Uncorrupted

I am slowly throttling life out of my relationship with Mr Ball and his family, because I don’t like the direction it is taking.

Why buy things if they are not wanted? Why buy the brown stuff if it is abused? Why give myself heartache worrying about teens who are not my own?

A week ago, Ball drank too much, and argued with his girlfriend, Jay. His harsh words reduced her tears. She vowed it was time to leave.

None of that might have mattered, except that I had paid for the alcohol which led to Ball disgracing himself and making life a misery for his partner.

His mother had asked me over to their place, and suggested I buy a 700ml bottle rather than the usual half-size, as she and a friend would share it with us.

In the event, Mum and her friend disappeared for the night.

I siphoned some of the stuff off, intending to take it home. But not enough, it turned out.

Ball knocked back the alcohol furiously on an empty stomach. Two hours into our session, he had forgotten himself, and started to argue with his girlfriend.

‘You hang over me all the time...I need my freedom, but you won’t let me go,’ he complained, swearing at his girlfriend.

The words hurt. Jay cried. I tried to console the poor girl, but it didn’t work.

‘He doesn’t love me. I have done my duty, trying to keep him away from this stuff....but he thinks I am merely interfering,’ she said in tears.

Jay fled to their bedroom upstairs.

‘You are lucky to have her. Jay wants you to quit with good reason – look what happens!’ I said. ‘Most women would have walked away by now.’

Ball, however, was on a roll.

Having tasted freedom away from his ever-watchful girlfriend, he wanted more.

He asked me for a loan of B200 so he could carry on partying with a group of slum friends.

They intended travelling to a friend’s house to celebrate a birthday. A taxi fare there and back would be needed.

After calling his mother asking for permission to go, he managed to obtain some money.

As he begged me for the money, dribble fell of his chin. I wiped it off. He had no idea what he was doing, and was in no state for going outdoors.

I left, wondering if he would manage to get back safely. If he didn’t, I would have only myself to blame.

He visited his friends nearby, but didn’t make it to the party, because he was too far gone. About midnight, he staggered home, vomited, and fell into bed.

Was it just another episode of reckless teenage self-indulgence? Of course, but it wouldn’t happen if a few rules were set down at the outset.

The next morning I visited his place with a mock contract I had drawn up setting down those rules. If he wanted to drink with me in future, he would do as I wanted.

I had called his mother to discuss the contract.

Ball, who was playing with the toddlers when I arrived, turned his back on me. I asked him to leave the toddlers alone, and look at me until I had finished speaking.

His mother and girlfriend did not seem at all flustered that Ball had made a fool of himself the night before.

Mum had gone out, but must have heard what happened. Jay was there, despite her earlier threat to leave.

They were pretending nothing had happened – but why?

‘Overseas, parents with troubled children offer them a contract to sign setting down the rules they must follow if they want to enjoy the benefits of the privileges they desire,’ I said.

Most of that would be lost on Mr Ball, who had barely recovered from the excesses of the night before, but never mind.

The contract had six clauses. Unable to sleep, I had written it out by hand early that morning.

1: I will not drink to excess.

2. If I do, I will not pick fights with my girlfriend.

3. I will eat before, during or after...I will not drink the stuff on an empty stomach.

4. If I drink at home, I cannot carry on elsewhere when it’s done.

5. I will not ask to borrow money to carry on indulging.

6. No one has the right to stop me. But if I break the rules, I can be punished.


Ball listened attentively. His mother chipped in with a couple of feeble comments, telling me it was unlikely to work, as Ball was too stubborn.

I explained how it I wanted it to work.

‘Mum may refuse to buy your favourite food or grocery item for a day, a week or whatever, depending on how badly you breach the contract,’ I said.

‘I won’t ask you to sign. I just want you to know how it is done.’

Still on a high from the night before, Ball helped himself to a can of beer from the fridge.

He slapped his knees in pleasure. I don't know why he was so happy, especially when I had just given him a ticking off.

An hour later, Mum had gone out, and the girlfriend retired upstairs. ‘I didn’t say that stuff just to embarrass you,’ I told him.

‘But I have to take responsibility if you do stupid things. For your own safety, and to spare me embarrassment, I have to lay down rules,’ I said.

‘I don’t mind. If you were my father or mother, you would have said the same thing,’ said Ball. ‘I could have met only two of those demands at the most,’ he joked, referring to the contract.

