Now, I am not a man who's above a bit of good old-fashioned rejection, and believe me when I say I have had more than my fair share in the past. Whether it was someone I cared deeply for telling me that it just wasn't working out or receiving a call from an ex-partner as he lay in the arms of another man. I've even shared a bed with a guy who subsequently refused to sleep with me because of my hairy chest. He was upfront with it - no holding back - he put it right out there and said he hadn't realised I had one. Apologies for not pointing it out to you whilst you begged me to come home with me. Anyhow, I digress.
I recently went on a date with a good-looking, 6 foot 4 hunk of a man who was both sweet and funny and who - despite the date being seemingly doomed from the start - said he enjoyed it muchly and couldn't wait to see me again. Even though it was pouring with rain, he got stuck in football traffic, got lost on the way from Colchester and turned up late, it actually went surprisingly well and ended in a little kiss. Things continued to progress well until a week later a broken down car put a halt to our weekend plans. Not that this prevented him going to see fireworks in Southend or enjoying a night-out in Chelmsford with friends but I (generously) overlooked that. A week later again and with the car fixed, I brought up the subject of seeing each other again and "fixing the car had cost a lot of money" and he wanted to be able to "treat me." Sweet enough I guess, but I'm not one to be strung along and when, another week had passe, I finally put it out there. Are we going to meet or not? Did you actually enjoy yourself ? And if you don't want to and you didn't why have you been texting me non-stop for the last 2 weeks? This was met with a hole host of excuses; I've got a few issues going on, you're a lovely guy and I want to see you again but just for a "bit of company, nothing more." Ok, but what did you think I was after, marriage...?! Needless to say he was soon told where he stood, told to man-up and his number was duly deleted. Rejection #1 of the weekend. Nothing too exciting, just your bog-standard rejection to be honest. But honestly, do I look like some idiot who is gonna a man take me for a ride? I have this thing called a brain and I can work out how well things are going on my own thank you very much,
In the mean time, I had stumbled across a guy who I had been generally chatting to since the end of last week, and we continued to speak over the weekend. We seemed to get on and so he asked me (note here, who asked who) whether I fancied a spot of lunch and shopping next weekend. Sure, I said, that would be nice. After all, I had just been rejected and I'm only human. We continued to talk and at one point he asked me briefly whether I knew a particularly guy. I explained that no I didn't know this guy but oddly enough he had commented on a Facebook picture of mine earlier in the day and that, having no idea who he actually was or how he found himself to be on my friend list, I'd deleted him. "Oh, well he just poked me on Facebook, he must have seen me comment on your status and done it." Nothing more was said on the subject, and having had a hectic week prior to the weekend, I spent my evening enjoying a thoroughly-deserved rest.
When I woke up this morning I sent a message to this guy, briefly apologising that I hadn't replied to his last text as I had been tired and had been chilling with music and television. He replied that he was tired too, but because he had got talking to the Random Poke guy and this had gone on until 2am in the morning. It turns out he's a lovely bloke...well isn't that cosy? I honestly don't remember what I replied exactly, but was more than a little surprised that he had divulged the information he did. When he replied, it was to explain how well he had got on with the guy, they had talked for 8 hours non-stop and that he was half Irish {input love symbol here}. Well, I suggested, why don't you rearrange our spot of lunch with this guy instead, as you got on so well? Cue his reply: "Oh I don't know, I never get this much attention." ARE YOU SERIOUS? Honestly, I spent a good few minutes working out whether the guy was for real or not. When I concluded he was then I typed "Okay, let me put it this way, I REALLY think you should re-arrange it with him instead." "Oh really, do you think? Would you mind?" WHAT?! MIND? Oh no, just replace me with someone else. "Well you definitely won't be meeting me any more, so you might as well." "Awww, well we could do it another time?" "Erm......let me think about this, no." TOTAL. UTTER. REJECTION. Rejection #2 of the weekend was delivered with as much tact as telling an employee they are being fired by text message. I really didn't, and still don't know, quite how to feel about the situation; whether to laugh my socks off or sob hysterically.
Now, I'm not particularly confident about my looks on the best of days, but the whole situation is made marginally worse by the fact that Random Poke guy is not of the attractive variety - a fact concurred with by a number of sources during the course of today. In fact he looks like he may even have some sort of disability. And out of the two of us, even I - with what little confidence I do have - would have thought I was the better choice. Well now I know better than to ever be so stupid again. Not for the first time in life I come to the conclusion that I am destined to be remain single forever. Now I just need to wear a nightie and fill my house with cats.
