autobahn

Turn the key in the ignition, there is a quiet rumble as the car starts, a star cart. The keyhole is in the middle, between the seats. Press the brake, pull the gear lever back, and the tiny car moves backward with it's typical jerk movement, the clutch is dragging a bit.
Look forward, see that it is dark outside, the headlights are not on. Turn the plastic lever, now the lights go on, there is the sound of an electric motor whirring, adjusting the angle the lights are set to.

Now move off down the cobbled street, press the button on the gearstick to turn on the automatic gear  changing and fiddle about with the knob that is to adjust the headlight angle. It stops whirring. This is yet another thing that will require attention.

At the end of the cobbled street turn left, stop on the line at the stop sign, then turn right, leaving the cobbles behind and heading for the tunnel after a further right hand turn at the end of the street. Pass that stop sign without stopping at all, there is no traffic and there are no police about.

The tunnel echos, is all brightly lit. There are manhole covers in the middle of the lane, the little car takes them badly because of the short wheel base. Zig zag to avoid this shaking  and bumping. Then settle down to driving at the steady fifty kilometres an hour demanded by the signs at the side of the carriageway. There are signposts picturing people running there too, and arrows pointing to the nearest emergency exit. There is a traffic light and a T-junction at the end of the tunnel, take a left and head out of town. One more traffic light, and then accelerate the tiny black car up to the permissible maximum of one hundred kilometres an hour, turn on the cruise control.

Ahead, a small white transporter with an open flatbed to the rear is moving just a bit slower. Slow down, but the speed adustment on the cruse control is insufficient to compensate for this. Brake, thereby turning off the control, and slow down. There is a building site with a traffic light to control the traffic.
It is red.
Stop.

And then go, cruise all the way to the roundabout, navigate this and proceed, past the traffic light that has not been turned on yet and take the right turn onto the ramp for the motorway, the Autobahn, the racing track for so many high-powered vehicles, and huge trucks.
Speed along the slipway, joining the traffic ahead of a big truck, increas the speed of the car to one hundred and twenty kilometres an hour, and move over to the fast lane to overtake the next truck.
Ten minutes later, traffic slows, blinking lights, there is some kind of blockage ahead. A truck, nearly immobile on the fast lane. Slow down, let it over to the right, then pass.
And back to one hundred and twenty.
Road repairs.
Road narrows, to accomodate the traffic from the other carriageway of the dual carriageway, speed is reduced to eighty kilometres an hour, draft along behind a big car on the left hand lane, the lane reduced in width, the opposing traffic on the other side of a tiny temporary fence, barely half a metre away. The trucks to the other side, slower, the same distance away.
Move on, almost ten kilometres of this, tight claustrophobic driving, feeling the streams of air buffeting the tiny car as every truck is passed.
Finally, the white sign with the diagonal black bar. Let the tiny engine pathetically roar a bit, the speed of the car climbs back to one hundred and thirty, and the journey continues.

Leave the express road at Freising South, and drive past industrial zones, used car sales places, amusement centres, all these places on the outskirts of Munich.

Finally, the car park at work.
At this point, realise that the radio is off.
The day's news has been missed.
It is seven thirty three in the morning.
The end of two weeks leave from work.

icy

Sunday lazy morning lie in bed, not asleep, to lazy to get up.
Get up, there is the sound of the son working in the kitchen, he is heating up a cake, making the Sunday breakfast.
Read the news on the computer, there is nothing new,

Let them eat cake on a Sunday.

Listen to the son return to his bedroom.
Read the news on the computer, all the reports, the speculations, on the one hand read the one thing and see that this is left out on another news source, to be replaced with a different view.

The wife awakens and tells the son that the bell on the cooker has rung some time ago

-Oh-

The son gets into a rage.
How could we, why didn't we, and so forth

Hear him remove the cake from the oven.
Carry it carefully, caro, into the sitting room breakfast table.

Follow the son out, touch his back as he is at the table cutting the cake
He bursts into a rage, he shouts loudly, starts to cry.
The disorientation of a fifteen year old.
The rage at things not going the way they should.

Let him sit down, finish cutting the cake, and give him a slice.
His humour is better after five minutes, he is cheerful and happy again,
but there is one strange thing.

