Tuesday, 18 February 2014

Romance the ardent emotional attachment

So Valentine's day has passed and generally  most of us have gone back to wearing mismatching underwear and eating what ever we can make out of ingredients at the back of the fridge. Not that I am cynical but for those of us in a couple we may of made a special effort for the day. For those of us not in couples they may of wished they were being romanced or some may not of given a monkey's chuff. Those in the monkey's chuff category probably have the best insight.

All my adult life I have had romantic notions of  what I want from a relationship. If honest I think I am unrealistic. I looked for a definition that best suits what romance is and came up with "Ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people". Personally I think that smacks of stalking.
"I was being romantic your honour when you found me behind the wheelie bin with a pair of binoculars. I was ardently emotionally attaching myself to the chink in Sandra's curtains." 
Growing up I never received Valentines cards (aww I hear you say). I think the eye patch may of put boys off. If I did receive a card it was from my parents; written in illegible writing to signify another teenager had written it. To be honest that was worse than not getting one at all. "Guess who" with a "?" scrawled in the card might as well of said "mum and dad". I was a late developer when it came to boys and when I did get my first boyfriend I was 14. Not that you can call him a boyfriend as I didn't even kiss him.
My first "proper" boyfriend was when  I was 17. Like I said I was a late developer. During this time late adolescent romance was all about stuffed animals and cards that would of needed a crane to deliver them. When that ended I broke my heart but at least it let me experience what it would be like to be a size 8. Sadly I was too heart broke to enjoy my newly acquired gauntness.
Following that I dated lots and I mean lots. I had discovered my inner goddess as discussed in a previous post. During this time the thing that mattered the most was romance. During the honeymoon phase its all about the romance. Not  many relationships survived past that phase until I fell desperately and painfully in love with someone for 10 years.

So anyway romance. My problem was I dated someone who was an obsessed Smiths fan and one evening in his woeful way he said
"And if a ten ton truck Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine"
In that moment I thought "OH MY GOD! How romantic". We dated for 2 weeks I was 19. It ended because well, in essence he was too intense. An ode to love in extremis turned out to be ardent emotional attachment of the stalking kind. However this didn't deter me on my quest for romance. I wanted to feel that "OH MY GOD! How romantic" feeling again. Next time I felt it I was 22  when a boy gave me a quarter of wine gums wrapped in A4. He had coloured in the paper himself and used glitter glue to make it "pretty". He was a graduate in economics trying to get a job so never had any money. He was also my boyfriends best friend. Awkward I hear you say readers, another ardent emotional attachment. This is true, but in that moment I did think "how romantic!" 

However in reality I know that wasn't romance at all but just weird. Someone once asked me "what would you want from a relationship?"  My answer wasn't commitment, trust. honesty and respect. Oh nooooo readers remember I am an idiot so my response was "I want someone to be able to twirl me round and round on a dance floor then dip me." She raised her eyebrows.

Its took being in my 40's to actually realise what romance is and that it cant be in extremis every day. That days can go by without romance and the smallest thing can make your heart a flutter. I know some of you will make that special effort every day and I commend you on those efforts.  I think some of us would like a little more romance in our lives.

When discussing this with the beau he responds with "well I am not that romantic and if I was romantic every day then it wouldn't mean as much". Hmmmn seems plausible but I think its to shut me up when I am whinging about his reluctance to get run over by a ten ton truck for the privilege and he thinks wine gums are bad for your teeth. I shouldn't moan as I too have let my honeymoon allure slip with the comfort of wearing my dressing gown that makes me look like an ewok; also shaving my legs has reduced to only when going out as its winter and no one sees them. So who am I to whinge?

So returning to Valentines day, it can make you stop for a second an indulge in romantic capitalism of flowers, cards and dinner. I did get a beautiful bouquet of flowers which of course I appreciate but if honest I can see the shiny glint of commercialism in them. Valentines flowers although beautiful don't produce the "OH MY GOD! How romantic" feeling I want to recreate.

