I’m back in my space and the sun’s just filtering through the foliage at the eastern end of the garden. The temperature’s at a mild 17C and last evening’s drizzle has left the earth just perfectly soaked – not enough for the mud to cling to footwear and just enough for the plants veggies to benefit. Perfecto!

After around a week of buzzing around the mostly mundane and seeing The Dancer leave with her troupe to perform in India for the heads of the SAARC states and some other gigs, being home alone in the city, with Java showing up periodically, made conditions open to all manner of possibilities. Undisturbed viewing of the World Cup with a couple of mates was high on the agenda and the weekend, with all the distractions it offered, was also something to look forward to.

The match that pitted us against the Afrikaners started off to look like a disaster as Nahorp, Mr. Zippy and I watched. And as it looked like the result was a foregone conclusion, Nahorp and I headed to our respective homes a bit after midnight. I tried to stay awake, but called it off towards the very end when it all looked pretty hopeless. I did, however, watch that stunning spell by Lasith Malaga the next day – what a burst of brilliance from the guy, now in serious contention for international star status.

Friday night at the Rugby Club for jazz was fun. Tried to coax Cinimod to join, but he was tending the sick The music wasn’t anything to write home about, but the entertainment provided by one of the buddies, drunker than a skunk when he finally showed up after dinner at the Merchant’s, was ample fare for amusement. There were some near moments of teetering on the edge and being subject to the ignominy of either being confronted by indignant and pissed off folk or being thrown out for overstepping the lines of permitted levels of misbehaviour. All, however, ended well, as the musicians wrapped up and we made it over to The Guitarist’s manse – at his request of course – at like 1.30 am! His old lady, the gorgeous Song, right out of the Upanishads, is always a pleasure to be around and the vibes are always good. As expected, we were not the only ones there, as The Mad Moor with his abstract conversation (almost as abstract as his art) and the elephant-dung paper dude were also there, spaced-out and nicely inebriated – just as we were. Suffice it to say the night was great!

Saturday’s activities defy description and this is far better left unstated – for a variety of reasons, implicating one’s self being not the least of them.

Sunday was a traditional crab lunch at Mr. Z’s and the rest of the late afternoon and early evening was used to recharge the energy levels – and boy did they need re-charging! The match against the Windies was just great and it does look like we are in serious contention for better things in this tournament.

Poya mornings are wonderful for early morning travel, as there is no one around to impede progress and even the traffic cops look to be off duty, or something. Made Flowerbook by mid-morning and the rest just fell into place – just like it should.

So here I am – back in my space. And it sure feels great!

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