-
Since the contract episode, I have scaled down my involvement with Ball’s family.

I visit once every two days, if that. My stays are brief.

Previously I might have visited several times a day, depending on when Ball’s mother called, and what I was doing.

Now that I have laid down rules, I feel a burden has been lifted.

It is up to Ball whether he follows them, and up to members of his family whether they care.

I laid down a few rules for myself at the same time. Don’t buy him things, and don’t give money to his mother.

In most cases he doesn’t welcome the gifts; they just make him feel awkward. As for Mum, she likes to spend the money I give her for Ball on other things.

Ball has always wanted us to be mere drinking friends, which is how we started out when we met at carer R’s ya dong stand.

While he might need a father figure in his life, he doesn’t appear to want it from me.

I have scaled down my visits because I am worried about what Ball’s neighbours are saying. I am more than twice his age. How must it look, with me haunting his living room every day?

True, all of Ball’s ya dong friends, including me, were years older than himself.

But that is the way with drink. Our shared interest in alcohol conquers all other differences.

Ball’s mother likes me visiting. I can’t be sure that Ball also wants me there, however, and in any event he should spend less time drinking, and more time getting to know his girlfriend.

He has no work, and spends his days rattling about home, looking after the toddlers, and alternately bickering and playing with his girlfriend.

In the absence of anything to worry about on his behalf, I find we have little in common.

I turn up, chat to Mum, we share a couple of beers.

After having barely exchanged a word with her son, I go home.

-
I was too needy, as everyone here can see.


I wanted Mr Ball to give my one sign, just one, that he valued my presence as an older figure in his life.

It never came, and I was wrong to expect it.

Ball is a different person when he is under the influence. When he’s had too much, he pines for his Dad, and is happy-go-lucky.

When sober, he can be serious and stand-offish.

When he’s had a few, he likes me being around. When he’s hungry for it, he's happy to drink with whoever happens to provide it.

Yet I don’t believe he’s an alkie.

The alcohol helps relieve his burdens and worries, just as playing the guitar, for example, helped me get out of myself when I was young. He has found a vehicle to release his youthful pent-up emotions and fears.

‘You're not hooked. This conviction of yours that you need to drink every day is nonsense. You’re just going through a phase,’ I told him.

His mother agreed. ‘You are nowhere near that point yet,’ said Mum, who recalls the plight of Ball’s father whom she nursed though an alcohol-related illness until his death, a few years ago, in his 30s.

Those are the most important words I have spoken to Mr Ball, who tends to be fatalistic.

‘You don’t have to drink so much, and please don’t,’ I said in tears.

Mum and girlfriend Jay looked at me - in shock, I suspect.

If they didn’t know how I felt before, they do now.

Perhaps the farang had lowered himself, crying in their presence over a mere teenager.

That was another ‘watershed’ moment, as the saying goes, to emerge from our little contract meeting.

Now that I have shed tears, I no longer feel the need to prove anything.

Ball knows what I expect of him, even if his mother fails to lay down the law.

If he disgraces himself again, he has only himself to blame, as I will no longer be party to such mistakes, if I am careful.

I doubt he cares much about how I feel, but nor is that important. If nothing else, he owes a bond of good behaviour to himself.

‘You have your whole life ahead of you,’ I told him.

‘You love kids, and are lucky in that regard – even if your work life is falling apart, you will always have the children,’ I said, referring to the two toddlers of the household.

Ball dotes on them, and regards the adopted one, Nong Fresh, as his own daughter.

‘They will have grown up in a few years,’ he said sadly.

‘If some guy man ever wants to take out Nong Fresh when she is a teenager, he’ll have to get past me first!’ he said protectively.

That’s alright, I told Mr Ball.

‘By then, you will be ready to have your own kids...and as a mere friend I would l love to be around to see that day,’ I said.
-

The trousers and shirts I bought Ball for work...where are they now?

Some, he gave to his elder brother Boy, the soldier. Others lie abandoned and unloved somewhere upstairs. He hasn’t worn them since I bought them for him months ago.

A bicycle I helped buy for girlfriend Jay is also collecting dust upstairs. I doubt it has ever been used.

At least he has never stopped being himself, despite my well-meant, but meddling presence. I liked to think of it as helping. My more critical readers regard it as interference.

