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! ☺

Late nights and creaking gates

Good day all!  I feel that I must share with you that I have suffered recently one of those moments in life when you realise that what you were capable of doing so easily in the past is now only possible by taking a hefty quantity of illicit drugs, none of which can be ordered over the counter at the pharmacy. 

You must understand that when I say that I suffered a sudden realisation, this in fact means that it felt as if someone had violently assaulted me using some form of club to hit me about the head, or to be more precise, right between the eyes!

For the record I was in the lovely city of Liverpool, at a professional seminar, taking time out to use the conference centre internet connection to impart my somewhat folded view of life and my complete inability to deal with it. For those of you who know the city, the conference centre is right next to the Echo arena as was, on the Kings dock, overshadowed by a huge Ferris wheel thing, a kind of Liverpool eye if you will.
Now it is accepted at these events for delegates to be afforded a few evening 'perks' in the form of food and drink and generally be allowed to relax and be merry at somebody else's expense. Yes! Just like an MP! There is only one drawback and that is it is all too easy to over indulge if who pays is not an issue, a bit like your buffet breakfast when your on your all inclusive holidays. You know croissants, toast, followed by a full english, cold meats, waffles and lastly a little slice of melon to make you feel better about it! Well the same can happen in the evening in the bar where a plethora of different exotic sounding drinks are freely available and you feel this is too good an opportunity to miss! Hence yours truly is slumped on a rather uncomfortable stool in the 'delegate lounge' and I am aware that my body has a ridiculous slope as I cannot retain any form of decent posture due to alcohol fatigue and a curvature of the spine which appears to have been acquired overnight despite my very comfortable queen size bed. My legs have suffered a temporary (I hope) amnesia, completely forgetting their role in supporting me, so much so my knees seem to no longer act as effective hinges so I have to crouch part way to the floor and then fall the rest of the way while pretending that this is some form of cunning master plan to get to the floor quicker and therefore recover the pen that I am unable to grasp properly more nimbly.

This of course has led me to question what in royal Scally city is going on? This morning, in a brief window of clarity I was shattered to have some very grave thoughts pop into my mind. I suddenly realised here, in this great place that I have now lived far longer than I am yet to live and slowly pieces of me will very likely start failing to work properly or more unsettling start dropping off completely!

So it was I carried this heavy burden into the conference pretending all the while that my odd body shape was in fact some hereditary disease and hoping against hope that I didn't bump into anybody who knew me!

I realise that some of you may well have suffered similar unsettling experiences and you may be able to extend to me some sympathy and understanding and feel charitable enough to offer up some suggestions as to how to cope with being the wrong side of sixty and not make a complete chisel of myself at every turn.You see I  know of only one cure for a creaking gate that doesn't involve radical surgery or a mobile pharmacy to follow me around and that of course is oil, alcohoil in copious quantity. Groundhog day tomorrow then! ☺