It was, but not a stormy night.
Wednesday, November 12
This can be considered an inspired work of fiction.
The day had started out well enough. Better than most days even. The GPs having let exclusive control over the house be my responsibility, and the maid banging in vain at the door, when I was catching the last two or so of my forty winks.
I made my own attempts at making the day better as well, 'I shall not go to college today!'. Barring the now normal three hours of lack of electrical supply, the day did go the way it promised to.
A match between Manchester United and Arsenal FC was deemed to be the highlight of the day, and inviting friends over to 'catch the match' only seemed polite. As was par for the course, so to speak, drinks were only to be expected. Here, thy author would like to confess that he did go back on a previous vow to self, of not planning to touch anything of a high percentage. Regrettable, possibly.
To continue with the tale, the first ill omens were at kickoff itself, the harbinger being the very appreciated entity that goes by the common name of BESCom. Not to be ones to be easily dampened by matters that were but trivial (after all, human civilization has managed for centuries, nay millenia without 230V 50Hz ac), we continued with the other main event for the day. Dental appendages being modified as bottle openers, our kick-off happened as scheduled. Buoyed by the fantastic initial momentum, the collective decision was that more drinks were in order. This was not the turning point for the day. With work being equally deputed, mine being procurement of manchurian, gobi and manchurian, mushroom and that of the #1 fellow being a quarter of bottled nail polish remover, things were smooth only. Adding to our high spirits, was the resumption of services by the already mentioned appreciated entity.
As the match drew to a close, without the result being quite which was eagerly anticipated, we decided to get carried away. Some steps away was an automated teller machine, and we made it successfully back, with but four steps missed. The order to one particular Baron was the same and homewards we turned.
This was the turning point. This was where the Gods above decided some adventure was in order for the day. This was the time when the fifteen year old deadbolt manufactered by Godrej (guaranteed for ten years) decided it had had enough. The key in my hand refused to turn. Half hour it took for this matter to sink into our half-elevated brains. By this time, however, three more friends we had invited over. Three more, in which to share our misery. The three seemed amused by this, and I would state that it wasn't quite a waste of time for them.
At this point, I'm bored of typing this out. We were locked out of the house for the night. Ashte happened. Full experience, plus demonstration of loyalty by that particular #1 fellow (may he live long.) at 5am the next morning.
http://namelessonly.blogspot.com/2008/11/it-was-but-not-stormy-night.html