Regardless, it failed to change him. Well done, lad.

Perhaps my motives were not so malign after all.

-
I still meet Ball occasionally.

We drink a little, make small talk, and I leave.

It won’t grow much beyond that, I suspect.

We come together on special occasions, such as family excursions to the supermarket, or even in moments of crisis, such as when idle taxi driver Lort suffered a seizure and had to be carted to hospital.

For the rest of the time, however, we appear to just drift.

Ball rarely leaves home without the girlfriend. I asked him why. He says it is part of being Thai.

‘Once you have a girlfriend, you can't let her do much unaccompanied outside home. Nor will she let me do much,’ he explained once. Each worries the other will find someone else.

It is primitive, childish stuff, but that's what they think.

Ball has his demons, which drink and caring for the kids of the household help relieve.

If I stick around, it is as a drinking friend, trying to disguise the way I really feel.

I have to put away my desires to care for him as an uncle or father. I have to forget pity and compassion; they were misplaced.

And we're back again

I stayed away from Ball's family for three days. His mother called every day, as she normally does. My manner was cool, which I thought in retrospect was unfair.

Mum called in mid-afternoon yesterday and asked me to drop in. I saw Mr Ball, who looked nervous, but gave me a bright smile.

I asked him if he wanted a drink, but he said he had just eaten ('No,' in Thai speak). That annoyed me even more, as I was trying to make the peace. I left as quickly as I had arrived.

An hour later I called his Mum to explain my sudden departure. I told her I was unhappy with the way he tossed aside the trousers I tried to buy for him the other day.

Within an hour she had sorted out her son, and asked me over again for that beer.

The poor kid sat so far away from me, close to his mother, that he was almost out of earshot. He was scared I would start criticising him. Mum also fixed the girlfriend problem, after I complained about the way Ball's girlfriend Jay is forever eavesdropping. When I arrived, someone had sent her upstairs to the bedroom.

I explained to Ball why I was upset. He said he didn't like the trousers because they were not his 'style'. As we know, teens only wear things in fashion. I laughed, because I did not consider the style factor when I asked him to try them.

I forgave him, of course. We talked about his girlfriend, who dislikes it when I turn up to see him. I asked Ball if it's because she sees me as a rival for his affections, or simply because I say bad things about her.

It wasn't the gay thing, he said (without actually uttering the word). It was all the bad things which Jay suspects I am saying about her.

'She dislikes you because you are so outspoken and blunt,' he said.

At one point, Jay stormed down the stairs and grabbed a carry bag with great drama. She refused to utter a word, even when he asked, but the message was: 'I am leaving!

I said nothing, as Ball has asked me not to talk to her any more, unless I have no choice.

He followed her meekly upstairs, and the pair talked for 10 minutes.

When he came down again, Ball looked weary and defeated.

I am not sure how to help, except to listen when Ball wants to unload.

I told him that I would carry on being blunt, as that is my farang way.

'You are not even 20, and you are already trapped,' I said.

He is a sensitive type. My job, I said, was to work with his Mum to make him strong and keep him out of the clutches of people who would do him harm.

After our three bottles of beer had finished, and I was about to go home, he asked me for another two bottles which he would imbibe alone.

He knew his girlfriend would pick fights with him after I had left, and wanted to keep going to blot out the experience.

I bought him one bottle...I think that's enough.

25 Hours in a day

I am spending some time away from Ball and his family...well, minimising it, anyway.

The other day I found a woman selling black pants, such as those worn by service workers. She was selling them in a flea market sitting between my place and Ball’s own.

The trousers were cheap – just 100 baht. ‘I buy them direct from the woman who makes them, and can take in the leg if it is too long,’ she said.

I borrowed one pair from the stallholder and took them to Ball's place. ‘Try these on, would you,’ I said. 'They are your size. If they fit, I'll buy them for you.'

Ball declined, saying he had more than enough. He tossed them to one side.

Contrary to what Ball says, he doesn’t have plenty. The pair he wore to work on his first – and last – day selling newspapers at a department store on Wednesday were too small. That leaves just one other pair.

I took them back to the stallholder. ‘He doesn’t want them – he’d rather just have alcohol,’ I told her, disgusted.

I dropped in the next day to find Ball and his girlfriend helping Mum make khanom jeen (fish balls and noodles).

