As a newly single person I feel that it is important to share my most recent experiences with you.
I do appreciate that I have been ‘off the scene’ for a while and probably was never very on it in the first place but despite not looking for any kind of partnership I have encountered some serious blunders in recent weeks. Not my blunders I add. The blunders of men.
The first is pretty standard accept for the total denial of the protagonist. I met someone recently who I was going to ‘date’ [as in going out with the intention of getting laid] but it never really got off the ground. We live some distance apart and so it seemed too complicated given that neither of us was really that keen. Well, he decided to get back in contact recently and I happened to be available so suggested a meet [this time not with any intention] but he had a busy schedule. We missed each other again and I decided that rather than wait up all night I should put it down to fate and go to bed. I also happened to turn my phone to silent [unusual] for me before I finally fell asleep. When I woke I had 16 missed calls, 5 txt messages and 2 answer phone messages from this person. All of them from the time between 02:15 and 02:45. Obviously the man was drunk and his messages proved how utterly incoherent he had been – but this severe flurry of activity seems to have occurred during the time at which he would have been least capable of entertaining me. What makes this perhaps typical oddity even stranger was that he continued to ring me throughout the morning until I finally spoke to him and he accused me of being a “light-weight” and not “up for a laugh”. Have I missed something here?
After this disappointing show my weekend proceeded to get weirder.
I left very early from Devon to drive back to Sussex and stopped in Taunton for some fuel. I pulled up to a pump at 06:22 and proceeded to try and fill the tank – the pump unfortunately was not working and looking around in hope of finding some assistance I noticed a man staring at me from the door of the service station. Now, I want to be quite clear in this description, he was about 40 and was dressed in a dirty, cream linen suit and he was decidedly dishevelled – he looked like a cross between the man from Delmonte and Michael Douglas when he gets out of a coffin in Mexico in The Game.
I asked him in a bit of a stroppy tone “Is there a reason that this pump isn’t working?” thinking 'he probably knows something that I don’t which is why he’s grinning at me'. He replies, in the most disgustingly smooth voice “I don’t know darling but I’d really like to help you” and starts walking towards me.
At this point I get that uncomfortable feeling I get when two ugly people are snogging in public. But just in the nick of time a bloke walks out of the garage and tells me that pump 5 is not working but he’s just about to go so I skip the car over and fill up the tank. Mr Delmonte has backed off a bit and is lurking by the door. As I go in to pay for the petrol he asks me where I’m going and so I tell him I’m going home to Brighton.
As I leave the shop he’s still there and starts walking besides me toward my car.
HIM: “Next time you’re in town why don’t you come up [insert address and postcode!] – I will make you feel very welcome.
ME: Abject horror.
HIM: “I think you’re lovely.”
ME: “It’s too early for this shit.”
Why on God's earth would you give a total stranger your full address and postcode?
Men here is a note worth taking down. There are ways and means and neither of the above examples are acceptable. Must try harder.
3 June 2009
15 May 2009
Being yourself
"To be nobody-but-yourself -- in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else -- means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."
e e cummings
Perhaps it is being yourself which is the hardest thing to do. It is difficult to know exactly how to define what ‘being yourself’ is exactly. People say “You don’t seem yourself” but I could be that you are the only person who will ever really know what it means to be yourself.
To a certain extent it is arguable that all of our interactions are an act. Every time I am observed I am acting. I act being myself. I act work, I act play. I act love. And you act love as well. So when we say “I love you” we are just reading the most cliched of scripts.
How much courage does it take to strip that down to the bone and to never lie or to hide anything. Sometimes a lie is the best thing. A white lie; a lie that protects. What about helping someone else to lie? Covering up. What about the lies we tell every time we smile at someone we don’t like? Is this being yourself? Our lives dictate that we must learn to adapt our behaviour and yet we hold integrity and honesty of character in such high esteem. How can we achieve both?
I am growing back into my own skin again. Like a stranger in my body; a tourist in my life. I don’t have to think twice about every decision but I do notice that as I let go I am starting to do annoying things like be forgetful. I cherish my own company less because I am not running away from anyone just for the silence. And I am happy. Strange and clumsy word on my tongue – unfamiliar shadow. An entirely new light falls on everything – even the things that make me sad.
e e cummings
Perhaps it is being yourself which is the hardest thing to do. It is difficult to know exactly how to define what ‘being yourself’ is exactly. People say “You don’t seem yourself” but I could be that you are the only person who will ever really know what it means to be yourself.
To a certain extent it is arguable that all of our interactions are an act. Every time I am observed I am acting. I act being myself. I act work, I act play. I act love. And you act love as well. So when we say “I love you” we are just reading the most cliched of scripts.
How much courage does it take to strip that down to the bone and to never lie or to hide anything. Sometimes a lie is the best thing. A white lie; a lie that protects. What about helping someone else to lie? Covering up. What about the lies we tell every time we smile at someone we don’t like? Is this being yourself? Our lives dictate that we must learn to adapt our behaviour and yet we hold integrity and honesty of character in such high esteem. How can we achieve both?
