Triumphs and disasters Part 1

I was reflecting over the weekend on my dating score since my second wife left (For the final time) ten years ago. It doesn’t seem like ten years have passed since she slung her proverbial hook with a Yugoslavian Knife sharpener from Belgrade, but as the saying goes Time fly’s when you are enjoying yourself. True I was gutted at first, nobody likes change but within a couple of hours of the door shutting behind her, I became used to the idea of living without the woman I had always assumed I was going to drag the rest of my life out with.

The last few months we spent together was a bad time for me, she left and returned many times and as the year hurtled toward its end. I knew it would soon be over. Call it intuition, call it a hunch, call it what you will but I knew somehow that things were not right between us. At first it was little things that tipped me off that something was wrong. Things like my watches and rings going missing, having my card snatched at the ATM because there was no money in my account, other men wearing my clothes, my wife calling me Olaf when we made love. Incidents that on their own wouldn’t mean anything but put them all together and they add up to Get a grip you thick bastard, Are you blind man? or who comes home at four in the morning after visiting their Mother wearing a little black number with her tights inside out?..

She walked through the front door for the last time on Christmas day at four in the afternoon as I lay on the bed sleeping off a huge great turkey dinner and two helpings of plum duff with rum sauce. I was awoken by the sound of her creeping around the bedroom on all fours gathering the clothes she was to take with her for this final departure. I didn’t open my eyes but pretended to sleep, as she crawled onto the landing and down the stairs.

As the front door closed quietly behind her I opened my eyes and forced myself to rise and sit on the edge of the bed, It wasn’t easy; it took all my willpower to force my muscles to comply with this simple task. A turkey dinner with all the trimmings and a four and a half pound plum duff pudding is a lot of weight to carry around, but I forced myself up into a sitting position and then on to my feet. Slowly I walked to the landing window and looked out at the woman I had spent twenty three years of my life with walking away from our marriage with her possessions in two black bags and several ammunition cases. I was to spend the rest of what should have been a day of celebration alone, and as I necked several bottles of Baileys I wondered what the future would hold.


I was to find out on New Year’s eve when friends who insisted that I shouldn’t spend the beginning of a New Year alone dragged me to a party. They were adamant that I should start as I meant to go on. Well that new years eve I got as pissed as a carrot and stayed that way for more or less the rest of the year. Through the foggy haze of alcoholic excess I managed to carry on as normal, I ate, I slept, and I worked. I had plenty of female friends I could go out with for a meal, a movie or a couple of drinks. But I was giving myself a year before commiting myself to any kind of sexual relationship. It was only fair to the dwindling memory of what once had been a mediocre marriage.

In the event I only lasted three weeks with the sexual thing; I put that down to my will power being out of whack due to the vodka I had become very fond of. You mustn’t get the idea that I was hopelessly addicted to Vodka, far from it, I had become hopelessly addicted to Gin too, and I wasn’t shy about accepting the odd Rum Dachery when it was offered.

I met Lesley at an AA meeting in the spring of that first year as a bachelor. She was blonde, pretty; bright as a button and twenty years younger than I was, but we hit it off right from the start and she was a refreshing change from some of the pot-boilers my well meaning friends had introduced me to. Her story was much the same as mine, abandoned by an uncaring husband, she had taken to drinking cans of lager with a Tia Maria chaser as she did the housework. Over a short period she become dependant on drink to get her through the day, and by the time she had sought help with the AA was in the habit of knocking back seven or eight pints of lager in an afternoon. She had these amazing stomach muscles and could burp like a man.

We would sit next to each other at meetings and soon became friends, then one night as we left a meeting I offered her a lift home, she accepted and as we drove we talked. The conversation turned to her sadness at breaking with her husband and her hatred for the long nights she spent alone. As we pulled up outside her house, she turned to me and almost crying said, “I don’t want to go home just yet, I don’t, I don’t”. I suggested we go for a drink, she threw her head back and laughed loudly saying "Yeah f**k it, lets get f*****g pissed”. That night we drank, and later made love wildly in the back of a bread van left in the pub car park.

As the dawn broke over our naked bodies covered in bread rolls and the contents of squashed jammy doughnuts, we collected our thoughts and our clothes and made our way (Somewhat stickily) to our respective homes. Later as I stood in the shower allowing the hot water to run over my aching body I relived the passion of the bread van and marvelled at the versatility of bread products.

We were to meet many times after that night, and on every occasion we managed to put foodstuffs to good use during our sexual exploration of each other. We tried it all, the exotic Hot pot supper samba, the Bar-B-Q bang, sex through salad, we even went Vegan but it was a little too fetish for our taste. It wasn’t to last. She met another guy at a weight watchers club for insomniacs and whilst he was completely ok with the idea of sharing her both physically and culinary, I knew it was a recipe for disaster. She had to choose and unfortunately for me she chose fast food over Cordon Bluer.

It was the first of many disappointing relationships, but I will always remember that time with fondness and relish (No pun intended) and it was good fun and great practice for what lay ahead for me in the dating game.

