While sitting down to pen this 170th article of the Trivial Travails
, having no clue what-so-ever what to pen (quite like the previous 169), I decided to spend the evening in the garden musing on life. The weather couldn’t have been better and with ABCD to give me company (Atticus running around, Beethoven playing in the background, Cohiba between the fingers and the Dalmore-15 with rocks and a dash of water nestled in the other hand), I too, like Wodehouse, pondered that if you come to think of it, life is such a strange thing. “So unlike anything else, don’t you know, if you see what I mean?”
This week had a rather confusing beginning. It all started on Saturday evening when we suddenly discovered that the holiday was not on Sunday as expected by about 4mn people (give or take a few). To be fair, it had been announced that we would have to wait for the verdict of the moon-sighting committee. And yet somehow the expectation was that Sunday would be declared a holiday and many schools had already been granted the day off in anticipation. Of course everything changed, but the roads were still deserted on Sunday morning.