This was long overdue.
A friend and I breakfasted at Amethyst Saturday morning. The last couple of times I’ve been to the Amethyst I didn’t think too much of it. Of course, one was on a sweltering afternoon, the other on a sultry evening and both times we were thoughtfully accompanied by hordes of killer mosquitoes and chain-smoking nitwits. Thankfully this sleepy Saturday morning, it was a bit cloudy, not much sun, slightly windy and we pretty much had the place to ourselves save for a few kindred souls wandering about here and there looking like they stepped out of colonial India. (White hats, scarves, pearls… I kid you not)
The breakfast itself wasn’t a bad affair, pretty decent fare ending with tea *sigh* but really the marvelous thing was enjoying a long conversation with a friend on a lazy morning. I can’t remember the last time I sat down with a female friend and just lolled about in general languor. Words peppered it whenever it felt its presence needed but good food, comfortable silence and tranquil settings were about enough to make a perfect morning. It’s comforting to know that such places on earth still exist.
On a completely unrelated note, Poor Paul McCartney. I guess you won’t be getting your Valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine next year. For the uninitiated, Mills and McCartney have broken up after four years citing media intrusion and whatnot. Pity. I remember, about ten years ago, when Linda McCartney walked into our store in Mumbai and my dad told me about it. Of course, I didn’t know then who the Beatles were. I did find out a couple of years later and my school friends and I used to swoon over them. They really did make such sublime music. And Macca… there was something endearing about a man of such ‘epic proportions’ - he’s practically one of England’s national treasures- who despite being a quarter of one of the largest, revolutionary musical movement of all time, and one of those in the fore-front as it were, of the whole 60’s music and drug and love and flower revolution (Yes, I know this was aeons before I was born, I am still crying over that one. What did I do to be born in the decade of MCHammer and ginormous shoulder pads?), settles down with the love of his life and enjoys one of the longest marriages in show-biz and raises three well-adjusted kids and does every other normal thing that you should think would be quite out of character for someone who’s enjoyed that much fame and adulation. Then of course there was the death of his wife, and his subsequent marriage, now failed. Ah Macca… Who will still need you, who will feed you when you’re 64?
Moving on… I have stumbled upon a mine of hidden pleasures. Or something like it. It’s a blog of a singularly eloquent individual. It’s at http://2x3x7.blogspot.com/ (the 42 reference is just the start) owned by a man who’s named himself after one of Shakespeare’s characters, and that’s the only information he reveals about himself (well, I haven’t completely fine-combed thru the entire site… yet)
Tis brill. Do read.