Now when it comes to being good at things (and I mean “Olympic-standard” good) I’ll hold my hand up and admit that I can manage a few “averages”, one or two “slightly better than” and countless “shockingly bads” But there is one thing dear reader that I admit to being earth-shatteringly amazingly good at, and that’s thinking on my feet.
When my back is up against the wall, when all around me are losing their heads, their cool and their dignity .. yours truly will conjure up a little narrated concoction from literally nowhere to diffuse the situation. I am the mistress of restoring the keel to it’s even state, of marrying up the ying to it’s yang and of making sure the ending is a happy one.
Now this could be down to working in sales for so many years, or it could explain why I was so good at penning a good tale at school. Whatever it is, it’s there and it is as sharp as the proverbial razor.
Let me explain .. a few weeks ago I was discussing the sad eventuality that most parents must face at some point, the realisation by ones offspring that Father Christmas isn’t real. The Tooth Fairy is false. Life is actually slightly less colourful than previously thought. And at this point I should add that I have expanded my son’s fairy-tale vision of the world by sending him Christmas and birthday cards “from the Red Arrows”, and Valentines Day cards “from Girls Aloud”.
People have hinted that this is actually an act of cotton-wool covered cruelty. I say they’d be much happier individuals today maybe if they’d had a Valentine card from a celebrity crush or two.
So .. school mummy was explaining how a friend’s little girl had deduced that the Tooth Fairy was no more real than a painless filling. She had found the complete set of her milk teeth in a jar in one of her mum’s bedside drawers. Said mum immediately fessed up, and little girl uncovered the card of life that says “It’s all down hill from now on, kid. Get used to it”
I shot school mummy a look of bemusement .. “You see, if that were me this is what I’d have said … I’d have told her that I’d logged on to ToothFairy.com and ordered the full set to be sent to me now that it was complete. Simple.”
“Oh my god …. that is brilliant ..” came school mummy’s response.
On the way home I concurred that actually yes, it was indeed brilliant and I inwardly patted my creative, quick-witted brilliant little self on the back and wondered how far I could stretch the whole childhood myth thing with my boy. I resolved to come clean with him before he started university. By hook or by crook. Father Christmas would be hanging up his reindeer keys sometime before September 2022.
Now .. I guess I’d describe this as candy creativity. Sort of sugary pink. Pretty. A bit fluffy and frou-frou.
But there is also the dark bitter chocolate flavour that frankly you don’t want to mess with unless you’re prepared for the potentially bitter aftertaste.
Such as the time some twenty odd years ago when I dated for a few months possibly one of the most popular men in Sheffield, my domicile at the time.
Let me be upfront and say that his popularity was largely due to the fact that he managed one of the places to be seen in at the time, a lively buzzing bar-restaurant frequented by (then) premier league footballers, a few home-grown actors and such like. It was nothing more than that. No. Let me say this man would not have given George Clooney sleepless nights at the prospect of being deposed as the world’s most beautiful man. No.
Anyway, let me retract my bitch-claw and continue.
Being a popular “kinda guy” .. sociable, conversationally adept and very humourous it struck my very impressionable and hugely gullible younger self that he could possibly be shaking a martini for other girls … not just me …
The utter shock of it!! No … he couldn’t possibly ……. could he?
I battled for a couple of weeks with the notion and then one day I announced to my friend and erstwhile fellow sales colleague Liz that I thought he could possibly be pulling more than one pint at a time.
I was pretty sure.
I should stop thinking about it.
I couldn’t.
No.
I wanted to know.
Enter stage left Debs … in her dark … very bitter chocolate flavour of creative genius.
“Liz … I think we should set him up. Let’s call him, you can pretend that you’re the lifestyle editor for the Evening Post and say he’s been nominated as Yorkshire’s most eligible bachelor. The competition will entail a date out on the town with Miss Yorkshire Evening Post but there is one criteria .. he has to be single”
Liz nodded in gleeful agreement. I handed her his number.
And so in her beautifully well-spoken and animated voice Liz recounted with total convincing brilliance the ‘opportunity’ to our willing victim.
“….. but there is just one thing. We do have down here that you’re single but I do just need to clarify that with you … Don’t want any jealous girlfriends in our reception!! HAHAHAHA!! … Oh you are? Oh that’s great … fantastic!! Well … great, we will most definitely be in touch!”
We contemplated actually setting it up .. getting him to drive to Leeds and leaving him and his overblown ego standing outside a trendy restaurant feeling more than vaguely ridiculous. But we decided against it.
