Saturday, April 23, 2005
Greetings from Singapore
Thursday, and James Sharpe visits. With everyone unsure of how and why he appeared, EY surfaces in a drop top, wanting to drive about town. And so we do. Lesson Number 1: if you put the heating on full, having the roof down is bareable in April.
We drop by some pub by the side of Waverley, pick up James, (Sharpe, meet EY; EY this is Sharpe) head back to the flat, dump stuff, dinner and then drinks with lots of random people from work.
Butler passed Go, did not collect $200, but was allowed to stay out for a couple of drinks. Birthday cake appears to random group at the bar, MacMillan whispers words to the effect of "Birthday Girl - wow! It's your birthday too? Can you take a photo with our Birthday Boy?" Butler immensely flattered as unknown woman jumps to the idea of getting attentions from so many random men; poses for a photo with our mock Birthday Boy. Butler was flattered to an extent which led me to worry for him.
Bell appears on the scene, with a handbag, and Sharpe declared to me that he is, in fact, Jody Owen. Owen, Sharpe fills me in, is a bloke from yesteryear, whose degree days have long since passed, and ambition has been choked by narcotics. But he was cool when I knew him! I protest. He's still working a bar, Sharpe assures me.
Drewe used to scare me, because he represents what could have been. A man so intimidated of failure that he will never try. The story goes that his ego is majestically perched upon a virtuous Bank Statement. Within the same ball park as George Soros, he assures us. Then why work? I demand to know. "Because I dont know what I want to do". I chose to interpret this as "Because I haven't found something easy that I can guarantee success with. What if I quit work, try to go run a diving school in Cairns, and fail? That won't do! People think I'm a winner here, because I have wage rises exponentially greater than them, and bury the money in the back garden, along with all my non-pecuniary hopes and dreams".
Lesson Number 2: Never be scared, and never mistake happiness for security.
Head over to the next bar, get drunk enough to reveal my identity to some woman I had been obnoxious to, via email, over a year ago. "It was YOU!!!" Once again, the sweet taste of pleasure from other people's misery.
3am: Exit the bar, head for the taxi, and manage to trip on some innocuous-when-sober step resulting in broken thumb nail, blood, and a grand dose of humiliation and embarrassment. I was that drunk who fell out of the bar.
Friday was spent zombified, drove back to the City, picked up Sharpe, picked up a parking ticket (Grrr), picked up fodder, returned home. Cooked a feast. Drunk some wine, and finally got a chance to talk. James has got life sussed - he doesn't worry. Never did. And for 2 nights, I got to hang out with someone whose social skills were refreshing - by their mere presence. The long term plan keeps him alive, he's looking at everything in its most simplistic form. Which means living with your in laws isn't a strain; he knows how to drift through it. The best is yet to come. Talking gave Lesson Number 3: Self Doubt befriended me at an early age, it is time to let him walk free.
Saturday: Wake up stupidly early, drop Sharpe at aeroporto, get back, wash car.
Smile. Today, a small slice of Daniel says: I am lucky.
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