I accept now I wont get twirled round and round as my beau has 2 left feet. However when he looks at me as I stand in my Ewok dressing gown with 2 hairy legs sticking out the bottom and says "I love you as much and as long as a fisherman's tale I think "OH MY GOD! How romantic"

My Facebook status recently has reflected his tolerance for my oddness, so maybe that's what romance is all about.

We’re all a little weird. And life is weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love. 
Robert Fulghum

Sunday, 16 February 2014


Growing up I was different. Some of you readers know this. Its not that I  strive to be different, things just turned out that way. I blame the knitted swimsuit! Yes you read that correctly readers. When I was 10 I couldn't swim and it was essential that all children had to learn to swim before moving up to "big school".
I returned home with my obligatory note requiring parental consent for my "special swimming lessons". If it wasn't bad enough that I was in "special swimming classes", the knitted swimsuit would exacerbate my specialness.

It was orange and knitted in the style of a Victorian swim suit with legs knitted in. It also had shiny gold buttons. To compliment the ensemble, I had a swimming hat with white material in the style of a turban with a shiny shiny gold scarab beetle pin to secure the material positioned centrally in the forehead of the hat. Bobby dazzling it was!
To go that extra mile with my Gok Wanishiness; I was a child with a lazy eye who wore an eye patch. So as I walked to the pool looking like a Oompa Lumpa  pirate my humiliation would be further endured. I never got a length certificate as my costume would hold so much water I would sink. However  I did complete my width certificate to the shouts of children "Miss, Miss... Meatballs sinking" . I think I only achieved my width certificate because Miss would yank me to the side with the window pole to prevent me drowning.

I never did my cycling proficiency test either. I liked having stabilisers till age 11 and wasn't that keen to have them removed. So it wasn't that I make a particular effort at being different, I just was. Would I change the knitted swimsuit? Looking back.. no I don't think I would. I am not saying its easy being an Oompa Lumpa pirate once a week at the local baths but it certainly makes you work out fast who you are I learned not to care what people think.

I went to a friend's birthday party age 35  with the the theme "Dare to be different". Women were glamorous in their burlesque finery and the men were equally handsome. Me nooo I misinterpreted the brief and turned up as a pumpkin; thinking "ooh a pumpkin in summer now that's different"!!! Dancing in the middle of the dance floor trying to negotiate my pumpkin girth round tassel's and stockings, I quietly thought to myself all I am missing is an eye patch.

What I am trying to say that at some point in our lives we should all have a knitted swimsuit moment. I think humanity should learn to accept difference rather than challenge it at every opportunity. (ooh that's a bit deep that is!). I know its easy to say don't care about what others think but stood at the side of that pool thinking "bollocks this itches" I jumped in and I have been jumping in ever since and look how I turned out.

Fabulous darling!



Where have I been?

So its been a year since I last blogged and I only blogged 6 times in 2013. Lately I have been amusing myself with updating Facebook status and I thought why am I not blogging anymore?
Well I can offer a variety of reasons

  • My laptop went on a wonk and despite the beau saying repeatedly "I can fix it". My response was always "oh never mind I can't be bothered".
  • I have become a full time step parent which seems to occupy lots of my time.
  • Work has been busy with loosing my "Plus One".
  • I have been poorly.
However despite all these reasons; reasons that I convince myself are reasonable in truth the explanation is I think I lost my Mojo!

Why have I lost my Mojo readers? Well I have no clue. Most weeks I play a video diary in my head with lots of amusing things to say but then I never write them up. The philosophy of this blog was always laugh in the face of adversity. Dear god have I stopped laughing or is it that I no longer face any adverse adventure.

So here I am saying sod it, start writing again. If no bugger reads it who cares. Its cathartic!
I enjoy writing and  I enjoy the inane babbling of an idiot. I pride myself in being that idiot.
My pal in Oz, who I don't talk to ever enough for no apparent reason, wrote on my Facebook " Perhaps Andrew has learned not to question things to deeply, and accept you as you are....lovely....bonkers...and reassuringly unchanging! Love reading your posts"

There you have it I am reassuringly unchanging. I am still as stupid as I was in my 20's; so why not bore the whole would with my nonsense. So readers I am going to look for my Mojo and maintain this blog.