I had parked the motorhome at the old quay, in a field I now think they mowed for me to be out of the way of the big lorries that bring the corn. I drove to the new quay where a barge without ship was being loaded under a cloud of dust. Crew members leaning on rails smoking and getting covered in the flour like dust; reminding me of Apply’s Flour mill in Bootle, next to the canal where I used to play as a boy, near Liverpool.
I got up early, cleaned the blood streaks off the ceiling over the bed where I had murdered several of the blood sucking beasts that had managed to get past all the defences I had set up. During the night I had been woken several times by mosquitoes whining in my ear to let me know they had injected me with liquid itching powder and sampled my haemoglobin. My battle plan was to have my powerful torch to hand and dazzle the nocturnal marauders to make them land; then splat, smear, sleep, flat battery: whiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnneeeeeeeee; torch, no light, bite. Dam.
5.30 am the sun is up, the sky is blue, its 22.5°c in the shade and the batteries are running down for keeping the computer going.
Ablutions done. Breakfast done, well done actually fried egg rolls, real HP brown sauce made in Holland, and several cups of coffee. The internet was on, so I got out all the cards from people who want to keep in contact with me and copied their email address into my contact list; a job that took a great deal of time.
Once finished I typed a brief message to all of them and successfully sent it off. I haven’t mentioned the dozens of times the connexion was cut and the data I had loaded lost. My philosophy towards machines that don’t work is that they take up too much of the cosmos and should be returned to atomic particles.
The temptation to thump the computer was only just resisted by telling myself it wasn’t the dumb beasts fault, but the server which was out of destructions range.