The filling of the cake is cold, it was not in the oven long enough.
The wife must have been dreaming, the strange thing is, only one half of the cake is that cold, give a piece to the son so that he will understand. He agrees, it is almost icy.

go home

Saturday, 28th of september.

Walk through the town with the son, to his

favourite cafe. He attracts attention, with his

long red hair, people stop and stare.

Her was up early, and it seems to be a treat

that he cannot get enough of-sitting in a

café, a cup of milky coffee and his favourite

cake. His father, just takes a plain black with a German croissant.

After the cafe is done with, walk through

the town. The supermarket has not opened

yet, there are people in front at its doors,

waiting.

Buy two small loaves of white bread.

The son wants cranberries and condensed

milk, no idea as to what he is going to-

do with this.

Then wander on into the computer shop,

a shop specialising in Apple machines.

Admire a stylus that will write onto a

computer. But-it is difficult, the writing

is scrawly, difficult to follow. It looks

awful.

go home.

nowt

The son is up and about, gathering his things for the school. He is incredibly untitdy, he leaves everything scattered about. So he rushes about in circles, a printed page here, a book there, a pencil somewhere else.

Make a cup of coffee in the kitchen, it is early.
Take the computer to the  window, it is the last day of the holidays.

Then back to the bedroom, get dressed for the day.
Take the key, the wallet, go to the building suppliers to get a couple of boxes.
This day is uninteresting.
It will be spent removing the paint from a door, and then sanding it down.
Hard and dirty work.
And there is nothing to write today.
Nothing really happened.

disturbed

Thursday morning, the 26th of September.
The last two days of time off work, the end of the free days for 2018.
Sit in the cafe, after having walked through town to collect a prescription from the doctor.
Read the local newspaper, news of Trump, the american dictator, and news of Boris, the british clown. News that they want to replace yellow bags for rubbish with yellow bins. The bins will take twenty eight years to be amortised, in comparison to plastic bags.

The cafe is full of older people having breakfast.

A woman comes over.
She asks: "is that your newspaper or does it belong to the cafe?"
Then she gives instructions that the paper is to be brought to a her table outside when done with.

Contain the fury at the insolence.
Give her the paper.
She starts to waver about, mock decency to cover the arrogance.
Insist.
Think "Get lost",
Now.

Finish the coffee and leave.
Parkinson yesterday, arrogance today.
Undisturbed time in the cafe is becoming difficult.

bad start

Leave the cafe,  an old couple needed the seating, the man is ill. He is using crutches, he can barely walk. He starts to talk, asking if the place at the high tables with the high upholstered stools is free. Of course it is , there are three places free. His wife wants to sit down at a table, she does not seem to realise that not having to sit at a low table is a relief to her husband. He tells me that he used to work hard, often twelve hours a day, bending steel for concrete reinforcement.
And now he has Parkinsons disease as well.
He is an old man.
They are an old couple.
Finish the coffee fast.
Go
Let them sit together.


Cross the road, go down the side street, to one of the last remaining bakeries in Landshut that actually bake their own bread.
Buy a baguette.
The woman is new to the electronic cash register.
Everything takes ages, the woman is no longer young.
It is good of the firm to employ older people.
Give the exact money.

Take the baguette home.
It is bad,
more air than anything, a hard thick panzer crust around a woolly mass.
This is not a baguette
It is a long brötchen.
yuck.

To talk

Awake, the sound of the son's klaxon alarm, then the sound of him climbing down from his high bed, the sound of him pacing up and down, gathering the things that he needs for school, his bare feet making a squeaking noise on the waxed floor.
Squeak Squeak

Get up, go to the bathroom, then brush the teeth.
It was a long and deep sleep into the early morning.
And now the kitchen, a cup of coffee.
and a slice of toast
with
cheese.

Talk to the son about school, he will have an English test today.
He know has a deeper young man's voice
He is growing up.
That is good.

Get ready to go out to the bank.
To talk about money.

all day spent in the car

At  a quarter to four leave the cave with the last bags in hand. It is dark, no lights are on in the village, the street lamps are off to save costs.

It is sad, this may be the last time in the tiny village on the hill in France.

