I always hoped I'd never become one of those people that said things like, "you youngsters don't know how lucky you are, in my day blah blah blah!". But when I look around at the array of technology that envelops most of us I can't help hankering back to my youth and comparing the differences.
I can still remember the excitement surrounding the launch of a second TV channel. The jealousy of families that had COLOUR television. My revolutionary Dansette portable record player and buying my first 45s (vinyl discs that played at 45 revs per minute...OK!) and the absolute phenomenon that was the transistor pocket radio. They came with one little earpiece that you could feed up your sleeve and listen to in class...until you got caught. Everybody got caught.
Computers were a thing of science fiction and enjoying a movie at home involved setting up a dodgy Super 8 projector and a roll out screen and watching grainy film or slides of the family's last holiday in Margate.
The one thing this deprived childhood did engender was a love of reading. As a kid it ranged from Beano to Treasure Island, teenage years bought Lord of the Flies to Ian Fleming to Marvel comics and as a young adult it got far more eclectic. Harold Robbins, Albert Camus, Tom Wolfe and even Lobsang Rampa and Khalil Gibran to name but a few.
My one abiding loyalty throughout the last thirty years or so has been to Stephen King. Acclaimed as the best popular author since Dickens by some critics and derided as literary popcorn by others...like I give a crap!
Unfortunately, although I've been loyal by buying each new tome in weighty hardback the instant it was published, I have a confession. Loyal yes but not always faithful.
It wasn't my fault your Honour, I was seduced. As the shiny metallic technology took over my leisure hours poor old Steve was confined to being left ignored on the shelf in his sexy new jacket.
Surround sound home cinema, 500 watts of stereo power, 100s of TV channels, video games and the biggest slut of them all...the Internet. After all , I am but a man. By the time I've watched the latest blockbuster, polished off a couple of thousand aliens, played a poker tournament and updated Facebook I can hardly think let alone read.
This Christmas took a new turn. "The Teenager" has had a part-time job and for the first time she bought all her presents with her own money. This not only represented a handy saving for me but also meant I didn't choose my own gift and give her the money to pay for it. To say she was thoughtful and generous would be an understatement. So there we were exchanging gifts and I was thrilled with the DVDs and CDs I had opened. I tore apart the wrapping on the last heaviest one and cast my eyes on the latest collection of short stories by the "Kingster".
Now it's all well and good me splashing out for a book and leaving it unread but I just can't do that with something paid for by hours of call-center tedium. So, for a change some aliens lived to see another day. The poker cyber-world could survive a day or so without me and off I trotted to bed at a moderately sensible hour. I picked up my new book and for the next hour and a bit I realised just how much I've been missing.
So, to all my favourite authors I'd like to apologise. I can't promise to change all my new found habits and I will probably keep philandering but at least I promise to come home more regularly.
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Monday, 29 December 2008
"Adult Child"
Even at the slimmest, younger and most photogenic phases of my life I have never enjoyed having my photo taken. This probably stems from a professional "smudge" taken at my Bar-Mitzvah. It featured my late Mum in an emerald green evening dress waltzing with me in a midnight blue tux. We looked like two gigantic Christmas tree baubles bumping into each other. Not the most desirable memory of the day the boy became a man.
However, there is one pic that renders memories of a far, far happier event. It is of me (complete with oh so trendy 70s moustache) cradling my newly born son in my hands. You can see how inordinately proud I am and how tiny he is.
This image jumped right back at me last night. It had been a very pleasant time. Adult child and his Mum (my first wife and still a very dear friend) had come over for a post Xmas dinner and gift exchange. As they were leaving I hugged him and couldn't stop myself thinking what happened to all those years between holding that tiny child and saying goodnight to the handsome , honed (and slightly taller than me), intelligent grown man that he has become.
There are some indelible memories that define (that word is for you kid!) my enormous love for him.
Leaving him at boarding school when he wanted to come home, I got in the car and cried my eyes out at my well intentioned efforts of "tuff love". Sorting out a bullying teacher that had been picking on him and other kids. The gut-wrenching pain of not being able to help when he was blamed for something he didn't do and the immeasurable pleasure when he was completely exonerated.
Then there were the "trends". I didn't mind most of them but they always involved the "best" (for "best" substitute most expensive). Skateboards constituted schlepping almost weekly to a specialist shop in the West End to pick up the latest add-on or Stuzzy cap or t-shirt. The remote control cars that cost about the same as my ex-partner payed for a real one, together with repairs that would make a stock car racer weep. The ill-advised ear ring. And a love for trainers that has continued to the present day. It is my belief that without him Nike would still be a cottage industry.
Nevertheless, between his Mum and me we must have done something right. Today he is a man with impeccable taste, exceptional manners and an innate ability to mix with people from all walks of life and give them all a feeling they are sharing something special.
He is also on the verge of what I'm sure will be great success in business. This is very important because the cars he really wants now don't come in kit form and with the current economic climate someone has got to keep Nike going.
It doesn't take much to gather that I'm a doting father. Two wonderful kids with very different talents and abilities. The biggest difference is while "the teenager" is still young enough to be "Daddy's Girl" my son is old enough to not only be my child but also one of my very best friends.
However, there is one pic that renders memories of a far, far happier event. It is of me (complete with oh so trendy 70s moustache) cradling my newly born son in my hands. You can see how inordinately proud I am and how tiny he is.
This image jumped right back at me last night. It had been a very pleasant time. Adult child and his Mum (my first wife and still a very dear friend) had come over for a post Xmas dinner and gift exchange. As they were leaving I hugged him and couldn't stop myself thinking what happened to all those years between holding that tiny child and saying goodnight to the handsome , honed (and slightly taller than me), intelligent grown man that he has become.
