Definitely Not My Water

In a rare brush with reality, I'm driving through my home town.

I'm on my way home for the evening, and my social diary is wide open. Again.

I glance by chance to my right as I pass through the high street, and notice that there's a movie playing that I'd like to see. Which one isn't important, but before I realise what I'm doing, and with more spontaneity than is my norm, I'm pulling into a parking space right outside the theatre. What a piece of luck.

I walk inside and talk to the young fella on the main desk. He tells me that the movie is in half an hour, give or take a few minutes for adverts. Hey, not bad! My evening is taken care of, but I've half an hour to kill.

It reminds me about trying to fill up a jar with rough stones. They reach the top, but leave a lot of space.

I wander across the street to the fish and chip shop. Checking the menu, I see that they serve scampi. I adore scampi, and haven't had any in years. And while it doesn't totally agree with my current dieting regime (going well, thanks for asking), it seems too good a chance to miss. As I pay, the woman serving tells me they always cook it fresh, and it'll be five or six minutes until it's ready.

I'm thinking about the jar again, and how I've filled up much of the spare space with smaller stones.

Feeling rather proud of myself, but feeling the call of nature after a long drive, I wander next door to the pub to sneakily use their toilet. As I step inside the unusually quiet bar, the barmaid gives me a cheery smile and asks me what I'm having. This wasn't the plan, but I spy my favourite beer on tap.

What the hell, I have time. A quick pint.


She draws me the pint, and I take long, refreshing draught. Marvellous. But I'm reminded of my pressing need to use the facilities. I ask the barmaid where it is, and she points me up the stairs.

I head up, and once again marvel about the metaphorical jar representing my evening. I feel that in these few spare minutes, I'm filling most of the remaining spaces up with sand.

I laugh as I empty my bladder, imagining I'm filling the finest of spaces in the jar up with water. Not my water you understand; that would be gross. It's a metaphor, remember? But now the jar is most definitely full.

I head back down and noting the time, I pass a few pleasantries with the bar staff as I drain my pint. Delicious, the best I've had in ages.

I then head next door just as my food hits the plate. It's incredibly good, light breadcrumbs with a perfectly-cooked seafood centre. The chips are crisp and golden.

That done, I make my way back to the cinema and buy my ticket.

And flop into my seat, resolving the final recursion, just as the movie starts.

Two hours later, my mission accomplished, I head home.

What a great night. From nothing, I filled my time with random events which all dove-tailed beautifully. Not a moment was wasted, I enjoyed some wonderful hot food and cold beer, and made it home by bedtime.

Sometimes things just fall together. You can't plan it.

Such a shame that the movie stank.


Indigo

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