Every human life has its own trajectory.

And if there is one 'trick to life' worth learning it is being able to accurately sense the current vector of one's life trajectory, especially at certain key junctures.

By the age of forty, however, Sebastian Turvey had not yet learnt this trick. In fact, he didn't understand a single thing about vectors. Although he could use the word 'juncture' in conversation, he could not be certain that he was doing so correctly.

It had not yet occurred to Sebastian that his life was travelling along in a manner comparable to a projectile in motion through the air.

Insofar as tricks were concerned, by the age of forty, Sebastian Turvey knew two party tricks. First, he could juggle four screwdrivers quite competently, infrequently suffering serious injury. Secondly, he could skull a full jug of beer in less than half a minute. He would invariably attempt to perform these tricks at any social occasion, wherever possible. These two tricks had served him well over the years. He seldom had to practise the tricks at home. Once he had acquired the necessary skills, he never looked back. The tricks were usually quite well received by his audience, including by gasps and whoops of delight, cheering and chanting of his name, and applause. If Sebastian delayed his performance until after midnight, a warm reception was practically guaranteed. After a while, the timing of his performance also became part of the theatrics in itself, with the party guests doing a countdown from 10-1 and watching the clock.

Sebastian's record of success in performing these tricks, and in avoiding expensive medical bills, had improved immeasurably since he adopted a strict policy of always performing these tricks in the correct order. If anyone ever contemplated making an attempt at these party tricks (which they certainly shouldn't) then it is crucially important to leave the beer jug skolling till last.

Exactly one month before Sebastian's forty-first birthday, on a mild sunny afternoon at the beginning of winter, he was seated on a bench, in a churchyard near his home, playing a traditional Russian three-stringed musical instrument called the balalaika. His playing had drastically improved since the balalaika had first fallen into his hands the previous year, just before Christmas, but it was still terrible. The churchyard belonged to the local Ukrainian Catholic Church and encircled a precarious but imposing chapel, with a spectacular but fragile looking dome, perched upon its pinnacle. Sebastian had only been inside the church once before, but that day had been such a complete debacle that he tried not to think about it too much.

Sebastian's stubby fingers repeated the same aggressive pattern on the fretboard of the instrument until his eyes glazed over. He could almost hear himself snoring very softly as he played. He had come to this specific churchyard in the hope that he might be able to absorb any psychic energy which may have leached out of the mostly Slavic congregation on their way to and from the Sunday Mass. He believed that this could potentially help with his playing, although it did not appear to have done so thus far. He was trying to picture in his mind's eye a sketch he had drawn of an old woman, looking like a very tubby Russian Matroushka doll, cackling a toothless grin, while singing and playing the balalaika. Suddenly the whine of the strings intensified and locked into an oscillating hum that sounded as if it was comprised of millions of human voices, all desperately crying out in hunger. Sebastian sat up with a start, pushed the balalaika away into his lap and rubbed the palm of his right hand, around his eye-sockets.

"I haven't heard that tune before," said a grey-haired man with downcast eyes, who appeared to be dressed as a priest, in brown hessian robes, standing on a gravel path opposite the bench where Sebastian was seated. He must have snuck up on Sebastian when he wasn't watching.

"It's just a method of noodling around," said Sebastian.

"Noodle or no, the balalaika has a distinctive sound. Another priest and I have spent all afternoon preparing holy water inside the Church. When you started playing, I thought I was hallucinating, it is so long since I heard a balalaika."

"That's nice," said Sebastian, "so you could hear me playing out here in the churchyard?"

"Yes," said the priest, "that's what I came out to tell you."

Sebastian considered whether to offer the priest a seat on the bench, but wasn't sure what to say as it was really the priest's bench more than it was Sebastian's.

"Would you like to take some holy water home with you?" said the priest.

Sebastian was quite unable to pick up on the priest's subtle invitation to promptly depart the church premises, but when he heard the words 'holy water'", he jumped to his feet.

"I sure would," said Sebastian.

"Then come with me," said the priest.