The Adventure Begins

Difficult though it was to leave hearth and home in rural Lincolnshire, where I have spent 8 delightful and comfortable weeks, I have finally left home.

It's hard to tell whether the auspices are good, or not. I received an email from my one Indian contact to say his plans are now in considerable disarray due to an unexpected illness for which he may have to retreat to the UK for treatment, but there still remains a possibility of meeting up in Mumbai, so fingers crossed for that!

The weather in Caythorpe was dreadful as I packed my belongings into the two, now rather heavy bags, and emptied my room. It seems a considerable time has now passed since I began laying my plans for my journey and there has been some vacillation on my part about when and exactly where to go. The dissipated weekend in a wildlife reserve seemed like a temptation that had been snatched away, and seemed therefore all the more desirable, but I began to think of my next destination. Flights to Goa are fairly cheap and as that had been my first inclination I decided to investigate further. Not knowing one end of Goa from another I decided to follow up a number of leads but found I was unable to contact those in the know at relatively short notice. No doubt they will materialise with many helpful suggestions after I have made my reservations, but I did have one stroke of luck.

On arrival in London it was decided that myself and my friends Emrys and Marcus would attend the Stockwell 'jazz-jam' at the Grosvenor Arms. Almost the first new person I was introduced to was a Swedish lady, a singer with a fine voice, called Katriona. Inevitably the subject of my own recent disillusion came up and we enjoyed an interesting exchange about the vicissitudes of loving a scandinavian. She introduced me to her friend Louise, another fine singer, who had recently returned to the UK from a lengthy sojourn in Goa. Her suggestions were most welcome and extensive, so I have spent today making intelligent enquiries and seem bound for Anjuna in the north of Goa. Christmas and New Year on the beach beckons, and I deserve it!

Send me a signal, show me a sign

I have done a fair bit of procrastinating lately. Waiting for a sign or some change to occur. I have avoided work for some time now, since my last experience ended somewhat abruptly, but cushioned fortuitously, by a payment to compensate me for the ordeal it had certainly become.
Consequently I have not been in a rush to resume the experience of honest toil, and have eschewed all opportunities to respond to the imperative of making a living, preferring instead to make elaborate plans for both its avoidance and, in order to distract myself from the inevitability of it, a somewhat romantic spiritual adventure in India. But I have avoided booking the flight awaiting the moment I deem favourable whilst the omens are taken and the auspices considered and mused upon.
Today, out-of-the-blue, I saw a job I am interested in! A rare enough event. Tomorrow is the closing date for applications and interviews take place on the day I was planning my departure! I suppose I could wait for a buzzard to drop a rabbit on me, but that might never happen!

Winter

I drove into Lincoln last night through the familiar mist of 'mizzle' (mist/drizzle) which for me characterises the onset of winter. Walking around Bailgate, with its shiny pavements reflecting the diminishing moonlight I thought of how, in a few short weeks, it will be thronged with expectant visitors to the annual Christmas market.
The consumerfest is upon us and I am mercifully grateful that I stand a chance of avoiding it this year due to absence. No doubt I will feel also the pangs of homesickness but it won't be for longing to be at another Christmas day's overindulgence and ruinous spending on unneccessary items of clothing or gadgets. I have pretty much disposed of everything given to me last Christmas, it being a reminder of an experience I wish to forget, or if not erase, relegate to a part of my unconscious along with crowded supermarkets and indigestion.
Humbug? Not really, there were good Christmases too, but I genuinely dislike the commercial and quasi-religious hipocrisy that breaks out once a year and renders even the sensible mawkishly insane and financially foolish. So no presents from me this year dear, I'm buying myself a big escape package and if I can be located chanting Jai Guru Deva Om on some remote hillside in Poona, so much the better.
But I wish everyone else a good winter and that the festive season isn't too much of a disappointment to you all.