Today was remarkably cold and wet and windy. I took myself for a walk along the beach, buffeted against the wind. There were no kite surfers, nor wind surfers. It reminded me of Southsea. It smelled of Southsea. Wet sand. The wind was so ferocious that it blew the sand around and about us. The water had made its way so far up the beach that a debris remained of plastic bottles and plastic bags, odd shoes and part of a railing that had somehow disentangled itself from its home and had been hurled along the water, so that it now rested at right angles to a wooden beach hut. The municipality had engaged its workers in establishing sand dunes along the paths that led away from the beach to the beach-side cafes to prevent sea water from breaching land and flooding them out, as it did in a terrible storm last year. I don't think that the storm did so much damage this year but it was impossible to walk along the boardwalk, so high and blistering were the waves that bashed themselves over the walls. It was quite something to see.
Now I just have to contend with cat who has been caterwauling (literally) for the past two days. I tried to go to sleep last night, worrying about whether he was stuck somewhere, his shrieks so piercing and awoke at 3.00am only to hear him continuing his shrill. I had got up earlier, around midnight and dressed myself again, so concerned was I that this animal was somehow in terrible danger. The winds were howling around the building, so I stepped into my Uggs, over my pijamas, together with hoodie and scarf and jacket and made my way downstairs.
I thought that I would try and disinter cat from whatever it was that was ailing him. Nothing. No cat. Just the wind blowing through the steel sidings that have been erected by Mahmoud and Ali and Yosef next door, where they have recommenced the building works. I made my way back to bed and slept late while cat reappeared and recommenced his shrills. Making my way out this morning, somewhat disheleved and bleary-eyed, cat was sitting on the stone steps. He eyed me while I eyed him and started his song again. He appeared quite fat and well. A striped tabby with piercing green eyes. I'm beginning to dislike him because he believes that we all want to hear his song. He's no Sinatra. Later on I saw him dangling on the high wall to the house next door, tail wagging, kissing a ginger feline. If he wakes me up tonight...
And then back to Zach. I had waited months before I posted yesterday, in the belief that it's better not to write anything good, just in case that something bad would happen. I suppose that's called reverse superstition, or something. It's like the two-steps forward, one-step back. Only here it's maybe one-step forward and two-steps back.
All the time that Zach had been away, communication was always difficult. He's not the greatest with technology, having buried countless pcs over the years - usually ones that I passed on to him and even one that I had (foolishly) paid off for so that he would be able to at least send emails. Recently he had been reliant on other people or internet shops. Our messages would be short, if they were sent, or nothing at all. We could speak by phone (expensive) but he was unable to receive text messages (infuriating.) This was rectified two weeks ago when he purchased a new pc. Emails! Skype! Messaging! How marvelous it all was. Ah, but that doesn't take into consideration the frailties of the human: water.
Thus fear entered the soul and who knows what fall-out will ensue. Hopefully nothing. But keep reading.
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