Oh, when the 'stache...

The return.  Another whirlwind, in which the luck of the road caught up with you a bit.  Tiring connections, loud-mouthed children, too-long plays, unfortunate Spurs comeback, terrible drunken walking tour through the Village, overpriced shave, sold out jazz, disappointing travelzoo restaurant, lack of salsa dancing ability...  But the live television shows were an experience, the curious incident spectacular, plus the chance to glimpse the inside of Ed Sullivan's theatre and so on, as a legend nears retirement.  But it is a city that has lost its appeal for me a little, and the recent appreciation of its dollar not helping.  The bustling of the chase within the concrete buildings has such limited appeal.  And so you dream of the outdoors, and rain...  and of 50 mcnuggets for the Feast of All Fools.

Inflection Points

At first it was Antigua.  That failed as a result of the fickle nature and impeccable timing of the client’s at times infuriating opposite numbers.  You might have been able to swing it just the same, but difficult without questions being raised.  Even so, skipping out on it was a mistake.  Not exaggerating too much to suggest it could have cost you your life on the Cable Wharf, had you hit your head or the water been that much colder in preventing the rope-assisted exit.  Or an incident along the roadway, drenched as you were.
 
Those moments spurred the current circumstances, led indirectly to a trip down Wembley way and some summer odysseying around Nova Scotia.  Was there another trip in between?  Other than old St. John’s and another turn through the Emirates?  I think not.  I think rather it was the cruise, no large trips but for a’ that.  Except of course the grandest jaunt through Brazil, you fool.  Ah yes, that.  2014 was one for the ages, all told.  Funny how distant it already seems. 

But back to the cruise, wonderful it was, full of warmth and ocean views and love poetry and onesies and so on.  Sorrrrriiiiiiieeee for the ongoing ineptitude, the inability to be just that tad bit more honest, and wondering about it.  Whether it is time for a fresh start just to skirt the point another time?  It is a thought that lingers.  It is a thought that hides out, and emerges in the depths of drunken depravity, as at that old room of the Marathea booking.  Or the banter with potential new recruits, and colleagues old.  Perhaps this weekend will represent a turning.

Funny, how you end up arriving.  The Hip put on a tour, they are a favoured band, the venue in Halifax seems stale, the Moncton tickets on sale a day later than the Beacon, and so a Christmas idea wrapped up in a Broadway trip and laid out just as you like.  And you begin to wonder just how long it has been since you have been here, and walked the streets. 

A conference, like this one, come to think of it.  The carbon markets analysis in March 2010, that gave you the chance to see Send in the Clowns, and have the streets make you feel brand new.  Plus the effort to pop through to see the random Mexican, and Homi as well, amidst the Ireland experiment.  (Was that the last you saw of him?  No, it pre-dated Rio to Buenos, and thus was a precursor to it.  But that would have been it.) 

So, there have been those flights through, but no exploration.  Nothing outstandingly memorable, no high drama or storied comedy for the ages in this city for so long.  Which leads back to the Hip.  And then an interfering conference in London.  And then the decision to postpone and not take a chance on the possibility of missed connections and the intervening whim of the weather gods.

So a new idea.  Legaltech.  The partnership criteria and the efforts to tick the boxes of an annual business and strategic plan.  The chance to spend some of the professional development cash.  A still willing companion.  Hesitation and fence-sitting.  Doubts and scepticism.  The decision to decline.  More work-related anxiety and last minute scrambling over the highly confidential and poorly understood plans.

And then the call.  Placement on Paul’s Gold List.  The waiting for the guest announcement.  Confirmation of the possibility to switch and see Pat Sajak’s best friend on another countless guest appearance – but one of his last. To see the end of an era.  But also with tickets to other spectacles.  The favourite Super Bowl star of old on his new morning show.  A favourite actor in an epically long play to stir the soul about thoughts of hope and its loss, and tomorrow.  Reconnecting with an old friend and a special North London Derby at the Blind Pig and even the chance of a return to the garden.  Or a helicopter ride.  Or …

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to New York-LaGuardia.  The time is 2:52PM.”

Indeed.  To be continued.  Time to get yourself right back into the city, grab a cocktail, and remember.  Then you can summarize the ridiculousness of the past week, as you planned and waited and replanned and worried and were foolish and then unstuck and now – of a sudden, and with the sun shining gorgeously and blindingly – here. 

Such a wonderful word.  Here.