The night before, Mum had been out playing HiLo. She must have done well, for that morning she went into the market and bought up bulk food supplies.

Mum felt inspired to make khanom jeen, after I bought two servings of the dish the other day from a man selling it from a cart.

Her son Ball loves the dish, so she decided to make it herself.

This was to be one of those big family meals. It was a public holiday, so everyone would be at home.

I decided not to stay, however, as the teen lovebirds were absorbed in separating fish meat from bones. I didn't want to distract them.

Late yesterday, Mum called to say that they had made a huge pot of the stuff, and asked me over to help finish it.

‘Ball has showered, and eaten three helpings already!’ she said.

That’s code for: My son is ready for the night ahead. Why don’t you come over, join us at our gathering – and buy him something to drink?’

Once I would have been delighted to hear such family-oriented news, and join one of Mum's big family meals.

But I was annoyed at Ball for spurning my attempts to help. Even if buying booze fills a need, it is not as useful as buying clothes for work.

So I did a shameful Thai thing. I said I’d be there, knowing full well I wouldn’t, and failed to turn up.

An hour later, I was at work when Mum called again. I turned off the phone without answering, as I was busy.

That call was to say: He’s pacing about restlessly and needs his daily fix – are you still coming?

Five hours later, I cut through the slum on my way home, and came across Mum playing a board game with neighbours in an alleyway for small amounts of cash.

She looked embarrassed, like she had done something to offend me. ‘He’s now had a beer,’ she said, meaning he was able to find something to pacify his restless urges.

I did not stop to talk to Ball as I passed his home, but kept walking. As I passed, I peered in the door.

He was sitting on the floor talking to his sister. The ever-present girlfriend was dozing on the couch.

I can understand how Ball feels. He regards himself as the head of the household, and one day wants to look after his mother and girlfriend. He can hardly regard himself as a grown-up when someone from outside the family keeps buying him sensible items such as clothing.

My job is to buy the alcohol, just like any of his young friends would do if they drop in to his place fo a visit.

The last time we drank together, a few days ago, Ball sang along to music by Thai indie band 25Hours.

The band’s lead singer, Laem Somporn Rungphanit (แหลม สมพล รุ่งพาณิชย์ - pictured above), has a startlingly clear, high voice, which sounds almost like a woman’s. Ball – who is no slouch as a karaoke singer – can match him note for note.

25Hours recently put out their first album. Try the fabulous Keun Ngao, here.

Another day, another job over

‘He’s on his way back home...the job was too much. There was nowhere to sit, he had to lift things all day, and has a sore back,’ said Mum.

It was 5pm. I had barely walked in her door. In fact, I hadn’t; I was still standing in the slum alleyway outside her place when she saw me, and started to unload.

Another job over - and this one didn’t even last eight hours. How did we get to this?

Seven hours earlier, I turned up at their place to usher Ball and his girlfriend Jay to work.

I took with me a Chinese fish ball meal (similar to khanom jeen) for the pair to eat before they left home.

A man in a cart sold them outside my condo. I had not seen him before, as I rarely venture out that way before evening.

On this day, however, I wanted to buy Ball and Jay a treat. They were about to start in new jobs, and should have something to fill their tummies first.

It’s just as well I bought them some food: when I turned up at Mum’s place, I saw she had prepared nothing for them to eat.

About 9am, khanom jeen in hand, I joined Mum in her sitting room to await the arrival from upstairs of Mr Ball.

The pair was due at work less than two hours later.

Outside, it was raining heavily.

‘They will probably go to work on the family motorcycle,’ said Mum.

‘If it’s too wet, I will put them in a taxi,’ I said.

When I arrived, girlfriend Jay had just taken a shower. Fifteen minutes later, Ball followed.

He looked chirpy, as if he was looking forward to his new job. He said nothing as he passed me between the stairs and shower.

It’s as if he expects me to be present; or maybe he is irritated by my presence, but is too polite, or accepting to let it show.

Ball and Jay started their first day of work yesterday selling books/newspapers at local department stores.

They applied for jobs at a company which runs stalls there.

The company put them in different locations, as it won’t allow boyfriends and girlfriends to work together.

Jay was assigned to work at a store in Rama 4; Ball, at the same store, only a different branch, on Rama 3.

After what seemed like an age, Ball finished his shower. As they dressed, I heard him and Jay chatting excitedly upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, he re-appeared downstairs, wearing black and white.

