Thursday 23 May 2013

Anyone knows Georges Moustaki?

Today


I come to the conclusion that the next few weeks will offer their cocktails of little revolts against my patience and calm demeanour.
Therefore I will relate; as long as necessary.

Today...
... I haven't talked yet. I went to the shop round the corner, I got the stuff I needed. I paid. I did not speak.
I grumbled.
I watched an episode from the Mad Men. I did not learn much. I liked The Mama's and the Papa's at the end.
I slept.
I woke up and ate three italian biscuits and warmed up some coffee. I managed to avoid boiling it like I usually do. It was nice.
I smiled.
I did not smoke. I gave up again.
I looked at the ashtray instead.
My phone rang. I looked at it as well. I did not pick up. I haven't given up phoning though.
But I have an excuse.
I bruised my ribs. I bruised them badly.So badly that I don't even want to complain. I even went to work. Twice this week. In denial of rush hour and the horde of mad puppies (analogy taken from Mr Mills) running wild in the corridors of the school.
Mistake. I realise it now. I have a status. I am injured, damaged, hurt, spoiled, wounded, altered, affected, impaired.
I have cracked ribs said Dr. Block.Along with "with patience and paracetamol, you'll be fine" to which I answered approximately "...". To then hear "but make sure you don't get a cold, snizzing would hurt you".
Thank you doctor.



The accident


It was Sunday. I fell. I did not scream.
Then I got given a drink and carried on.
There is always something to do on a boat.
I live on a boat.
And there is a lot to do. I usually do a lot of superfluous things on the boat because I get professionals to do important things like fixing important things, but I like to repeat that there is always something to do on a boat.

I am finding out that with cracked ribs, there is not much, even superfluous, to do.

I like building things. I have a good relationship with my hands and they are ok with it. On Sunday for exemple, I extended my garden. Mostly with succulents but also with pepper and sage. The roof of the boat is turned into a little suspended garden, a travelling and ephemeral rebellion against the city.

I was standing in the suspended garden.
A second after, I am half lying on the boat moored next to me. I fell from the garden...
A man witnessed this. From his second floor's terrace overlooking the canal, in the heart of Hackney Wick, he shouted "are you alright" I think he said... "'you're gonna be bruised".
Stirling observation.

I fell. After four years on a boat, this is the first time. Not a single time have I felt in the water or on the boat. I am quite feline when it comes to my sense of balance. Even without moustache. So what happened? I stopped asking this question. No one can answer. The only witness could not be of any help. he was too focused on giving me good advice:
"You should sit and rest".

So I sat and rested. I am still sitting. I sit on the boat, rocking one side to another.

And then.. 

So I guess I am a bit bored right now.

Today... today living on a boat with cracked ribs is boring. It is painful to crawl out of bed. The minute I am out of bed, I realise that it was more confortable. So I crawl back to bed. It is also painful but more annoyingly I do not find the position I had that was so confortable... so I crawl out of bed again.

So I sit. With an angle. To open the chest a maximum. To get as much air as possible without having to physically to do it myself. Because breathing is funny these days.


Today I also hear that Georges Moustaki will not sing again.
So I went on youtube. The first link that I can open with my 3 network connection relayed by an under achieving dongle is this.

Ma solitude


This is something I can do today. Listening, it is still quite boring, but it saves a little my mind from rocking sideways, too.

An afternoon spent with Georges Moustaki... On a boat with cracked ribs, I can spend my afternoon listening to Moustaki... 

I shall leave with this one.


B.





 

 




 



 

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