I am writing this in a club toilet.
The bowl is cracked, and graffiti covers every filthy wall, even if it discusses classical text and the history of Germany. The cistern hasn’t got any water in, only more confetti and party string.
In recent weeks I have realised how you only see a tiny fraction of Nadada in these blogs. Admittedly there is a lot less admin than I was expecting from The Kandinsky. No need for health and safety information out here, and all the money gets paid into my account for the return to the mainland. If you ask to see the accounts, the payroll staff open up a large glass casserole dish, a haddock floating inside, and say that those who wait around long enough can find out anything they want. I’ve no idea if this is a joke or not.
Its raining. We've come all this way to Nadada, and we have to stay inside like on a damp Sunday afternoon.
This is not a light drizzle solved with waterproofs or an umbrella. Some of these raindrops can saturate your clothes in one drop. Get two that size in a row and you will get washed away to a tree full of lobsters wearing tutus.
Back on The Kandinsky. I have a gig booked in for tomorrow night in the city, and then the next morning we are off. I swear I will live up to my promise of exploring Lorenzo before we go. But today The Butter Mouse and I are chilling in our cabin, watching television. The world outside is too much today. I am sure Lisa would not be happy with this decision.