Late this morning I cycled into BG and walked around for a little while, what a surprisingly mild day. Weird looking Xmas decorations here and there. I sat down at an outside table of the new French bakery with A and we had coffee in those big wide bowls and talked for almost two hours until our hands were cold and time was up. After we said good bye I quickly ran over to the whole food shop to get some tangerines and coconut milk and when I bent down to pull up my bicycle lock vertigo hit me like someone pushing me from behind. It got a bit better once I was upright again and somehow I cycled home in one piece. I sat down on the brown sofa and watched the embroidery on the Rajasthani wall hanging move rapidly to the left while my heart was skipping and my wonky ear started roaring intermittently. Too much coffee, said my prince and I took a deep breath.
I didn't move from the sofa for a couple of hours, eating tangerines and somehow I never freaked out and then I managed to make a lovely dinner - if I may say so - using the gorgeous little parsnips and celeriac that R harvested this morning (onion, parsnip, celeriac, sauteed in olive oil, some stock, crushed garlic, fresh rosemary, simmer for a while, mash a bit, but not too much, add some chopped black olives and parsley before serving) and now I just finished watching Patti Smith Dream of Life on TV, back on my sofa. And I got all weepy about the fact that I will never ever again be able to go to a live concert which is bullshit because even before I got ill I hadn't been to one for ages and never felt tempted, too pricey, too loud and too late and so on. The last one was that UN gig with Bob Geldof and Hugh Masekela which anyway was for free because I did all that translation work for the alternative summit and I remember checking my watch and yawning for goodnesssake.
But anyway, went back in my mind to the time when I first heard Patti Smith in Sylvia's kitchen in Heidelberg in the days when I rolled my own fags and had long long hair and we talked about travelling to Saintes-Marie-de-la-Mer next weekend or so, no big deal, only we never did. We were so cool and so broke. And Patti Smith, oh my, oh well!