Where's The Pleasure

And open orchestra.

I saw a drink and travel show. Sunday actually. And apart from being jealous, I learnt things. Jealous of the host. Learnt of the alcohol (Poetic license for you grammarians).

The show claimed there are 150 master sommeliers in the world. Only 150 they said. More people have gone to space than there are master sommeliers. I think.
Will verify later, will philosophise now.

But more importantly, people everywhere drink alcohol. Everywhere. Even in places where religion hasn’t grabbed. And they almost always clink their glasses, say a word and drink some more.
Cheers, Prost, Salut, Sante, Kampai...

Isn’t that a wonderful thing. Although there's nothing to equal that in Hindi. No word to say before a drink.
I'm going to invent one.
Soon.

And close orchestra.

You know, I think bonus season’s started. People, at least in my office, have got the scent. They’re out there, behind corners, near coffee machines, in the alley near the loo, waiting, ready to pounce on any one of the big bosses.

It’s shameful really the length they go to. Sucking up was an art form. Now with everyone doing it, at this time of the year, you’re bound to get some amateur work.

I’d tell you stories about it, but it’s nothing new. The usual bores me.

A friend asked me "How're you doing?"
I replied "I'm doing mundane". And then I realised I loved what I said. So I smiled. Which threw him off. He winced. Mundane and smiles don't mix.

I'd talk more about normal people, but there's nothing new. The normal also, it appears, bores me.

So feed me a waltz of your abnormal.

And open rock symphony.