Clouding my vision

 
I’VE just returned from a delightful weekend in the bustling metropolis that is London, England.
We shopped ’til we quite literally dropped, saw the sights, met the stars and eyed up all the talent — all in just three days!
All the while I kept one eye out for the man in my dreams. I thought I saw him in the supermarket at home before I left so I shall be returning there asap for another chance meeting.
For those of you who don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, and I’m sure there will be many, I am suffering from a recurring dream in which I meet a lovely young man who I’m sure I know. But just when things are going good I laugh in his face and ruin everything.
Just to update anyone who is following this strand — I managed not to laugh the other night and found out his name was Michael.
It’s like I’m watching the two of us in a film. It’s getting a lot clearer and I’m remembering more about it.
I now have more of a recollection as to what he looks like — think of the baseball player on the new Impulse Thrill advert and you’re just about there. If anybody reading this recognises this description you can contact me through the missing persons incident room at your local newspaper!
He also bears an uncanny resemblance to the hotty young boy I met at the end of last year, but I’m trying not to dwell on this as his name wasn’t Michael. I can’t actually remember what his name was, but I’m sure it wasn’t that.
Also, the fact that he looks like someone I already know bursts the bubble that this may actually be literally ‘the man of my dreams’! Either that or I’ve deleted his number. And forgotten his name.
Talking of dreams, and more importantly adverts, I refer you to the one for Options where the woman has to chose between the fantasy of hot chocolate and the room full of hot half naked men.
I said last week I’d come face to face with my fantasy, when Steve Jones was interviewing Richard Gere on TV the previous weekend. I take that back.
In a TV studio in London, in the words of the Gigolo Aunts, is where I found my heaven.
We may all swoon at the sight of celebrity men on the TV, but what you may be unaware of is the wasted talent operating the camera, looking after the stars and chaperoning the audience. Hopefully they are only one step away from being in front of the cameras themselves. It would constitute mental cruelty to the viewing public if they remained in the shadows.
And it didn’t just stop at the studio. Everywhere in London my travelling companion had to battle to prise my eyes away from anything that moved; waiters, tube travellers, policemen, shop assistants.
It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase sightseeing for me.
It was great just to get away for the weekend — away from the stresses and strains of the relationships surrounding me.
I’m getting daily updates from my favourite ex now that his relationship with Little Miss Can’t Do Nothing Wrong is back on the track it derailed from with disastrous effects not so long ago.
My two former college classmates and best friends, are now not speaking and are preparing to face each other at a forthcoming birthday party of another mutual friend. I’ve warned them I’m not taking sides and that if there is any problems I’m just dancing away from them.
It occurred to me when we were ascending to 30,000 feet this weekend, that clouds are very much like relationships.
Stay with me on this one — I hope it makes sense. I’m going down a dangerous philosophical route here.
When you’re flying above them, the clouds look so solid and reliable that you want to throw yourself into them. But when you realise they are actually transparent and weak, and a simple thing like a wing (or distrust) can slice through them with ease, you land with a bump at your destination, and look back and wonder why you couldn’t see through it in the first place.
At the moment, my favourite ex is on cloud nine, a storm is brewing for my college friends, and I’m just floating along.