There are some indelible memories that define (that word is for you kid!) my enormous love for him.
Leaving him at boarding school when he wanted to come home, I got in the car and cried my eyes out at my well intentioned efforts of "tuff love". Sorting out a bullying teacher that had been picking on him and other kids. The gut-wrenching pain of not being able to help when he was blamed for something he didn't do and the immeasurable pleasure when he was completely exonerated.
Then there were the "trends". I didn't mind most of them but they always involved the "best" (for "best" substitute most expensive). Skateboards constituted schlepping almost weekly to a specialist shop in the West End to pick up the latest add-on or Stuzzy cap or t-shirt. The remote control cars that cost about the same as my ex-partner payed for a real one, together with repairs that would make a stock car racer weep. The ill-advised ear ring. And a love for trainers that has continued to the present day. It is my belief that without him Nike would still be a cottage industry.
Nevertheless, between his Mum and me we must have done something right. Today he is a man with impeccable taste, exceptional manners and an innate ability to mix with people from all walks of life and give them all a feeling they are sharing something special.
He is also on the verge of what I'm sure will be great success in business. This is very important because the cars he really wants now don't come in kit form and with the current economic climate someone has got to keep Nike going.
It doesn't take much to gather that I'm a doting father. Two wonderful kids with very different talents and abilities. The biggest difference is while "the teenager" is still young enough to be "Daddy's Girl" my son is old enough to not only be my child but also one of my very best friends.
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Surf vs Turf
Whilst watching one of the plethora of daily re-housing programmes, I think it was "Hunt for a new property relocation, place in the country at home or away", I came to a conclusion. It was at the point where the newly retired couple had been shown three different options and Mrs Newly Retired peered out the bedroom window of her dream residence and said "look at that view, you could never get tired of that!"
Well, I looked at the view. It was a sloping landscape of various shades of green and nothing much else and I concluded that I would be bored witless if that was all I was going to look at for the rest of my golden years ( a fleeting David Bowie ref.). The problem is I don't like the "country". I don't mind a leisurely drive to Laconicshire, an expensive lunch at a Michelin starred gaffe and a leisurely drive back. I just wouldn't want to live there.
You see people going "ga-ga" at a picture postcard, chocolate box, ivy-strewn cottage in Puddleton Beeznees and all I keep thinking is what happens if I run out of fags at 11.30pm. The prospective yokels get excited about the fact that the village has a general store, a pub and a post office, I can only ponder the disappointment if you fancy a pizza, Chinese or Indian delivery. They wax lyrically about the wonderful opportunities for rambling, fell walking or horse riding and I go into cold sweat working out where the nearest multiplex is.
On the other hand I totally understand the whole sea view thing. Doesn't matter whether it's Poole or Portofino that'll do for me.
There always seem to be the two completely opposite ends of the lifestyle spectrum. At one end you have the requisite tranquility, the seasonal changes affecting the seascape and the potential of being extricated from the lunacy of city living. Better still, whether an aficionado of the organic sail boat or the sybaritic power cruiser, nothing beats being on the ocean with cool sounds on the stereo and the cocktail shaker within easy reach.
Conversely, seaside living can also come with a thriving social scene. Balmy summer nights, hints of ozone in the air. Marinas alive with restaurants serving great seafood, funky little bars, boat parties complete with local weirdos who never ever seem to do anything but appear everywhere. And, of course glamorous ladies (or men obviously, I just take less notice of them).
So there you have it, my completely unreasonable, nonsensical and biased take on the perfect lifestyle locale. You may also be thinking "what on earth is this nutter going on about on Xmas Eve, hardly festive is it?"
Well, as I look out on the turgid greyness in the skies over North London, gaze moronically at the imitation fir tree and clench my teeth at the sounds of Sir Cliff giving it some "welly ", somewhere deep inside I'm hoping that Santa remembers I really, really want a 48' Sunseeker.
MERRY XMAS!
Well, I looked at the view. It was a sloping landscape of various shades of green and nothing much else and I concluded that I would be bored witless if that was all I was going to look at for the rest of my golden years ( a fleeting David Bowie ref.). The problem is I don't like the "country". I don't mind a leisurely drive to Laconicshire, an expensive lunch at a Michelin starred gaffe and a leisurely drive back. I just wouldn't want to live there.
You see people going "ga-ga" at a picture postcard, chocolate box, ivy-strewn cottage in Puddleton Beeznees and all I keep thinking is what happens if I run out of fags at 11.30pm. The prospective yokels get excited about the fact that the village has a general store, a pub and a post office, I can only ponder the disappointment if you fancy a pizza, Chinese or Indian delivery. They wax lyrically about the wonderful opportunities for rambling, fell walking or horse riding and I go into cold sweat working out where the nearest multiplex is.
On the other hand I totally understand the whole sea view thing. Doesn't matter whether it's Poole or Portofino that'll do for me.
There always seem to be the two completely opposite ends of the lifestyle spectrum. At one end you have the requisite tranquility, the seasonal changes affecting the seascape and the potential of being extricated from the lunacy of city living. Better still, whether an aficionado of the organic sail boat or the sybaritic power cruiser, nothing beats being on the ocean with cool sounds on the stereo and the cocktail shaker within easy reach.
Conversely, seaside living can also come with a thriving social scene. Balmy summer nights, hints of ozone in the air. Marinas alive with restaurants serving great seafood, funky little bars, boat parties complete with local weirdos who never ever seem to do anything but appear everywhere. And, of course glamorous ladies (or men obviously, I just take less notice of them).
