The cool places

Well, Dino has found the coolest possible place in the flat. One where there are the most cold-water pipes, of course. The floor is much cooler there. He curls himself up between the toilet and the shower.

Normally, I don’t allow him in the bathroom but, right now, I would feel bad for kicking him out.

The thermometer on my desk reads 32. To be honest, I haven’t seen it drop much below that in the last few days. All the windows are open, trying to grasp every last bit of breeze. It has it’s disadvantages, of course. The main one being that the sirens from the main street (which I don’t even look onto) are very loud. And, poor Dino doesn’t like sirens. It must hurt his ears or something. He howls.

However, it’s not so often that they go past. I take the risk with the neighbours. I’m sure something will be said if it’s a problem. At least they don’t bark like some of the other canine occupants of our building.

I sweat. All the time. Showers give relief – but only for seconds. I’m not too bad if I don’t move. I’m fine if I move. It’s the stopping after I move that opens the floodgates and make it seem like I am in a shower. People don’t understand. But I have the same genes as my grandfather.

But this is, in every way, far better than being cold. This I can do. Being cold is a problem.

I go to Porta Venezia but phone F first. He was taking a walk to Corso Buenos Aires because he had the carpenter in. F is in Feltrinelli – a book shop that also sells DVDs and CDs. He will be buying CDs, I expect. His flat looks like a CD shop as it is. But it’s his passion, so that’s OK by me and, anyway, he can afford it.

I meet him inside. It is lovely after the heat of the morning outside. Very cool. He can’t find a CD that he wants. He has most of them.

“I can’t find a punk CD”, he says. I wonder why because punk music doesn’t really seem his thing. He finds a compilation of punk. I suppose it is for his DJ stuff that he does. He will probably mix it with something.

I suggest something to eat and also that I do something for tonight. He agrees, sort of.

He asks where we should go. I suggest a café just off Corso Buenos Aires. We go. It’s OK. It’s quiet as it’s off the main street. We sit outside and have salads. I then go to get fags and do some shopping.

By the time I get in the lift, I am starting to resemble Niagara Falls.

But it’s OK for me. I go straight out again to get a water melon and some milk, not having wanted to traipse them all the way back from the other supermarket but from the one near me instead.

I put on the last wash. The temperature at my desk is still 32 but it is much, much hotter outside and we have, from time to time, a slight breeze.

I will do some ironing and some tidying up and then prepare food for tonight. I will do some work, maybe. Tomorrow nothing will be done.

Tomorrow (Sunday) is Wimbledon at the 442 with friends. F will be working. Maybe he will meet us later at the Leon D’Oro. I hope so.