caning

 Lie down on the couch in the sitting room after breakfast. Two eggs, two slices of toast some butter and two cups of coffee made in a Bialetti espresso machine. The aluminium espresso machines are a curious invention, but they work well. A great piece of Italian industrial design.

Wake up and it is seven twenty two , and everybody seems asleep. There is no particular aim for today, just hear the rubbish truck  collecting the yellow plastic bags. All the packaging waste is gone, all those plastic containers and foil wrappings and empty cat food tins.

The sound in the right ear is there today, a steady hiss of white noise encompassing many frequencies. It is like an old fashioned radio reciever stuck between stations. It was nice when it was gone for a while after the consumption of one beer in Landau last week. Drinking beer is no option as a cure.

There are no real plans for this day, a day both grey and warm. There is no sense in hanging around, but what else is there to do?

Caning chairs passes the time, the repetitive actions leading to a rattan pattern on the frame of the old chair. The results are not those that an expert would produce, but they will do for the work of an amateur. Perhaps this should be continued later.