People are funny bastards, and I’m coming at that from the peculiar sense of the word. In fact the games people play seems an apt title for this post. Couple of weeks ago I was graced by an email from a source regarded as history, defunct and dead even. Getting to me via his relative’s address, the news of marital break-up a surprise but yet our acquaintance-ship tended to the formal than to the casual, with my twice a year visits pushing the familiar envelope.

With an eight month hiatus since a Saturday visit stitched a deal which was to be honoured the coming Tuesday with his taking possession of and removing a heavy item from my place. When this event failed to materialize, I felt eight months was an unhurried and decent amount of time to elapse before asking of our unfulfilled agreement.

Driving past his home, the sale sign was self-explanatory. His communication and social skills were of the age, and I was not in his social loop. I inquired how the two kids were wearing the split. One indifferent the other showing distress, his return email stated. Sensitive people detest change but can’t be bubble-wrapped, I offered. Fairly innocuous and honest observation, nothing sent, as far as I could determine, to cause offence, yet I had forgotten a point and addressed a follow-up missive with A Dan Addendum, his name.

This unusual use of the language differs from the vernacular and confuses texting-only acquaintances and relatives whose ignorance manifests in anger and bewilderment. As evidence, a recent email from a well-meaning but dim and confused Don Quixote nephew scolding me for what I know was a well balanced, concise and intelligent reply to his father, an amiable chap who I had always thought level-headed.

The house auction was at 11AM last Saturday and he was coming the 100 km to attend and after, would run the 40 km to Beaudesert to have a chat. He declined my suggestion I travel to Browns Plains. Bugger me if he hasn’t done it again; as with the prior arrangement, deja vu. Bill Murray, I feel your dilemma, waking mid afternoon , no visitor, no emails. Poor bugger me. Love, Les.


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