I woke early this morning. I raised the blinds and turned on the radio. I considered going for a run. The street below was quiet and in the process of dawn; slow and stuck in its daily routine. I stood at the window letting the radiator burn at my legs. A lady on her way somewhere looked up as a first hint of snow began to fall. Dvorak’s ‘Song to the Moon’ started up in the room. From the opposite direction a lone runner was en route to cross paths with the lady, who had now stopped and held out her hand to feel the drifting flakes. The runner crossed the road under my window. Lycra – rubber – shine hood – velcro leg – sweat relief 2050xk; he had splashed out. “I’m not that kind of runner”, i said aloud.
Instead i sat in my kitchen and listened for the kettle to boil on the hob. When it boils the steam blows through a small whistle shaped as a bird. It takes about 5 minutes and i make myself a strong black Kenyan coffee – taylors of harrogate, cheap and good. I turned on the radio in the kitchen and listened to a man complain about the possibility of possibly running out of road grit, possibly. I yawned and switched it off and decided i should pack for my trip to Berlin – i am leaving at 5 tomorrow morning.I relish the thought of being away, if only for a couple of weeks.
I wanted to pack light so i slumped on the bed and eye up various clothes laying about. Some boots, 2 pairs of trousers, shirts, jackets. Into my rucksack i threw a camera, notepad, a discman and a packet of mini cuban cigars that i found on my table (left by my friend charlie – he wanted to talk ‘oil’ after a documentary he had seen, i guess he thought cigars were appropriate) they could work as a gift or ice breaker, i thought. I put in a small pile of books i planned on taking with me: Seamus Heany’s ’66-87 Poems’; ‘The selected letters of Rimbaud’; Arthur Miller’s ‘Tropic of cancer’; and a biography on Brecht, who is buried in Berlin. On the side, on top of the jiffy bag he had sent it in, i saw my friend Tom Chivers’ new collection ‘ How to build a city’ – i threw that in the bag and strung it up.
I took a walk – the street was busier now and schoolchild shaped balls of woolen tottered with satchels and folders along the street towards the local primary. I skirt the pond to avoid any screeching and walk the back alleys in silence. I think about my 9 hour train journey via paris. I think about the route out of Paris, past Reims, through the Ardennes and up towards north east germany. I think about murnau’s films and about walking to other countries on foot. Breaking the silence i find myself diving into a shop to avoid a guy who thinks that i owe him money – i don’t owe him money but he is unable to shake off the belief that i owe him at least something. I carry on in silence, walking in the light settle of snow and relish the thought of being away – if only for a couple of weeks.
SECRET WEATHER no.3 (Berlin film festival edition)
1.Bobby Vee – Tears on my pillow
2.Gingirikani marimba band – Malaika
3.Neubauten – Ich Hatte Ein Wort
4.Syd Barrett – Love you
5.A place to bury strangers – I know il see you
6.B.J.M – Going to hell
7.Keb Mo – Im so lonesome
8.Tom Waits – Im still here
9.Lonyo – Summer of Love