So there you have it, my completely unreasonable, nonsensical and biased take on the perfect lifestyle locale. You may also be thinking "what on earth is this nutter going on about on Xmas Eve, hardly festive is it?"
Well, as I look out on the turgid greyness in the skies over North London, gaze moronically at the imitation fir tree and clench my teeth at the sounds of Sir Cliff giving it some "welly ", somewhere deep inside I'm hoping that Santa remembers I really, really want a 48' Sunseeker.
MERRY XMAS!
Thursday, 18 December 2008
HO! HO! Hmmm
I love an event! Birthdays (other peoples mine are getting scary), anniversaries (definitely other peoples, I'm never married long enough), St Valentine's (normally with another person) and especially Christmas.
This would not normally be surprising, but as a "nice" Jewish boy it obviously has no religious significance whatsoever but throughout my life we've just never done Hanukkah (for the uninitiated it's the "Festival of Lights" and normally occurs about the same time of year).
One of my fondest childhood memories was my Grandpa dressing up as Santa and having a massive sack full of goodies for distribution. My only slight regret was that being the eldest I had a good couple of years of being spoilt rotten until various other Rug Rats started to appear and the spoils had to be shared.
There has always been a tree and decorations and although I hate how early the preamble starts I have always enjoyed the whole seasonal thing.
Of course, with parenthood the traditions continued and however clicheed it may be there just isn't anything better than the pleasure derived from seeing the look on one's kids' faces after tearing the guts out of the wrapping paper and discovering they got exactly what they wanted. In fact, if I remember correctly I was always up before either of the kids. One year I had to wake my daughter up at about 7 am 'cos the little darling wouldn't budge.
It wasn't all about the children. I must be one of the few men that actually enjoys shopping and hunting for the perfect pressies for the "significant other" has always been a lot of fun. Even if it meant standing five deep in the "cheap"section of Tiffany's along with every other "metro sexual" in London.
This year, to quote "the teenager" I'm just not feelin' it
It has nothing to do with the economy or even that it just doesn't seem particularly Christmassy out there. This year it appears that "adult child" will be abroad for the festivities, "the teenager" is at the stage where the presents are great but she's way too cool to get excited about the general proceedings and for the first time in my entire adult life I'm not married to, living with or dating anyone.
This would not normally be surprising, but as a "nice" Jewish boy it obviously has no religious significance whatsoever but throughout my life we've just never done Hanukkah (for the uninitiated it's the "Festival of Lights" and normally occurs about the same time of year).
One of my fondest childhood memories was my Grandpa dressing up as Santa and having a massive sack full of goodies for distribution. My only slight regret was that being the eldest I had a good couple of years of being spoilt rotten until various other Rug Rats started to appear and the spoils had to be shared.
There has always been a tree and decorations and although I hate how early the preamble starts I have always enjoyed the whole seasonal thing.
Of course, with parenthood the traditions continued and however clicheed it may be there just isn't anything better than the pleasure derived from seeing the look on one's kids' faces after tearing the guts out of the wrapping paper and discovering they got exactly what they wanted. In fact, if I remember correctly I was always up before either of the kids. One year I had to wake my daughter up at about 7 am 'cos the little darling wouldn't budge.
It wasn't all about the children. I must be one of the few men that actually enjoys shopping and hunting for the perfect pressies for the "significant other" has always been a lot of fun. Even if it meant standing five deep in the "cheap"section of Tiffany's along with every other "metro sexual" in London.
This year, to quote "the teenager" I'm just not feelin' it
It has nothing to do with the economy or even that it just doesn't seem particularly Christmassy out there. This year it appears that "adult child" will be abroad for the festivities, "the teenager" is at the stage where the presents are great but she's way too cool to get excited about the general proceedings and for the first time in my entire adult life I'm not married to, living with or dating anyone.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not actually miserable about being "tout seul", it's more a case of being aware of how few people are around if you are not a "normal" family unit. Sadly, my younger brother passed away a few years ago. His kids are now grown up and have their own lives. My parents are also long gone and neither of my kids are gonna procreate any time soon.
So, the tree is up. Gifts are underneath. There will be turkey and all the trimmings (damn good job I can cook), "the teenager" and I will work our way through a box of crackers and I'll still refuse to wear the dumb hat but this year it's all going to be very, very low key.
I know there are so many people that would give their right arm to have what we will have and before I get severely criticised, I know it's not really "my" festival anyway. I'm just articulating my thoughts - that's all!
For all I know, by this time next year I might've met an adorable woman with four noisy kids, a full set of parents, and numerous annoying relatives and half way through the Queen's speech I'll be pining back to the halcyon day of Xmas 2008.
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
If Only
"If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all" is a line from an old song by Ray Charles that has been rattling around the frontal lobes for a couple of days.
I have often pondered the suggestion that one makes one's own luck but how can that be true. If it were, every person who purchases a Lottery ticket would win. After all how can you win it if you're not in it ?
By the same token if someone works their socks off and builds a business, only to find it crumble due to the credit crunch or dwindling economy are they unlucky or just another victim of an unhealthy financial climate.
The reason behind this post is that I recently spotted an old mate of mine on Facebook. If he's reading this he will recognise himself immediately
His pic showed him having an exceedingly jolly time with an absolutely stunning blond, he looked fit, well and assumedly not too concerned about the current downturn.
He no longer lives in the UK but over the years I spent quite a lot of time with him and at one time we were briefly in business together. However, if old Ray had nothin' but bad luck, this guy would survive a minefield whilst on roller skates for the very first time.
About 15 years ago his then business was going through a cash flow crisis. During this monetary hiccup he was invited to Ascot races on a corporate "knees-up". One accumulator bet later and he left Royal Berkshire £30,000 better off. Crisis over!
