A few weeks, it seems, since the last one, a new birthday has come along – the 81st no less, hardly believable when one thinks how not so long ago one could joyfully spring up stairs three at a time if the occasion demanded it or party until dawn (very possibly celebrating another West Indies victory as No. 1 in the world) and still go faithfully to work on time.
This birthday finds me still poised, as I have been for quite some time, between two opposing inclinations. One is to relax, withdraw from the hustle and the hurly-burly and the frustrating daily effort to get things done and sink into reclusive peace and quiet. The other inclination is to go on working as hard as one can to clear as wide a patch of efficiency,
