ECHO 11/12/05

Bristol – cold nighttime air burning into us as we work our way out of a dark place and into one where time is held amid the rusty iron railings and balcony decorations – the resident wino stands outside the hotel with a cloth cap and earphones playing some ‘80s pop – two beautiful skinful slivers together in bed side by side (newlyweds?) as the sun rises on a crisp, clear winters day – the residents move about eyeing each other in the breakfast room, the hubbub of self-service and steamy cups of tea and coffee: two young Spanish students look bewildered, a middle aged man and wife with their twenty-something son who is planning/organizing the day for them all (a visit here, a tea there, another visit over there etc etc) – a city mix of disparate folk which we had all but forgotten – I watch a silent couple in the corner who refuse to look at each other across the table and I wonder: what if when he gets up to make his toast round the corner at the counter, she ups and leaves without a word? What if it happened to me? What would I think? What would I believe had occurred? A kidnapping or abduction? A desertion? Or else a delusion so perfect that I had actually led myself to believe a relationship had existed up to that point when in fact all the time I had been alone – an adult version of an imaginary friend? Sanity at a standstill! Then the seeking for clues, running through the corridors of the hotels asking the chambermaids, the porters, the receptionists all of whom shake their heads pitifully at you and show you ledgers signed by a single person.