Sadly I don’t recall how it actually ended, but end it did of course. But that little ruse was a highlight … along with all the free drinks I wanted in any bar in Sheffield for six months. That was pretty good too.
I suppose this is where creativity can be abused .. or alternatively it can come into it’s own.
Thank goodness the Easter Bunny is real; too many letdowns in one lifetime would be too much to deal with.
Often I’ll find myself contemplating the very fine line that exists between arrogance and confidence .. and inevitably how easy it is to fall into the former camp.
In the midst of the current social media furore there are countless examples of people pitching themselves and “their personal brand” (how singularly irritating that phrase is .. ) but I do wonder if enough of us give thought to the impression we give others, particularly those that don’t know us.
Take this morning for example .. a newly followed person on Twitter sent me a private message to say “Thanks for following me .. hope you get a lot from my tweets”. Oh, and they didn’t follow me back.
The inference is there that they believe the reason you’ve followed them is because they can “give” you something .. they are the knowledgeable one and you are but a meagre lost person looking for their superior guidance.
Wrong.
Well, wrong in my case. And that’s not to say I don’t think I can be taught anything; far from it. You see, for me to take note of what someone says it’s about one thing and one thing only .. respect. I follow people out of curiosity in the main, not to subscribe to and absorb every word they utter (not unless they’re Stephen Fry et al)
It’s a little bit like going to view a house that’s for sale. Making the appointment doesn’t mean you’re going to buy it.
Now maybe I am firmly placed in the middle of a large glass house here lobbing stones in every direction, and perhaps I’m speaking so out of turn that I’ll be shortly balancing on one ear lobe, but the thing is I don’t profess to be an expert in anything. Except for identifying a good cup of tea that is, and knowing when someone is talking out of their posterior (actually, I am rather amazingly good at that).
I am an observer .. an occasional participator and a frequent commenter.
Experience is something that I have plenty of and I will gladly share my opinions .. but I’m no expert. If I was I would be writing this from the patio of my Tuscan villa. But I’m not. It’s coming to you hot from my Lincolnshire office.
I guess the thing with smugness is that it won’t really hurt you if you can deal with the criticism that might result from it. And I’m not sure any of us are experts in that field.
In days long ago, before I heard the patter of tiny feet and decided to adopt a more bohemian approach to life I earned a living from selling.
It was probably the best career option I could have gone for, because over the course of my sixteen year stint plying my trade I learned more about the human psyche than I think I could have gleaned from any text book.
When you are engaged in the selling process (at either end) you see people at their best and possibly their worst. They can feel threatened, undermined, insecure, exhilarated, arrogant and aggressive .. but you’d possibly need to question your competence as a salesperson if you saw all those emotions in your prospect during your first presentation.
And one thing I noticed that is unequivocally true was this: human beings can be (and for the most part are) strange and complex characters, and this is no more evident than in the attitude I have witnessed over the years when I’ve mentioned my then profession.
Sales seems to be regarded as the career path of the confidence trickster, the scammer, the wide boy. In fact I’d go so far as to venture that many would rather not associate the word “profession” with “sales”. And for some reason it seems to be an attitude more prevalent in Britain than most other parts of the world; we see sales people as out to part us from our life savings, or hell bent on signing pensioners up for replacement windows at ten times the market value.
Anyone who has spent a few years deployed in sales will tell you it’s actually the art of developing efficient and mutually beneficial commercial relationships.
It’s not about trickery, manipulation or deceit. Well .. it might be if you’re really that interested in repeat business but I can assure you that the best sales people make life as easy as they can by establishing platforms that auto-provide .. i.e. they plant the seed of trust as quickly and firmly as they can with their customer to ensure their return.
It does however astound me that the same tired techniques are being adopted that we saw thirty years ago. I am of course referring to cold calling. I really have no idea what the expected conversion rate is for cold callers but I’d say it must be getting towards one in a hundred; what a pitiful waste of resource and effort.
Today’s customers are more sophisticated, better informed (thanks to the internet) and very experienced. They are quick to reject aggressive forms of approach; for instance “is now a good time to talk?” will be almost certainly be met with a swift “no” but rest assured that one thing has remained constant:
People still want to buy.
But they want to buy on their terms and at their pace in an environment of mutual trust. It is up to today’s sales people to recognise this and to move with the times. Smooth talk no longer works long term, commitment to providing an enjoyable buying experience however will win hands down every time.
The correct sales process has always involved a prospective customer being asked to outline their needs; a sales proposal is drawn up based on those findings. If the proposal is rejected then the sales person has missed or misinterpreted something, and that is where the sales person starts to earn his or her commission.
