It’s nice to walk into a place after a 2/3 year absence and not only be remembered but also be greeted with hugs, affection and a genuine concern that something untoward may have happened to you in the intervening years.
It’s the complete polar opposite of having the bouncers of a shitty bar in the Eastern suburbs vaguely remember that someone who kinda looks like you, but with longer hair and a worse attitude, was forcibly removed from their premises 4 years ago after a heated debate with bar staff regarding the pros/cons of their discretionary “cut off” policy.
This afternoon I found myself on a train. With other people. Which sucks. As previously established, I’m not very good at trains.
Sitting directly behind me was a mother, who I’m sure was a teenager in the 90’s, and her three children. The eldest, a girl that couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, kept singing a single line from Aqua’s Cartoon Heroes. Over and over again. Very loudly.
So I’m in Bali sitting in my usual favourite café/bar/warung enjoying a deliciously inexpensive meal and a quietly cold beer. After a big morning of riding around aimlessly on my bike and soaking in the human potpourri that is Bali I had built up an appetite for relaxation. I’ve given my order to the dependably perky waitress and eagerly await the forthcoming taste sensation.