Start the car, down the lanes, cross the bridge.
Carefully, slowly continue.
Through other sleeping villages.

Then onto the roaring motorway.

With one thing and another, and the insufferable German traffic

The journey takes all of fourteen hours
A long time to drive

Alice

The little girl with the long Alice in Wonderland hair shows off her cafe in the limestone face. A cave with a door, a glass door. Inside, bordered by the cave walls, a little girls paradise, with blue dolls and golden haired dolls in gowns, blue. The name is forgotten. A smaller doll in a tutu, a little ballerina. She is proud of her cave, her den. Light comes into the large cave mouth, glazed.
Small pieces of grit have fallen from the roof of the cave, and are scattered about the floor. She says it must be the roots of a tree that the neighbour above has in her garden.
Across the garden in front of the caves, there is another big cave. That is the junk cave, says she. There are spools of wire, laths of wood. It is a big cave, but it has all the leavings of many jobs stacked more or less neatly everywhere.

And then there is the music cave, a cave with a green carpet on the ground of the far end. A band played here once, the acoustics are good. they needed no amplification.
Indeed, you can hear a pin drop clearly anywhere.
She kept her girlfriends rabbit in that cave, when the girlfriend went away on holidays.
Perhaps it was a white rabbit. The rabbit had an enclosure on the green carpet,more natural than the grey concrete.

And she proudly showed a tap, which let water flow into a flat stone basin.
And outside the door, the drainage from that basin watered a tree.
A small spout draining.

And that is the story of the little girl with the long blond hair.

pictures

walk up the hill to the place where the car is parked, the small black car. It is parked beside a grand house, there where the pedestrians only path along the cliff face ends. Stow the camera equipment in the back, behind the seats. Get in, start the little diesel engine and move off down the hill, down the narrow road between the high hedges.
At the bottom of the hill cross the river on the bridge and take the road to Ternay. There is a baker shop there, a shop that makes the most beautiful bread. It is a lovely shop, it is first rate bread.
The shop is run by a young couple, a high quality artisan baker in the middle of a quiet stretch of country in France. Nobody would expect this shop there.

The little car hums along the small roads, eighty kilometres an hour, more is not permitted.
Past all the low one storey houses at the side of the road, all in clean rendered plaster, all in an off white colour.
Cross a main road, a carrefour or something, a dangerous junction.
In the main square of the town, there is the bakery.

Set up the camera, take a picture of the front of the bakery.
Ask the propreitor to stand in front.
Take the picture with the old camera.
All is well

And then drive on to the next picture, one of a deserted house by a railway line, a house in which a man used to live who minded the level crossing.
A tiny two storey house.
Take another picture with the old camera
A curious building.

On the other side of Troo there is a house in the centre of a Y junction in the road.
Take the last picture.
That is it.

Reassemble. Works again.

Get up, there is light from the mouth of the cave, stand barefoot on the cold stones in the less-than twilit crepulscar cave. Feel the way over to the door tot the bathroom, open it. The light is on, it was left on for fear of not being able to find the light switch in the morning, and for fear of stumbling against something in the dark, and fear of breaking something.
There is the toilet, use it then go over to the low sink to brush the nights sleep from the teeth, to throw cold water into the face. Go out again, put the clothes on, put yesterdays socks and shirt into the plastic bag for the washing. For the washing when back home.
Next week.

Go back into the bathroom with the spanner bought yesterday, and remove the tap from the shower. That is easy. Cannot understand why it does not work, but take it out, put it into the pocket, and leave the cave. It is nine in the morning, the sun is low, and there is a little dew on the plants in the garden.
Go out through the ancient wooden gate and walk up the path to the main road where the car is parked.

The bushes on the one side of thhe e path hide the top of the cliff, sheer for thirty metres, to the buildings of the small town below. Look down at the rooftops, over this hedge of bushes trimmed flat at the top.

At the top, there is the small car, parked at the side of the road.

Get in, and drive to the local bricolage, un magasin , whatever, a hardware store.
Drive against the glaring low sun.
Drive into the little town, take a wrong turning.
Take help from a navigation program on the telephone.

Arrive at the shop, the shop is barely open.
All sleepy.
The girl serving is young, her neck is covered with bite marks, some amorous encounter the night before.

