"Thursdays are usually really good in Nancy's..."

How many times must I go back and forth over this cursed, pre-booked trip to London?  She's fat, she's thin, she's fat, she's thin... just make a decision and get over it, eh?  And so you do, and despite the logic of postponement, this has to be the right call for posterity.  If we have only an average of 29,000 days, best to spend as many of them in London as possible, surely.  The idea of getting on that plane is too compelling, and a necessary tonic to conquer the restlessness and boredom.  All it takes is a brief conversation that should happen momentarily to at least get the ball rolling, and then complete the necessary memo that is easily done given such motivation.  Hurricane Sandy also seems as though it will be accommodating by Halloween's Eve, even as it presents another unnecessary wrinkle I could do without.  But just get to the Thames and go from there, my friend. 

Starting with Simon Russell Beale in a new Shakespearean play not yet seen, there is a lot of "new" that can be crossed off the list in the coming days.  Old Trafford, Anfield, Stamford Bridge... plus the matter of the US presidential election to be watched once again abroad, and this time by the Thames which has held its unique ties since the initial Bush/Gore Guinness bet.  Add the chance to fest Guy Fawkes properly in Lewes amid the bonfires as well. 

Despite all that proper newness, maybe the clincher is the chance to return to Nancy Blake's, and see about stoking a fire that may not yet have gone out.  At least it doesn't seem to have to this point.  Returns to the Apollo and the Emirates also offer siren calls of their own.  Every path leading toward the same conclusion, which you have tried to bolster in your mind and confidence all day with various emails, messages, and conversations.  It makes tomorrow afternoon's last encounter with L. all the more enticing as a warm-up, and the chance to send a proper message to K. to keep whatever hope that remains there alive as well.

You cannot waste any more time like yesterday.  So here it goes, I guess...

10 minutes...

...being the countdown to an early departure for one of the last few sails of the year.  An unexpected birthday celebration at that.  A rather hilarious coincidence, nothing more, any occasion to share the enjoyment of the Harbour is a good one.  Last night alone, remember the intertwining of the halyards, the retreat to McNab's for rescue, the possibility of failure in being able to scale the mast, and the laughter/exultation at the ease of success.  Oh my.  What a beautiful memory, as Nick would surely say. 

Strange days, this unhectic waiting for word on the upcoming application, with work otherwise eerily quiet.  Now Z putting some doubt into the upcoming London trip, which might be for the best in any event.  Time to think on it on the open water, with beer in hand and wind on the face.  What better escape from the tedium of catch phrases of the presentation today - empowerment, core differentiators, new truths, wow factors, holistic integrated catalysts quarterbacked by the architect and leveraged according to the quality controlled protocol (if you can only imagine)... Hahaha.  Enjoy it man.  Suck in the freedom and save it in the soul until the end of May 2013.  What dreams may have arisen by then, eh?

The 10 minutes have become 18.  Vamos.

Damp Yellow

A first postscript - how high must your head have been to have left those cushions out?  oh hilarity and absentmindedness, you beauties.  Add to that a stunningly abrupt ineptness on the phone.  Such a fool thou art.  Never the forte.  Remember the Clegg connection.  Must try and find the veiled reference to that within...  And yet, and yet.  A little under 48 hours or so, at one of ye olde Halifax favorites.  Imagine that, a chance.  Make of it what you will.  Surely across an ocean somewhere, Anna's thumbs will be held...


...And the uncles and eggplant proved good, a proper walk home and everything, although an aborted potential Saturday following a hectic day of sailing and first dip in the condo pool for the 6 week old.  A bit of a shambles but understandable.  I did like looking up and seeing the familiar Princely book on the back shelf, somethings remain.  We now wait to see what might become of election day.  Who can say?  In the mean time, the need to get out on the water more crucial than ever given the fading embers of the season.  Manana?  With a goal of sending the lady home drunkenly to cook for her papa?  Perchance. 

Now to the AGM of 1 Prince in this increasingly bizarre world of events.  Canada gets shelled by Honduras to leave us without hope, while we wait in hope for an Obama comeback.  Come what may.  Let's at least hope the random Claire sees fit to trust in fate and voyage over to middle England for some randomness... 

As the past morphs into the bright unknown future once more.

AK's Two Hundred and Seventeenth...

(from 10/05, circa 8PM, on board the SC)

The quiet of the night...  Another lost draw chez Todd...  The inscrutable J. Gray... Awaiting now more ridiculousness with Thammer and his desire for "sealing"...

How I love his use of that expression.

Trying to get over the pain of loss in missing out on the Taj.  Next Winter, perhaps, in the deep dark cold.  Or this time next year.  Who can say, at this point?  It is a mystery.

For now, on the Southern Cross, waiting, and alas the lack of wind... But perhaps tomorrow... There are only so many days...

There is something about anniversaries, the temporal aspect of them. Being in the same place, the exact same physical location, yet at different "times".  And the birthday of one Alexander Keith always stands out as one of those markers.  How many other days do you have t-shirts for, that show in stark terms the years gone by?

So many days removed from 210.  And here now when you can see the past in front of you, the group of drunken guys in matching red shirts, different people, but doing the same as you did as you in your "younger days" (ah Wasaga beach) in a real sense.  In a way, the observations are akin to those of a time traveler who can't change the past...

We wait to see what will happen this night. The NSP consent received, miraculously, by BB at Stayner's. The boat tied up but floating sweetly, the extra Keith's in the ice box, and the CD of songs not taken. I would not have predicted this 3 hours or so of self-reflection, set alight by the Nicaragua . But have at it. There shall be more. Proper thing, baby, proper thing...

---

(from 10/09, circa 1PM, overlooking the harbour from the more usual view)

A few days later, still reflecting on what did happen next after those words.  As the night rolled on to an at-first quiet bit of celebration on Treasure Isle before proceeding along the waterfront, and then an inspired turn toward the Guinness.  Yes, on perhaps the most glorious of AK celebrations of them all, once the clock struck midnight it was time for a return to Arthur's brew.  And how timely.  As if orchestrated in advance, there was the open table, the Trinidadian wingman, the Jordanian dancer, and some Hollis street foolishness before a wait outside Venus, a trip to the SC cabin and then short cab ride to the end of Barrington.  If you are confused...  ah me, oh my. 

In terms of the magic and randomness that is so treasured, a night and leisurely morning to live on in the memory.  The very opposite of boring, K.  Still sorting it all out after a predictably relaxing and enjoyable Thanksgiving back at 207, and following the flip of a coin for the timing of the call, etc.  Wondering where it might lead this week and next.  If it is sustainable.  And if the answer is no, as the killers sing, can I change your mind...  

Also thrown into the mix over the weekend is the confirmation of the return to London before the end of 2012, as foreseen, but without - at least to this point - having resolved anything in terms of having new folk at hand to stroll the Thames with.  But Old Trafford looks a go, and flirtations with Z should be interesting at least.  There is Guy Fawkes and the Election, plus the possibility of Limerick, and at least it provides a three week window or so to focus on organizing things and getting stuck into the treadmill and pool, etc. rather than the indulgence of summer. 

We shall see, of course.  The important thing is to look back on this post during future Oct. 5ths and smile and smile at such unexplainable good times.  With the benefit of a hindsight that has not yet been invented at that.  Not for the first time, I wonder...