So the past week was one of the hardest I have ever had at work. All-nighters, late nights, changes in structure, endless meetings, conference calls and drafts. On Tuesday though, we thought the deal was dead. So I took the evening off and went to the Inter-banks drinks.
Inter-banks drinks is a monthly drink event in the City for gay banking professionals. When I got there I was hit by the normal problem whenever you move to a new city. Everyone there seemed to be in groups of four or more, so breaking in takes a bit of work. And unfortunately, the other gay banker that I know cancelled on me at the last minute. But sometimes you just have to plunge in.
Luckily,
Gay Banker was there, so there was at least one friendly face. And then I ran into a guy who had given a seminar recently at a large investment bank on gay issues. So at least I didn't need to pity poor old me on my own.
The deal went back into swing Wednesday morning and didn't die until Thursday late evening. But it looks gone now.
And so the weekend arrived and my friend Scott arrived from Afghanistan joined by his girlfriend from Germany. Scott and I went to law school together and he has been working for the UN in Afghanistan for the past 3 or 4 years. Not my choice of local, but the money is good and he seems to (surprisingly) make a good human rights officer.
We spent the day on a shopping tour of London. Scott is one of those strange straight men that love to buy clothes. So every time that he comes to London, its off to Saville Row to have something tailored (although why he needs anything like that in Afghanistan is beyond me), and also purchased an umbrella from some place off Shaftesbury Avenue for £160, shave balm and soap for £80 before heading off to have his previously custom made shoes (a meager £1000) tightened. I was fairly disgusted.
But its his money - his choice.
We stopped at a great cheese shop on Jermyn street and then headed off to Kensington Gardens for a little cheese and champagne before dinner. A cocktail at some pathetically pretentious place in Notting Hill called Lonsdale, I think was followed by dinner at the Notting Hill Grill. Terrible. I had been warned about British food but I was appalled at the steak I had. Stringy and tough. One thing about Montreal is that despite all of my complaints about living there the food is among the best I have ever had and at about a quarter of the cost of this Grill in the Hill.
The next day I met up with Stuart and Sean for a bite to eat in West Hampstead. On the way back to my place we passed a cemetery on Fortune Green. We decided to go for a walk through. Not the oldest cemetery ever with tombs from the early 1800s to now, I was struck by how the ravages of time and weather had slowly stripped away all of the markings off so many of the older tombstones. Many were crumbling and some had tumbled either face first or flat on their backs.
And I thought to myself that these markers that we place in an attempt to keep those who have passed alive also will eventually die. There are so many there who are remembered by none including even that post that was to remember them for always.
And there are so few in the world whose lives touch enough people on a grand enough scale to be remembered for long after they have past. And I know that I shall not be one of those. I neither crave that nor seek it. But I wondered, as I wandered through the remnants of the people who had gone before me, did it really matter? And I looked over at Stuart and thought of how much he had influenced my life. And I thought of Bud, and how much this time apart was rendering my soul into shards, and I realized that all that truly mattered was being around those I love. Those wonder people who make me something more than I am on my own. What is written on that stone can never encompass what I truly am - because I am more than just the sum of these body parts. I am made of these people who surround me. And I am all the more thankful for it.