To be continued………….

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Don't listen to me I talk shit.

It’s always been a mystery to me why it is that people have for most of my adult life asked my advice about anything and everything. People who do the asking really do think that I have no problems whatsoever, I know this because they have told me at the time of asking for the advice. It seems I sail through life without a care. It’s not that I mind helping, but the responsibility lies heavy if they actually take the advice I offer.

Mostly they don’t, thank heaven, I have found that a request for advice is really a search for confirmation of their own ideas about what it is they should do and if what you say differs from what they think, they will look elsewhere for wise words. Usually its women who ask this old sage for a solution to whatever problem is troubling them, and the problem usually is a man. No surprises there, but a couple of weekends ago it wasn’t a teary eyed beauty whom I could have taken advantage of (Just joking) but a pal of mine who is probably the last person I would have thought would have had woman trouble.

He is tall, good looking, well dressed and a confident type of chap, so it was with some surprise that I opened my front door early Sunday evening to a distressed looking, stooped and thoroughly dejected looking, far from confident gibbering idiot. That it was pissing down didn’t help, he stood there soaked through apologising for bothering me on my day off, and as he spoke his voice wavered and hiccuped in that way young kids do when talking and crying at the same time. I just knew this was gonna be juicy.

I invited him in and gave him a towel to dry his hair; he rubbed vigorously for a minute or so, which left his usually neatly couffered locks stuck out in all directions. So eager was he to reveal his tale of woe to me that he left it uncombed and for the rest of the consultation my eyes kept wondering to the birds nest on his head. However as I didn’t want to interrupt his flow, I kept my mouth shut.

“She is ending it Dave, after two years together she is dumping me” I asked why, he tearfully replied “She said I don’t do it for her, never have. She said all these years she has pretended to be happy with our sex life hoping it would get better, but it hasn’t so she has found someone who does do it for her”.
I asked if she had ever tried to talk about it before now and try to work things out. He screwed his face up and said, “Nope, never, I always thought things were ok in that department. She was always verbally demonstrative when we made love”.

Do you know whom this new guy is I asked? Choking back tears he said “Yes, its some muscle bound bastard from the gym she goes to. I tried to placate him, your not exactly thin and weedy yourself old boy. He looked at me through ever more reddening eyes; “Well he has got far more muscle than he needs and besides, she said he had a bigger widji than me. (His words not mine) “What do I do”.

I looked at his sticky out hair and thought for a moment about offering to lend him mine, widji not hair but mercifully I bit my lip. Humour never helps when it’s a case of widji size; men can be very sensitive about this subject. I asked him what he said after she gave him the devastating news, “Nothing, I just walked out of the house and drove around for a few hours, then I came here”.

I asked him if he wanted the truth or just some kind words that would make him feel better, he opted for the truth. I stood up to deliver my monologue. “As hurt as you feel right now, spare a thought for the fact that she has lied to you for the last two years. She lied by pretending to enjoy your lovemaking, and I know that’s true for a lot of women, if only to spare the feelings of the one whom can’t perform to their satisfaction. But at least at some point most women will say enough is enough and bring it to the table for discussion, usually because they love that person and want to make it better. He wrung his hands.

She has also lied to you in that for her to know that Mr Muscles can perform better than you can, she would have to have tested the water so to speak to gain that knowledge. He winced. By allowing you to continue thinking that everything in the garden was rosy she has been underhanded and cruel, it occurs to me that she could possibly have held back on purpose waiting for someone like Mr Muscles to come along who could offer her what she wanted. I was in full stride now. In fact it’s a distinct possibility that Mr Muscles wasn’t the first time she ate out as it were. He winced again and wrung his hands.

Whichever way you look at it my friend she has thought of herself and not you, do you really want to live with a woman who can deceive you without a second thought for your feelings. She didn’t even spare you the humiliation of her thinking you a bad lover. She could have just said she had met someone else, but no she had to twist the knife. He grimaced as though the knife were being twisted as we spoke.

I paused from my verbal whipping of this cruel, woman and saw the very real pain in his eyes. You really love her don’t you? He sobbed. “Yes, what am I going to do”. I’m a sucker for tears, so I poured him a drink and asked again exactly what he had said when she gave him the news. “Nothing, I was so shocked, I just walked out”. Ok I said, that’s good, no need to backtrack. The house belongs to you doesn’t it. He nodded but said she had asked him to find a Hotel for a week or so until she could make arrangements.

Right, you go back, tell her that you are relived that she broke up with you because you have been trying to find a way to do that for months, but couldn’t come up with anything. Then you tell her, not ask her to leave and find herself a hotel, or move in with Mr Muscles who by rights should be prepared to house her as well as sexually entertain her. If she argues, just tell her that you have already informed your new girlfriend of the break up (The reason for your leaving so quickly) and she is even now packing her things ready to move in when you leave. He looked ashen, “But that will make things worse surely, I’m not sure I can do that”. You can and you will my friend, trust me it will work. After another drink and a great deal of trying to convince him that my strategy was faultless, he left hair still pointing in all directions to pursue his destiny.