This is the standard uniform for sales staff. However, several months had passed since Ball last wore those pants.

His boxers spilled over the back, poking out under his white shirt, as his pants were too tight.

Ball yanked on them, but they would not rise any higher.

‘Drinking too much beer has made him fat, so he longer fits into his pants,’ his Mum told me the previous week.

‘However, I will wait a while before buying him any new ones, as he may not last in the job.’

That was sensible, given the events which would follow. However, for girlfriend Jay, Mum spent B1,000 buying two sets of work clothes.

She looked lovely when she descended the stairs, but said little.

Mum gave them a cellphone each to take to work, with a new phone number. She rents the devices from a local company.

‘They need phones to contact each other, or call home when they finish work,’ said Mum.

Half an hour later, it was time to go. Mum gave me Ball’s number, which I stored in my own cellphone.

I accompanied the young couple out to the family motorbike. Ball was driving. He was to take Jay to work first, and double back to Rama 3 to his own workplace.

Ball gave me a smile.

‘Good luck!’ I said.

Such promising beginnings. The same evening, before I left for work, I dropped in to Mum’s place, when she told me the unwelcome news that both Ball and Jay had decided to quit.

‘They are on their way back. Jay called asking for Ball’s number. A few minutes later, Ball called saying they had quit their jobs,’ said Mum.

I waited for the pair’s arrival.

Ball and Jay must have decided that he would do all the talking, as Jay just sat on the floor, saying nothing.

This is becoming a pattern: whenever this couple has bad news for Mum, Ball is always the one who breaks it to her. His girlfriend stays silent.

‘There was nowhere to sit, and I had to ask permission whenever I wanted to visit the toilet,' said Ball.

'At the start of work each day, we have to lug all the books and magazines out, and at the end of trade take them back again. I have a sore back and feet,’ he complained.

’You should have stayed on in your old job as a security guard,’ replied Mum, who said she would call his old boss to see if he could carry on working there.

‘What did your boss say when you told him you were quitting?’ I asked Ball.

‘He didn’t – I just walked out, without telling him,’ he said.

Ball did the same thing in his last job. When he grew tired of working as a security guard, he simply failed to return the next day.

His boss was none the wiser until he called his mother and asked where Ball had gone.

Thais are such a casual bunch, Ball will probably get back his old job as a security guard in Silom regardless.

We don’t yet know what to do about Jay. When Mum suggested she apply for work at the local 7-11 branch, she poo-pooed the idea.

‘I suspect Jay didn’t like the job at the department store, and called Ball to persuade him to quit too,’ grumbled Mum.

Mum, however, wasn’t about to challenge her about it. It’s just not the way things are done.

Last night about 10pm, work over for the day, I dropped in on my way home. Ball and Jay were playing with the kids. Mum had gone out to play HiLo, in the hope of raising money to keep the family going.

‘Have you eaten?’ I asked Ball.

‘Yes,’ he said politely.

‘Have you had a drink?’ I asked, referring to a beer I bought him earlier.

‘Yes,’ he said, laughing.

‘See you tomorrow.’

I am faithful, if nothing else. In the near future, nothing is likely to get better in this household, and yet still I persevere.

Why? The young are stupid because of their youth, no matter how hopeless their circumstances.

Maybe, one day, I will wake up and find everything has changed.

It’ll take a while. Perhaps that’s what families are for...we just wait, and hope for something better to pay us a visit.

Back to Mum's shop: Family loss, Tock finds a mate

I spent a few hours at my old drinking haunt, Mum’s shop in Pin Khlao.

No, not Ball’s Mum – but the other Mum I know, who runs a small corner shop over that way which I visited regularly before I moved into town.

On a whim, I called her, our first contact in months.

‘I am just back from Isan. My sister lost her son to tuberculosis, and I attended the funeral,’ she said sadly.

‘When would you like to see me?’

I had been thinking of a catch-up, so left home soon after we finished on the phone.

Mum’s younger sister Isra, who is still in the provinces tidying up after the funeral, gets back next week. She spends most of her days in Bangkok, helping Mum and her husband run the shop.

I met Isra’s children most recently three years ago. Her son Bon was aged 16 when he died, two days after being admitted to hospital.

