So it’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting on the jetty on the river at my parents’ place. I just love the escapism of it. I am 10 minutes walk from the house and 10 minutes walk away from various continuing feuds and disenchantment amongst my five young squabbling cousins who can’t agree on the right design to build a chicken house etc. No one will find me here and I am sure that the 47% alcohol content duty free gin is burning a whole in my water bottle. I feel it slowly pulling every vain in my brain into a big fur ball and wedging it at the back of my neck. Happily.
It’s the depth of autumn and the bush across the river is reflecting a mellow rich goldness on the water which whirls and turns to my left, delivering occasionally a few giant carps in the water beneath me (formerly goldfish in a bowl?). An equally sprightly photo of Mount Ruapehu dusted with snow graces the background of my lap top. I took that pic last time I was in NZ driving back form Wanganui to Hamilton with Templeton. I do miss that boy. The jetty seems a bit empty without him here having a beer with me and sighing about why we can’t do this every day. But he distracts me from myself and it should all be about me now.
To think that I have just commenced a six-months-plus period of unemployed free roaming status about to take the European/Moroccan/Bangladeshi/Chinese/etc civilization by storm. Here goes the deposit for my house. MY HOUSE!! It doesn’t feel good to be without a plan, but I somehow I really think its about time I didn’t have one. All the stuff I planned to happen never have, and the stuff I didn’t plan always does. So maybe it pays to just be stupid for a while.
Life is to be LIVENED. That’s why this gin tastes so bloody good.
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