She does not have a clue about taps.
A man turns up.
We try to talk, French is the only way he knows.

At the end of it all, buy two tap fittings.
And a rod to hang the head of the shower upon.

Drive back to the cave.
Stop for a coffee on the way.
Cafe Marescot in Trôo

At the cave replace the head of the tap.
Now it works, it just drips a bit when open full.
Go to the neighbour, borrow an electric drill.
Make two holes, fit the bar.

Then, in a fit, dismantle the old fitting.
Clean it, remove the lime scale.
Reassemble.
Works again.

Take the new fitting down from where it had been fixed.
Replace it with the old fitting.
That works perfectly now.
Plumbing should be left to those of the trade.

water the host's plants.

turn on the brass tap attached to the wall of the entrance to the storage cave. The green hose spouts water,  fill the watering can, when it is full, transfer the hose to the other watering can. Take the full can, empty the contents into the pot by the gate, up at the top of the garden. There is a little left for the second pot. Take the watering can back to the hose, the other watering can is full, transfer the hose and take the full can to the next pot, and the one after that. And carry on that way, untill all of the plants have been given their water.
Strictly speaking, this is not allowed, because of the drought.
But are the plants to die?
Take the hosepipe, feed the big bush it's water
Then go into the cave and have a cup of coffee.
all is done now

The day will run it's course.
There are three more days in France
and the the long journey back.

Sunday, sept 15th.

A long drive, a horror of fog and dark

in Munich, the road was closed.

There was a scgnfost missing-Kost

whole hour.

a

.

And then later, cross the border to

France.

Drive

Drive.

And arrive dead tired.

see the people.

Too lived to write Toby.

Ten hours dhvhg a car.

That is a long Time.

No detail.

Monday, sept 16th

Awaken in the cafe in France. A waken in

the night, but ignore that. It is dark, there

is light pouring uto the mouth of the cave,

behind the varavent.

get up, go to the bay

s on the floor. The tooth

brush. And silence. Just the sound of a

ventilator

chilly, not cold

The cave is chilly, not cold. It maintains much the same temperature for the rest of the year.
The morning light from the glass window creeps around both angles, around the paravent, into the corner where the bed is.
Get up, go to the bathroom built into the cave, the water sputters hot from the old tap. Cover the face in shaving foam, after first rinsing it with hot water.
Shave the three days growth of facial hair,then rinse again.
Stand there looking at the man in the mirror.
Do not dare to take a shower, the cold tap has a blockage, and the water is really very hot.
Put on fresh clothes from the bag.
Go out into the garden, look out over the French countryside, all the fields are yellow and harvested.
It was a dry summer which is now ending.

Farther down the steep slope to the lower village, workers are repairing the roof to one of the houses. They have stripped of the slates, and there is a constant tap tap tap from the hammers as they replace the old slate onto the new construction replacing those  laths that had rotted away.

The cave cat called pussy in Trôo

driveabout in France

Stop the little black car in Sougé .
A woman there bothe charming and talkative.Water from a red bottle in the wooden enclosure outside the coffee bar in La Chartre

Tuesday, Ssept 17Th.

Watch the Bentley cars in front of the

Hotel de France, think of the

young woman

in the bakery in sougei, the one with the

hind smile and the fmendly goodbye.

A chair of croissants and a baguette. A

French combination.

The Bentley owners are not young

people, the cars

are pristine. There is

no. mfomation as to what they are doing

here.

A man in a striped shirt is wiping the

flies of the bodywork at the huge cap,

one after the next. Then one car after

the next.

fishing

Early and dark, the cat is fast asleep on the sofa. Make a cup of coffee, take the last slice of toast and take the computer, see if there is any news.
Nothing has changed since yesterday. There are speculations that Boris may drop the northern Irish politicians back into the obscurity that they cane from. But then, he is no better than they are. And the USA is wobbling about like a heavily armed drunken fool.

The cat is fast asleep, pat her on the head, she licks her paw and strokes it over her head. Trying to wash off the human attention and to go on sleeping.

It is dark still, and the coffee is bitter.
Tired now, go back to bed.

