No more Sex

AND so the end is near and we must face the ‘finale’ curtain.
As when any relationship ends, you have to come to terms with the fact that life will never be the same again. In this instance, Friday nights will be especially difficult.
For the uneducated amongst us, Friday night of course spells the end for a certain New York foursome. Yes, Carrie is hanging up her Manolo Blahniks Charlotte’s Louis Vuitton handbags and Miranda’s power suits are going into storage, and whatever relations Samantha is involved in are being put on hold.
As from next week, there will be no more Sex and the City. Sure there will be reruns, but that’s like sex with your ex — never as good (or so I’ve been told, Mum).
If, like me, you’ve been trying to dodge the constant media spoilers sent to try us, you will be oblivious to the final outcome.
Don’t worry you can keep reading. I have my suspicions, but I would never share them for fear of giving anything away. I am distraught enough that an SATC email told me about Carrie’s move to Paris — with no warning on the subject line.
Doubtless, many of you will be shouting: “It’s only a TV programme!”
In fact it’s so much more, To me it’s like a weekly self help tutorial. Carrie and the girls made it OK to be single. And to enjoy being single.
They wear the clothes you want to wear, or like to think you could wear if you didn’t live in the Wee Grape (seed) to their Big Apple. They have the apartments you’d love to have. They go to the parties you’d love to go to, where they meet the men you’d love to meet (Oh Aidan!). And mostly they give the advice you’d love to get.
Everybody recognises a bit of themselves in one or all four of the main characters.
I got to thinking.......
During a trip to the city last week, I realised just how ‘Samantha’ my friend was, when filling out an application to find ‘Love on a Saturday Night’.
Question: Are you still in touch with any of your exes?
She thought she should refrain from admitting she was not only in touch but also involved with at least three of them.
I nearly died of embarrassment, and then of laughter, later that night when we were sitting in the restaurant.,
Waiter (Hot, tall, dark, Aussie): Can I get you anything else?
‘Samantha’ (Hot, tall, blonde, Pommie): Your phone number please. Oh and another glass of wine. Thanks
Cool as you like. Maybe this is where I’m going wrong. He phoned later and as far as I know they’re going out next week.
My ‘Charlotte’ is very much in love with someone, like ‘Harry’, who everybody loves to love, and would do anything for her. She’s the most sensible person I know, she knows what she wants out of life, and it looks like she knows how to get it, and that she will.
She gives good advice, and knows how to deliver it in the best possible way. She also loves it when other people are in love, and you really believe she wants to hear every detail.
And she appreciates the beauty of shoes which in my mind makes her a very good friend indeed.
I don’t really have one ‘Miranda’, but a few friends who make up different parts of her. The fiery temper, the weakness of realising she maybe does need someone to love, and someone to love her.
Most of all I have a few close friends who, like Miranda, give you the advice and responses that they know you really don’t want to hear, but have to.
And lastly, I realise I’m becoming more and more like Carrie, Some feedback I have received about this column has reflected just how ‘Carrie Bradshaw’ it is. This was never my intention, but even to be mentioned in the same sentence as her is the best literary criticism I hope to achieve
OK, so I value footwear highly, but even if I could afford it, maybe not quite enough to spend what Carrie does. I love her style, we have the same taste in men, I have a good circle of friends and we’re both writers.
Unfortunately, the similarities end there. I hate to disappoint readers, but at the moment I’m not sitting at an open window at my laptop, with a soft afternoon breeze ruffling my flowing blonde locks, while I sit on my petite négligé-clad dowp.
No the reality is quite different, and that is why we need a programme like Sex and the City to give us something to aspire to.
One very major thing Carrie and I have in common is a Mr Big — a fiercely independent (read bachelor), highly unsuitable, and equally irresistible, weakness, who doesn’t know what he wants as long it is with you. For now.
So while Carrie and I secretly hope for a happy ending, with a hanky and a pair of silver stilettos (Carrie would be proud), I’ll settle down for the final season finale on Friday, with a tear in my eye and a Manhattan in my hand.
It’s been nice knowing you girls.