Does this sound like a scamming process? Well if it does, maybe doctors are out to deceive when they diagnose and prescribe treatment, and perhaps solicitors are up to no good when they advise on legal maters having digested the details of a case.
It doesn’t matter what line of work you’re involved with, if you need to persuade others to see your point, adopt your ideas or approve your requests then you’re engaged in selling.
I would hazard a guess that every job in this day and age involves an element of persuasion.
“Sell” may be a four letter word, but we need to stop treating it as such and deluding ourselves that we’re close to being able to ditch it from the dictionary.
Or maybe I’m selling us all short.
In days long ago, before I heard the patter of tiny feet and decided to adopt a more bohemian approach to life I earned a living from selling.
It was probably the best career option I could have gone for, because over the course of my sixteen year stint plying my trade I learned more about the human psyche than I think I could have gleaned from any text book.
When you are engaged in the selling process (at either end) you see people at their best and possibly their worst. They can feel threatened, undermined, insecure, exhilarated, arrogant and aggressive .. but you’d possibly need to question your competence as a salesperson if you saw all those emotions in your prospect during your first presentation.
And one unequivocal truth I soon noticed was this: human beings can be (and for the most part are) strange and complex characters, and this is no more evident than in the attitude I have witnessed over the years when I mentioned my then profession.
Sales seems to be regarded as the career path of the confidence trickster, the scammer, the wide boy. In fact I’d go so far as to venture that many would rather not associate the word “profession” with “sales”. And for some reason it seems to be an attitude more prevalent in Britain than most other parts of the world; we see sales people as out to part us from our life savings, or hell bent on signing pensioners up for replacement windows at ten times the market value.
Anyone who has spent a few years engaged in sales will tell you it’s actually the art of developing efficient and mutually beneficial commercial relationships.
It’s not about trickery, manipulation or deceit. Well .. it might be if you’re not really that interested in repeat business but I can assure you that the best sales people make life as easy as they can by establishing platforms that auto-provide .. i.e. they plant the seed of trust as quickly and firmly as they can with their customer to ensure their return.
It does however astound me that the same tired techniques are being adopted that we saw thirty years ago. I am of course referring to cold calling. I really have no idea what the expected conversion rate is for cold callers but I’d say it must be getting towards one in a hundred; what a pitiful waste of resource and effort.
Today’s customers are more sophisticated, better informed (thanks to the internet) and very experienced. They are quick to reject aggressive forms of approach; for instance “is now a good time to talk?” will be almost certainly be met with a swift “no” but rest assured that one thing has remained constant:
People still want to buy.
But they want to buy on their terms and at their pace in an environment of mutual trust. It is up to today’s sales people to recognise this and to move with the times. Smooth talk no longer works long term, commitment to providing an enjoyable buying experience however will win hands down every time.
The correct sales process has always involved a prospective customer being asked to outline their needs; a sales proposal is drawn up based on those findings. If the proposal is rejected then the sales person has missed or misinterpreted something, and that is where he or she earns their commission.
Does this sound like a scamming process? Well if it does, maybe doctors are out to deceive when they diagnose and prescribe treatment, and perhaps solicitors are up to no good when they advise on legal maters having digested the details of a case.
It doesn’t matter what line of work you’re involved with, if you need to persuade others to see your point, adopt your ideas or approve your requests then you’re engaged in selling.
I would hazard a guess that every job in this day and age involves an element of persuasion.
“Sell” may be a four letter word, but we need to stop treating it as such and deluding ourselves that we’re close to being able to ditch it from the dictionary.
There is one discussion that you can be sure will be taking place at any one time on any of the currently fashionable social media sites; it concerns the entire population of the world and it’s apparent inability to totally embrace this new-found techno-wonder .
Spend some time on Twitter and you will pick up the threads of countless conversations extolling the virtues of the SocMed revolution and the impact that will ensue.
Do the same on Facebook and you quickly get a feel for the amount of time that is consumed posting, poking and polling.
And once you are regularly drawn to whichever your chosen poison may be given the multitude of sites out there (I clearly favour the aforementioned) you can quickly start to formulate in your mind why the phenomenon could radically and emphatically alter how we communicate and probably more importantly, what we communicate.
Having spent almost a year now on Twitter (you will be pleased to know I took regular tea breaks and naps during that time ..) I’ve discovered a thriving community made up of various indigenous elements. There are the geeks amongst us who thrive on purely on the ‘new and shiny’ and there are those for whom it is simply a platform to promote themselves and their business. My Twitter agenda tends to vary day to day and depends very much on my mood du jour, but in essence I use it to communicate beyond my geographic limits and to seek out anything that I find useful, enlightening or interesting.