A few hours later wake again. Look at the news again, apart from messages in the mail, birthday greetings from insurance companies, there is nothing else

Get up, get dressed, ask the son if he would like to go to the café.
It is the only place to get his undivided attention.
Keep that business with the birthday silent.
It is like fishing for compliments.
Tempting, but unpleasant.

never get to france

Take a shower.
Return to the bedroom
Meanwhile, the wife left the bed early, so go into the kitchen after dressing.
Feed the cat.
Make a cup of coffee.
The wife is asleep on the couch.
Signs of strain in what is otherwise an imperfect relationship.
Short sentences, clipped answers.
Difficult silence.
no harmony.

Drink the coffee at the little secretarial cupboard
Read about Bercow and Johnson.
The cat jumps up onto the knees
Purrs. She wants her head scratched.
It is nice.

The sons alarm
awful, a honking noise like a submarine's klaxon,
It stops.
Go to the loo
return
sad

Down the stairs, leave the house
Alleys
Car

And off to work, the last time before another holiday in France

road music

WS

Thursday 12th of september
Time spent on the road, listening to Bayern 4
radio, doing the ears when ethics and
musicians start telling each other shop
myths, humour that they laugh at. But The
music is good to hear, the talk around good
taste are not.
The little black car is cruising along
happily, cruise control is on and the world
is in a "go no faster, go no slower" mode.
Untill the car ahead brakes for the building
sitffenit is stop and go, and the music
is forgotten
at work, arrange things, tidy things,
finish an invitation card. There is not
much to do.
Pack the package, made yesterday into the
mail, it will go to the United states of
America, to California. For this, the the
little ear to the nearest post office.
The costs are far more than expected.
Too bad.
That is the way it goes.
Overcharged again.
T me for another cup.

untidy

Wed,

11th September 2019

The alarm on the tablet did not sound today, on account of it 's not having been switched on, But the son's alarm sounds.

get up later, now it is six in the morning, shower, put on clothes, ignore the cat and go to the kitchen to make coffee. The son is there, leaving a trait of coffee making utensils behind him as he makes a cup of coffee for himself and for the wife. Why he does not put the container of the coffee grinder back after using it. why he leaves the

spoon for the coffee lying about is hard to tell. There is milk, not returned to the refrigerator.

Why? He does not know how to do these things.

Take coffee from the grinder's container fill the sieve washed out under the tap.

Replace the container, put the spoon on top of the machine.

Put a cup under the machine, press thebutton, fill the cup half full-

All is well, creamy brown liquid without milk nor sugar.

alarm

Tuesday, 10 th september

Go to the revolving gate in the tall fence. Push

the identity card through the slot, there is a loud beep. Push through the tall rotating gate,

designed to allow only one person at a time.

Once through, walk over to the main gate of the reactor, the main entrance with a glass rotating door. Pass through.

A contamination alarm sounds. The people inside look around in surprise.

A security gaurd reaches for his 'weapon, Look around, there is a red flashing light on.

This is a reaction to the isotopes injected yesterday. A man working in the nuclear

safety office comes over and turns the alarm off. Go to the office, the radiation protection

office. Explain the business with the doctor and his isotopes.

He says that there will be no admission to the reactor for at least two weeks.

This is due to the monitoring instruments,

and their inability to distinguish the doctors radiation from real contamination.

So no entry. No work today

Return to the little office in the other building. Too bad. Try the radiation monitor in the passageway.

It says that there will he no entering

restricted areas either.

This man is contaminated.

isotopes

Monday, 9th September

after a walk through the town, climb the stairs

 to the cardiologist's practice. It is on the second floor. The stairs are made of coloured marble.

There is a lift, take the stairs anyhow.

There are two receptionists in the spacious reception area. They ask for name, reason

for the visit, is there an appointment in the books? Follow their directions to a waiting room.

Wait.

They have elevator music, or a radio station producing sound in the background.

Wait.
Read the mail on the mobile phone

Read about the political decisions. -

Then a bicycle, wires attached, blood pressure measured. And then? Then get the shirt back on and go out to another

waiting room,

Wait. And eat a sandwich, doctors orders,

And then, another call, another room. This time, a slow machine, circles around the

couch, it takes sixteen minutes to make

a circle. And then,

get up, and back

into the waiting room.

