Down-in-the-Dumps?

          One morning, feeling low (diagnosis: down-in-the-dumps), I self-medicated. Taking advantage of the fine weather, I cycled the couple of miles to the old fishing docks, where there’s a good artisan bakery and decent coffee, then homeward, along the elevated seafront, where the views are magnificent. Getting out-and-about may not be the answer to everyone’s blues but, as a cure for the occasional bout of pessimistic introversion, it works for me.

          This week, I’ve been constantly high, out and about most of the time, driving hundreds of miles to attend a party and to visit friends and relatives en route, a trip that was all about affirming existing relationships and reminding oneself of life’s joyous aspects. The first stop was at the home of a friend I first met in Sudan where, under the aegis of Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO) and at the tender age of 21, I was engaged on what I believed to be the philanthropic cause of helping an ‘undeveloped’ nation to join the modern world. But, with the cynicism of age and experience, I now see it was more likely I had been duped into facilitating a government soft-power programme aimed at keeping a former colony close for geopolitical reasons. Life since has been a battle to resolve the naïve idealism of youth with the more nuanced realities of existence.

          The party, which happened the next day, was to celebrate a 70^th birthday so, as might be expected, it was populated by friends and acquaintances who, having long since gone their disparate ways, are seldom all together except on such occasions. That evening, I experienced “doesn’t time fly?” moments, where I felt regret that I had not been more present in the lives of so many people I know and like. But regret is countered by inevitability: beyond the exigencies of unavoidable circumstance, one makes one’s choices.

          The party invitation had stipulated that everyone wear a mask, which presented a minor challenge. To buy a mask would be to roll over in surrender to lazy consumerism. Furthermore, given the arty and creative nature of this particular crowd, a store-bought solution would be unlikely to attract more than polite admiration. An effort was called for and my Other Half rose to the challenge by conceiving and executing masks made of autumn leaves, plucked that morning from leafy suburban hedges. And so, we made our unapologetic entrance, garnering quite a few accolades and bestowing many in return.

          Masks can be intriguing. They can impart to the face of a well-known friend a nuance of expression that had not previously been apparent. But they can also be uncomfortable and inconvenient – as was discovered right away by the chap whose face was so encumbered by a long papier-mâché proboscis that he could not lift a glass to his lips – and, sooner or later, they inevitably slide to the top of the head, like unwanted sunglasses. We left ours on a sideboard for our hosts to add to the compost heap when clearing up.

          Back at home, though sated with external stimulation, I was now obliged to leave my armchair to attend a different sort of gathering; a presentation to the stakeholders of a community-building project that I have become involved with. There were no friends present, just strangers or, looked at another way, potential friends, in the spirit of which I instigated a few conversations. One such was with someone who, like me, had spent time in Ethiopia and had served with VSO in Sudan (albeit a decade after my time). Even the fact that we were both at the event was indicative that we might have yet more in common, though time will tell. Getting out-and-about sometimes requires an effort and doesn’t always get immediate payback. But I’d rather give it a go than sit at home waiting for something to happen.