And yet another weekend comes to a close....

A funny sort of weekend, where I was overworked, extremely annoyed with someone, laughed my guts out with someone else, and had far too much food and alcohol and bonhomie than is the norm for a standard Crowley weekend.

A funny sort of weekend, because, despite the mild tension, scurrying around (or driving around), stuffing my face etc., I end it on rather a pleased note.

Shoo Rememberer agreed (finally) to meet Crowley for dinner. Much to his annoyance, Crowley's carefully scheduled Friday evening proceeded to go for a toss when his 6 p.m. conference was unceremoniously rescheduled to 7:30 p.m. (when aforementioned dinner date is at 8 pm.). Crowley decided that enough was bloody well enough, and that, meeting or no meeting, he'd be out of office at 8, in a manner not unlike that displayed by a fox in a country-side fox hunt.

Thankfully, women being women ("Hi. Um. I'm just leaving South Ex. So, I guess I'll see you there in a half hour?"), and Delhi traffic being Delhi traffic, Crowley was spared the ignominy of showing up late for his first Date in years.

Anyhow, dinner was a rather pleasant and fun-filled (in the context of conversation, naturally) affair, and as Crowley drove Rememberer back home, he felt that maybe there was still some hope for the old reprobate.

Crowley also spent the weekend catching up with some friends, who he hadn't met up with in a long time. There was Bouncer, in from Bangalore, and she and I spent a good many hours on Saturday evening getting drunk and nostalgic about our law school days (Bouncer is so named because my most vivid memory of her would be a drunk her, standing outside Sparks in B'lore, and bawling, "I'll send you to jail, you m*****f*****", at some arbit dude who made a pass at her). Smoothie and Phreak also joined in the festivities in a cozy corner of Khan Mkt.

After making sure Bouncer was safely deposited, just prior to the stroke of the midnight hour, into the able and caring hands of her daddy dear, Crowley proceeded to what, hopefully, would be the last stopover before home and hearth.

It turned out to be a TERIfic party. Several people who excel in the Zen and the Art of Cracking Bad Jokes; a playlist that sporadically jerked between Megadeth, Beatles, Whitesnake, 80s hiphop and bhangra (!!); and more rum, all on the large roof of one of those old government flats, under a chilly Delhi sky. Wish I’d come earlier!!!

And, yes, a rather odd sort of conversation:

"Lawyer. Won't you shift more to the right? Dearheart's left leg is feeling cold and left out"
"Really? I guess it would be feeling ‘left’ out. It's her ‘left’ leg, innit? Haha"
"Dearheart. How does one warm your leg? Does one rub it?"
"Lawyer. My leg doesn't mind being cold. Now shut up and pass me that Zippo before I go spare."
"Hey! Maybe I can light this Zippo under your butt. That would come to the same thing no?"
"Sigh. Z-I-P-P-O please, lawyer boy"

And after all of that, Crowley proceeded to throw his car keys into a nearby shrub!!

What a weekend. It ends now right where it began, behind an office desk, stressing over work, which I have no immediate plans of finishing.

Oh, and somebody sends me this email around the same time I was retrieving car keys:

“tell me a story. i have had 8 shots, 1 beer and several vodka and rum concoctions.”

Here’s your ‘story’, O Mysterious Emailer.

0 Scallywags have walked the Plank |: