scribbles tagged ‘courting’

sockets and plugs are made for each other. literally

Friday, November 6th, 2015 | tags: , ,  |

floor socketI walked into a crowded room, at my USA workplace. People milling around and chatting. A attractive colleague I hadn’t seen for a few months strode up to me and gave me a big hug. I’m not used to being hugged in American workplaces, it’s unusual, people tend to be cautious about potential harassment. A most pleasant experience. I was a little flabbergasted by this very public display of affection, and quite flattered. Ego inflation.

15 minutes later I was sat on the floor discussing floor plug design, as an aside to work, with a British colleague. For me, a fascinating discussion. We described our home fixtures and how they worked. His are brass, and cost a fortune to install. Mine are plastic, were there when I moved in.

As I described how to open mine “I have to take the top right off”
The attractive colleague was walking behind and exclaimed loudly  “Oh! Should we leave?”
The Brit I was talking to started giggling uncontrollably.

Double entendre? From an attractive American? In the work place!

Later at lunch, during a group conversation the attractive American used touching my arm as a way of indicating that he had something to say to me. I’d forgotten about this type of way of being.

Feels like flirting. I like it. I suspect I have a crush on this boy.
Flirting is fun, I need to brush up on my very rusty skills.

sockets and plugs are made for each other. literally
5 votes rating 5

2 bits of fabulous banter »

Neat endings

Monday, June 22nd, 2015 | tags: ,  |

sunset in local-wine glassWhat makes you think that anyone would be interested in what you have to say?”

The evening had dragged on, he had killed all my attempts to make light hearted banter or explore his values. Hard work. Passive-aggressive people are tiresome. With this line he ended what remained of something I’d previously believed was a friendship of equals. Silently, I gathered my jacket, bag, stood up, took a long draw of all the wine remaining in my glass and left.

No need to trouble him with the uninteresting niceties of saying the obvious, that I was leaving.

Neat endings
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Honeywell hill

Tuesday, April 7th, 2015 | tags: , , , ,  |

Honeywell HillI took Holly’s advice and went in search of the locally named ‘Honeywell hill’. It was easy to find because Minneapolis is relatively flat. People had posted pictures of views from the hill on Flickr, which helped me to find it.

At the bottom of the hill is an old, neglected looking, Honeywell building with a brick tower announcing it’s name. I followed the tower, then drove into the cemetery next door.

Apparently people come here to court. In the quiet company of the dead they watch the city’s profile, cuddle and kiss.

Honeywell hill
1 vote rating 5

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whine bar

Tuesday, September 23rd, 2014 | tags: , , ,  |

What makes you think you’re saying anything that I’d actually want to listen to?

Smoking ladiesI hadn’t thought. My conversation was indeed trivial. We sat in silence while I pondered something worthy of conversation and he revelled in having silenced me. During the silence I decided his lack of engagement in conversation as a team effort, and the mean spirit of his conversation stopper meant that I didn’t care for his company.  I took my leave. An abrupt way to end a relationship. It had been short and definitely lacking in sweetness. When he’d told me that his ex-wife had attacked him with a meat cleaver I had wondered why, that wondering had wandered into potential victim blaming. His mean comment felt strategically placed to start a heated meta-level discussion about our relationship with a theme of my being inadequate. I’m prepared to engage in that type of conversation but only if handled in a manner that clearly, mutually, uncovers ways in which we can grow as individuals, or a couple. Clearly not the case here.

Putting on my coat, finding the money for my share of the bill and leaving the wine bar seemed to take forever. Maybe I’d overreacted, but the type of person I’d like to spend time with would not have created that situation and would have managed the end of the relationship with more grace and style. I cried while I walked home. Because, despite many clues, I’d not recognised his mean spirit.

whine bar
4 votes rating 4.75

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they all looked the same to me

Friday, July 11th, 2014 | tags: , , , ,  |

and your point is?Sampo has found herself a new home near Birmingham. Upgrading her home to a quirky Georgian house with an adult family. I’ve known one family member since 1987 when we dated for a year. We visited mum and dad in that time. I tried to prompt mumsie to remember him

Me: “The tall skinny one with a curly quiff”

Mumsie: “They were all tall and skinny dear”


they all looked the same to me
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remembering to remember

Thursday, May 8th, 2014 | tags: ,  |

Watching a mellow, slim, attractive man saunter along the sidewalk.

