It was the longest day, so I guess now it’s the shortest night – or maybe that was last night, or maybe they’re both the same.
And I can’t sleep. It’s a hot sticky night in Berlin, and there’s a bar just along the street with loads of noisy young folk outside. So I got up again to read a bit, and of course, got dragged into ‘just checking my mail.’ Now I’m here. At just gone 2 o’clock. I like the word o’clock. It’s so not-of-2005. Nobody would invent that sort of word now, would they?
Anyway, I’m going back to my book, so I’ll leave you with a photo of my street at 2 o’clock on (possibly) the shortest night. (I’m reading A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, by the way. I bought it last October in London when I was with Mark and he picked it up and said, “this looks good.” I was hunting for an extra book to fall into the store’s 5-for-4 marketing trap anyway, so I bought it. Just a couple of weeks ago Mark said “I’ve just read that James Frey book, it’s great.” So I got it off the shelf and got stuck in. If Mark tells me to stick my hand in the fire… well, I’m buggered.)