Friday. Listening to the ‘Metroland’ soundtrack, by Mark Knopfler. Highly urbaneque, takes me straight back to a Copenhagen of my youth. Specifically, dark and brooding settings; taverns with heavy-set English furniture, exiting out into a dusky grey and raining street. Or too sharp streetlight, yellowish, oh, and the steamy hot air escaping the s-train vent holes, I found that incredibly compelling. I recall at one time joining the capital from a lengthy bus-ride to find my room in completely disarray, as one Mark Rainsford, whom I had invited to stay in case he once more found difficulties in living this his wife, had made full use of my hospitality. Make-shift filled-to-the-brim ash-trays everywhere, an odor of tobacco and pot lingering, chairs turned over, what a mess. They divorced soon afterwards and I’m sorry to say I don’t know of his whereabouts today. Hope he hasn’t taken his own life, he was such a distraught man. Taught me one or two things, though mainly of how not to act – yet worth my while, those lessons. As sore a looser as any I ever came across. I do miss our talks. ~~~ Tomorrow Saturday. Work lined up, much of it. Am hoping for a quiet day.