Dog Days

I was surprised by the lugubrious attitude of the check-in attendant.

'We've put you by the emergency door,' she said, 'Are you ready to help the crew if something happens?' I shrugged. 'Sure,' if something happens,' I laughed. She checked me. 'No don't -' she shook her head 'My brother has a theory about accidents on airplanes. But there's no point talking about that now.'
'But you've got me all intrigued,' I pointed out.
'There's nothing to be intrigued about.' She clammed up. 'Nothing. And nothing will happen.'
And nothing did. There was a peculiar guy sitting next to me, really tall and awkward, who downed two minibottles of red wine and wouldn't stop using his phone during take-off. Perhaps he was her brother.

Hills white with blossom, mountains white with snow. Back in Zaidin, I shouted up at a familiar window; she stuck her head out, smiled and came downstairs telling me that I shouldn't have come, because of Ebola. I told her about the wedding. She now wants to take me round Granada; I know she wants to buy me a wedding dress, but I must and shall stop her. The house is cold and dark because she won't use electricity but the gas rings work, she is cooking and eating and yes, she doesn't close the windows, but they can be closed, so that's what I did.

She was wearing an African style turban, because she said she has no hair left; it was an exaggeration; her hair is cropped very short and white, with a dark streak. Actually, it looks really stylish, a little bit jazz, a little bit kraftwerk, especially when she puts on her black felt trilby. I know things are not all right really, but what we have is what there is. Today was a fine day.