You gotta love the 'rents sometimes... every Sunday is the same. My mum works all day on a Sunday and so the weekly dilemma in my Dad's life about when to have the roast dinner ready for, commences. He likes to do it just in time for when Ma walks in from a long days working - normally this is in the 2 hour period between 6 and 8, but we're never quite sure when it will be. It certainly add's just that little bit of extra excitement to what is inevitably a super-thrilling Sunday.
This week, the dilemma proved so much that my father felt the need to go for a pint at the pub (note singular) and stumbled in after a few pints (note plural) telling me the same joke twice and laughing hysterically about how drunk I had been the previous night and how next time I should invite him. Hmmm, yeah right. Then again, maybe it was just one pint. You see, it doesn't take my Dad much to get drunkard - one sip of beer normally has his cheeks a'glowing and his words a'stumbling.
Once my mother does walk in (earlier than usual) the roast isn't ready and she's complaining it's too late to be eating a big dinner. By the time it is ready, neither of us are hungry and we force down what we can. My mother decides to give a running commentary whilst eating; describing the taste and texture of each item on her plate, clarifying whether she likes it or not and repeating several times about how nice the gravy is. "Yes mother, I am eating the exact same dinner as yourself so I am quite aware thank you very much!" With this, we both get the giggles (which didn't help with the forcing down the food). We sneakily decide to limit the damage with father about the lack of food eaten by exchanging items of food one of us didn't fancy. When Dad see's the plates he goes into a rant, like he does every Sunday, about how he is never going to cook a roast dinner ever again and all the time/effort he wasted blah blah blah. Until next week papa!
Dad is still drunk at this stage, which you can tell by the fact all the lights in the house are on and he has the telly blaring in the kitchen - if sober, this would not be the case - a lifetime of lectures/rants about the very subject are testamount to this. Worryingly, I found myself increasingly angered by the loud telly and the house being "lit up like a Christmas tree" and so I must regrettably conclude that I am slowly morphing into my old man. Not a good thing.
Mother is currently catching up on Strictly and Merlin that she missed the night before; clapping, jeering and cheering at her laptop as she watches them 'on demand.' She's quite new to this on demand malarky but is slowly getting the hang of it. The beer and food finally caught up with Dad and he's already in bed, and whilst he dozes I sit here pondering on how crazy (and incredibly entertaining) my parents really are. And I wouldn't live without either of them.
Most of us spent 9 months growing inside her, and usually another 18 years in her company, so a lot of us will associate a particular smell with our mother. Like most (if not all) mums in the world, my mother also has a 'smell.'
Despite a few failed attempts to give up and against the advise of her husband and 6 loving children, my mum remains an active smoker and so this smell incorporates a hint of smoke. And because of her favourite fragrance being so loyally worn, then this smell also includes a trace of her perfume. As such, when my mum returns from a hard day at work and duly lights up a (in her opinion, well deserved) cigarette, then I usually smell her before I see or even hear her - mainly due to her favourite smoking haunt on the patio being perfectly lined up with my bedroom window. Yesterday evening was no exception and so, whilst enjoying my evening in the company of a good book, I 'smelt' my mother arrive home and rushed downstairs to pass on a telephone message to her. However, arriving downstairs there was no car in the driveway, no light on in the back garden and she was no where to be seen. Weird, I had definitely smelt her.
Now I'm not normally a paranormally minded man, but at this moment I distinctly remembered hearing stories of people who smelt their loved ones at the time they passed, as their spirit stopped by to say their goodbyes before moving on. I'm not sure why this rather morbid memory sprung up in my mind, but the fact that it did only caused my mind to wander further. I actually started to get a little worried, my heartbeat increasing more with every minute, and I wasn't far off ringing her mobile (which she probably wouldn't have answered anyway) just to check she was okay. Getting a little bit panicked, then I was about to make that call....
And imagine my relief when the door opened and in she walked safe and sound, and very much still walking on this planet. However, also imagine my internal embarrassment when re-entering my bedroom to (re)discover the smouldering, scented candle I had lit -and forgot all about - earlier in the evening; the cause of the smokey, perfumey smell after all. Oops.
Maybe scented candles should come with a warning? Then again, maybe not.
I'm a guy who enjoys taking a risk, so a coach arriving at Stansted at 4pm and a flight departing at 5pm didn't (quite) scare me. But when the coach was delayed then I will admit my heart did skip a beat. I arrived with all of 20 minutes to pass through security and dash to the gate. But the long queue at security and broken down airport scanner were having other ideas. I had to beg to be allowed to join a new line with a fully working scanner and skip to the front - but only after the inevitable setting off of the alarm and experiencing the joys of a full body search, could I start the mad run to the gate. Once I arrived at the said gate, sweating off a full stone in body weight, you can only imagine the looks of my dear fellow passengers once I was seated next to them on the plane.
