Feb 10, 2014
We're not good at late nights anymore. Our days start early, while the city is still asleep. Coffee, from the well-travelled Bialetti. Anjo baked a batch beskuit, to carry us through to breakfast. Outside the grey fades from the early morning light, while the high rises around us switch off their lights. We can hear the scraping of road and pavements, clearing paths through the ice and sludge.
Work starts at seven. For me, either a conference call, or half a day of email from South Africa I have to catch up with. A reads, writes, prepares: the never-enough-time PhD is in full swing.
But when new friends invite us for dinner, we enthusiastically accept. When building a new social network from scratch, you never say no. A good night follows, with excellent food and generous wine. We eventually crunch home in the early morning hours. Tired. Happy.
The morning after is the kind of Sunday that calls for poached eggs smothered in a buttery Hollandaise.
Posted by jvdh at 2:54 AM