Being ‘on my tod’ over the weekend has allowed me a period of reflection on matters existential. Some quiet time to recharge my batteries and learn the words to Sinatra’s ballad Strangers in the Night.
As a result, I’ve now got fully charged batteries for my remote controls, torches and my rotating bow tie. Additionally, I’m now in possession of a new party piece to replace my melodic but tired act of whistling the Bulgarian national anthem.
So if you know anyone who needs someone to croon a Grammy Award winning tune while his bow tie rotates furiously, let it be known I’m available for weddings, christenings and Bar Mitzvahs.
The last twenty four hours of reflection, a couple glasses of wine, while dining of pizza and curry may not have done my arteries any favours, but at least I know how the TV remote control works now. It and I have never been acquainted before, as my missus or daughter (who are away) normally have a tight grip of it.
To clarify when I penned ‘twenty four hours of reflection’ above I mean to gather my thoughts. Not that for a day I’d started casting a reflection in the mirror, something that never happens these days. Instead of me looking back I now see the visage of a bearded, bitter cynic with a revolving bow tie.
Although not in the same class as a good restaurant curry, my M&S Chicken Tikka Masala was perfectly palatable. A mild flavoursome dish accompanied by a garlic naan bread, it complimented the wine perfectly.
I didn’t overdo the wine consumption though, as despite it having a pleasantly fragrant bouquet of apples, grape and burning wood I wasn’t really in a mood to over-indulge alcohol wise. In any case, I was too busy putting out the fire in the cupboard that was causing the wine’s burning wood smell!
After my curry, I sat down to watch the movie The Bank Job, starring Jason Statham and the bloke who played Poirot on ITV. An entertaining enough yarn based on a true story, it tells of skulduggery, blaggardism and lots of other old fashioned words for villainy.
Statham plays his usual hard fisted role, this time as a car dealer turned bank robber. His presence led to all the ladies cooing in admiration. God only knows how the hell the ladies got into my living room to watch it, but I kicked them out at the movies end and got on with my learning of Sinatra song lyrics.
As I write these memoirs of the last 24 hours, I’m at my dining table watching the rain descend steadily outdoors. It waters the newly sprouting garden borders and lawn, in addition to creating two seat shaped ponds on the cover of my patio table with the weight of the accumulated rainfall.
This impromptu water feature lacks the grace and splendour of the fountains of Vegas’ Bellagio hotel, but that doesn’t bother the herd of wildebeest who are currently quenching their thirst at the bottom of my garden.
I shall shortly be leaving to pick up my spouse and daughter from the train station. It will be good to see the smile on their faces as they dash affectionately toward me, longing to tell me how much they’ve missed the TV remote and our pet wildebeest.