During the shortest flight I have ever flown - just 40 minutes, you almost start landing before you even take off - the dear Lord found the good grace to give me a nice 10 minutes or so of some quite fun turbulence. And may I point out here that having once been on a particularly testing flight from Milan involving David Baddiel, a diabetic coma, a passenger having a fit and a 10,000 foot drop in altitude in about 10 seconds- but that's a whole different story - then flying most certainly isn't my forte. I eventually arrived in to Holland to pouring rain and a rather ill host for the weekend. Luckily the rain soon stopped, and what was at first a rather overcast affair became a clear and crisp weekend away, but only after walking a mile in the wrong direction whilst trying to find the hotel. Not even this however could dampen my boyish (probably immature) enthusiasm at the trams in the city, or the 2 storey-trains. And the awesome weekend I spent in Amsterdam.
I took in the cultural Rijksmuseum (Empire Museum), Amsterdam Historical Museum, Homomonument, Anne Frank's house and a canal tour and then the not so cultural but far more entertaining Sex museum! My geeky charm once again reared it's ugly head in my love for the houseboats on the canals (in which I have vowed to live one day) and the vast number of bikes that at times seemed to outnumber the inhabitants - for the 750,000 people in Amsterdam, there are 600,000 bikes! Finally got to see the world-famous coffee shops with a few very stoned inhabitants clearly enjoying their time, but will wait for another occasion to pay for one of the equally world-famous prostitutes in the red light district! I was hungry & exhausted from all these activities and so opted for the easy option of a large portion of chips to fill the gap in my belly, not realising that in Holland a large portion of chips is enough to feed a small family for an entire year of course..
Just to spice things up, the Sunday was the 35 th Amsterdam Marathon and nearly all public transport was cancelled, so needless to say a lot of walking was involved. But Amsterdam isn't too big, and its a nice, clean city to walk around and in the chilly autumn sunshine it was a nice experience. I flew back in to the UK that evening on a (thankfully) not-so eventful flight, ready to visit my brother in Cambridge the following day. After a whole weekend of journeys (coach-flight-bus-train-tram-walking-tram-walking-tram-walking-train-bus-flight-car), then yet another journey was made to Cambridge by train. I arrived at the train station just in the nick of time (thanks to missing my bus) the train pulls into platform 4, while I'm at the other side of the station at Platofrm 1a which is where the screen told me to be! After yet another mad dash, I eventually get on to the train to be told it will only go as far as Bury due to a fatality on the line, and that I have to get a coach onwards to Cambridge. I did eventually get to Cambridge, which coincidentally was another city full of bikes - two hours later than scheduled and had a day of shopping followed by a night of drinking, and a day of recovery afterwards.
All-in-all, a fun and eventful few days away in both Holland and the UK!
It felt summer-like outside today and it has got me a little excited for the coming season. That, plus a dear friend has just come back from a Caribbean holiday with stories of sunshine and cocktails by the pool. I had basically forgotten what these things were during what has been the coldest winter in the UK for over 12 years..but o doubt her photographs will trigger some sort of memory hidden in the barrens of my brain - memories of sunshine and this ball of fire they apparently call the sun. Don't you just love the summer? So near, yet so very far...
Now, I also love the depth of winter with the cosy, dark nights in. As well as the snowball fights and building snowmen, of course. I really do- I'm an 8 year old child all over again when it happens. But I also love the heat and humidity of deep summer. It's not as fun trying to sleep when its 25oC and very muggy outside - but if it's on a cruise, then the sea air cools you down nicely. This summer I am going to be spoilt with not one, but two cruises. Yes two! What I have done to do deserve this is any body's guess, but I will worry about that later. The first is a 7 day sailing with a group of friends, venturing down to Spain and Portugal, and back up again. In the middle of June it will be plain-sailing and very hot, perfection. It can't come soon enough if you ask me. And this is just a taster. July brings a 2 week Mediterranean cruise taking in Spain, Portugal, South of France, Ibiza and Gibraltar. 14 endless days with sun in my face, cocktail in hand and with the company of the other half. Sheer bliss. Although I have to get myself through Spring first. If the weather is like today then that won't be a problem - Goodbye coats. And scarves and jackets. Bring on the sun shades, shorts and t-shirts please!
