接下來的幾週，我都會發表上個週末的日記。Isle of Wight是英國最南端的小島。英國雖然是個島嶼，但很少人會將它和海邊連上關係。英國周圍的海太冷了，冷得無法游泳。可是Isle of Wight不同 － 它就像是英國人的布吉島。在這個島上，有幾個長長的海灘，你可以玩水上活動，你可以在幼滑的沙子上追逐，你可以在碼頭遊樂場玩個盡興。海邊有一間又一間的餐廳和旅館，還有很多很多售賣雪糕的冰淇淋。你能相信這樣的情境嗎，在又冷又濕的英國裡，竟然存在這般充滿陽光氣息的地方。
只不過，那都是夏天的情境。冬天，好漫長、好寂寞。
20.09.2013 19.45
I was quivering as I got on the ferry. No rain, no storm, no snow. It was just cold, as a typical British everning should be. Relentless chilly wind repressed my joy of seeing the sea again - it seemed so long ago that I could hardly conjure up the image of hot sand rolling and swirling under warm summer breezes.
I love the sea, just as how everyone loves Christmas. Nonetheless, the ferry, the hour-long voyage, the freezing gusts of wind slapping on my cheeks... all stirred up turmoils in my stomache. Sea breezes are like black pepper: a small spoonful lightens up the taste, but too much causes people to choke.
Wind became gentle, some ten minutes into the voyage. The ferry was slow enough that my hands wouldn't shake writing. I feel like floating on the water, allowing the currents lead me to my destiny. My shoulder and eyelids dropped uncontrollably. I didn't stop myself, because every moment of sleep might open another chance of good dream. It's just interesting that whenever I open my eyes again, the sky had become a different shade. First it was pale blue, then I saw hints of purple; and later, blue-grey. I always wonder: how does the painter up there mix so many shapes of colour? We, ordinary people, can never imitate the real colour of the sky. If I say, that blue-grey is the colour of tiles in a cold damp toilet, no one will believe such disgusting nonsense.
There were so many people in the ferry. Byron once wrote, "274 people with blue lips and dancing hair were tring to convince themselves... they couldn't be cold." I smiled, from the bottom of my heart. The sun wasn't shining; there were no excuses to deny the night when you have seen the moon gently glittering. And do it was cold, undoubtedly cold. People on the ferry shivered, trembled, shaked. Some were holding a cold beer - to keep warm perhaps; some kept wandering on the deck with their giant black dogs. For a moment, I thought I was in the freest prison in the world. We are all stuck in the middle of a blue nowhere. How pathetic.
22:35
It's not often that I stare at the open sea at night. And it has never been like this. With no kids, no sandcastle, but only empty footprints in the sand that belong to people who are no longer here.
Tonight, my sea is aggressive. Yes, this is the word. The sssss sound is so strong that it disturbs the peace in my mind. If I have been closing my eyes, I would not see a still picture like what lies in front of me. When I artificial a complete darkness, blankness, a roaring blue army charges at me. Rrrrrshshshshsh, rawwwwww. The are coming in turns, a team after the other: the footsoldiers, the officers with spears, the horsemen in silver armours, and lastly, comes the king himself. Roar. He gives a destroying sound. I can see trees falling, walls collapsing, people dying terrified.
And then they retreat, slightly, giving the people a moment of quietness. For a second, I really think this would be the end. I think, the sea is leaving me. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Time to sleep?
But no. Hear my boy, it's back! Crash! It proudly announces its return. Again and again, the army goes forth and back, disturbing my thoughts and disrbing my solitude. Harr. Shwaaa, it exclaims.
Here comes a cat, staring out to the indigo ocean like me. Tell me, kitten, what do you sea? This time, shut your ears and just gaze at the blueness deeper than her stone-washed jeans. The sea so tranquil , at that very far edge, the patch of white where the white lady sees her reflection. It is only horribly aggressive when you stand near. Perhaps it's saying, I am untouchable.
But a sea is not a sea withouth its rahrrr. My sea is beaming, singing, ringing, shwinging, booooring, rushwaeeeeeeeing.
然後怎樣 － 陳奕迅
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qquxLNE_Gws
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