Filling in a Few Blanks.

I’ve had lots of things to say to this blog over the past week but have been too busy doing other things and haven’t had time to write. I have half an hour to spare now so I’ll briefly touch on a few.

There was an extended post around my assertion that: ‘Marriage is not a partnership; it’s a union. They’re very different.’ I talked about it in earlier post some years ago, but since it forms part of one of the reasons why I never held a relationship longer than seven years, I thought it worth mentioning again from a different angle. Too busy.

The report on my visit to the opticians (see earlier post) about my ear issue may be summarised very briefly. I dutifully turned up at the appointed time and was told ‘We’re full. Try again next week.’ A few minutes later I encountered a truly cadaverous young woman in Ashbourne and found the experience mildly alarming. I doubt the two circumstances were connected.

There was a pheasant chick feeding on one of the bird tables this week. I’ve never seen a pheasant chick on any bird table before, and I do so like first experiences.

Charlotte the Spider goes missing quite often now, but always comes back. I’m tempted to wonder whether she likes my company, but can’t imagine why she should.

The adverts I most hate are those featuring people putting on sickly smiles because they’ve done what the ad told them to do: Buy this; do that; go here; take delight in this wonderful experience… The list goes on. ‘Look at us,’ say the artificial smiles. ‘We did, and look how happy we are!’ Fake and utterly, utterly hateful.

The big one: My blog used to provide me with a ready-made cyberspace social circle, but it’s now completely disappeared. They’ve all gone and I miss them. And there are times in the wee small hours when the combination of timing, appropriate music, and the effects of the double scotches produce a maddening combination of nostalgia and sentimentality. At such times I want to write to them and say ‘Would you please come back and be my friend again.’ I don’t, of course, for two reasons. The first is that it would sound needy, and there are few things in life I less want to sound than needy. The second, and greater, reason is that it would be unfair to the people involved. That’s because I know that when the cold light of day replaces nostalgia and sentimentality with cynicism and depression, I become a different person and would change my mind. And so I desist.

There were more, but my half hour is up.