Briefly glimpsing a reminder of those intense, happy feelings that accompany falling in love.

I’d forgotten that I’d forgotten that unique, addictive high.

A fleeting insight too quickly lost.


remembering to remember
3 votes rating 4.67

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let hope move on

Friday, February 14th, 2014 | tags: , ,  |

Freeway ExitThat moment, when you realise “I don’t love you any more

  • When you order a meal and he tells you, again, to be careful about your weight.
  • Walk in the rain towards a warm friendly bar and he says he wants to go home
  • The phone call to say he’s working late

A moment of a relief because of the freedom it implies. A deep seated pain because love is too wonderful a treasure to lose lightly. The desire to hold on, to try to rediscover that love is so strong that the temptation to disbelieve the moment is too often overwhelming. To hold on after love has died in the hope it will reappear in the magical way it first arrived. It can’t be gone for good, surely this is just doubt, just a moment of hurt. Surely love is still there, just hidden beneath the mundanities of everyday life, it’s head will rise again with all the joys that implies. But it doesn’t happen.

Don’t wait too long. Let go. Change direction.


let hope move on
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Friday, August 30th, 2013 | tags: , ,  |

big red and little boatFirst touch, your skin meets mine.

  • A hand offered to help climb a wall
  • The exchange of change in a bar or shop
  • A child taking your hand
  • A tap on the arm to silently draw your attention to something
  • Handing something over, a book, a computer, a mug of tea

It’s electric, creating a warm fizz throughout my body. A beautiful thing amongst new friends, memorable and fizzy. If there’s something more than friendship on my mind it can be like the 4th of July, a full fireworks display ignited by a silent, fleeting touch. It’s an effective way of silencing me. I can’t pull a sentence together with all those noisy fireworks filling my mind. There’s silence while they fade and the moment is left behind. There can only ever be one first touch. But there can be so many other ‘firsts’ that ignite many a firework display.

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creepy across years and continents

Sunday, August 18th, 2013 | tags: , , ,  |

While looking for a partner using internet dating in 2005, I tried out a couple of American guys who weren’t my normal type.  Try something a little different from my normal tastes. It might work.

So he’s not well read, he drives a BMW convertible and lacks any form or recognisable dress style. My reasoning went something like – he could still be a good person and I just can’t see it because of my prejudices. It’s possible. This kind of reasoning lead to a relationship that lasted a couple of weeks with a guy I found a bit weird. Weird is interesting. Weird is also very definitively not normal.

SR101 Tsunami Escape Route SignIt was a difficult relationship to get out of. I had to ask him to stop calling, emailing and contacting me. I told him in very clear, short sentences, that I didn’t want to see him or hear from him again. For a few months he respected the technical content of my request. He did get his 12 year old son to send me emails asking to meet-up with me.  How’s that for creatively bending the rules on my request?! He’d heard the words and aligned with them but not complied with the ethos of the actual message. I politely replied to his son, redirect him to his school friends and other appropriate adults. The emails stopped coming.

As the years rolled by he would occasionally forget that I’d asked him not to contact me. He sent emails which I ignored.

Now, 7 years later he’s asked to be my contact on LinkedIn, again. He leaves about 2 years between LinkedIn contact requests. He’s profoundly creepy and holds a senior position in a reputable company. I wonder how many other women endure his unwanted attention.

Some people can’t let go.

I’m glad I live on a different continent from this creep. I hope he reads this blog post.


creepy across years and continents
2 votes rating 5

3 bits of fabulous banter »

the parted

Thursday, March 7th, 2013 | tags: , , ,  |

LoughboroughHe told me that he was moving out. Today. We would not be spending the rest of our lives together, from today. The silence screamed as this inconceivable announcement bounced around my mind, never settling or subduing.

