Last night we had dinner at Dancer’s place. Dancer is an exceptional person, intelligent, kind and very noble. We have been working under the same roof for four years but we would hardly say much to each other, until very recently.
We went for dinner at his place at 8. He lives in Enclave in a house he renovated largely on his own (Dancer is an accomplished handyman, inter alia) and in a mightily (but understatingly) tasteful way. Food was great, music was intriguing, company relaxing, discussion exciting, ranging from preferred ways to preserve olives to the inevitable elegy on local politics, from childhoods to gossip, from Foucault (!) to the Human League, from homosocial practices to curry — pretty much anything. We would have stayed beyond 1 am but he was really tired by then (he had had a long day yesterday, tending to an orchard his mother owns) .
As Jod commented, it was one of few times in the Outpost we went to someone’s place where we stayed longer than, say, three hours without ending up in the throes of agonising bewilderment. Myself I was completely at ease — the second or third time this has happened in the presence of an Outposter: I was feeling we were in the company of an absolutely pleasant person, someone relaxed and with no ulterior motives: a wondrous blessing.