It was one of those days, one of those days you feel the world stop turning. To borrow an old line that is. It was the last day of work ahead of the Christmas break. Even though it was late afternoon, the hot December sun cut through the ever decreasing ozone with a fierce bite.

It was really no environment for a fair skinned, red headed person, such as myself, to be. But there I was nevertheless. The bars of U2’s “With or without you” drifted with a subdued pertinence across the slightly unkempt grass where I, and a few colleagues, were sprawled out.

We had been toasting the welcome down time that lay before us. At least the others were. I was sipping soft dink, and trying to look sophisticated. Yet, despite refraining from alcohol, I had probably consumed all together too much cola.

Well I was planning to drive home after all. Perhaps I could blame the carbonated, sweetened liquid sugar rush, for the outcome of events on what possibly turned out to be a fateful Christmas eve.

Perhaps fateful is too strong a word, given the benefit of subsequent years of hindsight. Maybe not, who knows. Whatever, I digress.

I hadn’t really intended to stay all that long, at this impromptu gathering, but as I made the final turn onto the street, and saw that familiar dark green car parked out the front of my colleague’s house, I knew this would be no whistle stop drink.

Not if fate, and any other higher force, that may or may not exist, deigned to intervene on my behalf, that is. Besides, it was a two litre bottle of coke I had. Trust me, you don’t scull and scurry with those babies.

We were not too far (at all actually) from the city’s international airport. We watched as each half hour another flight took off into the strong northerly head wind. You could almost see the aeroplanes ascending in jolted steps, such was the force of the breeze that afternoon.

Eventually the time arrived for me to take my leave of the party. Places to go, people to see, you understand. It was, of course, Christmas eve. Everyone else had bid me god speed and happy holidays, and then you… stepped across the aforementioned unkempt lawn.

The previous 18 months had been enigmatic to say the least (as, ponderously, these last 18 hours have). This was not lost on you as you sauntered across the lawn with that “the one that got away” gait of yours.

Yes, I see it. Now. (And how I ever missed that “glass against the door” comment of yours, who knows…) The one (and only, really) that got away from me. Maybe it was Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m on fire” that was washing around us. For all I know.

And then you spoke. To cut to the chase, to be succinct, to be blunt, you said “this doesn’t need a name, does it?” Maybe I can answer that question. Now. I couldn’t then. So I just stood there.

Ah darn. Maybe it wasn’t Springsteen at all. Maybe it was U2. Again. “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for”.

Yes, still.