A blast from the past at 4:40am

I was woken by my phone blasting out a version of Harpo's Movie Star, my current ringtone, at 04:40 this morning. My bleary eyes blinked open as the sound got louder; it took a few seconds to first locate my phone and then turn it around to read the illuminated screen. It was a UK number; for some reason that I've yet to discover, the caller ID doesn't display here, so I answered with a sleepy, croaky voice. "Hello," a voice I knew boomed out of the speaker, although it took a few moments for my sleep-addled brain to fire the neurons in my right inferior parietal lobe and recognise the dulcet tones of Simon, an old friend and beau of mine from times long ago. 

It was a surprise phone call, and Simon had no idea I was not in the UK and currently on the other side of the world and living in a time zone that was so vastly different to that back home. Now, I haven't had a conversation with Simon for ever such a long time, more than a year and a half, I'd wager. Therefore, it was jolly good to catch up and have a natter; indeed, whenever we do converse, we do so at length. This morning was no exception, and whilst he woke me up, I kept him up late as we gabbed away as if we'd chatted only the week before.  Our discourse lasted just over four hours this very morning, although it passed by in a fraction of that duration, I thought.

After a shower and a second cup of tea, I ventured to the local Supermarket for all sorts of goodies and supplies. After unpacking, I put a load of washing in the machine and went for a walk along the river. Only 7075 steps were completed before my little tootsies crossed the threshold of my eighth-floor apartment and I relaxed.

I may have felt a little tired all day long due to such an early start, but I was jolly grateful for the call. It is always great to have a conversation with an old friend, especially one that you have such a long history with. Simon and I first met way back in the early 1990s, and when I say early, I mean 1990; it might even have been 1989 — I'm not completely sure, but I'm sure you'll agree that is rather a long time down the long and winding road that is called the past!

All the way through my walk, fragments of our conversation came flooding back, as did memories of a lovely weekend in Oslo, staying in the Oslo Plaza Hotel, a massive mirror-fronted tower block hotel that was considered (at least at the time) one of the best the city had to offer. As memories of Scandinavia faded as the steps mounted, recollections of another overseas trip tumbled out; Malta was a dusty place, filled with old people with wrinkled faces, dark hair, and never without a cigarette. I can remember the two of was walking along the front of St Julians Bay, Valleta and buying comilation cassettes for a fractio  of the cost back home. Oh, the memories! So odd how some things from more than thirty years ago can seem clearer than what I did a week ago last Monday! 

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