I heard this evening that my mate interpreter (Belgian man) has decided to go and live in Spain. To be precise Valencia. He went out about 4 weeks ago, liked it and decided he'd had enough of London. It was going to be his new home. So in three days time he will hop on a plane and not return unless he has to back to Britain, although technically he is more British than Belgian. Not at all related to Tin Tin may I add. It is a little sad for me as now it means my circle of mates has got one person smaller. I enjoyed his company even though he liked to drink, it didn't matter, he is a nice bloke. He gave me a very hearty hand shake, as this is the macho thing to do when you are a man and not going to see another friend probably for the rest of your life. I'm sad for myself but also happy for him. He did say he was a little nervous about it, but had two jobs waiting for him, one in a language school teaching and the other in marketing. To me marketing sounds a little vague, so it could be anything to tell the truth. It's one of those words you use to be ambiguous even though he has no need to be. I don't care if he is feeding peanuts to elephants as a living, I like him. What am I going to do now? Find another friend I suppose. Which is something interpreter man was good at, making friends, just talking to people, no matter who they were or where they were from, he was good at it. Mind I think he put himself and made himself do it, rather than it being a natural thing. Because meeting people, getting into conversation and knowing people is an art. I sat in the pub with interpreter man on one side and the Old Witch on the other.
It is the Witch who has a habit of collaring people, of joining in conversations and giving her opinions on everything. She can be a little overbearing when you really don't want to listen to her crap. I'd had a shitty day at the Fish Factory and even walked to the back of the pub past my drinking companions for a pint before coming to the front of the pub and joining them again. So I sat between the Witch and Interpreter man. I really wanted to talk to my mate but he was engaged in conversation with other various drinking company. So I was then caught with the Witch. But the conversation was interesting as well. I learnt she had been bought up from a privileged background. Her father had apparently worked as a big cheese at B.P. She had herself gone to a convent school. She got engrossed in an eclectic set of self related stories. Of course everything for her is about herself. But it did get my attention as I listened with half attention hoping at some point I could jump into conversation with my Interpreter friend. She told me how her mum and dad got the last plane out of Iran, with gun fire around them. How her mother had come from South East London and was a down to earth worldly woman, not phased by much. She spoke of her conversation as her mum related to her how she got out of Iran. I couldn't quite determine the punch line or the end of the dialogue because it just seemed to stop somewhere, trailing off into a forgotten land. I suppose what we all want is to be heard and listened to. Even though I'd had a shitty day, I still managed to put up with other people's crap. I very nearly walked out the pub and considered strolling the two and a half miles home without the aid of a train or bus. But no, I enjoyed another pint and then went. Saying farewell to a man who for a short period was my friend. Enjoy Valencia my Interpreter friend.
Shortly I'll be off to Malta, with the most wonderful woman in the world. Even on shitty days some thoughts are life rafts in a turbulent sea.
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