18 years later, remembering that moment spurs tears. He has my unconditional love for eternity. A few years earlier he’d been so keen for us to get married.

Sure, if that’s what you want, let’s have a big party for all our friends and family. I’ll love you forever, whatever, no marriage necessary. You’re a big part of my soul.

I wouldn’t wish loss like that on anyone. When marriages between beautiful people fail, I’m reminded of that day and the following years of learning to live with a rattle in the empty part of my soul. Like the rattling fan on my dying boiler except this is a rattle no-one else can hear in a hole no-one can see.

Since then I’ve had fun relationships, sensible relationships, all sorts of mixes with special people. My soul doesn’t rattle as loudly, but the gap is unfilled.

I tell myself it’s better to have lived that kind of love, and lost it, than never to have loved at all. Mostly, I believe myself because when I phone him, or think of us together, I can’t help but smile and LOL.

the parted
3 votes rating 4.67

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weddings – wassup?

Thursday, May 24th, 2012 | tags: ,  |

Wedding specialSince returning to the UK in 2007 I’ve been to 5 weddings


The BBC noted last year how the marriage rate in the UK population is steadily falling as a proportion of the population to its lowest rate for 100 years

Amongst my friends there was a spate of weddings in our mid 20’s.  People seemed to get a degree where they met their beloved. They graduated and lived together while they both worked to save for a deposit on a home and pay for a wedding, then got married and had kiddies

A significant proportion of my friends long-term cohabit without getting married. They have stable loving relationships, mostly with kiddies. Marriage just isn’t part of the way they announce their love and commtiment. Few are happily single like Tiger, Spotty dog and me

The weddings I’m going to now are mainly in people in their 30s for thier first marriage. Occassionally its a precursor to having kiddies. More often its just that it took that long to know the right person. There are some changes in the format of the weddings. Some of the things I’ve noticed are:

  • Fewer women wear hats – not everyone
  • Someone other than the father gives the bride away – an artefact of the age of people marrying, a father is no longer available
  • Couples write their own vows
  • The bride makes a speech during the speeches
  • the photography is less formal, though it may include a few ‘almost’ formal photographs where the bride/grooms family stand around the married couple
  • Entertainment is laid on for the reception – it’s not just a wedding breakfast

Today’s 20 somethings may not experience the same ‘marriage’ cycles that I have because they have to deal with

  • high unemployment
  • high rental and mortgage costs – encouraging them to stay with their parents or share houses
  • high student debt levels
  • difficulty getting a mortgage even when both people have good jobs

In this context I suspect marriages will decline further, happen later in life and change nature from the sumptuous parties to more cost-effective events…

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tunnel vision

Wednesday, May 2nd, 2012 | tags: , , ,  |

Watch as a narcisistic Goldcrest headbutts the window trying to connect with the reflection of himself in my elderly parents bungalow

He’s so focussed on his own image he doesn’t notice the cat…

Dad shot the video and edited the photographs into this piece. He can be a whiz with modern technology when it doesn’t involve using the phone.

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short termism

Tuesday, February 14th, 2012 | tags: , , , , ,  |

A sharply frosty new year’s morning. Glowing from a sociable celebration in my local pub, stumbling homeward bound along Love Lane with my first, second and third boyfriend. One boy, a ringer for James Dean:

James Dean Ringer (JDR): will you marry me?

17 yr wendy: Oh! Yes! after I’ve finished my A levels and got my degree

JDR: Why? Why can’t we get married this summer?

wendy: marriage is for life – we’ve got a lifetime to get married. Waiting 4 years is nothing as part of a whole life time. We’ll be able to save up for a home together and I’ll be able to get a job to help out financially

JDR: If you don’t want to marry me this summer, then it’s over

wendy: Huh? Are you serious? I’ll love you whether we’re married or not. I’m not going to marry you as a way to stop you from leaving! If you’re going to leave, you’ll leave, if you want to stay, you’ll stay

