Stories of people

Let's write this quickly and do some work for a bit.

Eggs Benedict Royal, a couple of brown toast and a cup of black coffee in a lively cafeteria feels like a redemption on Saturday morning. Sometimes I do it. Got The Guardian, place the newspaper in the plastic cover, take a look at the adverts and read the magazine. Always remember the Seinfeld's gig: napkins should be available with the paper -you get your hands all dirty from carrying the newspaper.

The stories of the magazine are nice and interesting. Perhaps, it is also because the combination of a good sleep and the food.

I take a look at Bettina von Kameke's photographs from the Wormwood Scrubs -no longer in exhibition in London, I am afraid-, capturing the rooms of some inmates. Got quite surprised of how much neat and tidy they look like, how much colorful, lively, cozy, if you please. A proof that evil is an array of colors, contradictory and shocking. The rooms show men striving to fly in as much high sky as they can, a short one, in any way. The barriers shall only be pushed away into the open space by a woman's company.

I take a look then at the mature words of Rebecca Adlington and the story of her parent's sacrifice, told in a very brief, Q&A section. Then, the unbelievable story -literally- of Dipendra Rathore when working as a naval officer in training and being kidnapped by pirates off the coast of Oman, and kept in captivity for 238 days in Somalia.

Finally, the weekly interview by Simon Hattenstone: Danny Baker. Indeed, a terrible, great story.

Now that movies do not tell stories anymore, I am sure that times are ripen for stories. People would love a good, true tale... It is a business, I am positive about it, if you can just find the way. And the lives of people around flows as an undepleting source of inspiration.

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