There is this one pair of trainers that has been stalking me online for the past few months. And it doesn’t matter which one of my devices I use to go on the Internet, the shoes follow me everywhere. I did buy the pair finally, but it still shows up with unabashed abandon each time I am online.
I came across an article about Thomas Jefferson writing the epitaph that he wanted engraved on his tombstone. ‘Here was buried Thomas Jefferson, Author of the Declaration of American Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom, & Father of the University of Virginia’. He was also the third President of the United States of America, but that failed to make the cut.
Supermarket shopping is a science and requires serious research. Robert Langdon could have just as easily gone on a hunt for the Holy Grail in a hypermarket than in a city. Suspense shrouds the location of many objects, the choices are mind-boggling, the aisles – a cacophony of colour, shapes and textures, and the descriptions above each aisle hopelessly inadequate for what they contain.
Sometimes, it’s the simplest things. The trees everywhere, the bare branches of some waiting for spring, glimpses of the flat, luscious green of the golf course behind, the resident heron on its morning constitutional at the tee-off mound. And suddenly, life feels like it could be normal again.
Seven years ago, at a bank in India, where I had gone to restructure a loan along with my brother, the bank manager steadfastly refused to acknowledge my presence. The account was mine, the loan was mine, I asked the questions but my brother received the answers. At the end, when I said thank you, my brother was told, “You’re welcome, sir.”