I never saw him again. It broke my heart because I didn’t understand how he could propose a lifetime together one moment then leave in the next. Most baffling. In the following years he sent valentines cards from four different continents. I remember him fondly

short termism
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old local

Sunday, October 9th, 2011 | tags: , , , ,  |

The clientelle of a real ale pub in a midlands town

The pants of the khaki Cargo make an appearance

I wandered in without realising this was a women-free zone. A couple of the locals appear a bit overexcited by the novelty of a woman in the place. They remind me of those small dogs that attach themselves to your ankles.  Kind of cute, if a bit random and inappropriate. Shift workers at a local factory, some ex-students, they boast of thier prison histories, mention that I’ve got  “great pins” and slur other stuff I could barely understand

I’m more than glad when my companions saunter in…

Swan In The Rushes

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Wednesday, March 16th, 2011 | tags: , , ,  |

His father

They’ve been together for 4 years. He’s only 21, it doesn‘t feel right. When I was his age I’d wake up in the morning, call my mates and we’d be in Athens by noon. We weren’t rich, we would find ourselves work there, stay all summer, make it up as we went along, We could get by. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife, we’ve been together for 20 years, but I wouldn’t do it again. Wouldn’t get married again.

A bee bumbled between us

At 21 he should be seeing the world, not settling down, there’s plenty of time to settle down later.

Her mother

He‘s got no money, he doesn‘t go out, he just sits in front of the TV and eats junk food. He can‘t cook. He’s doing a computer games degree course. He’s written one game and even she thinks its crap. She’s insecure and he’s a safe bet, she doesn’t love him so he can’t hurt her. His mother visits every week to deliver the folded, bagged, fresh laundry and pick up the stuff that needs washing. He doesn’t even take the laundry out of the bag. His mother does my daughters laundry too. They’ve got no life in them

candlelight flickers across her damp eyes

He’s a couch potato and he’s making her into one.

PS thank you to Ben and Alison. Love you. 223 word post before the PS
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Sunday, December 19th, 2010 | tags: , ,  |

From job application to visa clearance took 14 months. From the day I handed my notice in at work we started to tell our friends and families about my new job in the USA.  Mostly people chose not to ask the obvious questions. As if we were all complicit in an assumptive silence. I was relieved when people asked

were you going too? No
Would we still be friends. Yes
How would it work? Phone calls and holiday visits
Why were we splitting-up? a 9hr time-zone gap, a 9hrs flight, we would not be a couple
Was it just because the job? ….

You are a good actor, you played the victim well and mostly I let you take the role without editorial. You would be staying here with our friends, I was leaving everyone. Leaving a way of life, friends, a job behind. It felt like I was running away. I was glad that I had been able to find somewhere to run to. Without your cold love I would never have had the confidence to emigrate, to take on a completely new job in a completely new continent, to take a mortgage on a house that wasn’t even built yet and whose plot I hand’t even seen.

you’re bonkers!

maybe I was

Previous paragraphs in this story:
  1. The begining of the end
  2. Send in the helicopters
  3. The usual please
  4. No compromise
  5. Ditched by the bitch
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ditched by the bitch

Friday, December 17th, 2010 | tags: , , ,  |

Pretty. Curvy. Reflective

has anyone ever told you that you are a callous bitch? Because you are

The vehement anger felt like a punch in the face. Especially suprising from an acquaintance that hadn’t asked, and didn’t know, why I was leaving.

This acquaintance assumed, like others, that I was leaving you because of an impressive job opportunity. The job offer was a serendipitous coincidence that you were playing on – for sympathy.  Your play was working well, at the expense of my reputation as a member of the human race. Rather than tell the pressumptious aquaintance the real reason I decided to counter-play on traditional gender role models, with a near* truth

I begged him to come with me, there are plenty of good job moves he could make if he wanted to come too, but he didn’t want to interrupt his service continuity with Natwest. We weren’t worth it

The tearfulness prompted by his verbal punch, and the real reasons, added a sense of pathos and enhanced the impression of sincerity. Perhaps his punch was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

* no begging involved

Previous paragraphs in this story:
  1. The begining of the end
  2. Send in the helicopters
  3. The usual please
  4. No compromise
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no compromise

