The hat of Eleonore

At 9.35 pm on Sunday I was climbing the unpleasant uphill leading to the main road of Muswell Hill and was thinking of what to tell you tonight. I had been sat in my desk, at my room, from 3 pm till that time working and wanted so badly a beer…  .

So I was thinking of telling you that I had nothing to tell you. I spend the Sunday morning playing soccer or football, football, people say football again here, and that I am growing old. Still, I have tremendous resistance, but the grass was muddy and I slide, more than run. It was a beautiful morning over London, only apt for those who did not do terrible things last night and could get up. Sunny, sunny London. You know, sun in London is like winning the lottery.  About 1pm it started to rain.

I had my lunch in a place that tasted nice, across Highgate tube station. And the rain continued. I had to finish my 3-month report and that was a pain in the back, plus an actual pain from the soccer, I mean, the football. The afternoon was made to sit next to the fire, you know, that place where the fox hunters get drunk themselves, and keep reading Vargas Llosa: Conversacion en la Catedral; it is a fantastic novel, I am enjoying it, magnificent, tremendous. But I had to write, I mean, finish writing the fucking report.

And I was about to tell you that I have nothing to tell you. But an Irish band was playing in the pub and had supper and was nice. And then, a very strange and all fucked-up woman came to me, sat down next to me and sparked a conversation. So fucked-up. It turned out to be a prostitute… A prostitute, what do you think? Sunday night, the whole day by myself, the whole weekend by myself, working on the fucking report (what for?) and a lonely prostitute, an all-fucked up one, came to me. Eleonore was his name, she told me. Right, right, Eleonore Rigby, perhaps… And that’s it. I am home now. She was expelled from the place. She is having a busy day tomorrow, she is in charity, Eleonore told me, can you believe it?...

H. is leaving tomorrow to Australia… I am on my own. Bertie, the cat, and I.

That’s all I have to tell you. Going to sleep. Need to wake up earlier tomorrow, about 5.45 am I think should be enough. God bless you, my friend… Yep, had three pints, yep… .

Still, who is going to take care of Eleonore?

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