Songs of the not-so innocent

This post is being written, irritatingly enough, from Hong Kong airport where I seem to be spending half my travel time over the past year. Before I began to type, I looked up the last post written from here and that was on 8th May. Only 6 months ago and yet, it seems like a lifetime of events have washed over me, leaving me reeling & blindly reaching for a fixed point of perspective. Since that last post I have lived... a breath at a time, it almost seems. And yet, I have just been woken up from a delightful dream, to find myself back at this airport. Living in Cambodia changed me, it's as simple as that. I found out something of who I am but more importantly, what I want. Want - a simple word, attached to so much meaning. It is important to want, but more so to want something with a calming certainty. Like a bite of perfect chocolate mousse at the end of the evening. Having it fits... it completes. And for me, rudderless as I was, plodding through one degree after another, it...

My house in under some heavy renovation... the kind guaranteed to bring us, the residents (yes, we are actually still staying in the house) to an anatomical position similar to that of the Thinker . Fervent mutters of "it'll all be worth it, you'll see" do the rounds and maybe it will. But if anyone back in Birmingham says something about me enjoying my holidays, well... never mind. In the midst of the dust and plaster chunks, I happen to look out the window. It frames grey skies, a gentle drizzle and that soul-enticing smell of moist earth. I pause, purposefully head out to the balcony with my chai and step out of everything for a while. The chai is hot. I stir slowly... the delicate tang of ginger & wisps of steam lazily intertwine with the heady bouquet outside, drifting away. I watch, smell, hear, see... feel , lost to everything else. I have to run an errand, taking me out of the house. My Kinetic starts almost instantly and we are off, slipstreaming through...

In a team packed to the gills with personalities to adulate over, he was the one I did. His sporting highs are many, unique and in all probability, will never be bettered. For you see, being bettered implies the presence of a better man, a better player. Which I know there never will be. It's slightly hilarious that the term Fab 5 has been applied to those five individuals who would relate least to the show-baazi. Each brought something magical to the team, standing tall and in many ways, aloof. But no other five players of the modern game individually and collectively epitomize a dignified agression fuelling their desire to win. Good luck to Captain Marvel. From the 2nd of November 2008, his eyes cannot search the field for the one individual who will willingly step up, readily and calmly twirl the ball, take a half-step, then 5 strides and... Step forward Mr. 5-for on debut. If you play with half the ferocity, sportsmanship and even double the taciturnity, you will be a very good...