Wednesday, June 01, 2005


19.40 Forty Minutes Late
Our pilot announces himself as captain alan smith. It’s good to know our hero has found time, while warming the bench of the evil empire, to learn a respectable trade. Good luck to him.

Below, the lights of rome are receding, the seatbelt light is off and the jukebox is on. My eyes are closing, my head nodding, soon there may be some drool …

In my dream, there is a narrow, humpback bridge at the bottom of a hill. The track is white and dusty, it is almost five o’clock and the temperature is in the high eighties. We are ten minutes away from our hotel, it is the last day of the holiday. As I reach the bridge I can see it is quite badly potholed and I will need to take evasive action. As I do, a blue fiat appears alongside me. Time stops. Time starts, but moves very, v e r y s l o w l y. Badly drawn boy is singing: ‘soleil, all over me…warm sun…’. The blue fiat, the heat, the gravel surface of the track and the pain in my shoulder and wrist are inextricably linked.

I wake up and there is some drool. Badly drawn boy is still singing.

Sorry about the one-handed typing. The cast will be on for a couple of weeks at least.


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