Diary Entry


Here are the objects I was given:
pink hello kitty alarm clock
personal teacup
balcony of flowers
cosy arm chair
map of England
little red book
silver sandals
childhood scurge girl!

and the places I would never be:
the KPM porcelain china shop in Friedrichstr.
studying archeology in Pompei in Italy

so here's the diary entry…
Yesterday I had the weirdest day. I was dreaming that I was back in Pompei with mum and dad, heaving my sweaty body around in the 40 degree heat… except of course in the dream I had taken a pen and my little red notebook - I had collected all the pearls of wisdom that would prevent me from ever having to go back there again. My alarm clock drags me out of this fantasy land with its usual 'hello! hello! prrr! prr! hello! hello!' I reach out for it without opening my eyes and after months of practise get my hands around the thing straight away. I peel open my sticky lids and take a look: stupid little cutesy cat face, cost me a fortune, its racket pollutes my sleepy soul. What was I ever thinking?
But after a flood of panic - it's 9.34 - I remember that today is indeed the weekend. All I need to do today is get my form posted off for the archeology job in Italy. It strikes me that I should probably get out of this hello-kittied-out dump, if I am ever going to rekindle my inspiration.
I make myself a coffee in my favourite cup, grab my map of England and sink down into my cosy armchair. For once there is petrol in the car - this will be an adventure.
I spread out the map, close my eyes and with my pen randomly spear my destination.
Incredibly, I have managed to spear Bristol, in fact Horfield (where I live) and indeed I have to admit that I have managed to mark in best bic blue the exact place where my flat is. Irritation crawls up through my amazement as I try it again and again. I even manipulate the releasing of the pen, trying to forge it in different directions, but still the same thing! I suddenly feel fairly weird about it: I have never attempted to trick fate like this before.
So I drop the map and carrying my pen, red note book and coffee skillfully in one hand, heave the chair with the other, out onto the balcony. Of course there's nowhere to sit because of all the bloody flowers. I crush quite a few of them in my wake, but whatever.
At last I plonk myself down and I'm wanting just to get on with it now, but then I hear some seriously ugly whistling down on the street - some kind of evil whistling that makes my intestines turn over repeatedly. I lean over and at first see no one, but then from beneath the porch emerges someone who was presumably about to ring the bell. My bell.
Except it's not just any old someone but Emma, the megabitch from hell, ein hässliches Missgeburt a friend of mine would say. And she looks up at me.
My blood solidifies and my mouth opens wide in disbelief. And it is then that she does it. Again. This time the power is so immense, so practised, so surreal - I expect to be woken up by hello kitty again in due course. But alas no. She spits a torrent of gloopy, almost transparent filth projectile in my direction. It is in my eyes, my hair and, of course, in my open mouth. Why did I decide to live on the first floor??
Before I think what I am doing I have thrown my favourite coffee cup at her and, missing her ugly Missgeburt face, it smashes into smithereens. I grab my silver sandles and rush out onto the street but the bitch is gone. Or was she ever even there?
Now I will have to go back to Berlin soon, visit the KPG shop on Friedrichstr. to get a new one of those. It was a present from one of my oldest friends in Berlin. I spend the rest of my morning hunting the streets but I don't find her and still my application form is yet to be written. Will I ever make it back to Pompei?


The objects I was given:
striped tights
big earrings
director's chair
voodoo doll
trainers with wheels
flower hairclip
Dutch flag

The places that I would never be found in:
a Buddhist weekend retreat, taking a vow of silence
Hardrock Café Berlin

My diary entry:

Dear diary,

Today was the worst day of my life. I am such an idiot for haven taken this vow of silence and going on this stupid Buddhist weekend. Firstly, I didn’t realise when I arrived to check into my room, that the vow of silence was supposed to have already happened. You should have seen the face of the Buddhist type behind the counter when I came in, happily rolling on my awesome new shoes –the ones with wheels at the heels-, loudly exclaiming that I was ready for the weekend. After getting over the shock of my appearance (and I wasn’t even wearing anything weird, just the usual striped tights, big earring sand flower hairclip), he politely showed me a piece of paper that said “do not speak please”. I hastily started apologising, which didn’t help, and the whole thing got out of hand when he saw that I had Boris with me. Without using words, the Buddhist asked me what the hell I was doing bringing a cat into the Buddhist weekend spa, and I tried to explain that I can’t leave Boris because he has anxiety problems, and that I thought a weekend of meditation would do him good.
The Buddhist guy just looked at me, and after a lot of confused handing over of pieces of paper with text scribbled down on them, it was decided that I leave Boris with the desk-guy so that he could check if he had any flees (if Boris had any flees, I mean, not the desk-guy. Although I wouldn’t be surprised.)
I was relieved when I finally got shown my room, but my happy mood soon disappeared when I realised I’d forgotten to call my work and cancel my shift for the weekend. Shit! I wanted to shout, but of course this was going against the deeply harmonious and spiritual atmosphere of this whole place, so instead I hit the side of the bed with my foot. Then I picked up my mobile and typed in the number of my boss.
It wasn’t until I heard “Hard Rock Café, Bob here”, that I remembered my vow of silence. Whilst I was in the midst of explaining to Bob -without speaking- that I couldn’t come into work but that I couldn’t explain this to him because I had taken this fucking vow of silence, which was a REALLY hard thing to do, one of the Buddhist monks came crashing through my door, took my mobile phone from me, and left the room. Obviously, without saying a word.
I was getting real fed up with this place already, and if I hadn’t paid the whole weekend up front I would probably just have left there and then. I mean, first they take away my cat, then my phone, how is one supposed to find harmony in the soul when everybody around you is being so unfriendly?
I wish I had my usual voodoo doll-set with me; I could recreate a small Buddhist monk, preferably the one at the counter downstairs, and I would stick that needle right through. Ha! See if that would get him talking.
Instead, I went down the kitchen, to take my first harmonious lunch with the other people who were on this weekend to find peace. I saw one of the monks throwing some green vegetables into a massive wok, and I took place at the table. The seats were so hard that my bum instantly protested, and I longingly thought back of the comfy director’s chair in my room back home. I had kept it after a production, and surprisingly enough it had turned out to be my closest companion, chair-wise.
Anyway, as I was thinking all this, waiting for the lunch, the woman next to me tried to strike up a conversation. Napkins and a pen were used to communicate, and as soon as she found out I was Dutch she wrote down: “?”. Apparently, she had never heard of the country, and it was only after I had drawn a miserable version of the Dutch flag on the napkin, that her suspicion lowered.
The rest of the day was passed in silence and meditation. I was not allowed to see Boris. He is locked up with the other Buddhist cats. I am just about on the verge of killing someone.

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