But first, walk down to the bakery, get a bread roll. That is the second doctors orders. Eating to prevent the isotopes landing in the spleen, or something.

And then return to the waiting room, wait.
People come, and go. All with heart problems, all waiting. Some are eating, doctors order say that at a certain point during the examination food has to be taken. Recieve another call,  a second injection. Go back to the wwaiting room, sit in the corner by the window. Listen to the radio, there is a speaker under the cieling spewing canned gaiety.

Wait.
And eat the roll collected from the bakery a short while ago.
Apart from the bad taste in the mouth after the last injection, there is no discomfort.

It is just boring, waiting.

politics

the news read, the political disasters in the world not understood.
disentangling personal gain from the common good has failed in Britain.
personal gain seems to be an ideal in America, but not everybodys.

In the sitting room the ironing board on it's metal legs in the centre of the room stands in the way of potential traffic. There were things to be ironed yesterday, the board, and the iron upon it, remain.
The son woke up earlier, the good intention to wake up early realised by the alarm, but the body has sent him back to sleep on the couch. There he is, snorting asleep, heavy breathing, relaxed. His hair is a deep red mane about his face. His long hair is a matter of principle and not of appearance.
But what principle is involved.

The cat paid loving attention to this early riser untill it was fed. Now it has gone to wherever to sleep again. As a carnivore, it spends most of it's time sleeping.

It is now half past nine. Suddenly, the son had got up, navigated the ironing board and entered the kitchen. There he is now visible drinking coca cola from a large plastic bottle.

The one clock is ticking away happily to itself. The other clock has stopped, there is probably dust and dirt in the works now. It will need cleaning, a troublesome process.

It is Sunday, take the luxury of a third cup of morning coffee on this grey overcast day.
Listen to the firs cars outside, the neighbours on excursions again.
Hear the sound of Sunday bells from the churches.

time to move and to do other things than write this message to the unknown everybody.

cafe in the rain

Wait in the centre of the road for the traffic to pass, big cars small cars and then finally a police car.
There is the war memorial monument, the slightly grotesque sculpture of all of those people growing out of a tree.
Finish crossing the road, leave the memorial to all the dead soldiers of two world wars behind.
Enter the small café with the son, and wish the proprietor well. At the table there is the owner of the sports car parked outside, the man is just finishing his breakfast, and his chat with a woman who is very amused to be talking to him.
The son orders a cake with meringue on top, the father has a cup of coffee an a plain croissant. And whilst the coffee is being made, the man and the woman leave. There is a loud roar from outside as the engine of the car starts. It is a very noisy car with a very big engine. An American car.
Sit and enjoy the coffee, look out onto the rainy grey street.
It is the weekend
The son talks about his new interest, tiny cars. There is one advertised, it is a strange device with two seats and a minute motor. It is the antithesis to the American sports car.

Finish the coffee and leave the cafe

hot water only

Friday, 6th of September, 2019
The lukewarm shower finished, and the clothing put together, climb the stairs to the room with central heating. It is not on, it has turned itself off during the night. Change the mode to "hot water only", watch the numbers on the small screen show steadily higher values, until the boiler is hot.
There is no light in the attic, so fumble a path down to the flat.

The nights are longer now, the days shorter, and the summer is finishing.

The alley is lit by the streetlights on this dark morning. The weather is colder too. The street lamps are styled to look like old fashioned lanterns, but they are all equipped with modern "Light Emitting Diodes"
Crossing the junction between the alley and the old market, meet two people heading into town, a man and a woman. The woman wishes a "good morning" so return the greeting. Perhaps she is somebody who has been met before, and is now forgotten.

There are people entering the service entrance of the police station. Perhaps they are policemen starting work early.
Find the little black car, start the engine. Everything is going well, it is a forty minute journey to work, actually even less.

10€

Thursday fifth of september

walk through the university grounds, along the

path paved with small concrete paving stones

There are magenta flowers there, daisy-like.

They are a deep vibrant magenta, a strong

anti-green colour.
No idea what kind of

plant they are.

On the other side of the path, a parking

lot. Cars parked under the trees, the trees

will drip their sap out c-the paintwork.

It will smear the windows. But who cares

about cars?

At the top of the rise thar is the cafeteria.