Increasingly however an air of sniggering disdain can descend when the topic arises of the “twunanointed”, or in other words, those who don’t submit to the call. Anyone who shows anything other than total and utter appreciation for the perceived benefits of social networking are derided for being narrow-minded and slow to grab ahold the reins of change.
Looking at my own parents I see two individuals who would benefit greatly from involvement with social media. As individuals with a thirst for current affairs and observational editorial they would delight in the content I stumble across on a daily basis, but Tiger Woods is more likely to win Husband of the Year before that happens.
I suppose we see it as a latter day version of opting for smoke signals over the telephone when people buy newspapers rather than log on to the Guardian’s iPhone app, and maybe those of us who have Twittered our everyday lives in the latest shade of Google can afford to feel comfortable in the knowledge that we are ahead of the game. But many don’t have the same opportunities to do the same nor are they likely to in our lifetime.
I’m not talking about America or the UK. I’m talking globally. Until we all have the same options none of us should even contemplate a sneer in the direction of anyone who doesn’t fawn with the same voracity as we do.
Social media is not for everyone for many varied reasons, enforced and otherwise. But in the short term businesses would do well to remember that non-Tweeters are also consumers and many have even a brain. They can also smell condescension and self-importance without the aid of a search engine.
Who knows? Maybe one day we may all be on the same home page.
Let’s hope it doesn’t crash.
There is one discussion that you can be sure will be taking place at any one time on any of the currently fashionable social media sites; it concerns the entire population of the world and it’s apparent inability to totally embrace this new-found techno-wonder .
Spend some time on Twitter and you will pick up the threads of countless conversations extolling the virtues of the SocMed revolution and the impact that will ensue.
Do the same on Facebook and you quickly get a feel for the amount of time that is consumed posting, poking and polling.
And once you are regularly drawn to whichever your chosen poison may be given the multitude of sites out there (I clearly favour the aforementioned) you can quickly start to formulate in your mind why the phenomenon could radically and emphatically alter how we communicate and probably more importantly, what we communicate.
Having spent almost a year now on Twitter (you will be pleased to know I took regular tea breaks and naps during that time ..) I’ve discovered a thriving community made up of various indigenous elements. There are the geeks amongst us who thrive on purely on the ‘new and shiny’ and there are those for whom it is simply a platform to promote themselves and their business. My Twitter agenda tends to vary day to day and depends very much on my mood du jour, but in essence I use it to communicate beyond my geographic limits and to seek out anything that I find useful, enlightening or interesting.
Increasingly however an air of sniggering disdain can descend when the topic arises of the “twunanointed”, or in other words, those who don’t submit to the call. Anyone who shows anything other than total and utter appreciation for the perceived benefits of social networking are derided for being narrow-minded and slow to grab ahold the reins of change.
Looking at my own parents I see two individuals who would benefit greatly from involvement with social media. As individuals with a thirst for current affairs and observational editorial they would delight in the content I stumble across on a daily basis, but Tiger Woods is more likely to win Husband of the Year before that happens.
I suppose we see it as a latter day version of opting for smoke signals over the telephone when people buy newspapers rather than log on to the Guardian’s iPhone app, and maybe those of us who have Twittered our everyday lives in the latest shade of Google can afford to feel comfortable in the knowledge that we are ahead of the game. But many don’t have the same opportunities to do the same nor are they likely to in our lifetime.
I’m not talking about America or the UK. I’m talking globally. Until we all have the same options none of us should even contemplate a sneer in the direction of anyone who doesn’t fawn with the same voracity as we do.
Social media is not for everyone for many varied reasons, enforced and otherwise. But in the short term businesses would do well to remember that non-Tweeters are also consumers and many have even a brain. They can also smell condescension and self-importance without the aid of a search engine.
Who knows? Maybe one day we may all be on the same home page.
I’ve often wondered if we acknowledge everyday “life lessons” purely because we’re sometimes more receptive or if they are presented to us in concentrated batches on occasion to ensure that the message is driven home. Many years ago I saw a chap on Oprah talking about the fact that every incident in our lives has a message for us, it’s simply up to us whether we chose to take it on board or not.
Now many things I’ve watched on Oprah over the years I’ve forgotten and some I’ve desperately tried to put out of my mind in order to be able to face food without feeling nauseous (particularly Tom Cruise describing his love for Katie Holmes whilst jumping up and down on her sofa like a monkey). But this chap always stayed in my mind for some reason. I can’t even tell you his name but his message rang loud and true. Even if an event is uncomfortable it’s purpose is to tell you something.
