There were a few topics I was going to mention today. One of them was chicken kebab (not as you know it) that I created for my chickpeas, as I call them. Don’t worry, it involves apples instead.
I was also going to write about a messenger conversation that I had with a young man from Uganda about his uni studies and books but that will have to wait to another day.
Because this afternoon I suddenly came across a blast from the past. A friend who I’ve known for twenty years popped in for a cup of coffee and four hours later we were still reminiscing.
All those weekends when a group of us met at the station without any particular place in mind; we’d jumped on the first train with our sleeping bags, long hair and heavy boots and then jumped off again to spend the weekend sleeping rough out in the woods.
The romance of being out there, just us, sometimes three sometimes fifteen. We would arrive at a spot by a river that we knew of, collect wood, make fire, sit around, sing, played guitars and talked long into the night. Then we would all unroll our sleeping bags and let the stars twinkle us to sleep.
So here, in England, the two of us remembered our Czech youth, the people who were so important in our lives, those who we stayed in touch with and those who got lost along the way.
It made me feel very gooey inside and as always we promised that one of us will organise ‘velký vandr’ – a big wandering, where people will turn up after five, ten of twenty years and the guitars will sound all night.