Thursday, 29 December 2011
Before Too Long…There’ll Be Somebody Else, It’s Then That You’ll Know That You Wanted More…
Let me start by wishing you a most Merry of all Christmasses. Hopefully as you read this, you are all snuggled up with your loved ones still patting a heavy stomach of mince pies and merriment, looking forward to the welcoming ceremony of 2012, and all that it may bring.
Incidentally, since you asked, I am sat typing this whilst Audrey struts her stuff in Breakfast at Tiffany’s on my DVD player, snuggled up in my most furry of fur coats as the boiler has decided to pack up. Ridiculous. Happy bloody Christmas.
Christmas, it must be said, was wonderful; short as ever for us retailing types, but wonderful none the less. Mr Jeffery did me proud with his thoughtful and lovely gifts…which may have included a rather romantically wrapped key to his house….which may have been slightly more romantic, had I not been informed of this gift in a somewhat laughable incident prior to the festivities, in which I traipsed all the way back to London…with Mr Jeffery’s key still in my bag. Cut to Christmas day, Nanny Musing is struggling to keep her cracker hat on her wiry fro, Mum is beaming over at me and love-of-life as we open wonderful presents and, surprisingly, we were subjected to Eastenders which I haven’t watched in years and, after that episode, I am overjoyed that I don’t; such relentless sorrow could not be endured of an evening four times a week.
So we’ve hit the 3 and a half month mark and a wonderful 3 and a half months it has been; feels like years, but in a good way. But, as any girl knows, the first few months can also be what I like to call ‘The Woodwork Phase’; we’ve all been there girl meets boy, other boys from the past home in on some sort of inner radar device, girl is inundated with offers, apologies and such like.
It started with a Facebook message, about two months ago now. It was from a bloke who ended up getting off with a friend of mine on one of my first nights out upon my arrival to London. Ben was his name, though I remember calling him ‘Serge’, mostly because he had a beard and a friend named Tom. This was also the night I fell in a bin, just to remind you how out of it I was. Nevertheless, I digress, off ‘Ben’ and his friend trotted never to hear from again; life goes on, my so called friend disappears off the face of the earth and this appears early one morning in my FB inbox;
‘Funny how I remember your name after all this time, give me a message sometime, it was you I fancied, not your friend’.
Hmmm, wasn’t how it looked at the time mate, whilst I was busy trying to prise myself out of the bin. I took great pleasure in a short message that said something along the lines of being a taken woman and ha ha and take care. Honestly, men!
I don’t imagine for a second that Jon Richardson’s radar is anywhere near tuned in my direction, but it had remained a dream of mine to meet such a man who can make me laugh and cry simultaneously, with his humourous hatred for all mankind, and his cute dimples. Alas, that dream came true at the start of December, in a basement tucked away by Old Street station, we had booked tickets for a sneak preview showing of Stand Up For The Week; little did we know how informal the evening would be. Remember those ramblings a short time ago, a time when I had a firm belief I could be the woman for him? Well, cut to Lovemenot virtually shoving me in Jich’s direction, a nervous request for a photo and a nervous acceptance, mission accomplished (disclaimer: Jich no longer allowed on my allowed list – he’s been replaced by Miles Kane)! That’s the sort of spontaneity one can only find in London, how I’ll miss those moments.
What is it with them all? You spend a good deal of your twenties single and ready for any eventuality (bolts out of the blue, celebs popping up on your doorstep) and you can’t even get the attention of the man who lives two doors up from your shop. All of a sudden, just when you’re settling in to something new and serious, the lights go on…only this time guys, there really is nobody home. Even Dream Boy attempted a minor flirt on our last meeting, something about absence making the heart grow fonder; no thanks DB, you of all people had time a plenty to see through my bashfulness and sort it out, too little too late!
And, as if these little flirtations weren’t enough, just when we thought a certain Gally had perhaps been asphyxiated by his own collection of overpriced, imported feathers (and other such hideous thoughts one conjures up in dark moments), he emails. Well to be exact, I sent an email. Something to do with laying ghosts to rest, I decided to send a quick email, a hello and a ‘hope you’re ok’. He replied…and wanted to meet up for a drink. I was shocked to my very core, not only had he been alive all this time, he was suggesting a catch up? Not only that, it now appears he has set up his own fashion label with fancy website and interest from fashion bloggers already. Well la de dah! I’m 90% happy for him and 10% pissed off with this over-the-top success, as any ex would be – jammy bastard.
I suppose I thought about the drink, he knew about Mr J and my decision to potentially leave London for the love of such a good man, so there would be no wires crossed there. Plus, there was the opportunity to get a few answers, gain a bit of closure, explaining that to Mr J, however, was a much harder conversation to have. I decided it was a good idea, I responded to Gally with a few bits and bobs about the job etc – he never wrote back. Oh well, closure accomplished I think – I know he’s alive and well and probably happy. I guess there are some things we are not supposed to have answers to – like why the ‘Woodwork Phase’ will always crop up at the start of a new relationship, regardless!
Anyway, must get going, this rather lavish production of Great Expectations has me hooked, plus I have New Year’s Resolutions to plan…there’s no time to tell you of our first trip away together – to see Kasabian in Cardiff (awesome – on all levels), or our first road trip to Somerset (Mr J, an ex-employee of Nero, drank a Starbucks – I took photographic evidence). Here’s to a fabulous 2012, I do hope you all get what you are hoping for; for me 2011 has been something of a turnaround…here’s looking forward to whatever 2012 may have in store.
See you on the other side….