I have always been open about various family attempts to marry me off. Sunday turned into an extended conversation on the subject. Let me give the reader some background.
In December 2003, Tushar and Gayathri married in Sri Lanka. I was a groomsman and the master of ceremonies, and my parents were also invited. Apparently (and this could have been the result of the copious amounts I drank to keep myself sane and functioning during the busy wedding), I was hard to forget, and I really liked Guy’s parents. Now as my parents were leaving said wedding, my dad turned to Tush and said: “Now you need to find Duleepa a good wife.” Sigh. You go dad!
Fast forward to Guy’s parents’ kitchen in South London.
“I know this lovely Tamil girl. Should I call her?” teases Guy’s sister.
My pounding, dehydrated, and no doubt much sunken head took a moment to assimilate the words. To spare you the worry, said girl was not called ñ probably a good thing considering my state.
As must be plainly obvious Sunday was a family affair with much Sri Lankan food, as well as wonderment at the inner workings of the mind of a 17-month old and its effects on those past the age of 60. Have you noticed the affinity aged men have to young children? Or for that matter the affinity young children have for grandfatherly men? It’s quite cute, though how this plays into evolution is something I will probably never know.
Monday had me gallivanting around London in severe heat. I could spend hours describing the skin crawling heat and humidity in the middle of London’s “water drought” (apparently you can have other types of drought in London, maybe droughts of geese, ducks and perhaps even, god forbid, beer), but really who wants that.
Instead my evening was spent around the garden table at Tushar’s with former Hong Kong schoolmate, Karen Manville. A bout of Thai food and beer left all in good spirits. Karen had changed very little in the fourteen or so intervening years, and looked as good ñ if not better! ñ as she always has!
Now a few things of note this evening ñ my bankcard ceased working. I had tried it with a couple of banks and lo and behold it had died. Thankfully my Mastercard was not dead yet! Another development was getting to Luton airport for my Easyjet flight to Berlin. Tushar could not take me which left a 3am wake-up for a 3:30am taxi which led to a 4am bus ride in order to be at the airport at 5am for a 6:30am flight. So having finished supper, I flew through the packing (including the copious amounts of emergency syringes that Tushar had provided) and off I went to bed. My first part of this trip was coming to a fast and sad end.