I am growing back into my own skin again. Like a stranger in my body; a tourist in my life. I don’t have to think twice about every decision but I do notice that as I let go I am starting to do annoying things like be forgetful. I cherish my own company less because I am not running away from anyone just for the silence. And I am happy. Strange and clumsy word on my tongue – unfamiliar shadow. An entirely new light falls on everything – even the things that make me sad.
7 May 2009
Bras & Anti-Capitalists
It was a pleasant bank holiday weekend in Brighton. Starting on Saturday with a trip to the vet with Steve that left me £90 lighter and broke the car.
In the evening I took Rob, Henry and his friend Jon to Komedia to see the Krater Comedy late-show. A pretty good line-up with a very, very funny first act. There was then continuation of the drinking which as usual, ended on West Street – oh God help me. I blame Henry entirely for this as I never go there unless he is around. I did meet some very “nice” lads from Haywards Heath [exotic] who we couldn’t get rid of for a few hours. One of them had a Sugar Puff t-shirt I remember vaguely.
Sunday I had lunch with Ilona in the Pavilion Gardens – where the sky mirror has been set-up. We did some catching up and she is very excited about a new man on the scene. I then went for a very long walk from Hove lawns to the Pier and back again and watched ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’ for the second time.
Monday the weather was disappointing so there were no frivolities on the beach; which had been planned for 51 as a bonding session. Instead Katie cooked me some lovely lunch and stuffed me full of Ferrero Rocher before forcing me into Bravissimo. Now, it is important to note that Monday was also the chosen day for the Anti-Capitalist March through Brighton which targeted businesses such as Macdonald’s whom they believe to be connected to the weapons manufacturer in Mouslecoombe. I had no idea that they were building weapons at the bottom of my road! I lived there for a year without this knowledge. Anyway, there were quite a few angry people wandering through Brighton whilst Kate and I were browsing bra-styles and waiting for fittings.
Maybe I am naive but I wasn’t really prepared for the fitting experience. Firstly, although I am famed for my love of a little naked time I do tend to only indulge around well known company, taking my top off and having a stranger stare directly at my chest was very odd. I don’t mind the top off part but the sort of direct staring was unnerving. Then having several bras handed to me and being instructed to “put yourself in it properly” whilst muttering and pondering about sizing was occurring began to make me uncomfortable. To add insult to injury I began to worry that my fitting lady would be alarmed by my actions and so I couldn’t decide how to stand or whether to put the robe on or where to look. Anyway, the result of the entire experience is I have been told that I am a 34F. Yes. An F cup. I am horrified by this knowledge although my bra does feel pretty good.
So whilst policemen were swarming all over Brighton trying to prevent a riot and paramedics were being warned that they would be targeted in any violence and protestors were shouting and burning things to improve the world I was having my breasts sized by a strange woman.
I think mine was the more successful revolution.
In the evening I took Rob, Henry and his friend Jon to Komedia to see the Krater Comedy late-show. A pretty good line-up with a very, very funny first act. There was then continuation of the drinking which as usual, ended on West Street – oh God help me. I blame Henry entirely for this as I never go there unless he is around. I did meet some very “nice” lads from Haywards Heath [exotic] who we couldn’t get rid of for a few hours. One of them had a Sugar Puff t-shirt I remember vaguely.
Sunday I had lunch with Ilona in the Pavilion Gardens – where the sky mirror has been set-up. We did some catching up and she is very excited about a new man on the scene. I then went for a very long walk from Hove lawns to the Pier and back again and watched ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’ for the second time.
Monday the weather was disappointing so there were no frivolities on the beach; which had been planned for 51 as a bonding session. Instead Katie cooked me some lovely lunch and stuffed me full of Ferrero Rocher before forcing me into Bravissimo. Now, it is important to note that Monday was also the chosen day for the Anti-Capitalist March through Brighton which targeted businesses such as Macdonald’s whom they believe to be connected to the weapons manufacturer in Mouslecoombe. I had no idea that they were building weapons at the bottom of my road! I lived there for a year without this knowledge. Anyway, there were quite a few angry people wandering through Brighton whilst Kate and I were browsing bra-styles and waiting for fittings.
Maybe I am naive but I wasn’t really prepared for the fitting experience. Firstly, although I am famed for my love of a little naked time I do tend to only indulge around well known company, taking my top off and having a stranger stare directly at my chest was very odd. I don’t mind the top off part but the sort of direct staring was unnerving. Then having several bras handed to me and being instructed to “put yourself in it properly” whilst muttering and pondering about sizing was occurring began to make me uncomfortable. To add insult to injury I began to worry that my fitting lady would be alarmed by my actions and so I couldn’t decide how to stand or whether to put the robe on or where to look. Anyway, the result of the entire experience is I have been told that I am a 34F. Yes. An F cup. I am horrified by this knowledge although my bra does feel pretty good.
So whilst policemen were swarming all over Brighton trying to prevent a riot and paramedics were being warned that they would be targeted in any violence and protestors were shouting and burning things to improve the world I was having my breasts sized by a strange woman.
I think mine was the more successful revolution.
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