encounters in coimbra.

 FRIDAY 18th MAY.

so i find a working telephone – eventually – and ring Joao from cais da gaia, tmoro at midday is fine, and off i trot to bed on the beach – 

but !! where are my trousers?? i realise i ve left them on the fence at praia madalene – so its only a 20 km cycle, pretty at night, the rocks looming large in the darklight, newmoon, and my trousers are still there, phew, looking a bit worse for wear –
i sleep near the nature rerserve, there is no-one around for miles, but the dogs go off again, fucksake, their barks bouncing and echoing along the estuary. and mosquitoes… i sleep fitfully and when i wake up at 0615 and its bright already i know its time to pack up and move on – but it was pretty, lying in the tall grasses, with flowery succulent growing nearby, the silhouettes of the seedheads dancing in the wind – in the morning i have my coffee, lock my bike up – i cant manage to lock the wheels, its such a gamble, leaving the bike alone for a day and a night –
and climb the steps to Sao Bento station –
bento box, heh –
art, what do i know about art?
and pleasure?
girls with ladybird bags, children who sing, kettles that mewl, jeronimo perez, the guy on the same train again!!! but this time doesnt see me – deleting sdome photos to make way for new ones – pampilhosa, mogofores -. the trees at ademia ?  

SATURDAY 19th MAY:

i went to bed early last night, after being up at 0615, alone, a whole bed to myself, a real bed, this man is a gentleman, asleep almost instantly. up around 0900, he doesnt snore but i wake him up around 1100 with good things, we do our things, clothes washed, on the line, i play the guitar, no rain, not like the downpour last night, my god, i couldnt even see past the windscreen, fog, but then we were above the cloud or so it seemed –
i am thinking, today, about being the irish reperesentative for Encontros Internacionais de Arte Coimbra, getting Brushwood Studios involved, who else, maybe London, although Joao sounded a little disapproving of street art and and I dont know more classical artists in London – or do I? 
his mother was upset, Iris was worried, I d like to meet her for a coffee but my fate is sealed – or lies elsewhere – or is just me, plodding along – he s nuts, she says about her father, he doesnt mean to cheat, but – gosh, suddenly i feel like i m creating problems – bad news – staying in a hotel such as i was meant to be – oh, but you re much nicer than his other girlfriend s, says Iris – 
but i really thought it would be all of us at the house, instead its just 2 and a guitar and a fire that wont light – i dont even sing well and i know he notices but we have a laugh over current events song – 
Danse Macabre, cheese on toast, yes because Symphonie Fantastique was Berlioz, no? ah if only i had known. pastels dont have to be light, they can be bold. light saturation, drenched in the stuff, a haystack soaked by the presence of all colour, is that the impression?or which dimension does it manifest in, i guess. where was the hubris? where was the haybarn? was it in cavan? why can i not remember any more than Cowboys workshop and a moment, in addition? the evening. the chat with Rhiannon and Kieran. the exercise with… that we took too long to complete, they thought we were lost – playing cards, scattered, burnt –