‘He came down with a chest infection before he died, and was always getting the flu. However, there were no signs that this was about to happen,' said Mum.

'He had only just enrolled in school for the new term, but died before he could start,’ she said, crying.

Two women friends in their 40s turned up to boost her spirits as Mum told the sad story of her nephew.

The night was not without funny moments. One woman made supportive sounds for half an hour before Mum realised that they were on different wavelengths.

Her woman friend thought Mum was talking about the death of someone else.

I called Isra to pass on my regrets. We spoke for a minute on Mum's phone when the signal gave up.

Mum called back. ‘Mali has passed on his regrets...so let’s talk about something else,’ she told her sister matter-of-factly. I laughed.

A familiar face turned up at the shop. It was Mr Tock  – a young lad with sad eyes who likes wearing plaid shorts.

He was wearing them again last night when he dropped in to buy cigarettes.

Tock recognised me, and asked where I had been.

'I moved to a new part of town, and don't visit much any more,' I said.

Years ago when I first knew him, I chased Mr Tock down the road to ask if he was single. I also asked Mum to sound him out on my behalf. An excerpt from a blog post back then:

She asked him if he would like to find a mate. 'I would, but no one wants me,' he said sadly. Why should he feel that way, I wonder - because he looks small and feminine? He does, but that's probably not it.

He does not have much money, and knows that Thai girls like to be looked after? That's a more likely explanation, as I have heard it from my straight friends before.

Tock has now found a mate, readers will be pleased to know.

‘I have a girlfriend – and we have a child, aged one,’ he said proudly.

However, Tock, who looked a little worse for wear, was out of a job.

‘I have finished my studies, but can’t find work,’ he said.

Tock made his apologies and left.

Mum and I, meanwhile, joked about my enduring search for Mr Right.

For as long as Mum has known me, I have been chatting up men. We laugh about it, but I know she worries that I will end up with someone who will only break my heart.

While sitting at her shop, I called Mr Noom, a youngster from Isan whom I met a couple of weeks ago close to my work.

He was working at a streetside eatery where I order laab moo before work.

However, a week ago he returned to the provinces to resume his studies.

Mum overheard our conversation.

‘Is that your new fancy man?’ she asked.

'He is...though we are still getting to know each other,' I said.

I also told Mum about my slum friend Ball. Almost apologetically, I mentioned his age - just 19.

‘I don’t care about his age – is he a good person?’ she asked.

As Mum chatted to her friends, I walked into the soi next to her corner store.

I passed a smart cafe/eatery where once I entertained hopes of finding a job for boyfriend Maiyuu, selling bakery products.

Since I last saw the shop, it has expanded to twice its original size, and now has a small bar. I spotted owner Wut, wandering about inside, but few customers.

‘Hardly anyone goes there,’ said Mum.

Pin Khlao, one of the oldest and poorer parts of town, has a large student population. Out here, They appear to prefer taking cheap meals by the roadside, or even barn-like bar-b-que eateries by the river, rather than in the air-conditioned comfort of a cafe.

Mum’s shop itself is all but dead, from what I can tell. Few if any of the young people who used to drink there bother any more.

I have offered to pay a return visit next week, when Mum’s sister Isra will have returned.

-
Ball’s mother called.

Her son was waiting for a drink, she said.

Ball and his girlfriend Jay start work tomorrow.

Yesterday, Mum visited a market to buy the last few pieces of the black and white uniform which Jay will wear to work.

I contributed nothing towards that, but I did give her money towards a pair of work shoes for Ball.

‘I have decided not to buy him any more black slacks. He can wear the ones we wore to his last job, even though they have a hole in one knee. I am not sure how long he will last in his new job, so why take the risk?’ she said.

At Ball’s place, where I turned up an hour later, I did little talking.

At Pin Khlao, I felt my world had grown. Back in the slum, I felt it had shrunk again.

Ball's mother knew I had been in Pin Khlao, but did not seem interested when I told her the story of my ties to that place.

We watched a movie. Ball sat across from me, while his girlfriend perched moodily on the couch between us.

When the alcohol ran out, I left.

Ball’s mother could tell my mood had changed. She asked what time I started drinking.

Her son, who also noticed the change, looked at me with his sad eyes, but said nothing.

I felt sorry for him, but did not linger.

We talk best when we are alone. We seldom get the chance these days, which is a pity. So the game carries on.