At this point I have to admit that I thought it wouldn’t work, I know his girlfriend and she isn’t a pleasant type, without doubt he would be better of without her. So playing God and going against my policy of none interference I urged him to have the bollocks to dare it out and play her at her own game. Surprisingly he did have the bollocks, and surprisingly it did work, her bluff was called and she collapsed, after two nights away, she came back asking for his forgiveness and another chance to try again. My plan backfired.

He phoned last week to tell me the good news and I can only assume that she has gone back to her verbal acting in bed and he spends rather more time than he used to in front of the mirror inspecting his widji. Was I wrong? Well was I?.

Keep it to yourself.

A friend called round the other night for a drink and sympathy, she got the drink but very little sympathy. Its not that I don’t care, I do, but we have these conversations at least once a month.
And its beginning to wear a little thin, she will sit there sometimes crying, sometimes just angry and relate yet another tale of woe from her catalogue of sexual adventures that she considers to be genuine relationships.

For some reason she is convinced that granting sexual favour to any bloke she encounters will guarantee her a long and lasting meaningful relationship. Despite my educating her to the ways of men and despite pointing out that she has been disappointed time after time, she insists on doing it her way.
Now this would be fine if she were to realise that a booty call is just that, a booty call. And if she must invite men home after a night out clubbing then expect no more than a kiss on the cheek before he goes through the door in the morning.

“Men are all bastards” she wailed. “I phoned that Kevin up at work and when I told him it was Sandra, he said Sandra who and he had only left that morning, The bastard“ I told her that women could be bastards too, being a bastard is not gender specific. We are all capable of behaving badly given the opportunity and the excuse, and inviting someone home for a night of sex does just that. It couldn’t be plainer, your not saying, “Get to know me, come to like me” and perhaps take the relationship further. Your saying “Lets go to my place for a bonk”.

I don’t think she really listens, her latest escapade involved a night out where she met Kevin and after a few drinks and a totter round the dance floor they made their way post haste to her house. The inevitable of course happened and whilst she was still lighting a post coitial fag he was having it on his toes through the door, “Which he didn’t even shut” she complained.

I do have sympathy for her, I really do, she is a nice person, has a great personality apart from her promiscuity (Who am I to judge) and is a very pretty some might say desirable woman. But when she ignores advise by people to be a little less outgoing shall we say, and allow a relationship to develop before trusting her virtue (What there is left of it) to a man, she still she makes the same mistake over and over again.

She calmed down a bit, wiped her eyes and took a sip from her drink, “I need a hug” she simpered. I moved across and gave her a hug, “Why can’t the guys I meet be more like you?” she said. I freed myself from the hug and returned to my seat, “Perhaps if you were to actually look for someone with the qualities that you find attractive, rather than just going for the nearest bloke, you might have more luck” I said a little desperately. I say desperately because I knew what was coming next, and she didn’t disappoint me.

“I don’t want to go home, can I stay the night” she bit her lip. I hate it when women do that, my resolve melts, but this time I managed to fight it. “Yes you can stay, as long as you don’t mind sleeping on the couch” She wasn’t happy, I could tell, but it would hardly have been right to take advantage of the situation especially after reading the sexual riot act to her.

When I woke up next morning I decided to make us both a hearty breakfast, take the day of and treat her to a ride out into the country. We could have a meal at a country pub and perhaps I could explain things to her in a gentler way than I had the night before. But she was gone and the bitch left the door open.

No more Mr nice guy

I’ve had it with women, be it romantic or platonic, you just cant trust them as far as you can throw them, and believe me I’ve thrown a few in my time. They are just as devious as men are, just more subtle about it. I know that is a sweeping statement and we shouldn’t tar everyone with the same brush, but at the moment I’m in the mood for some serious sweeping and if I could I would do some tarring with a brush the size of the titanic.

Selfish is another word that looms large at the moment, that and deceitful. I have had my share of let downs in the past as regards romantic episodes, but you just don’t expect it when the relationship is based on friendship. It hits all the harder when you have gone out of your way and bent over backwards for the transgressor.

For any men reading this drivel, hear my words, you wont ever get anywhere being Mr nice guy, I know, I have been that for most of my life more or less and its done balls all for me. In fact the only time I have ever got anywhere is when I haven’t been a nice guy. That’s certainly the case in business and the more I look back and reflect, the more I believe it to be true of human relationships.

I don’t like being angry about what probably is just an unimportant fault on somebody else’s part. But I am the kind of person that thinks very carefully about what kind of effect my actions could have on someone else’s life, and when that simple courtesy isn’t returned it cuts deep. Its bad enough when an acquaintance does this, but when a friend is guilty of it, then it cuts deep.

My Father always taught me to do the right thing no matter what the cost to myself, in that you can live and be happy with your actions, and if others are blind to your kindness and loyalty, then it will be they who lose. Well I tried it Dad, now I think its time to be a bastard.