On another occasion he was entertaining clients and the evening concluded at a London casino. He'd had a bad time at the tables and was about £500 worse off, he had one £100 chip left and on his way to cash-in he passed the roulette table. Rather than cut his losses he tossed the chip on 36. No surprises for guessing he went home £3000 in pocket.
All that pales in significance compared to his greatest coup. He created a business in the early days of the internet. The general populace was still not on board with the whole www revolution but nevertheless the money men were keen to get behind the new technologies. He floated the business on the stock market but hated the strictures of being a CEO of a public company. After a boardroom shakeup he sold the majority of his shares for £25,000,000 plus. KERCHING!! Ironically, the business never made a profit. His successor was later disgraced for his poor performance and the whole business was sold off for a fraction of what my mate sold his shares for.
Good businessman or lucky son of a bitch, I'll leave you to make your own mind up.
As far as I'm concerned good luck to him (pun intended) and whilst I would love some of it to have rubbed off on me, I look at my children, my friends, my home and the fact I'm still alive and kicking and realise just how lucky I am too. Nevertheless, if those pesky six numbers ever come up, if I manage to win an international poker tourney or my next business venture takes off like a rocket you can be sure that I will credit it all to massive amounts of.................skill.
I have often pondered the suggestion that one makes one's own luck but how can that be true. If it were, every person who purchases a Lottery ticket would win. After all how can you win it if you're not in it ?
By the same token if someone works their socks off and builds a business, only to find it crumble due to the credit crunch or dwindling economy are they unlucky or just another victim of an unhealthy financial climate.
The reason behind this post is that I recently spotted an old mate of mine on Facebook. If he's reading this he will recognise himself immediately
His pic showed him having an exceedingly jolly time with an absolutely stunning blond, he looked fit, well and assumedly not too concerned about the current downturn.
He no longer lives in the UK but over the years I spent quite a lot of time with him and at one time we were briefly in business together. However, if old Ray had nothin' but bad luck, this guy would survive a minefield whilst on roller skates for the very first time.
About 15 years ago his then business was going through a cash flow crisis. During this monetary hiccup he was invited to Ascot races on a corporate "knees-up". One accumulator bet later and he left Royal Berkshire £30,000 better off. Crisis over!
On another occasion he was entertaining clients and the evening concluded at a London casino. He'd had a bad time at the tables and was about £500 worse off, he had one £100 chip left and on his way to cash-in he passed the roulette table. Rather than cut his losses he tossed the chip on 36. No surprises for guessing he went home £3000 in pocket.
All that pales in significance compared to his greatest coup. He created a business in the early days of the internet. The general populace was still not on board with the whole www revolution but nevertheless the money men were keen to get behind the new technologies. He floated the business on the stock market but hated the strictures of being a CEO of a public company. After a boardroom shakeup he sold the majority of his shares for £25,000,000 plus. KERCHING!! Ironically, the business never made a profit. His successor was later disgraced for his poor performance and the whole business was sold off for a fraction of what my mate sold his shares for.
Good businessman or lucky son of a bitch, I'll leave you to make your own mind up.
As far as I'm concerned good luck to him (pun intended) and whilst I would love some of it to have rubbed off on me, I look at my children, my friends, my home and the fact I'm still alive and kicking and realise just how lucky I am too. Nevertheless, if those pesky six numbers ever come up, if I manage to win an international poker tourney or my next business venture takes off like a rocket you can be sure that I will credit it all to massive amounts of.................skill.
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Overload
In the unlikely event that you have noticed, I haven't posted anything for a few days. In the even more unlikely event that you have actually missed me......I apologise profusely!
Part of the reason for my slacking is that I've been preoccupied with several personal issues but the main reason is that I'm suffering from whatever the opposite of"writer's block" may be. Writers overload perhaps?
There are so many invasive topics that are crowding my mind but my normal bent is to find an angle on a subject that I hope will amuse you and me but right now I'm finding it hard to see the funny side of almost anything.
Like millions of others I am still struggling to come to terms with the horrific death of Baby P. To even accept that human beings are capable of subjecting a toddler to a remorseless existence of torture and punishment makes me ashamed that we are even of the same species. Sadly, I live in the same borough whose social services were so abjectly inept that they couldn't (even after sixty visits) prevent this tragedy from happening. This is the same borough that allows traffic wardens and tow trucks to sit in wait so that as soon as yellow lines kick in they can issue residents with tickets and remove their vehicles within the space of five minutes. Ah yes but that's revenue isn't it?
Just as the impact of one human catastrophe inevitably subsides we have to get our heads around a new threat to innocent life. The teenage suicide bomber! I don't give a damn what your religious beliefs are, I couldn't care less who you consider the "enemy" is and I'm certainly not knowledgeable enough to offer any kind of solution to the complex conundrum that is the Middle East or come to that any other political hot spot. But what kind of race, creed, cult or religion can indoctrinate a child into destroying their life and the lives of others before they can even draw on their own life experiences. An "unholy mess".
Until recently we could comfort ourselves with the "I'm alright Jack" syndrome but not anymore we can't. Our cast-iron investment in bricks and mortar is depreciating on a daily basis. The job for life is currently a job for as long as the company's overdraft lasts and the pound in our pocket is worth less and less almost everywhere in the world. Moreover, anybody who thought they were lucky enough to have savings or pensions may have to seriously assess their "comfort zone".
On Saturday I ventured out to my local shopping centre to spend some of my dwindling reserves on Xmas presents. It was the penultimate Saturday to the "Big Day" the streets should have been heaving. they weren't. The shops should have been "jam packed" they weren't and the punters should have been laden with bags and looking cheerful as they shopped. They weren't and they didn't.