Tuesday, November 30th, 2010 | tags: , ,  |

but I love you

Sceptically I watch your eyes brimming with tears, marvelling at your apparant ability to turn the waterworks on when it suits you. Remembering the other times I’ve seen you cry, now seeing these tears with a new lens. In ths moment I am the cold person. Respecting your request not to touch you, I watch you cry, listen to your implores

you are the only girl I will ever love, I will love you for ever, you will still be as beautiful when you’re in your 90’s wearing a silly hat and quirky clothes. There is no-one else for me, please don’t leave me

a sailboat passesIn my arrogance I find your words believable, if a little confusing.  A day earlier and I would have accepted your words at face value, thrown my arms round your neck and showered you with kisses.

Today I wonder if you have mistaken loving me with your ability to manipulate me to suit your wonts. Is what you really love, having a quirky trainable pet? Could my role in your life be replaced by a chow chow? I try not to smile at the thought of you parading a chow chow at your business bankers social events. Smiling at inappropriate times has occassionally gotten me into trouble. Maybe there is a practical deal we can do that will work for both of us

I want the freedom to be happy, to love unselfconsciously with the whole of my being. If I am free to find a lover then I could remain living with you as a friend

The offer was not acceptable, a discrete affair was not an option. Even with your face glazed in brine you remain an uncompromising negotiator. Left with the choice of

  • staying in celebacy to avoid your tears and align with your concept of love, or
  • leave and risk finding both happiness and a recognisable expression of love

Still a suprisingly difficult decision, again I chose the risk of happiness over the certainty of your controlling, cold, love

Previous paragraphs in this story:
  1. The begining of the end
  2. Send in the helicopters
  3. The usual please
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the usual please

Sunday, November 21st, 2010 | tags: , ,  |

Pub frameAs we walked into the Robin Hood the landlady caught my eye and smiled. She had one pint pulled before we’d even reached the bar. With a smile for Sue you took the pint and walked off into the smoke . Sue and I exchanged pleasantries while she pulled my usual. Moving out of your home might mean this would cease to be my local pub, my usual pint, my friendly landlady.

Sue’s son was due out of prison soon. Sue was nervous about him coming back home. Would he be able to stay off the drugs, stop thieving, stop tearing her life apart. Taking a long, slow, sup from the first of what might be more than my usual 2 pints, I listened to Sue unburden her worries. My face would have shown the wear of my thoughts, looking like concern for her troubles. The reversal of tradtitional roles pulled a smile in the darkness, the customer listening to the woes of the publican. My burden was light by comparison to hers. I didn’t particularly relish the thought of meeting Sue’s son.

Peering through the smoke I watch you cheerfully chatting with a local school teacher. I’m in no hurrry to join you, everything I want to ask or say can be left unsaid in this very public place. . But some things will need sorting before bedtime. Bedtime stories that are bound to bring sleeplessness. I blamed the tears on the smoke in the pub.

Previous paragraphs in this story:
  1. The begining of the end
  2. Send in the helicopters


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send in the helicopters

Thursday, November 18th, 2010 | tags: , ,  |

continuation of: the beginning of the end
Cars splash in the puddlesThe path wasn’t wide-enough for the two of us to walk, not-touching, side by side. You strode down the middle of the path, looking straight ahead. Six inches to your left, our legs and strides the same length, I walked uncertainly on the grass verge. Watching my feet incase a dip or bump conspired with you to make me fall. You didn’t invite me onto the pavement or slow your pace to ease my stumbling. The tone of your walk clearly drawn to include no courtesy to me. The frosty grass crunched beneath my feet and headlights temporarily blinded me as we walked the mile in silence.

helicopter ride off LundyLike pulling a rug from under me, your few words had irrecovably changed memories from loving moments to contrived deceptions. Something inside me died. Years earlier we’d insured our escape from Lundy island for £5 incase the boat couldn’t land in a storm. A storm brewed, the helicopter rescued us. Now the magic rug had been pulled I wanted something more real, that helicopter, NOW. To be whirled away from the impending storm.