Take earlier this week, for example. Someone from my past emerged from the murky shadows even nastier and more bitter than I last remembered. The person in question has made an art of blaming everyone else for everything that is wrong with his life and this week I was squarely in his firing line because I appeared to be getting on with my own, it seems.
So what message lay there for me?
Simply this: Some people don’t take responsibility for the mess their lives get into, and sadly when faced with an echo of that truth they go on the attack. They like to circle their prey, taking surreptitious chunks out of them because hurting someone else directs the spotlight away from their own pain. No contrived insult or venomous bile is spared. Not the sort of person you want to wake up next to.
Now, for the record let me state unequivocally that I’ve got a lot of things wrong in my life (that would be “a lot of things” as in “way more than your average Lincolnshire lass”) but my attitude is this: I’m not perfect. I’ve never professed to be perfect and I’ll never be perfect because the word isn’t in my personal glossary. In my case it’s been substituted with the term “unashamedly flawed”. I deal with life by being upfront, brass-necked and honest, and people who attack me for that (covertly or otherwise) only serve to demonstrate to me that I’m on the right path.
If I was going to wax lyrical I’d say that self-deprecation is the armour that’s protected me from attacks such as the one I’ve described above; put quite plainly it’s the old “sticks and stones” scenario.
That said I do perhaps stupidly still aim for perfection and little prompts to get me on track are always welcome. Sometimes however they have the force of a huge dig in the ribs as experienced this very morning; those “little prompts” not quite so welcome.
My little boy’s school is today holding a non-uniform day to raise funds for Sport Relief. Each parent was notified at the beginning of the week that their child could come to school today dressed in sports gear if they kindly placed a donation towards the appeal in the pocket of said clothing.
Could there be a day more exciting on a six year old’s school calendar? Apart from the school trip to The Deep submarium (the only submarium in the whole wide world ..) and the Christmas party, that is? Wearing sports gear for the whole day, in lessons with Miss Flintham and everything?
It’s a short two-letter answer ending in “o”.
The excitement does tend to get marred when you are a six year old with a mother that forgets it’s Sport Relief day though, and who dresses you in school uniform so that when you walk into the school playground you feel about as comfortable as John Terry at a women’s lib rally.
You look up at her and you say “you’re always forgetting things, aren’t you Mummy?”
Mummy at that point feels she could rate this moment in her bottom ten of all time .. and promptly legs it back home to pick up a change of clothes for you.
Being a mother is the best job in the world and it’s also the hardest, because the word “guilt” takes on a whole new scope of meaning when you try to combine any other activity with raising and caring for your child. Any mother who tells you otherwise is either in denial or lying for reasons best known to her.
My maternal ineptitude sucked this morning and it tasted of lemons.
On the flip-side I told my boy at least five times that I loved him between 7.00 and 8.30am and we both skipped to school.
I hope he doesn’t keep me long in detention later. Or drink all the lemonade for that matter.
A ‘Eureka!’ moment probably heralds my ideal start to a day, not due to the fact that I want to be hurled at lightning pace into consciousness from the depths of my sleepy wallow but more often because it is indicative of me finally making sense of the nonsensical. All too often I’ve felt I’m drifting through life, jumping from one emotional ice-flow to the next and never really making any headway but this morning at 3.45a.m. I sat bolt upright in bed and that very word escaped albeit somewhat lazily from my lips.
“Eureka ….!”
This weekend I like many went to see the new Tim Burton blockbuster “Alice in Wonderland” and again like many, I found myself critiquing it’s visual highs and lows as is my tendency in the rather annoying style of a “sudden expert” when the mood takes me. I have opinions, you see, and sometimes .. nay, most of the time people are not interested in those opinions but I enjoy the charade of pretending I know what I’m talking about.
No; the inestimable value which I have to admit was lost on me at the time of watching is how uncannily close to my life the plot line is, was …. and will almost certainly continue to be. As an entree to this far-fetched theory let me open with the fact that Hamish, the ridiculously foppish suitor to Alice in the opening scenes, bore an uncanny resemblance to an ex of mine; apart from the vivid red hair I’d say he was identical in every way to Mr Distant Cynic. With my wide-eyed amazement barely noticeable behind my 3D specs, I breathed a sigh of relief as Alice dashed away in curious search of the white rabbit.
And down the rabbit-hole she fell, to face her various challenges in pursuance of what she knew to be right and just.
I wonder how many of us have likened ourselves to Alice? To the girl whose stubborn inquisitiveness was so strong that she would knock back anything marked “drink me” just to get her to the next stage? I’ve already referred to my own challenges as emotional ice-flows but maybe I would have enjoyed the process more had I taken on the mantle of adventurer much in the way that she does.
