Flawless

Funny - truly, the only word for it - how time unfolds, how events lead down certain paths, toward certain outcomes, inevitable in the most circuitous and unpredictable of ways.

Our Indian man from the Gem(s) Centre has left to get the machine, providing a window of 10 minutes to consider.  Remember how the heart beat just a little bit faster at that thought, on this 50th anniversary of the Black Tot.

Remember turning down the larger stone, partly due to price but also partly due to overall sentiment.  Not to be overly grand, and justified in the way that the chosen ring is shaped like the sun’s shining morning face.  Limited negotiation, as it should be a good day for those lads too.  This is a moment that comes just once in your life, or so is the hope.  So why not Stone Town.  Beside Freddie Mercury’s house.  Bantering with the Spiro-esq Zero-Zero afterward.

We are ready, our Indian says.  Are you?

Yes.  No looking back.  Quite the pandemic it has turned out to be, given absolutely everything.  Right down to the sunset sail this eve on the Indian Ocean to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Black Tot and the 5th of this parish.  So much has happened since.  So much to come.

What a world it is.  Roll on summer.  Come in, come in, come in, come in...  the Hip floats through the mind at the poolside.  You have bought a ring, McMahon.  Who would have believed that, stepping off the boat in Cape Town?  Yet who would have cause to doubt?

Ye Olde Sly Boots

Mizingani in the early afternoon.  Blue skies and wisps of eclectic music wafting into the pool’s enclosed courtyard from the cultural centre next door.  Almost a week on thus far, settling into the Stone Town life wonderfully like a happy couple (“like? But we are!”) and in a stroke all the loneliness of waiting and wondering over.  The past months of isolation and quarantine seem a distant memory amidst this return to the favoured normality of travel, the old familiar sensations of bargaining and smiles and astonishment at the number of lives being lived, the struggle and effort and boredom and contentment.  

A week on, 25+ hours billed and no suspicion yet except the jab about the Friday prayers as you helped redraft some recitals for biomass supply.  El Presidente’s line from the Tuesday Club podcast just now a fitting title.  Would be nice to keep track of the number of attendees on conference calls who would not dream of guessing your whereabouts.  The boys eager to hear of developments, and the focus lingering on what may yet be to come.  The Hitchens memoir stoking some reminiscing, the different guests poolside day-by-day lingering also in the mind as you await your massages, and thoughts turning again to the Cup Final at the weekend.  An altogether blissful environment, and so hard to shake the feeling that thus far you have played the nomadic rendezvous game to perfection.

Careless whisper a preferred practice for the wayward saxophonists even here. What is to be done?  Still weeks at the beachfront in the north ahead.  Tomorrow the day for the return to the Gem Centre in another milestone, such an unimaginable possibility when measured against prior Black Tot celebrations on the Atlantic.  Friday on the Indian and the sandbank, as the return sparks only thoughts of how mUgh you missed the first time around... spice and tortoises and balcony sunsets.  The magnet was correct.  

Divine and well envelop’d.  Yet how will the story unfold and end?  Stay attuned to discover.  (And c’mon you Arsenal!)

Call to Prayer

Listening now, hear that Arabic outside the window for the first time since the successful arrival into the country for this ridiculous, reality TV show gambit you are right to be proud of, at least to this point.  Would be better to know Mirriam has found a safe haven for the overnight, but surely all’s well there.  It simply must be.

2.5 hours until breakfast and then the ferry, so time to briefly crash.  Mark this night though, the slow roll of the reveal, 4 hours safely in the country for 30 days or so.  Majestic indeed.  When questioned about the outcome of the proposal option, noted the desire to leave some element of suspense, to which Pal rightly said it would be good for her to start getting used to that.  Haha, oh my.

Let’s see what tomorrow/today holds.  Should be a grand one if the luck can hold just that bit longer...

What a magical life, or so it seems now from Room 308 of the Rainbow Hotel.  Remember?

The Elements of Self-Improvement

Scavenging through the offices late into the night, after a drop-off from Inch and AJG at the Purdy's dock.  The email came into Ives, report that coulda, shoulda, woulda been done over the weekend (but not) due by noon and so send by 9AM please.  So why not some coffee and some trolling through the halls at this late hour.  MacDougall offering up a sausage night on the very last one in Halifax, almost perfectly, if you are trying to show how long you are here before the Moncton/Zanzibar escapades.  Essential travel indeed. 

And it should work.  And why not?  And Van would agree to chase it.  Maybe Joe would too.  Little letters of thanks from GG make it to the bulletin board of some, but I prefer the evaluations of old that question the drinking.  As the stolen 10th copy of the titular book from Sue Fraser's office admonishes.  Do not.  Be ware.  Heh. 

You own a boat that floats below the office building, and how and for what.  The hour is 1:11, and if you could only write this last bit up in the next hour, I would take the rest, motor back to the cove, and arise to the sun as you send.

But we have no food and we have no time nor rest.  Just finish this review.  Save.  Sleep.  Send as per the request in the morning, return the boat, eat, sleep again.  Soon it will be just a week before the insanity plan is initiated.  Yes.  Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

The Devil’s in the Details

What an adventure!  With no real plans, off you motored past the McNab lighthouse to test the wind. The direction guided you toward a challenge that has gone untaken for 9 years until tonight.  The drift along the coast of the island into a mooring and smooth dropping of the anchor, which held steady as Chan Chan inflated.  The row ashore fairly simple, the cacophony of the resident birds tremendous and threatening.  Took a walk through the tall grass to the half-destroyed lighthouse and then walked back to find the Pilot boat approaching the SC with a few honks.  Whether they saw the ladder, the Chan, or me on the rocks, they left as quickly as they came.

As the sun set, it was time to row back.  Legs soaked in walking the Chan out for launch, but the wise move to leave the bow line in the water and the step ladder made reboarding a snap.  Or so it seemed, until the anchor rope got caught in the motor!  Quick thinking and slow drifting with tide still up saved the day.  Pants off, into the water, and the rope was freed.  Then the struggle to get back up seemed it could threaten the whole endeavour, but strength was found, and now I’m dry and attached to a Wreck Cove mooring, marvelling at the way of all things.

From Devil’s isle on the 9th to Zanzibar isle on the 23rd?  If only.  Everything in place.  Another day closer to the trip that may set the tone for a lifetime...  don’t forget to hit Tim’s on Sunday to update the journal.

Hedge Trimmer

A few possible titles on this night of a 1-1 draw with Leicester after Eddie’s unfortunate red.

The 6 year old memories of visiting the site of future “Yep”.  A studying how to slow time down reference the link to reminiscing about AG’s wedding 5 years later. The “date” discussion about bride price and white weddings.  The sudden notice BBQ on Oxford and the Long Walk wine and Lucy appearance and McCarthy’s Bar theft.  Missed bus due to the history of Oxford trees.  Emails from KLM arriving on your phone as the very idea of flights for any purpose was scorned and you watched a rare one pass overhead.  The Havana cigars and No Snivelling.  Ron Hynes and Al Tuck and Roxy and Chris Deburgh.  The condo versus Shangri-la gardening and the schooshing for the neighbours...

Where will you be two weeks tonight?  Above the ocean again?  Oh how we hope/plan.  What a coup for the absolute ages it would be...  please.

So Happy

Maybe some day you will look back at this.  If and when you do.  Clouds parting, blue skies opening, Arsenal victorious.  The cute girls at the end of the New Scotland bar talking about cars and bankers. and such, as KBJ would say.

I’m hoping for a lot, and hope is not a plan, but.  .

Anna, I am content, now.   Very.  Let’s see what happens next.