And so as I sit and write this, after visiting the Waverly Cemetry to look at its view and eat sandwich in the tiny cafe in Surrey Hills. I have been to stay in Sydney a few times over the years but never walked up to the beach in the morning before – the hangovers have been too bad for anything but poolside after the night before’s schlepping from bar to bar and swilling of spirits and the search for sex that keeps you up till the dawn.
But this time on the night before we ate at a superb restaurant and were in bed by 12 o’clock, and even though the thought crossed my mind to go on the search for debauchery before going to bed, we all knew that we would rather sleep and savor the expensive tastes in our mouths and the feeling of contentment rather than sluice it out with tumblers of vodka and the almost inevitable disappointment of finding out once again that girls don’t find drunk boys attractive at all.
And then after landing in Brisbane Airport, I return full of stories of the woman I have just met at the airport. “She was beautiful,” “I’m in love,” “She wore a white sundress,” and “You’d love her.” I have had my reward for putting aside the things of youth to act my age – I have met a woman of beauty instead of a troll in a nightclub, I have seen her in a clear-headed morning instead of through beer goggles and I have engaged her in meaningful conversation instead of the nightclub pidgin Franglias of, “Voulez-vouz coucher avec moi?”
And I think, “You know what? I’ve had enough of sitting here getting all maudlin and nostalgic for the loves that have gone, enjoying the delicious masochism of recherché de la bird perdue. I’m going to look for the new one – but this time I’ll be doing it in daylight and sober instead of drunk like a binge – drinking youth.”
Am trying hard to become a better person – had forgotten the meaning of word “gratitude”. The other night watched an Icelandic movie on SBS. Will never forget a quote in it – sums my current state of mind “In dreams, I sense the merciless assault of reality.” Where did I become this horrible person, I can still remember the times we used to spend on the podium in university, aimlessly talking about everything under the sun.
‘The horse of time is galloping fast: let us see where he halts. Neither is the hand on the reins nor the foot in the stirrup.’