I spent 5 days in Reykjavik, Iceland this winter, taking in the most beautiful country I have yet to visit. It was an amazing trip, in a beautiful apartment, but for me you just cant beat cruising. I'm petrified of flying ever since a bad experience saw me hurtling ground-ward on a trip to Milan when I was about 15. Fearing for my life on a plane ride that had seen two people collapse put a dampener on the whole experience for me, and it's never been the same since. But regardless of that, a cruise means you can take in a new country almost every day. Go in the summer and most of Europe pretty much guarantees you blistering sunshine and smooth seas, if that's your thing. No cramped seat on a plane with no legroom, no stressful journey through the airport being prodded by securtiy and no getting lost god knows how many times on the M25 trying to find the place. The food on a cruise is 5 star, and right on your doorstep. No washing up, great entertainment, two pools, a few Jacuzzis and crew that remember not only your name, but your drink of choice to. The list really goes on.
As I enjoy this early spring sunshine be assured I shall be day-dreaming of the long summer days to come, especially those aboard the Balmoral on my two cruises...Bon Voyage!
I watched a very interesting programme about Victorian Britain earlier this afternoon. Wow, what a wonderful time it was for this nation; the powerhouse of the world, the endless inventions being churned out and the sheer confidence and power of the people who lived here. As Rudyard Kipling wrote at the time: "To be born an Englishman is to win first prize in the lottery of life" I found myself swallowed up in this and felt an immense pride in what this country achieved. But why? It is positively insane! Was I there? Did I invent the telephone? Did I contribute towards making this country the first industrialised nation? Did I fight to achieve what was the largest empire the world has ever seen? No. Definitely not. It all happened over a century before I was even a mere thought in the imagination of my parents. Pride is a strange thing. It was all rather premature as well, all this pride in Great Britain and the empire soon fell and gave way to the next superpower. Truly pride before a fall...
Pride in the valiant win for the local football team last Saturday for example. It's crazy. Supporters wander around as if they were the ones sweating it out on the pitch for 90 minutes. Even if we are proud simply because they are playing for the local team, the majority of players are from else where. Even so, they should be ones who are proud because they are the ones who put all the work in. None of this 'we' crap- the win had nothing to do with any 'we' as far as the supporters are concerned. When Britain does well in the Olympics, or Tennis, or any sport we are all proud about it, as if we were the ones swimming 50 laps of the pool, or jumping over a pole as high as my house. Why? To make us feel better? Is it to make our own seemingly pointless lives feel a little bit more worth it? Don't get me wrong; we should be glad for them all, but they are the ones who should be proud, not us. After all, they worked for it.
Being proud of a football team is like being proud to be gay or straight, ginger or brunette, male or female. I have never been into gay pride simply because it is being proud of something that I have no control over. Yes, I can be happy that I live in a more tolerant society that allows me to express my sexuality. But pride? No. I had as much choice in being gay as I did being born with a penis. Yes I like being a man, I can admit that on the whole we get it a lot easier than women, but proud of it? There is simply no logic there. We can embrace who we are, but being proud of the country we were born in, or what colour our hair is, just doesn't make sense. I just happened to be born in the UK. I love my life and all those around me here. I love lots of things about this country- but proud to be British? No, not pride. I'm proud to be an honest, decent human being who believes in what the democracy and freedom of the UK stands for. And that's it.
When a brother or sister, or a parent or child does well then yes, we should be happy - yes we should be glad for them. But proud?! We haven't contributed to it. In fact, you could even say that we are actually selfishly absorbing some of the glory for ourselves. Glory that should be solely aimed towards the person who has achieved something. Should we proud that we live in a multi-cultural, democratic nation that welcomes people of all colour, religion and creed? Well we can be happy about it, but unless we stand for all these values then this is an entirely hypocritical pride. You can be proud of everything this wonderful country stands for only if you can be proud of the fact that you are a citizen who follows the morals and views that the country believes in.
Pride should be saved for something we have done ourselves, that we are apart of or have contributed to in some way. A real achievement or a successful aim. It is part of the lazy 21st century 'pysche' to be proud of something we haven't been apart of ourselves. It takes away our own motivation to go out there and be somebody, or do what we have always dreamed of doing. It's an excuse to shy away from the challenge, hard work and commitment that it takes to go out there and achieve that goal. Of course, be happy for those around you who do well. If your child draws a beautiful picture then congratulate them. If your father takes a trip to Africa to provide aid for the needy then support him, and be inspired. But don't let this stop you from going out there and making something of 'your' life. This might be running a well kept home, or becoming a valuable apart of your community. It could be climbing a mountain to raise money for charity, or visiting some far-flung corner of the earth that has always fascinated you. Maybe it is going out there and fighting for what you believe in, and persuading people around you to think the same.
Once you have gone out there and done it for yourself, only then will you feel real pride!
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Blog Description: A fun and witty look at a young british guy lifes, be that random ramblines or actual happenings. A true-life story of DJH.
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Blog Owner: David Heffer
Blog Added: October 21, 2010 09:37:19 PM
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