I got a call from a guy I vaguely know yesterday. He’s more a friend of a friend but he’s a nice chap, and very funny.
He had been out all night and had found his way to Bloomsday’s, my favourite bar in the city, and got my number from the bartender.
Anyway, he asked what I was doing (nothing) and said I should come down. I told him I’d be there in half an hour.
We started talking about things and he told me he’d just broken up with his girlfriend because she had found out he had cheated on her. He met a girl while he was on holiday in Turkey and met her again back in Copenhagen. But it turned out that her friend was a friend of his actual girlfriend’s.
He was swiftly rumbled.
And now he is regretful.
“Next time I’m going to a be a good guy,” he told me.
He asked if I was seeing anyone and the bartender’s laugh was the answer.
I smiled and said that I was ploughing a single furrow and that was fine for now. He said I should be looking, and dating, and sleeping with as many girls as I could.
The barman laughed again!
My new friend said that if you wanted to find gold, you have to go prospecting. “You’re not going to wake up and find a gold nugget under your pillow one morning.”
I said I’d always believed that these things happen when you least expect.
“Most of the gold prospectors who moved to California in the goldrush found barely enough to live on,” I argued.
“But at least they tried,” was his response.
The problem is I found a whole heap of gold once. And let it slip through the sieve.