mercoledì 23 luglio 2014

From Cyprus with love

According to my google account, I've recently been to Cyprus, precisely in Limassol, where I lost everything including my passport and after heading to the Italian embassy, I've promptly decided to email all my contacts begging for the precise sum of 1200 euros.

I received straight away a lot of messages: some worried about my Cyprian cast away, some warning me of phishing, hacking and other amenities, some making jokes... Mrs B. instinctively texted to Cristiana her fist thought: That bastard, what is he doing in Cyprus?, before realising it was a spam email.

OK then: I changed my password as Mr Google suggested, making a couple of steps more to secure my account and my safety. Now I am wondering after this false alarm if, in case of need, I would be helped, assisted and financed for a second time, as my friends consideration seems to suggest.
Getting twice the same regard would be too much love and as you know you can only ask once (at least according to Aesopian fairy tale moralism).
We also do not live in a second chance society (this is a bit more City ethos).  But all that scrupulous attention made my day.

Eventually I discovered that the phishing (a camouflage so to speak) came from a **** account of mine (which I never created).
I finally visited Brinkworth. 
K. gave me access to the studio in a hot and sunny Saturday afternoon, letting me wear an Elton John jacket bought in an auction, a slightly un-noticeable peace by Gianni Versace. More a candelabra than a candle in the wind.

I went out envying that feedom of working alone in a huge studio, uncrowded, silent and vaguely conspiratorial.
Discovered how much I like Eric Ambler novels, old fashioned but not at all twee as Dame Christie's, undoubtedly Hitchcock ante (post) litteram, and despite the pre-war settings still with a contemporary freshness, which does not lies in the plot itself but more in some clever statements, as The Mask of Dimitrios opening lines:

A Frenchman named Chamfort, who should have known better, once said that chance was a nickname for Providence.
It is one of those convenient, question-begging aphorisms coined to discredit the unpleasant truth that chance plays an important, if not predominant, part in human affairs. Yet it was not entirely inexcusable. Inevitably, chance does occasionally operate with a sort of fumbling coherence readily mistakable for the workings of a self-conscious Providence.

Great! A bit Wodehouse, truly British understament.

This post is a cover up... my mind is somewhere else, feeling powerless, surrounded by too many comments, opinions and statements, and the silence is the only weapon my timidity could arm.

But with no doubt I stand for Palestine.


Nessun commento:

Posta un commento