Closer to closure

SOMETIMES all you need to do is take a step back and look at things from an outsider’s perspective.
And if you can’t distance yourself from the cause, get someone who is on the outside to give you the wake up call you so desperately need.
You’ll know yourself that it’s a lot easier to work out a friend’s problem than even contemplate your own.
My help came in the form of an email with the subject line ‘WARNING: the following contains a long and offensive rant about your favourite ex’, and followed the news that I’d finally bitten the bullet and told him how I felt.
That particular conversation had ended with me being satisfied that he was still the same guy that I’d fallen for in the first place seven years ago. Depending on who you ask, this isn’t necessarily a good thing.
On the whole, the email contained an unbiased observation about our relationship which scattered the clouds of my judgement.
The writer reckoned it was now or never, and basically put into words what the angel on my shoulder has been trying to tell me all along.
It also reminded me that there is a colossal difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Unfortunately for me, or us, we both hold different definitions for the feelings we have.
After our little telephone tête-à-tête I feel like a massive weight has shifted.
I’m not just putting a brave face on things because they didn’t go my way. I’m genuinely relieved that finally I had some kind of closure.
The reason a first love makes such an impression is you have no reference point to which you can compare how you feel. Worse though, they then become the reference point to which all other relationships are compared to.
I’m now free to get on with things, without the temptation that the grass could have been greener if I’d hung around long enough. And now if he’s interested it’ll be me he’ll have to wait for.
I only wish that I had listened to the same people when I was wasting time on Mr Can’t Attach, Won’t Attach, who it seems now can and is.
He said recently that maybe if I had waited long enough for his epiphany I could have been his Provence bride next year, but I seriously doubt that.
We’re back to being what we should have been in the first place before other temptations got in the way — one young writer and her esteemed colleague — and I’m very happy about that; and that he’s at last found someone for whom he’s attempting to change his bachelor ways.
I don’t think that I can wait until the new year to make a fresh start so I’m just going to start now. I’m cutting all emotional ties to anyone I can even remotely describe as an ex and just getting on with it.
And what an opportune time to do so. I hate to tell you but there are a mere 1,639 hours to Christmas as I write this.
My diary is filling up with plenty of functions, festive and otherwise, for me to find the next unsuspecting ex.
Only last weekend, a few days after the make or break phone call, I was out on the town three nights in a row. I have to say it wasn’t very good for my constitution but it was very good for my self esteem.
It was like my eyes were open. Not once did I pick up my phone to text him, or worse phone him, and I don’t think I even compared anyone to him.
Things worked out so well that I felt empowered enough to tell him not to come up for my forthcoming birthday celebrations. All I’ve been thinking and worrying about is that he was coming up, and what would happen when the inevitable seven hour build up of alcohol hit the inevitable seven year build up of frustration.
But now all I can think about is what it should have been all along, without any old baggage overshadowing it — a great excuse for a great night out, with great friends. And not a ex amongst them.
If the boys don’t appear on the night, I don’t mind. I’ve got my girlies — all dressed in pink and good shoes. What more could someone ask for?

'Tis the season

JANUARY must have been a very boring, yet busy month, as I’m surrounded by people having babies.
For me, this is not necessarily a good thing, as some of you may guess.
A colleague came in with her little bundle of joy today and I swear I almost ate it. Dogs three miles away were the only ones who heard my squeals.
I think for someone of my age I may be uncontrollably and unhealthily broody. All I can think about is getting married and having babies. Even stories of two-day births and stitches don’t put me off.
And before anyone says it, yes I know I need the man first, at least for the marriage part.
I was never the little girl who dreamed of exactly how her wedding would be; I didn’t even want to be the bride when my neighbour and I were dressing up.
However, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to get married to our other neighbour, who is now a very attractive young man, but because this girl had seriously affluent grandparents, hence her superb hand-me down dressing up box.
My favourite was a long-sleeved emerald green dress with gold braiding around the neck. It may as well have been real gold I loved it that much. I’d probably think it was the most hideous thing now.
I, on the other hand, had the hooped petticoat of my hired flower girl dress and a fuchsia pink nightie belonging to my dear departed grandma.
I thought for years that I would never get married, but I’m coming round to the idea that every marriage is different, and it’s what you make it.
I know someone who has a ‘wedding book’, with details of where she wants her wedding, details of the reception, what her dress will be like, and even keeps a guest list which she updates every year. She doesn’t have a man either, and heaven help the one she does get if he even mentions marriage. “I’ve got something to show you....”
I’ve been at my friends for a while now to do a ‘Muriel’s Wedding’; and just go and try on wedding dresses for the day. Unfortunately, like Muriel, sorry Mariel, there is no ‘Tim Simms’.
Details for my big day are pretty sketchy. I would want a wedding that would reflect my character rather than what was expected.
I really don’t think that my friends take me seriously that I want to fly off and get married by Elvis in Las Vegas, then come back and have a big party.
And I can just see their faces when the band leader says: “Can we ask the bride and groom to take the floor for their first dance,” and they hear the unmistakable first few bars of Walk of Life.
Most marriages end in dire straits, so why shouldn’t mine start with them. No self-respecting family function is complete without that song.
Other than that I know what my dress won’t be like, and that I wouldn’t follow a traditional path.
So, you can imagine my delight when I read that Robbie Williams is of my way of thinking.
He said recently that a big traditional wedding was not his thing and that he too would rather get married in a Las Vegas wedding chapel instead of a big Jordan and Peter Andre type affair.
He just wouldn’t be with someone who would want a traditional wedding.
He’d just say: “Babe, finish lunch. Do you reckon we should get married?”
And I would say: “Babe, you had me at babe.”
I don’t really need to have much of an excuse to have a party — granted getting married may justify it.
At college, the student union’s Hallowe’en party always doubled up for this poor student’s birthday ‘do’. When I left, I carried on the tradition, albeit on a slightly smaller scale.
So for the last few years I have always had some kind of get together, which usually doubles as a reunion for my far and away friends. They usually have a theme — I’ve been a pregnant Posh Spice, a bunny girl and Minnie Mouse amongst other things.
This year will be no different. And it’s happening all too soon. And they’re all staying with me.
I realised with panic, that despite me doing lots of other little jobs, the ones that were started in time for their last visit haven’t yet been finished.
I now have a detailed plan of what’s to do in each room. I’m getting there.
Saying all of this I’ve realised my marriage wouldn’t really be that traditional either. I wonder if Robbie would mind doing the chores if I took care of the DIY?
I had to laugh when I heard Corrie’s Jack Duckworth say last night: “First there is the engagement ring, then the wedding ring, then the suffering.”
Like me, I’m sure a lot of people spend a lot of time thinking about the actual wedding day, and not the marriage years after.
Maybe for my next party I’ll just have a wedding theme to get the whole big dress and mass attention out of my system. No groom required.