03 December 2007
WHERE DOES THE TIME GO?
Yes I’m restarting the blog on a rhetorical note. It’s six in the morning in Barranquilla and I’m writing this while having an early morning coffee and watching a swathe of morning sunlight set the courtyard and the huge tree outside of my windows ablaze with colour and light. This is the coolest time of the day, before the chewing gum starts to sizzle on the pavements of Murillo and the larger than life iron statue of Shakira becomes too hot for a sneaky fondle.
So where does it go? I recall asking the self same question many years ago, mumbling over a pint of Guinness in a Republican drinking hole in Luton. I remember the reason for the question; I had missed getting a bet on the ITV seven. I don’t remember my reason for being there apart from the vague feeling now that it had something to do with drugs and wanting a pint. I remember too that it was a rhetorical question, addressed to my pint rather than the old fella at the bar who interjected,
“There must be a great heap of it somewhere....”
Well that’s true enough. Like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow I do not expect to find it. I might have caught a glimpse of it in Bogotá a few weeks ago. All these many years later I’m hunched over a cup of coffee as black as that Guinness, reflecting over the events of the past year and thinking about Holland, Eire, Poland, England and Brazil and the rest of my roaming since I last posted, and starting to bring these musings up to date. While this might not bring me any nearer to finding the great heap of time, it may help me in my dotage to trace the direction in which it went.
End of restart.
I know one of you out there was with me, so the prize question bringing the lucky winner 20 Park Drive and a bag of marbles. All you have to do is tell me what I was doing in Luton.
So where does it go? I recall asking the self same question many years ago, mumbling over a pint of Guinness in a Republican drinking hole in Luton. I remember the reason for the question; I had missed getting a bet on the ITV seven. I don’t remember my reason for being there apart from the vague feeling now that it had something to do with drugs and wanting a pint. I remember too that it was a rhetorical question, addressed to my pint rather than the old fella at the bar who interjected,
“There must be a great heap of it somewhere....”
Well that’s true enough. Like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow I do not expect to find it. I might have caught a glimpse of it in Bogotá a few weeks ago. All these many years later I’m hunched over a cup of coffee as black as that Guinness, reflecting over the events of the past year and thinking about Holland, Eire, Poland, England and Brazil and the rest of my roaming since I last posted, and starting to bring these musings up to date. While this might not bring me any nearer to finding the great heap of time, it may help me in my dotage to trace the direction in which it went.
End of restart.
I know one of you out there was with me, so the prize question bringing the lucky winner 20 Park Drive and a bag of marbles. All you have to do is tell me what I was doing in Luton.