If Jane doesn't want me Angela does!

It may come as some surprise that as a general rule I am not known for being particularly outspoken. It's true that through previous scribblings I have expressed some concerns about the antics of various groups and individuals on thorny issues such as houses that never sleep and seem to resemble electrical substations, Lycra clad cyclists who appear to have at least 3 terrifying 'bulges' and men who think they become Michelin star chefs when they have a reasonably sunny day and a bag of charcoal!

All these things are somewhat baffling but I do at least understand them on some level but there is one question in my life that I have struggled to even start to get my head around.

 

To clarify I think it best to provide some background with a fact which those of you who know me as the stunningly good looking hunk and all round international man of mystery may find almost unbelievable!

At the age of  exactly 17 I embarked on my first meaningful relationship with Jane, a beautiful young woman.

At the age of seventeen years and 1 day I suffered my first break up of a meaningful relationship.

I know! said you'd be shocked, dumped in a day, impressive right? 

Why would she do that to me? I was tortured, didn't she like her fish & chips? was her coke flat? didn't she realise I was destined for below average things? or was my witty recounting of being electrocuted while peeing on an electric fence too much, too soon? 

Whatever, I was totally deflated and 2 pounds poorer for the experience! I couldn't see how I could move on from this.

This story I think explains a lot about the fragile state of mind which has afflicted me all my adult life and the infantile buffoonery which has accompanied it.

It also signalled the start of a life-long struggle to make sense of the age old problem which has afflicted men since Adam became aware that Eve had been messing about with his Golden Delicious,

What makes women tick? .....or ....where did I go wrong with Jane?

Now at the risk of ruffling feminist feathers the world over I will attempt to diagnose the issue and provide some much needed and if I may say, valuable insight into this most complex matter.
To date I have read countless theories from relationship councillor's, analysts and psychology guru's on similar thorny issues of rejection but suffice to say I cannot, with any conviction say that I have achieved any greater clarity in my mind regarding the complexities of the underlying problem.

I don't buy the Venus and Mars horse dung, nor do I subscribe to the popular belief that men don't have feelings so therefore could not be expected to properly, truly understand the much more complex female mind. Well listen up, No man is an island!................well apart from the isle of Man obviously!.. .................Whatever moving on,

Coming to terms with the moment your world implodes and your jolly Roger seems to shrink to the size of a new born babies little finger is no easy matter and this is where a support network of family and friends is vital.

Of course when recounting the details of my disaster to the rough assortment of dubious individuals I somewhat over enthusiastically called 'my mates' I pretended that I cared not, easy come, easy go, onwards and upwards, plenty more fish in the sea etc, but deep down of course the blow to my blossoming male ego and self esteem cannot be under-estimated. I was hurting! so I did what any man without a driving license would do in my position, I bought a car!

Not just any car you understand but my very first car! Angela , a Ford Anglia 105E,  823 UAE, my pride and joy, my motor. An MOT failure certainly but still resplendent in its striking blue and rust coloured paint job, the death squeal of her brake shoes (minus linings it seemed) on the wheel drums. Ah haunting!

Now that was 15 quid well spent on that little beauty methinks! ☺