By the time we arrived at the pub, I understood that I had to leave you. I didn’t know when or how, but I knew it would happen. Perhaps that’s what you wanted. In employment contexts I believe they call it constructed dismissal:

  1. Your employer has committed a serious breach of contract
  2. You felt forced to leave because of that breach
  3. You have not done anything to suggest that you have accepted their breach or a change in employment conditions
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the beginning of the end

Thursday, November 4th, 2010 | tags: , ,  |

The frost was already forming as we left our warm home, heading for an equally warm evening in our local pub. I love autumn, I loved him, the fleece hat I’d given him last christmas pulled over his ears and his hands deep in the pockets of an oversized down jacket that hid his slight frame. I smiled and smoothly slipped my gloved hand through the crook of his elbow


Don’t what?

Touch me

I don’t understand

I don’t like being touched

There was a long silence as we walked along the icy pathway and the implications of his words painfully began to blossom

Is this a new thing or have you always felt like this?

I’ve always felt like this

With these few words he deliberately, irrevocably destroyed an illusion he’d previously carefully constructed.  Now he’d knowingly set us on different pathways. He was colder than the evening, colder than the ice. In my pain I lashed out with a warm, tearful broken whisper

you did a good job of faking it for 4 years

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barrel of love

Saturday, September 11th, 2010 | tags: , ,  |

Locks of love on a bridge over the SieneA bridge over the river Siene is decorated with messages of love.


On the barrel of each padlock is a message of love, some in black pen, some in red varnish.

Beautiful art emerging in one place, bought by so many lovers.

It’s visual, community poetry, in action. Sculpture. Very moving

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Friday, September 10th, 2010 | tags: , , , ,  |

my roomHe looked like I imagined Heathcliffe, all those years ago when at 12 I lost myself in the book. Even a stream of famous actors had failed to live up to my imagination.  That day in our brief conversations I found him to be softly spoken, not self-preposessed,  considerate of the other people around him. The serenity round him was reminsicent of Gregory Peck.

The collar on his large white shirt had frayed through wear. It reminded me of my sweet smelling  ruffled white bedding, softened through use, always inviting. Together the rugged good looks, slightly neglected look and serenity had a powerful gravitational force on my heart. Alas, I wasn’t looking like Lauren Bacall or Audrey Hepburn. For a moment I felt terribly tatty, wishing I had practiced the socially acceptable art of girliness so that I could do all those things that are meant to be attractive, bat long dark mascara laden eyelashes at him, step forward confidently in high heels, smile with reddened lips and glance sideways at at him though contact lenses rather than spectacles. Luckily, this suprise moment of intensley painful insecurity passed quickly with thoughts of my resemblance to the fabulously beautiful Patti Smith.

When we parted I took his hand in both of mine, smiled into his deeply dark eyes, and told him that I was certain that we would meet again.

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hearts and noses

Wednesday, August 4th, 2010 | tags: , , , , , ,  |

the snow is cold and fresh, lets go out on the downs and make love, I really want to make love outdoors, please…

I knew the pull of making love in freshly fallen snow.

But not with him. We weren’t even friends, let alone lovers. Once I would have considered that all part of the fun.  I’d learned the hard way that strangers with a sense of vitality, of living life to the full, seemed to come in a package that perversely included a need to possess, control.  To own you in a way that breaks legal and moral boundaries, that breaks skin, bone, hearts and noses.  I’m more cautious now.

Masturbate or find another partner, I’m not interested

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smell the colours

Tuesday, August 3rd, 2010 | tags: , , , , , ,  |

 lover: you’re a very visual person

wendy: I’ve got two eyes and I like to keep them peeled lest I start to loose things and fall over more than normal

lover: no, i mean you like to make love in the daylight, outdoors

wendy: that”s so much more than visual. Thats the breeze drying the sweat on your back, smell of the dew on the grass and the leaf mulch in your hair, the shiver from the scatchy snow on your buttocks.  That’s not just visual, that’s living.

lover: that will take me a while to get used to

But he never got the chance to ‘get used to it’ because I wasn’t patient enough to be waiting for someone in their 40’s to learn how to make love out from under cover of darkness, sheets and comfort of artificially sprung surfaces.  There are times when throwing caution to the evening breeze is exhillerating and worthy of a plunge

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have you got your marbles?

