mode, he just says goodbye, and hurries off down the street.

Look for a few minutes longer, then turn away.
It is time for a shower, the wife is still in bed asleep, the cat is frolicking about.

Later, at the doctor's surgery, after the wait in the waiting room, go to the surgery. A young woman removes the old bandages, and expresses her horror at the sight of little finger, all swollen and out of shape.
It is ugly on the way to recovery.
The doctor comes in later, looks at the wound, carefully inspecting it and it's surrounds for signs of infection.
And when she is happy, it is all wrapped up again.

The sun is bright in the street now, there are people having their morning coffee in all the various cafes, it is lively.
Just return home.

rumble

the details of wakening, the return to consciousness. The body and the mind gone for the past nine hours. No knowing what went on during that time. No idea.
What does a brain do when it is unconscious? A question others have asked, and there are probably many answers.

Get up, there is the sound of the diligent son's alarm clocks, summoning him from the land of nod to go to school. There he is, wandering about trying to find things, lost in the disorder that is his home.
The wife stays in bed, calling out the things that he is not to forget about in school, and to remember that he has to be at the school earlier today. He brings her a cup of coffee, to her bedside. She is not ill, she just likes to sleep in a bit.

He is searching for ink cartridges, he finds some in an old secretary that was bought some years ago. Not an antique, but over one hundred years old now. He packs his bags, drinks his coffee. He then leaves the house to be on his way to school.
Wander about the flat, gather all the used crockery that has accumulated since yesterday night.
Fill the dishwasher.

Then, a cup of coffee.
And write these notes.
relax for now, the towns weekday noises coming in through the window, people down in the street chatting, and the rumble of a passing car.
It rumbles because of the cobblestones in the street.

almost normal

awake, and it is early.
The window is open, there is fresh air and near birdsong.
It is warm.
Maybe the desolate long months of winter are done,
Suiting the time of the year

Take a shower, a plastic bag to protect the stitched up hand
The warm water, the cleanlines, the cleansing,
all pleasant

The son is making coffee in the kitchen
he is also making a mess,
clear away the distributed bits and peices,
earn some filial umbrage,
a teenage rant as to why clear the table before he has finished.

Why indeed ever clear the table?
Things are just deposited wherever they were last used here,
nothing can be found, eternities are spent in searching.
.
.
.
.
.
no point.
.
all is back to normal
almost

cafe

Sunday, 2 June, 2019

In the cafe with the son.

In the early sun.

The croissant is finished, the coffee is half drunk.

The son has ordered a coffee, and a flat roll filled with tomato and mozzarella.

 He looks livelier now, it is the fresh air.

The cafe is occupied by people with their dogs,

and cyclists. Both classes of people are out

early, the cyclists because they want to avoid

the heat of the day, and the dog owners because

the dogs have their business to do in the morning.

People are shouting into their mobile telephones,

talking loudly at tables. Germans seldom seem to

talk quietly.

The big church, saint Martins,

is catching the first 

sunlight on its tower, the street below is still

largely in shadow.

It is dry, it will be a warm day today.

There is hardly any sound of engines,

unusual in the town.

The earliness of the day, the sounds from

the cafe, people talking.

Up the road, at the next cafe the proprietor is taking down the gas heaters used yesterday night.

He is putting up the parasols. He is ready for

business

home again

home
wiggle the toes under the blanket
the cat attacks
Then the cat settles down to purring
Then it wants to leave the room
It settles down in front of the door
mee ow's in regular intervals.

Get up and let it out.

Think of all the mess in the house that needs cleaning up
Go back to bed