And the well-know and documented characters .. how many of them bear a resemblance along with the newly-added Hamish to people I have known?
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum I could cast several times over, from both my current life production and previous versions to boot.
I’ve known too many Red Queens, not nearly enough Mad Hatters and only one or two White Queens. However the truth is, dear reader, that I could easily cast myself in all three roles. Not just the one .. it needs to be the full set.
My occasionally sarcastic and bitingly cruel tongue is indicative of the Red one and whilst I strive to imbibe those around me with White gracious perfection day-to-day, I have to admit the former comes with far more ease than I’ve ever been entirely comfortable with. My personal favourite will always be the Mad Hatter. Johnny Depp described his character as “A mood ring, his emotions are very close to the surface”. Oh yes. The mood ring.
This story for me is about the preservation of hopes, dreams and aspirations. Finishing off the Jabberwocky who belittles in an attempt to get me to sit to heel seems to have become an everyday occurrence. He takes on many guises of course; some are classically obvious and some are closer to home. From yawning boredom to laughing disdain and from unreasonable demands to insensitive expectations, it’s good to keep your sword to hand.
And so in an attempt to reconnect with the here and now I’m going to drink from the cup of my imaginative restoration (let’s just give it the working title of “tea” for now ..) and reassure myself that nobody should be left with their dreams in tatters simply because they chose to take on the Jabberwocky.
Only the currency of self-belief will purchase a ticket to see your hopes come alive.
Occasionally I make decisions that in the scheme of things are small and insignificant but the prospect of seeing them through fills me with much glee. Today I made such a decision.
I pledged to buy a cocktail shaker, a set of various shaped glasses to contain such refreshments and a book of recipes extraordinaire.
The truth is I’ve been talking of creating cocktails for a good few months now, but a big life chapter is coming to a close and it is therefore entirely appropriate to don the walls of my experience with new hues of enlightenment and mastering the perfect dry martini seems a good place to start.
Cocktails and the making thereof are just the start, you see.
And with a plop of an olive into a martini glass I move with the swiftest of keyboard manoeuvres to a subject very close to my heart.
Writing.
It must be down to the fact that I’ve been suffering from an ongoing bloggage (my term for “blogger’s block”) that I feel such a sense of relief. You see, I love writing. I love words, I love playing with them, re-shaping them and even making them up. My current favourite is “biscuital” which could be used thus …. “it was a tremendous biscuital arrangement” to describe a magnificent display of bourbons and custard creams.
Let’s face it, this blog is never going to win the Nobel prize for literature. It’s never going to provide any revolutionary business advice to help you secure the top position at BP and I don’t envisage Stephen Fry commenting on any of the posts anytime soon. But it’s an outlet for my angst (which can be severe at times when biscuital supplies have dwindled) and it gives me a bit of a giggle. It soothes the fevered brow of my various challenges and allows me to process the crazy stuff. Most of it of course isn’t crazy at all, it’s just normal when compared to other’s experience but when it knocked on my door, it was crazy alright.
Another milestone of the day has cutting one or two people out of my stream. Now I know that means sweet Jack to anyone who doesn’t use Twitter so let me explain .. when using Twitter you can create separate streams of people you ‘follow’ to make life a little easier in the monitoring of such. Occasionally certain people end up in there that well, frankly shouldn’t be there at all. They show themselves to be false, incongruous and pretentious; all the things in fact that I was raised to abhor.
This afternoon that was rectified after which I proclaimed to my pal “I am FREE!!!” which is, on the face of it, a bit pathetic. That I have felt hemmed in by a Twitter stream is no-one’s fault but my own but there we have it. Anyone can find themselves up a one-way version of Deadend Alley anytime at all. Take heed of this cautionary tale and create your streams vigilantly, pruning wherever and whenever necessary. People that manage to irritate the very air that passes through your nostrils via Tweetdeck really shouldn’t be allowed to linger for too long.
And so I can greet the end of the day with a wry smile on my face in recognition of the fact that I re-engaged with my free spirit before it was too late. I cast off the shackles of conformity that despite my resistance have found their creeping way around my limbs from time to time and I said in a defiant and definite tone .. “martini, anyone?”
It is not my habit to quote song lyrics but I have to dip into Billy Joel’s catalogue and pull out the following ..
“And it seems such a waste of time,
If that’s what it’s all about.
Mama, If that’s movin’ up then I’m movin’ out.”
Think about it. How long have we debated and cogitated the little nuances together with the huge great chasms that make our genders so infuriatingly different, so intriguing. So exasperating!