Monday, August 2nd, 2010 | tags: ,  |

Office manager (OM): Have you got your keys?

wendy: yes

OM: your phone?

wendy: Oh, let me check, yes

OM: your power cable?

wendy: YES! I remember packing that one

OM: your wallet?

wendy: yes

OM: your jacket?

wendy: I didn’t come with a jacket

OM: are you sure?

wendy: yep, I’m sure

OM: OK, so I’m not going to be getting a message tomorrow asking me to find something and mail it back to you?

wendy: that’s right, I’ve got everything I came with and more. I wish there was someone like you in my home, I miss having someone check that I’ve got my marbles before I leave my home. Paper checklists aren’t quite as much fun

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fell into a Glen

Sunday, June 27th, 2010 | tags: , , , , , , ,  |

In less than 2 minutes I’d fallen deeply in love with a youngster, he must be all of 30yrs.  His name badge says Glen. A good name, other members of the wendy house family are called Glen, but that wont cause a problem.  Glen can solve problems.

He smiles, talks sense, makes constructive left of field suggestion, shows me diagrams, puts different phones in my hand while he uses a real pen to do some quick maths on a sheet of paper. He compares the prices of different solutions for me.  I’m totally hooked.  After this brief and productive conversation, this performance, we make a date for next Saturday. I bounce out of car phone warehouse with an abundance of teeth reflecting the hot glow of the summer sunshine.  Maybe I should propose on Saturday.  Before or after I’ve purchased something, what’s the ettiquette?

 Well done Reading town’s carphone warehouse, your staff recruitment strategy is excellent.  Looks like I’ll be dropping my service relationships with t-mobile, Orange, and BT all in one go for the ‘TalkTalk’ service that some of the Wendy House family are already using.  Hoorah

Thankyou to Happy Frog’s friend for pointing me to the carphone warehouse

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but maybe not

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010 | tags: , , ,  |

the 15th June.

Ides of June.


Recurring in Outlook.  Outlook synchronised with my cell phone. 2 messages meet me today

Your birthday (my phone). your birthday (my laptop).

I want to forget all that made loving you hurt me.  A party made loving you fun.

I miss the parties I arranged for your birthday. Reading the reminder I want to send you a card.  But maybe not.

I want to arrange a parrty. But maybe not.

I wish I could let it all go and delete the recurring reminder. But maybe not.

Party. Love. Sunshine. Summer. Love.

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Sunday, February 14th, 2010 | tags: , ,  |

The wendy house has spent 4 years together with wordpress. This is one of the longer technology-service relationships that I’ve participated in.  

Still feels good 🙂

Happy valentines day
My WordPress User Profile

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5 bits of fabulous banter »

after school

Tuesday, October 13th, 2009 | tags: , , ,  |

Jill: do you think he’s handsome?
Gail:   Handsome isn’t quite the word I’d use,   cute, good looking,   cheeky,   maybe.   Those dimples, pale green eyes and tight perky bum are a class above the other boys

Jill: is he your boyfriend?
Gail:   NO! Why d’you think that?

Jill: Well,   I saw you holding hands and you’re always hanging-out together after school
Gail: no,   he’s just a friend, I keep thinking I should fancy him,   what with him being so pretty and all,   but I don’t…   …don’t know why

Jill: are you gay?
Gail:  don’t think so, I don’t fancy any girls

Jill: do you fancy any boys?
Gail: no.   It’s  really disappointing,   I keep hoping that it’s just because I haven’t met the right boy yet,   but how many boys do you have to meet?   Everyone else seems to find people to go out with and  snog in the corridors.  

Jill: what about Andy?   He’s nice, tall, funny  and clever, there’s a whole load of girls want to go out with him,   you sit next to him in maths and history  and you go round his place after class, some of the girls are really jealous
Gail: Really?!    He’d love to know that,   can I tell him?  

Jill: NO!   way-too embarassin’
Gail: You too?!     Why can’t I see it, whatever it is that he has that you all fancy

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