The other day I was having a phone conversation with a friend of mine in California. In the midst of that long distance call, with the noise of screaming kids enjoying themselves in the background, she said something about a guy who she once knew. She mentioned the fact that she believed that as a married man he was wrong to have so many female friends that he spent time with.

Her sentence was not a point in itself, it was part of a wider conversation about what had happened to some of our mutual friends since they left college way back in the early nineties. The guy that she mentioned was married to someone we both knew but had not kept in touch with.

We talked for a while longer and made vague plans for an upcoming visit of mine to California. She would say things like
“Do you remember the tower district?” to which I’d say something vague while I tried to recall that part of the town. “It’s where the Java Cafe used to be?”
“Oh yeah, that was a cool place. Mocha Mondays when a mocha was a buck, I remember!” Fragmented memories now clicking into place.
“Yeah, well Java Cafe isn’t there any more. It’s changed so much since you were here Simon.” She said.
“We’ll I guess it would in ten years huh”. I replied while still piecing together old memories of evenings when we would all head out to that part of town and spend all night sitting in the Java Café drinking flavored coffee and listen to Josh speak in what he though was an excellent English accent.

Eventually the screaming kids in the background reached fever pitch volume. An unnecessary explanation was offered.
“Some friends of ours are getting married near by and people from out of town have come, so we offered to have the kids.”
“Oh okay.” Like I said, an explanation wasn’t required but I’m getting used to allowing parents to validate their good parenting to me in situations like this. These days I have grown accustomed to the sound of children in the background of my telephone conversations.

“I’d better go Simon. I need to make these guys dinner.”
Dinner time in California equates to a completely unreasonable hour of the morning here in the U.K. We say our goodbyes and I make my way to bed.

The next day that sentence about the married guy with female friends finds its way into my idle thoughts. The rest of the conversation has long since evaporated but… [Click here to continue reading this article at ‘Meanwhile’]