Big Announcement Time!

Dear Blog readers I have some big news. I’m not one for large Twitter announcements about my latest retirement from the England squad (I’ll play when asked Fabio), newest movie role (still available Mr Jackson) or window breaking episode (tut tut Matt Prior). But I have decided that this may be the best forum to announce this news. Ladies. Gentlemen. I’m in love!

I haven’t managed to tell the object of my affection this directly but, as any male reader will know, it’s blooming difficult! You don’t want to sound too needy, desperate, and we’ve only been together a couple of months. But the fact is when it is right it’s right and despite being totally different to “my type” I do get the buzz every time we’re together. The tingles of expectation, surge of confidence, the feeling of one-ness and unity that makes the whole world disappear each moment I hold her. It’s something I’ve not felt for a couple of years and I’d almost forgotten the elation. Just thinking about things now brings a broad smile to my face and wistful remembrance of the last time we spent time together.

It’s almost tragic to admit I know it won’t last. I mean I hope it will but the problem is I’ve learned several times in the past that these things just don’t. One, maybe two years at best before things seem cracked and no matter how much you tape over them, you know the cracks are there and things are just never the same. Sure, there are moments, but they become few and far between and the rest of the time you know that the connections aren’t as sweet. Then, one day, you just bite the bullet and there’s a replacement just around the corner.

Sorry for the melodrama - for now I’m enjoying the good times as I know it’s a rarity to be cherished, adored and savoured whilst I can, spending as much time together as possible. I don’t even care if Bill says you have no middle! I’m sure everyone else thinks theirs is equally as special but they just won’t have what I know we have, my beautiful CA Plus 5000 cricket bat.

Bread and Blogging

I realise that I have neglected writing for a while and I have decided to kick myself in to gear. I have been writing but I admit it’s mostly been cricket match reports and that, for the majority, carries almost no interest at all I know!

One of the other writing projects that I undertook was to submit something for a “zine”. In fact this is a foodie zine Cakes and Canapes compiled by my good friend Miriam Nice who was a large part of the inspiration for this blog initially. Her blog inspired publication features articles and illustrations centred around a particular food stuff each issue and I am proud to say I managed to have a short, cautionary (fictional) tale included in the 1^st edition. Please do have a look at www.cakesandcanapes.co.uk to find out more. There’s a Facebook group, you can follow Mim on twitter, purchase the zine and she has a blog that I follow which is an entertaining cocktail of life and food combined.

I will be writing soon to update anyone who cares to have a read on: Boys Week (holiday), The Diet (low/no carbs…ouch), Temping (yes I have work for now), sporting conduct (cricket season is in full swing) and the rest that life has to offer in the meantime! For now I hope that you enjoy my submission for C&C.

Bread - A Cautionary Tale

The other day my mate told me that the best thing to do, with regard to my ensuing wifely predicament, would be to use my loaf. Annoyed, I swung my lunch box at him, catching him flush across the forehead. He angrily enquired “What’d you do that for?” to which sadly, I didn’t really have an answer that would most likely have made him happy.  Nope, no retrospectively suitable remarks what would’ve satiated his growing ire not to mention lump swelling on his aforementioned bonce.

As he lent forward, hands thrust throatwards with all the intention in the world to throttle the last breath from my very own soul transporter, it dawned on me that, now, his erstwhile words of wisdom made a crystal clear sense in my mind. Quick as a flash I opened my box and offered him a sandwich with a quippy remark of “you told me to use my loaf”. I paused, expecting the worst if I’m honest with you. Imagine my relief when he reached forwards and examined my crusty sacrifice. He was becalmed enough, whilst demolishing my egg and cress, to reduce his threat level to a mild distain and whilst he munched away, murmurs of satisfaction oozing between bites, my mind wandered to the international peace keeping power of the sandwich. Well, to put it more precisely, a loaf of bread.

We’re a simple race with simple needs. Given each worsening famine or fledgling war is proceeded by a sack loads of flour or loaf after crusty loaf of being dished out from the back of a flatbed to the suffering, embittered and impoverished it would appear to be a multinational success story. Bread. The simplest of things. The noblest of things. Saviour of the hungry and bringer of calm and reassurance. It turns out my disfigured companion had had the most valid of points and his initial, irreverent recommendation was not without its merits.

In fact it turns out that whilst a useful, if accidentally insightful point, it wasn’t a theory that could be applied to every conceivable situation. Specifically mine. When I approached my good lady wife, tea in one hand and glistening butter covered thick white sliced toasted glory in the other, suggesting that we could talk out our recent difference of opinion and rebuild a loving relationship with the most basic of food stuffs as the cornerstone foundation, she, so it happened, disagreed. Apparently bread, no matter the quality or covering whether it be Golden Churn or love itself, will not rebuild all bridges. Especially those burned by being found in the marital bed chamber with one’s very own secretary. I also found out that hot butter and scolding tea make evil bed fellows when combined in what can only politely be described as a vicious assault! 

I do salute you, bread, for all the good in the world that you may well do. Poverty and warzones may, for want of a better phrase, your bread and butter. However I regret to announce that it would appear not even bread can repair the damage caused by crumpet.

20x20 Is Hindsight

There area many stark differences between men and women with regard to relationships. I don’t think that this is a statement worthy of any sudden gasps or astonishment. However one thing dawned on me fairly recently and I wondered whether it is just the group of rose-tinted bespectacled blokey mates and embittered, twisted womenfolk that I am acquainted with or a reflection on the general populous. It would appear that how the two sexes review our old flames and past partners differs as greatly as how we view our current beaus and romantic leads.

Most guys I know, when referring to “the ex” tend to look back on them with a fondness that is equal in magnitude to their general indifference shown at the time. In essence they remember only the good times. The happy summer walks and winter nights by the fire, how they got on with all of their mates and how much their mum loved the long-gone lady. “She didn’t mind watching the football” or “She always came to watch me play cricket”. As friends do it’s of course then our own job to remind them that the aforementioned ex was all of these things but above all a bit of a witch that we all humoured and never really liked or, in less extreme cases, she was “a bit dull”. No matter how unhappy the relationship was at the time, only the positives and hallmark moments are fresh in the mind of a man. Notably a single man I should add.

Conversely all of womankind whom I have ever known remember their own exes as “that f***ing a***hole that ruined my life for two years”. Yes he may’ve been “the one” at the time and his name was every other word that drooled from her mouth but once the six-month break-up sex has passed he is vilified and demonised regardless of the reasons for the end of the relationship (and of who dumped who).

I can’t for the life of me understand why this is. On both parts! I can honestly say that inexplicably I do the same and somehow, in my head, telling my brother “I know she was a bit of a psycho, but they were good times” doesn’t seem in the least bit strange or irrational. A “bit of a psycho”?!? Surely if this were an introduction to a woman you’d steer well clear. “Oh you must meet my friend Claire, she’s a bit of a psycho but she’s perfect for you”. Err, thanks but no thanks! It’s like saying someone’s killed, but only once, so that’s fine right? In the same way I struggle when told by a girly mate that they dated a guy for five years, even though he was a this/that/the other for all that time. Why? “Because I loved him”. Right. That makes sense then.

Hindsight is a beautiful thing but it seems the further men get from a relationship the more blurred the vision gets where as for women time lends a clarity, or rather darkly shaded perspective gladly absent from the moment. I think that maybe it helps them move on as opposed to us poor saps pondering the “what ifs” and “if I knew thens” that haunt many a manly soul.