Cockroaches. The ugly, disgusting, brown ones, which are wandering around my kitchen and my subconsciousness. . The ones not even my bloody Tomcat kills. And he literally kills any small moving creatures around. Well, hunts, plays with…
Any respectable neighbourhood in Dubai has its roaches. Bigger ones in Meadows, or Springs, or JLT. Reasonable ones in Tecom. And smelling-impaired ones in International City – because of the sewage treatment plant, of course. I bet 100 Dhs they’re smelling-impaired. No sane creature would willingly choose to live there. Les connaîsseurs savent!
Today, my Tecom roaches expressed their appreciation for my cooking skills by getting out alive and walking from the microwave, on the plate I was heating my famous chicken stew on. And I was sooooo hungry! I finished by having several gin tonics. There must be some calories in the gin tonic, right? Eventually, the scientists must know that: roaches are immune to my hatred and the waves in the microwave. Someone let them know, I’m enjoying my gin. And Bob Dylan!
One man! Who’s not THE MAN. It’s just one man you end up letting under your skin, though he might not have wanted to get there in the first place. And there’s nothing else you can think about. Ok, you’re right, there are millions of things to think about, and you have a job and you should really let the guys at work be sure you’re thinking exclusively about the business problems. (I think I’m hungry!) Focus, Clara! One man! His blue eyes, and his arms, and his back and all the silence between the words. What words? There were no words! He said something about a croissant. I didn’t say anything. And days go by, and problems in the office aren’t getting any less, and roaches are tasting your dinner – in the microwave, has anybody informed those scientists?!!, and this is the craziest music compilation I’ve ever listened to : B. B. King, Snoop Doggy Dog, Boyzone, Bob Dylan and now Edith Piaf. Oh, what do you know, I stopped for a second to think about The Man. Does this mean monoideism is curable? I’m kidding. Let’s talk about…
Weekends… Hm, I’ve already talked about them! (check the other chapters!)
Belgian Beer Café, in Grand Millenium, Tecom. Wonderful pub! Spent many nice afternoons there, with Lara. And Tecom is full of hotels, consequently pubs. We like to go to Belgian Beer Café. I like to go there. Because of my monoideism. That’s what we’re talking about, remember? Having gone to one pub, and continuing to go there because it’s cosy, because you know how the tables are arranged, and the plasma TVs, and the beer, and the rib eye, and the conversations are witty…
Lara: ‘So? How was he?’
What can you say about a man you know almost nothing about? And everything at the same time? There are at least three shades of grey in his blue eyes. That would be the most important thing. Then he is a man of very, very few words. Mostly onomatopoeia. Bear sounds when squat holding. Lion sounds when… Do lions like croissants? I bet they do! If roaches like my chicken stew…
Monoideism – a state of prolonged absorption in a single idea:
Above and Beyond.
Alice in Wonderland.