Being a "glass half full" kinda guy I'm sure I'll be back very shortly with another attempt at the rib-tickling or satire tinged writing that I (and hopefully you) enjoy but just for the moment I don't feel up to the challenge.
"Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men". Not this year I'm afraid.
Part of the reason for my slacking is that I've been preoccupied with several personal issues but the main reason is that I'm suffering from whatever the opposite of"writer's block" may be. Writers overload perhaps?
There are so many invasive topics that are crowding my mind but my normal bent is to find an angle on a subject that I hope will amuse you and me but right now I'm finding it hard to see the funny side of almost anything.
Like millions of others I am still struggling to come to terms with the horrific death of Baby P. To even accept that human beings are capable of subjecting a toddler to a remorseless existence of torture and punishment makes me ashamed that we are even of the same species. Sadly, I live in the same borough whose social services were so abjectly inept that they couldn't (even after sixty visits) prevent this tragedy from happening. This is the same borough that allows traffic wardens and tow trucks to sit in wait so that as soon as yellow lines kick in they can issue residents with tickets and remove their vehicles within the space of five minutes. Ah yes but that's revenue isn't it?
Just as the impact of one human catastrophe inevitably subsides we have to get our heads around a new threat to innocent life. The teenage suicide bomber! I don't give a damn what your religious beliefs are, I couldn't care less who you consider the "enemy" is and I'm certainly not knowledgeable enough to offer any kind of solution to the complex conundrum that is the Middle East or come to that any other political hot spot. But what kind of race, creed, cult or religion can indoctrinate a child into destroying their life and the lives of others before they can even draw on their own life experiences. An "unholy mess".
Until recently we could comfort ourselves with the "I'm alright Jack" syndrome but not anymore we can't. Our cast-iron investment in bricks and mortar is depreciating on a daily basis. The job for life is currently a job for as long as the company's overdraft lasts and the pound in our pocket is worth less and less almost everywhere in the world. Moreover, anybody who thought they were lucky enough to have savings or pensions may have to seriously assess their "comfort zone".
On Saturday I ventured out to my local shopping centre to spend some of my dwindling reserves on Xmas presents. It was the penultimate Saturday to the "Big Day" the streets should have been heaving. they weren't. The shops should have been "jam packed" they weren't and the punters should have been laden with bags and looking cheerful as they shopped. They weren't and they didn't.
Being a "glass half full" kinda guy I'm sure I'll be back very shortly with another attempt at the rib-tickling or satire tinged writing that I (and hopefully you) enjoy but just for the moment I don't feel up to the challenge.
"Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men". Not this year I'm afraid.
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
The Ex-Factor
I remember, to my chagrin, probably no more than four or five years ago stating imperiously that, "you'd never catch me doing that Internet dating". In my favour, I was in a relationship that was about ten years standing then (more of that later) and it never occurred to me that there would ever be the necessity to do so.
In true, (I wish I'd never opened my big mouth), fashion I wrote my first online dating profile almost exactly two years ago. It was done with a degree of childishness. My ex had done it first and was starting to see people and if she could do it I was damn sure I could too.
The first thing you realise is that dating profiles and career CVs are very similar......everybody lies. Some lie a little some lie a lot.
The next thing you notice is the lack of originality. I lost count of the times I read the phrases:-
"I'm just as happy in high heels as I am in wellies"
"I love dressing up in a ballgown or dressing down in jeans and T-shirt"
"Just as content dining out in an elegant restaurant as snuggling up on a sofa with a DVD and nice glass of wine"
Or, my personal favourite.
"Enjoys long country walks and finding a little pub with an open fire"
All very admirable, I'm sure but what I was really looking for was.
" Lottery winning 40 yr old ex-swimsuit model. Has own homes in Mayfair, Cannes and the Cotswolds. Collects exotic cars and Agent Provocateur lingerie. Interested in Poker, Cordon Blue cooking and Tottenham Hotspurs. Slightly kinky with a high sex drive. WLTM 58 yr old multiple divorcee. Preferably not in great shape added bonus if he has a live-in teenage daughter!"
Fortunately, I'm not holding my breath on that one ever materialising.
Since that first slightly narky profile there have been many Liaisons. Some Dangereuse some not. Some out and out nutters including one stalker, one who wanted to move in on the first date and one who called at 3 am just to hear my voice. I think the phrase she heard was "are you off your bleeding mind?"
There have also been some very lovely ladies that I have spent varying periods of time with, including the recently departed (no she's not dead just no longer with me) "lady friend". A relationship that lasted several months and which I know was mostly rewarding for both of us.
Two years on and still single. But here's the kicker so is my ex. Neither of us has managed to find Mr or Ms Right.
I think I know what the problem is though. The reason we are both still single is that we are looking for each other. Not the real each other but the fantasy each other. The perfect version that is all the things we liked/loved about each other. The each other that doesn't come with baggage, shortcomings and disappointments.
You may well ask "how do you know that's true". It's easy! Nobody has ever made us laugh so much as each other.
In true, (I wish I'd never opened my big mouth), fashion I wrote my first online dating profile almost exactly two years ago. It was done with a degree of childishness. My ex had done it first and was starting to see people and if she could do it I was damn sure I could too.
The first thing you realise is that dating profiles and career CVs are very similar......everybody lies. Some lie a little some lie a lot.
The next thing you notice is the lack of originality. I lost count of the times I read the phrases:-
"I'm just as happy in high heels as I am in wellies"
"I love dressing up in a ballgown or dressing down in jeans and T-shirt"
"Just as content dining out in an elegant restaurant as snuggling up on a sofa with a DVD and nice glass of wine"
Or, my personal favourite.
