Once again my darling wife Kitty and I have made the yearly trip to our Mexican winter paradise of Puerto Vallarta. We dream about this moment all year and are never disappointed. The warm brown arms of Mexico envelop us into our tropical Valhalla.
Month: January 2016
The club is quiet these days, which is understandable considering the bacchanalia of Christmas, followed by its older brother, New Year. There are more than a few mems who are unable to answer the bell on these squeamish days of January and several will not be seen again, not in this life at least. The home of homes gradually becomes a receiving centre for broken resolutions and good deeds gone horribly wrong. In short, to use a yachting term, the club is in irons without even the faintest promise of a zephyr. We are recumbent and inert
Here are some treasured moments that I, well, treasure. The day my club accepted me. My first day at the club. Every day after that at my club.
That’s about it, really. There are some who say things like “my marriage” or “my children’s births” and other banal occasions. But those things are achieved by most people anyway. Joining and enjoying one’s club, that is a whole other kettle of fish. That makes one special.
I recall from my long-ago school days a master of mine making me stand before my third-form mates after some perceived outrage during my translation of Cicero. “Smythe-Brown, you are a fool,” he said, gripping me by an ear.
“Yes, sir,” I replied nervously.
“ What are you, boy?” the master bellowed while folding my appendage harshly.
“A fool, sir!” I said, dropping to my knees in pain.
“Then get out of my sight, cretin!” Whereupon he kicked me in the rear end with one of his size 15s, out the door.
The other morning I opened one eye, as is my wont, to survey the geography and assess the chances of an ambush. I was right to do so, for there were my wife’s two cats staring back at me with a look of malevolence in their pitiless orbs.
As I fought to open my other eye, the wretched creatures licked me in and around my startled mouth. Steady on! I mean to say these are the same filthy criminals that wash their fundaments via the tongue.