Summer guests.

 

Sometimes, when it’s really hot, strenuously hot, like right now with these 36 degrees Celsius (or 98 degrees Fahrenheit), I really don’t care for company. I like to suffer by myself, indulge in cold lemonade, refresh it with ice cubes every thirty seconds, these things melt in no time, like zero point nothing seconds, and try to read more than one sentence at a time, as War and Peace might refresh you with all these scenes in snowy Russia, but it wears you down with its obsessive joy for details, Tolstoy could never just let the little things go, the heavy lifting of these 1,200 pages, the one thousand and two hundred pages the details took to be described on, really kill you. Preoccupied with all these activities, I really don’t care for entertaining anybody else but me, I mean it, and please do take this hint: don’t ever come over for a drink! However, there are exceptions to this my summer rule: birds, dragonflies and bumble bees. They are the only houseguests I appreciate this time of year. They help themselves with drinks and food, nectar, pollen or whatever they are having, they don’t ask for the latest gossip or a reflection on the latest political events, they just tweet, fly about and hum, softly, pleasantly, and ever so soothingly.

Two drifters off to see the world.

There’s no film more stylish than Breakfast at Tiffany’s, obviously because of Audrey Hepburn’s glorious looks, she’s always dressed head to toe in Givenchy, but Manhattan in general and her apartment in particular are quite stylish, too, the latter not really furnished, but it had some well-chosen, quite exceptional neighbours—some kept handsome author and a Japanese photographer into intimate portraits—and most importantly, a cat called cat. Cats, to me, are the ultimate accessory. They never bother, except when they’re hungry, they take great care of their fur, they sleep a lot, they go for walks on their own, they’re quite independent, actually, they’re totally aloof which has always been a signature characteristic of interesting people if you ask me, and they never cease to surprise you, sometimes they wake you up at four a.m. and bring a dead mole instead of the usual dead mouse. My favourite attribute, however, is when they visit you during tea time, they lie next to you, ever so nonchalant, and make you forget about your book, and while you sip your tea swooning over them, they have a snack of their own: some blades of grass that make your sandwich look quite dull. I’ve told you, nothing more stylish than a cat.