I wake up at three in the morning, Maxime is crying. I prepare his milk bottle, hand him over to his mum and lie on the sofa in his room to get back to sleep quickly. But it doesn’t happen and I lie half awake until four. At five thirty the alarm rings and I get up, shave, take a shower, put on my suit and hop into a taxi to the airport. I meet my colleagues at Tegel and we fly to London together.
At Heathrow, we share a taxi to get to the City. Rush hour in London. It takes us ages to get near Liverpool Street Station (why didn’t we take the express train?) and on our way our driver nearly gets into a fight with a van driver who happened to bump into us. The van driver knocks off our taxi’s left side mirror on purpose a few minutes later. A pro obviously. Fairly exhausted, we arrive at our partners‘ place one hour late after having paid our driver a hundred quid.
The company sits in a massive building, which looks like it belongs to Citizen Kane, bless his poor soul. We have already been filmed by security cameras at the airport, then in the taxi, and now Big Brother is watching us in here, too. The security measures applied in this building are simply plain paranoid. No wonder secret services are spying on us online, too. They are scared but I don’t really understand of why or of what. In here, I feel like I’ve entered a very elegant neocon Ford Knox. As we are late, our hosts have to rush us through the agenda and I leave in the afternoon without having had lunch to catch my plane back to big B. I also haven’t found the time to go see my sister in Camden who will have her baby in two weeks. There’s something wrong with the tube signaling system and I have to read the direction of the trains off their front face. I squint because if forgot to put in my contacts in the morning.
The City’s people look exhausted. Everywhere you go, people seem to be dead tired and walk, stand and sit around numbly, nodding off whenever they can, i.e. on the tube. Their anonymous gazing, as if they were looking into some void, reminds me of tired visages of the people of Paris. Especially the folks who don’t seem to be too well off look worn out. Capitalism taking its toll.
I arrive just in time at Heathrow and fly back to Berlin tired and utterly bored. I take another taxi and get one of those younger drivers who just don’t give a shit and speed you home guaranteeing you a few near-death visions on your ride. I would like to pipe up and tell the man to take it easy but I’m just too tired and can’t be bothered.
So how was your day.