When all is said and done I’m a practical kind of girl; if there’s a use for something I’m there waving the flag. It gets the Debsy seal of approval. If there is no use however, then I kind of scratch my head wondering “why?”. Except for ridiculously high, feet-deforming shoes (preferably from Gucci); they’re beautiful and therefore don’t need to be useful.
Which is why I don’t understand the growing trend for our great minds of science to learn how to clone sheep, or maybe create a hybrid pig-cauliflower to eclipse all previous test-tube horrors
No, scientists need to do something useful for the good of all man (and woman)- kind. We need to be able to inhabit the mind of the opposite sex for a week.
Cravings, hormones, mood-swings et al. Give it to us. We’re sick of condescending books that tell us why the objects of our desire act the way they do.
Now I would hazard a guess that there are people of both sexes out there who would balk at the thought, but why not? All those who sit lambasting men or women as “a nightmare” and “certifiable” really need to walk in the accused’s shoes before dishing out such damning critiques.
I discussed this very subject with my pal Rachael earlier today, and I am ashamed to say I came out with the obvious statements like “A week drinking beer, watching sport and viewing inappropriate material on the web … how tough can that be?” But thereby hangs my point; I must think it’s easy being a man, and I’m pretty sure it’s not. So show me!
As for female idiosyncrasies, well I think it’d need be a particular week, not any old week that men experienced, those that is who chose to accept this challenge. Yes, THE week. Those seven little days when you don’t know whether you want to laugh, cry or throw a plate at someone. Those seven days when even the teeny tiniest little task is overwhelming, you could quite easily throw yourself on the floor sobbing and wailing because nobody understands, loves or appreciates you and where’s the chocolate, anyway?
Now as I woman I accept my hormonal fluctuations. I haven’t embraced them exactly, and I’m still longing for the day when what we know as “the menstrual cycle” is replaced by something more civilised like “state-funded massage” (hey, if we can put men on the moon … why not?). But I don’t understand hormones and I fully appreciate how men must throw their hands up in desperation. So step up men … experience the joys that are thrust upon us every four weeks.
Having said all this I fear I’m painting a bleak and dreary picture of what it is to spell your name w-o-m-a-n.
Not at all.
The best things for me? Lipstick, hair and all the things you can do with it (Dannii Minogue is testament to the fact it doesn’t have to be long hair ..), perfume, acting coy, high heels (yes, I know I’ve mentioned them but they are … sensational!) and feeling like you can conquer the world when you’re on top of your game. Being a woman is incredible and you men don’t know what you’re missing.
Similarly you need to sit, analyse and pester all your friends about your love-interest. Yes. Pull every conversation apart that you ever had … put it all back together again and be even more confused than the point at which you started. You need to do that.
And we girls need to take everything, anything and everyone at face value. A friend of mine once said “If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, what do you think it is?” He was an idiot. You see girls hate all that black and white stuff, especially when there are so many shades of grey and numerous other palettes out there, but I cannot deny I’d like a piece of the “noir et blanc” action please.
All things considered, I’m far more relaxed these days about this topic, but I wouldn’t mind a trip round the male psyche. I’d like to say I understood why we’re different rather than purely accepted it, and to do that you have to experience it. As I repeatedly tell my son, “you don’t know until you try something”..
Imagine a world where the sexes understood each other. Finally.
They say if you want to meet someone then you should stop looking, don’t they?
I have to hold my hands up and admit that I thought that was a vicious rumour put about by people who get sick of listening to their single friends bemoaning their relationship lot (or lack of, as the case may be). And who could blame them? Being single but wanting to be in a relationship can be a miserable existence .. I should know, I was that soldier. You can picture marrieds everywhere emptying wine glasses, rubbing their eyes and stifling sighs as their single friends lament the passing of their latest crush-fest, over and over and over …
Of course it’s not socially advisable to go public about your longing to be one half of a pair and so I donned a cheery facade and battled on. But there can be no doubt that I bent more than a few ears of friends with the in-depth analyses and second-guessing that goes hand-in-hand with newly-established dating patterns.
Being single is far from the worst condition you can find yourself in, but there is only so many nights in front of Greys Anatomy painting your toenails you can take before said toes start a-tapping in restless acknowledgement that you’re .. well, a bit lonely.
Now I have made no secret of dabbling in the dark world of online dating. To me it was the dating equivalent of an unpleasant medical procedure .. you had to go through with it to get over to the other side .. the side that was a lasting relationship with someone special. I failed miserably. I went through the unpleasant procedure many times and the result was always inconclusive. So I decided to administer treatment myself by deleting my profile and retreating back to base.
