September 2, 2011 § 10 Comments
Today, one of my best male friends – married but, incidentally, a friend of Long Shot and on a touching mission to match-make us (no time is too soon!) – told me that he had spent a few days on holiday this summer with a man who admitted he held a very serious candle for me.
The candle-holder is a merry fellow with a wide smile and serious twinkle in his eye who I have only seen two or three (very jolly, fond) times these past couple of decades (the most recent, a year or two ago) but who, in my youth, made me laugh and to whom I became quite close. I was puzzled at the time, in my twenties it was, that he showed all the signs of a certain interest and affection, but he never even snogged me. (One of the original Mixed-Messages Men in my life?).
Now, years fucking later I hear that, of all the women he knows, he adores and would have liked to have married me! Blow me down, I can’t imagine there are too many of those men in existence.
Well, of course, I am in clover. Hearing that has made an already sunny day several thousand watts sunnier.
Trouble is, he married – and still is married – to someone else, so precious little practical good the knowledge has done me. But as a confidence-booster for someone in her progressing-apace years, it is priceless and I am not complaining, nor am I losing the plot, I promise. Call it Plankton Food, bit like the thin and flakey and muted-multi-coloured stuff you feed to goldfish: hardly substantial by anyone’s standards, but nonetheless life-giving; particularly precious to planktons and cherished by them like some emotional El Bulli feast.
I am sitting at my desk with a big, fat, yucky smug smile on my face, and when I finish writing this I will rise from my chair and there will be a corny but definite spring in my step.
Allowed, or really too daft for words?
Ps. Anyone who fancies I am Liz Jones or thinks that I fucking write like her, as apparently a couple of my loyal but wrong-headed commentators have been speculating, can… am trying to be uncharacteristically restrained here…should be ashamed of their powers of conjecture which are resoundingly wanting, and they should do me the honour of damn well thinking again.