I’ve spent countless hours on my own over recent centuries during many days, weeks and months travelling and travelling and travelling. Observing people becomes second nature because what else are you going to do while sitting in an airport or any one of numerous other places like office waiting rooms, hotel lobbies, restaurants, bars, bars and also bars. I’ve been out of the sales and marketing business for a few years now but the instincts remain. Like having the antennae up when you’re in a dodgy situation. I don’t mean a James Bond/Blofeld life or death dodgy situation. It could mean a tricky negotiation with cunning Japanese or Koreans when thousands or potentially millions of money are at stake. Or trying to work out if your flight’s been called in a domestic Iranian airport where Farsi is the first and last languge spoken and even the numbers are different. So the Child Bride and I were enjoying a nice dinner in a resort restaurant in Coffs Harbour (on our way to wine country) and I couldn’t help noticing the clientele, and in some cases, drawing some possibly long-bow (or maybe short-bow, who knows?) conclusions.
One that had no conclusion necessary was the bloke sitting on his own, eating his meal and drinking his beer. That was me, a million times over, all over the world. “Table for one” is a phrase I never want to utter again. It’s pretty depressing I have to say and on this night I was able to say to the child bride that that used to be me but the present me is sitting with you and that’s infinitely better than the alternative.
At another table there were two gay guys. I may be wrong and they may be insulted if they knew I was writing about them and assuming they were gay. Should a straight man be insulted if he is assumed to be gay now that it’s as normal as tattoos? I’m guessing that’s not allowed in polite company any more – not the assumption of gayness but the state of being insulted (insultedness?). Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. Anyway, I’ve had plenty of one-on-one lunches and dinners with blokes and never once did we crack a bottle of champagne like these two dudes did. So I’m sticking to my assumption and noone will ever be able to disprove it
Next was a young 30’ish guy eating dinner with a younger bloke who looked about 10. Possibly his son (they both had curly hair) on his weekly or monthly or whatever night out with his Dad. At one point they both walked off and the wait staff came and cleared their table. Turns out the Dad was showing his son where the toilet was and when they came back, much waving of arms resulted in the table being relaid and dessert being served. A bloody good outcome judging by the look on the kid’s face. Maybe a good end to a bitter-sweet situation. Again, who knows?
There was one other table that was still occupied when we were ready to leave at 8.00pm. It was Wednesday night and it’s still winter so not a lot of the locals are out and about. Anyway these two weren’t going to be painting the town red anytime soon. I gave the bloke 5 years provided a “painting the town red” stroke didn’t intervene first. Sitting down, his guts almost reached his knees. If you’re sitting while reading this, glance down and try to imagine that. That’s as spectacular (in a perverse sort of way) as Bob Beamon’s long jump in Mexico City in 1968 (you’ll have to look it up if you are sportingly challenged). His wife was relatively svelte with “relatively” being the operative word. Like Titanic is relatively small when compared with the current crop of cruising behemoths. I know it’s cruel to mock affliction but if it can be cured or at least ameliorated by a bit of self discipline then you’re fair game.
There’s a nine hole golf course round this resort. It’ looks awesome. The two immediately above could do with walking a few of the very picturesque holes. The 9th is right outside our room, along-side a lagoon. I could hit that island green with a 9 iron, 8 iron tops, assuming the ball went where it was intended to go (a very ambitious assumption). Of course the pros, like Min Jee Lee and Lydia Ko would be backing off with a wedge. Wish I had muscles like Lydia.
There’s a few hours of daylight left so tally-ho. All good for holes 1 through 8 – all pars and bogies. Then the 9th and it was splash, splash, splash, damn! shit! fuck! Time for a beer.