And in the middle of all this I joined Twitter which some may know as the social networking site on which people discuss their sandwiches all day; in reality it’s a global forum that gives you immediate access to like-minded individuals and to unlimited information on any topic you could think of. And for me it laid the path very quickly that led to J.
I remember the very first time I saw his profile photograph (or as we in “the know” call it, his avatar). In fact his photograph was and is very obscured offering up no visual clues to help you pick him out in a crowd, but something registered. I was interested. He was unassuming, lovely and charming. He was all the things you can’t ascertain from an online blueprint.
Now I’d like to say I knew we would end up dating but I didn’t. I do suppose however that my interest, which developed into intrigue kept me focussed on maintaining a steady progress in the direction of that first coffee date.
If that counts as scheming then I’m guilty as charged, and quite happy to take the rap I might add.
And so the point to my rather rambling account this evening is this .. if J and I had been profiles floating aimlessly on 2beekum1.com then I think it’s fair to say we wouldn’t have met, and that’s because we almost certainly wouldn’t have matched each other’s blueprints. So .. before you could have uttered “I’ll have a skinny latte please” the concept that was the first coffee date would have evaporated into thin air. We would have eliminated each other from the running.
And at the depression of the delete key I would have missed out on the feeling of excitement I get at the prospect of seeing him each week, of the instant smile that creeps across my face when he messages me and that lovely warm glow inside because life feels a lot better these days.
OK .. I know all this is a tad on the schmaltzy side compared to my earlier posts on this blog but I needed to make a point today having read the appalling account of how a dating site has expelled 5,000 of it’s members for putting weight on since they created and posted their profiles.
Seriously .. would you be interested in dating anyone who even hinted they were concerned that you weren’t quite as physically perfect as they’d hoped?
Lots of people are making pots of money by implying they can connect single people on these sites using logic and calculating means.
And I know for one it doesn’t work like that.
There’s nothing logical about finding happiness, which makes it even more prized.
It’s fair to say that this blog has become more efficient than any therapy I could have entered into. On occasion I’ve had comments within minutes of posting a heartfelt rant that have both supported and challenged me. Without a shadow of doubt airing my views and experiences has been both progressive and comforting at the same time. We all sing from similar hymn sheets it seems … some are a little further ahead than others and some merely prefer a different tempo.
One question has been omnipresent since the conception of “This is how I see it ..” however, and that was … what if my circumstances were to change? What if I met someone who caused me to view relationships in a different light? What if I had to soften the tone, drop the cackling humour and surrender to the fact that I may need to alter the course, rethink the content and consider new material?
When you’ve experienced a succession of bad relationships you soon learn to embrace being single, but for me it wasn’t too difficult given that I’ve been extremely fortunate in other areas of life. Yes, of course a lifelong, happy coupling would have been the icing on the cake but it’s been a good few years since I sobbed into my duvet over that little conundrum.
So .. penning a blog that charted the various hilarious and incredible dating disasters of Debsylee brought a smile to my face and hopefully others to. Being a social soloist was the inevitable consequence but heck, we could all have a good laugh about it.
Now, it’s important I clear up one important fact because I think to date I haven’t ever made reference to what went wrong in my significant relationships prior to this most recent self-imposed period of singledom. So the truth is this .. I was lied to. Every time. And not tiny little white lies .. nasty gut-wrenching black untruths, none of which involved other women (that I know of) but life-altering all the same.
So venturing forth across the wilderness that is emotional solitary confinement I held my ideal of an honest, completely open and true relationship close to my heart. And time after time I felt let down until I started to come to terms with the fact that I may never find that ideal in anyone.
I retired to the sidelines and started penning previous entries, resigning myself to accepting that maybe what I was looking for didn’t exist. I abandoned my search. The game was over in a tournament that I wasn’t sure I wanted to participate in any longer.
Secretly I rather fancied myself as a latter day tragic heroine whose only mistake was that she stuck to rigidly to her ideals. I mused that the weary epic trail across the desolate sands of my solitude would make great reading one day in the form of a best-selling novel.
This was until I met a man who embodies all the ideals I had etched onto my rather principled little raison d’être.
Suddenly I’m struggling for words I can assemble and arrange that do justice to the course of recent events. He is, you see, really rather special.
Rather uncharacteristically I feel I don’t want to become overly verbose on the subject of our relationship which I suppose should be viewed as progress.
My friend Rachael commented today that I should start future posts with “when I was on the [dating] circuit ..”
Well, I can safely say I never thought I’d be penning a post like this … when I was on the circuit.
Do I sound smug? I’m really not; I’m simply enjoying being wrong.