"Enjoys long country walks and finding a little pub with an open fire"
All very admirable, I'm sure but what I was really looking for was.
" Lottery winning 40 yr old ex-swimsuit model. Has own homes in Mayfair, Cannes and the Cotswolds. Collects exotic cars and Agent Provocateur lingerie. Interested in Poker, Cordon Blue cooking and Tottenham Hotspurs. Slightly kinky with a high sex drive. WLTM 58 yr old multiple divorcee. Preferably not in great shape added bonus if he has a live-in teenage daughter!"
Fortunately, I'm not holding my breath on that one ever materialising.
Since that first slightly narky profile there have been many Liaisons. Some Dangereuse some not. Some out and out nutters including one stalker, one who wanted to move in on the first date and one who called at 3 am just to hear my voice. I think the phrase she heard was "are you off your bleeding mind?"
There have also been some very lovely ladies that I have spent varying periods of time with, including the recently departed (no she's not dead just no longer with me) "lady friend". A relationship that lasted several months and which I know was mostly rewarding for both of us.
Two years on and still single. But here's the kicker so is my ex. Neither of us has managed to find Mr or Ms Right.
I think I know what the problem is though. The reason we are both still single is that we are looking for each other. Not the real each other but the fantasy each other. The perfect version that is all the things we liked/loved about each other. The each other that doesn't come with baggage, shortcomings and disappointments.
You may well ask "how do you know that's true". It's easy! Nobody has ever made us laugh so much as each other.
Friday, 5 December 2008
The Old Pals Act
I really loved "The Who"! Mod anthems, great clothes, cool hairstyles and real attitude. Even now I can embarrass the hell out of "the teenager" by screaming my way through "Won't Get Fooled Again" whilst throwing in an occasional Townsend flailing "air" power chord to complete the picture.
However, as much as I love a touch of irony, the iconic line "hope I die before I get old" does evoke a snigger when you consider the band is still touring and they are older than me. Mind you at least Kieth Moon and John Entwhistle stayed true to the cause.
But have I've taken it too literally? Maybe those lyrics really allude to not getting mentally old. To not thinking like a grumpy old man, not being averse to change and to not enjoying every last minute we have on this crumbling old rock. If that's the case I'm totally on it.
You may be thinking "where's this all going?". Well, let me tell you. Over the last seven days I have spent evenings with three of my very best and oldest friends. Between us we have nine kids, seven divorces, one marriage that has lasted nearly a quarter of a century, three currently single men and an average of over thirty-five years of friendship between me and each of them.
None of us are deluded enough not to recognise we are no longer young men but one things for sure, compared to our Dads at the same age we are a darn sight "younger". They were all great guys and all sadly no longer around and much like us, their sons, they each had very different lives and degrees of success and failure but without doubt when they were the same age as we are now they were "older".
Maybe, it was growing up in the sixties and all that that involved (the bits I can remember anyway........you gotta love a cliche), or the evolution of media that allows us to tune into the zeitgeist without really noticing it or maybe it is just a refusal to accept chronology as a life style choice.
I have two other theories that I believe are the real answer. Firstly, I think my generation of parents are closer to their kids than our forebears. Not that we love them more, that is certainly not the case but we share more and are less judgemental. We watch the same TV, go to the same movies and sometimes (I did say sometimes) even listen to the same music. Sex and drugs are no longer taboo subjects for discussion and extended families have taught tolerance and displayed our vulnerabilities.
Secondly, friendships like mine that have stood the test of time ensure that we are not allowed to take ourselves too seriously. There is always someone to schlep one back to earth with a bang when a "senior moment" beckons.
Take the other night. Three of us went to a bar that was oh so trendy back "in the day" and we still love. It started off with the usual catching up, moved onto "credit crunch" and careers (in my case, lack of one), escalated to the opposite sex and sex and by the time we were on our fourth Mai Tai the conversation took a distinctly downward spiral. Each and every weakness and foible was ridiculed relentlessly, waitresses smiled kindly at us as we flirted aimlessly with them and most important of all we giggled non-stop like fifth formers on a school trip.
At 4am I fell into bed, "pissed as a newt" with a big smile on my face. About five hours later I was awoken by a "call of nature". I gingerly ventured towards the bathroom and fell flat on my butt. My body felt 58, my head felt 18 and I was still giggling.
"Hope I die before I get old", I don't think so and if you think that's childish......."why don't you all f-f-fade away".
However, as much as I love a touch of irony, the iconic line "hope I die before I get old" does evoke a snigger when you consider the band is still touring and they are older than me. Mind you at least Kieth Moon and John Entwhistle stayed true to the cause.
But have I've taken it too literally? Maybe those lyrics really allude to not getting mentally old. To not thinking like a grumpy old man, not being averse to change and to not enjoying every last minute we have on this crumbling old rock. If that's the case I'm totally on it.
You may be thinking "where's this all going?". Well, let me tell you. Over the last seven days I have spent evenings with three of my very best and oldest friends. Between us we have nine kids, seven divorces, one marriage that has lasted nearly a quarter of a century, three currently single men and an average of over thirty-five years of friendship between me and each of them.
None of us are deluded enough not to recognise we are no longer young men but one things for sure, compared to our Dads at the same age we are a darn sight "younger". They were all great guys and all sadly no longer around and much like us, their sons, they each had very different lives and degrees of success and failure but without doubt when they were the same age as we are now they were "older".
Maybe, it was growing up in the sixties and all that that involved (the bits I can remember anyway........you gotta love a cliche), or the evolution of media that allows us to tune into the zeitgeist without really noticing it or maybe it is just a refusal to accept chronology as a life style choice.