Put a 10 Euro mte into the machine for

loading the cards, hold the wallet onto the

front of the machine. In a small monitor

there is a notice that ten Euros have been

loaded onto the card.

Use a small part of this credit later,

to pay for a cup of coffee and a roll.

The man behind the till is slow, he is not used to operating this machine.

Write these notes, realise that the last week

has the wrong dates in the title.

What a mess.

no help

Wednesday August 4, 2019

The cat jumps up onto the knees, stroke the small head and the back.

Read the news on the machine, the British rebellion, fascinating.

Then get up,

pick up the bag, the wallet

and the 'phone. go down the stairs and pass the tenants bicycle, and go out into

the cold dark early morning.

There is a big heap of yellow plastic bags in front of the door. They were put out last night.

Just past the police station there

is a young man, he looks distraught.

He asks for help, his car's battery has not enough power to start with.

Because there is none of the correct equipment available. no help is possible.

He-moves on.

The small black car is parked at the side of the park, the place where they will play boules during the day, later.

Get into the car, start the engine.

The day begins, again.

dark crazy

Tuesday, August 3, 2019

Morning and dark, there is no sleep to be had

 Go to the bathroom wash the face, look at the watch. It is four in the morning. The lights in the yard are almost all out, they only load up sufficient energy for a few hours during the day.

 Go into the sitting room, there is the cat in the dark on the couch, a pale shadow.

Pat her head. Take the laptop computer to read the news. Damage done to the Bahamas,

Trump spouting his usual nonsense. The British slowly awakening to the fact that they have little time left to make a free decision.

And read.

The cat goes crazy, running up and down the house in the dark, crying out loud, climbing up things that she does not usual use for climbing.

A mad, wound up cat.

Madly active in the dark.

Now, there is tiredness. Return to bed, the next thing in the steady strum of the alarm

THE ALARM.

Turn it off, it is now five.

To the bathroom, turn on the water for a shower. After a long wait, realise that it is not going to get hot. Go upstairs, to the water heater, which is making it's usual sounds but heating no water.

Return to the bathroom, wash with a cloth, then sitting now in the corner with the computer.

The son walks in, looks around-

Cough.

He gets a fright.

Then he comes over, gives his old father

a hug.

crumple

Mon 2 August, 2019.

No, Mon, 2 September, 2019

Put the small chip under the device in the entrance lobby, the registration device that will read the code on the chip and start the daily clock. The device shows that there is almost a full week in overtime on the clock.
That is a small amount of freedom.

Take the stairs that wind around the hall,

around the pendulum, the one in memory

of Foucault.

Cross the covered bridge betweenthe two

buildings, turn left down the corridor.

The office is the same as it was dn Friday, the 

same mess.

Well; it is not too bad. Turn on the  computer, and then remember. There is a cloth printing material that needs to be tried

out on the printing machine, all the swatches printed, and an icc profile made. Go down to the basement, to turn on the machines.

Mutter a "good morning" to a few colleagues, on the way through the brick floored corridors.

Stand at the computer, start the process, put the new material into the printer. Set up the measuring device, it makes a three note tune to signal it's readiness. Print a small swatch.

Then there is nothing left to do, but to watch.

The machine measures the Swatch.
Otch. Otc.

And the final print, four swatches later? It is not as great as on paper; but the cloth like material has its limitations.

Take the roll out at the printing machine, and wrap it up in the final swatch.

The one with the KC-profile applied.

And then take the other samples upstairs,

to the people who want to test the cloths mechanical firmness, and other things.

A young spanish woman takes the samples all smiles and happiness. She sees hardly any of the printing faults inherent in the material, her only concern is that it will not crumple and crease like paper.

she will take the final poster on a long journey,

to Japan.

Where she will showthe results of her work.

no sale

It was not a long drive to the farm in the country, following the advice of the app on the mobile 'phone. A few sharp corners, several tight bends.
A large farm, everyone there Sunday morning asleep, eventually a man rounds the corner and says that the motor bike is sold already. The son is upset, The father who had to drive the thirty kilometres is annoyed.
They apologise.
Drive back home through the hop fields, wonder at all the busy traffic this September one.
An early start to have to deal with country bumpkins.
That is it.