Memories of the Maharagama 138 taken frequently as the bus stop on Havelock Road was in close proximity to home. If you wait long enough, one will always come. In case of the 138, true. Even if hours later, one is sure to arrive.
Have patience, just wait.
Wait for how long. For what? I am sure everyone has a goal, yes as you progress in age, the goal posts change, but a goal will remain. Complicity may enter your life, as mine now, the goal may go the backburner, only my inner guilt to remind me of that goal.
I came home this evening, rustled up an early dinner for family, shared heartily also with dog. A generously mild 19 centigrade, so quickly changed to sarong to allow my body to breathe. The first layer, the white vest put on in the morning remained on top. Excessive use of deodorant allows one to wear this garment until showering for bed.
Slippers then of course, unfortunately with socks. Long habit living in cold countries for too long. Even in tropical Colombo I had to wear sneaker socks.
So after comfortably attiring myself, retired to the garden for a smoke.
Unavoidable drone of aircraft overhead. However mild and nice it is, sun blazing all day, a barmy 19 centigrade, the plane awakens my inner guilt.
That goal on hold.
The vice of faceless urbanity in a suburb taking you over. Seven months of wintery weather and one day now, today, all the way to 19. Beyond spring, British summer has come.
After seven months.
The plane is gone. Another now fast appearing from the opposite direction. Ones departing, the other arriving.
In comparison, the 138 were faster. And the 104 to Wattala I used to hop on to go to Borella.
The years are flying by faster. Like that English premier league footballer, the striker who never is, I too haven’t scored a goal for a long-time.
Complicity sets in. You watch your family score fabulous goals.
You forget to score. Like that footballer, the striker at an English premier league club.
The bones ache more, recovery slower after gym, the reps become less, you sit more often, and a visit to the Optician becomes a must. Your GP and you become the best of friends.
The space for magic mythical runs of a striker are harder to find, the goal posts waver, almost a mirage.
The plane is gone.
Oh well, its getting a wee chilly, I think I’ll go inside now. Watch the news, maybe mug of coffee with a generous lacing of JD, power up laptop, and hangout on the couch.
Tomorrow never comes.