I have two other theories that I believe are the real answer. Firstly, I think my generation of parents are closer to their kids than our forebears. Not that we love them more, that is certainly not the case but we share more and are less judgemental. We watch the same TV, go to the same movies and sometimes (I did say sometimes) even listen to the same music. Sex and drugs are no longer taboo subjects for discussion and extended families have taught tolerance and displayed our vulnerabilities.
Secondly, friendships like mine that have stood the test of time ensure that we are not allowed to take ourselves too seriously. There is always someone to schlep one back to earth with a bang when a "senior moment" beckons.
Take the other night. Three of us went to a bar that was oh so trendy back "in the day" and we still love. It started off with the usual catching up, moved onto "credit crunch" and careers (in my case, lack of one), escalated to the opposite sex and sex and by the time we were on our fourth Mai Tai the conversation took a distinctly downward spiral. Each and every weakness and foible was ridiculed relentlessly, waitresses smiled kindly at us as we flirted aimlessly with them and most important of all we giggled non-stop like fifth formers on a school trip.
At 4am I fell into bed, "pissed as a newt" with a big smile on my face. About five hours later I was awoken by a "call of nature". I gingerly ventured towards the bathroom and fell flat on my butt. My body felt 58, my head felt 18 and I was still giggling.
"Hope I die before I get old", I don't think so and if you think that's childish......."why don't you all f-f-fade away".
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Blogistics
Talk about "little things please little minds". About three days after I first posted, I googled the blog's URL and nothing came up. I kept trying every couple of days and was just about to go and have a serious chat with Mr Google, when last night it was there for all to see. I cannot deny I felt just a little proud. I, then, decided to check just how many co-members I might have in our elite club known as the Internet. According to a survey done last February there were 108,810,358 different websites. Instantaneously I felt very,very small.
This got me thinking. I've read about some blogs having readerships of thousands, book and TV adaptations and advertising revenue by the boatload. Now I know some people are reading this, mainly 'cos I can name each and every one of them but I have no idea if there might be a wider audience. Of course, you might be a lousy typist, searched for Chairman Mao and got me instead. In which case the best I can do is "a journey of a 100 miles starts with but a single step". After that buddy, you are on your own but if you'd like to stay you are very welcome.
In my mind's eye it would all be ever so simple. My ramblings would have a warm and fuzzy life of their own. The word would be passed in an organic, six degrees of separation style and before you could say "Amazon" a community of avid readers would form. Hmmm, dream on Mo!
Admittedly, I haven't been doing this very long and I am an impatient bugger. I really didn't start this for any form of reward or recognition but it would be nice to know that I wasn't just amusing friends and family. The only written comments I've received on the site so far are from "adult child". Thanks Son but I do speak to you about ten times a day anyway.
I decided to ask the other members of our "club" for advice. You have no idea just how many "How to Improve Your Blog" sites there are. I checked several of them. Conflicting opinions all over the shop. Write daily, don't write unless you have something to say. Get a free site, pay for a site. Don't take advertising at first, maximise advertising at first. Nevertheless, I did find out a fair bit I didn't know and with the help of my in-house experts (adult child & the teenager), I will start implementing some of them. Mind you, I'm still confused as to how to get that clever little spider into my PC. Apparently, he's a big help.
If you are reading this and we don't know each other please make contact. If something has amused you, annoyed you or you have ideas for topics write a comment. I'd appreciate it.
In the meantime, I'm going to start posting these on "You Tube" as well. Then if you can't be bothered to read and you really want to see my ugly mug at the same time I've got you covered.
Who knows? By this time next year I may have a DVD box set available for Xmas.
This got me thinking. I've read about some blogs having readerships of thousands, book and TV adaptations and advertising revenue by the boatload. Now I know some people are reading this, mainly 'cos I can name each and every one of them but I have no idea if there might be a wider audience. Of course, you might be a lousy typist, searched for Chairman Mao and got me instead. In which case the best I can do is "a journey of a 100 miles starts with but a single step". After that buddy, you are on your own but if you'd like to stay you are very welcome.
In my mind's eye it would all be ever so simple. My ramblings would have a warm and fuzzy life of their own. The word would be passed in an organic, six degrees of separation style and before you could say "Amazon" a community of avid readers would form. Hmmm, dream on Mo!
Admittedly, I haven't been doing this very long and I am an impatient bugger. I really didn't start this for any form of reward or recognition but it would be nice to know that I wasn't just amusing friends and family. The only written comments I've received on the site so far are from "adult child". Thanks Son but I do speak to you about ten times a day anyway.
I decided to ask the other members of our "club" for advice. You have no idea just how many "How to Improve Your Blog" sites there are. I checked several of them. Conflicting opinions all over the shop. Write daily, don't write unless you have something to say. Get a free site, pay for a site. Don't take advertising at first, maximise advertising at first. Nevertheless, I did find out a fair bit I didn't know and with the help of my in-house experts (adult child & the teenager), I will start implementing some of them. Mind you, I'm still confused as to how to get that clever little spider into my PC. Apparently, he's a big help.
If you are reading this and we don't know each other please make contact. If something has amused you, annoyed you or you have ideas for topics write a comment. I'd appreciate it.
In the meantime, I'm going to start posting these on "You Tube" as well. Then if you can't be bothered to read and you really want to see my ugly mug at the same time I've got you covered.
Who knows? By this time next year I may have a DVD box set available for Xmas.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Celebritee-hee
I couldn't have been more than 11 or 12 but I remember this quite clearly. There used to be a TV programme called "Sunday Night at the London Palladium". It was a variety show (sort of like "Britains Got Talent" with jugglers that didn't drop things) and every week they had a big time international star to end the show. On this particular night the headliner was Liberace (for the youngsters thinking WHO? Try this, Alan Carr in sequins, playing the piano with an American accent). Out he flounced, dressed like a Xmas tree on acid and as "camp" as a row of tents. I was sitting with my late Mum, who absolutely loved old Libby.
"Eeeeww Mum, he is such a Homo!" or some equally un-PC comment.
"No he is not! He's just slightly effeminate. It's all just an act"
Well, it was certainly an act but even in those naive days my Gaydar was in perfect working order.
Now, please, please, please don't think this is in any way an anti-gay rant. Not in the slightest, in fact as long as your sexual predilections are consensual and don't involve children or defenseless animals I will stand up and defend your rights to get your rocks off in any way you jolly well choose.
My point is that in the heady days of the first half of the last century the general public were happy to have their entertainment icons sanitised, packaged, protected and served to them in nice little user friendly portions. The film studios and record companies went to great lengths to cover up the truth about such idols as Rock Hudson, Montgomery Clift and Tab Hunter. They were photographed on the red carpet with stunning "starlets", straight relationships were reported in the press and in some cases they even married them off!
Strangely enough, the "Rat Pack"( Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin & Sammy Davis jr), who specialised in womanising, hard drinking and gambling, were almost presented as role models.
Couldn't do it these days though. If the latest heart-throb doesn't out him/herself there are websites that will. If the orgy involving a vicar, dominatrix and a shire horse was meant to be by invite only...forget it. There will have been a paparazzi with a trillion x zoom catching the whole thing for syndication. And if their intake of Columbian Marching Powder was a guilty secret, somebody with a camera-phone will have videoed them hunched over with a straw up their schnoz and on You-Tube within the hour. Guilty yes, secret no.
What really hacks me off is not that our celebrities have nasty habits, exotic sexual preferences or skeletons in the fitted wardrobe but the fact that they whinge about it when they are caught red-handed.
We've all seen the interviews:
"So, Squiffy since you've been successful what has been your biggest disappointment with fame and fortune?"
" Well er, you know. it's like umm, the fact that I just ain't got no privacy anymore. I mean, like, ya know, kinda, I can't go down to the "Offy" anymore in my pj's and hair in curlers without some bleedin' photographer snapping at me".
Oh poor, poor you. Had you never seen Heat, Ok, Hello or The News of the World. Did the whole internet, global information thing pass you by. Did they not have television in Grimly-on-the Mold and was radio a medium only enjoyed by the local Lord of the Manor.
You wanted the fame and fortune. The premieres, designer clothing, holidays in the Bahamas and the house in Essex called "Squiffy Manor" were all on your wish-list. It was all you ever wanted but like everything in life it comes with a price. Whilst most of the world is crunched by their credit don't expect any sympathy
So do us all a favour. When you get round to doing the inevitable ("it was only meant to be a really personal thing for me and my Dwayne") celebrity sex-tape make sure you at least get your hair, make-up and lighting done properly.
"Eeeeww Mum, he is such a Homo!" or some equally un-PC comment.
"No he is not! He's just slightly effeminate. It's all just an act"
Well, it was certainly an act but even in those naive days my Gaydar was in perfect working order.
Now, please, please, please don't think this is in any way an anti-gay rant. Not in the slightest, in fact as long as your sexual predilections are consensual and don't involve children or defenseless animals I will stand up and defend your rights to get your rocks off in any way you jolly well choose.
My point is that in the heady days of the first half of the last century the general public were happy to have their entertainment icons sanitised, packaged, protected and served to them in nice little user friendly portions. The film studios and record companies went to great lengths to cover up the truth about such idols as Rock Hudson, Montgomery Clift and Tab Hunter. They were photographed on the red carpet with stunning "starlets", straight relationships were reported in the press and in some cases they even married them off!
Strangely enough, the "Rat Pack"( Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin & Sammy Davis jr), who specialised in womanising, hard drinking and gambling, were almost presented as role models.
Couldn't do it these days though. If the latest heart-throb doesn't out him/herself there are websites that will. If the orgy involving a vicar, dominatrix and a shire horse was meant to be by invite only...forget it. There will have been a paparazzi with a trillion x zoom catching the whole thing for syndication. And if their intake of Columbian Marching Powder was a guilty secret, somebody with a camera-phone will have videoed them hunched over with a straw up their schnoz and on You-Tube within the hour. Guilty yes, secret no.
What really hacks me off is not that our celebrities have nasty habits, exotic sexual preferences or skeletons in the fitted wardrobe but the fact that they whinge about it when they are caught red-handed.
We've all seen the interviews:
"So, Squiffy since you've been successful what has been your biggest disappointment with fame and fortune?"
" Well er, you know. it's like umm, the fact that I just ain't got no privacy anymore. I mean, like, ya know, kinda, I can't go down to the "Offy" anymore in my pj's and hair in curlers without some bleedin' photographer snapping at me".
Oh poor, poor you. Had you never seen Heat, Ok, Hello or The News of the World. Did the whole internet, global information thing pass you by. Did they not have television in Grimly-on-the Mold and was radio a medium only enjoyed by the local Lord of the Manor.
You wanted the fame and fortune. The premieres, designer clothing, holidays in the Bahamas and the house in Essex called "Squiffy Manor" were all on your wish-list. It was all you ever wanted but like everything in life it comes with a price. Whilst most of the world is crunched by their credit don't expect any sympathy
So do us all a favour. When you get round to doing the inevitable ("it was only meant to be a really personal thing for me and my Dwayne") celebrity sex-tape make sure you at least get your hair, make-up and lighting done properly.
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