Walk the line

Whilst I'm waiting, I wonder if I should write about where I am, and why I am waiting. So far I'm unresolved, but as I wonder let me type away and see how far I get.

As I left things with you, I was certain that The Conversation was long overdue. I was right, without really knowing I'd slowly pushed a series of buttons that resulted in the most explosive of evenings. We drank, we chatted, we critiqued the woman in the cheap red shoes who subconsciously reached down to stroke her leg each time she felt the conflict of flirting with her male companion too much to bear.

Her male companion, we surmised, was married and a colleague, or possibly her boss, we both sensed a conflict of emotion - in hindsight I wonder if we projected our own feelings, as ever in tandem, onto her. At some point I made a comment which saw Mr Magic disappear in a puff of smoke that stung my eyes so much I cried all of the way home and when he eventually reappeared we talked in earnest. We talked and we talked and we talked for hours, roughly covering all topics you'd expect of The Conversation.

He said this, I said that and quite soon we were back to the lovely place we curiously left in December as it became horribly clear that we both wanted the same thing, but were also both idiots, saboteurs and gloriously in-lust with each other. We still need to talk more, but for now that has to wait as he's flown half way around the world to spend a fortnight's holiday with his other women. Yes ... quite.

This is Her, the woman with whom I share taste in men, a mutual loathing and absolutely nothing else. She is still away on a long term overseas assignment, so this will be the first time they've seen each other in six months - I wonder if anything will be different between them. I wonder if she'll notice that he has new underwear?

So yet again we have Him, we have Her and we have me who, for now, will wait, and try not to wonder too much.

Mr Quilted Jacket

There's a man I see almost every morning who is striking. Tall, Dark and Handsome & he wears a quilted jacket. That would be the sum total of what I know of him.

Technically I know more, but I'd argue it's circumstantial. We board the same train every day, he stands at the same point on the platform every day, and when my eyes flicker over him as I stroll past him each morning I've learnt he looks grumpy and stern every single day. I've observed his lovely long legs and no wedding ring.

He's the type of man who I wonder if he'll prolong his gaze long enough to let me smile at him, and I wonder if he'd smile back. Not for any particular reason, but I think he has a lovely face so he must have a lovely smile too?!

This evening he was an unusual (for the return journey) but a welcome distraction. The Conversation with Mr Magic is getting closer which means I'm revisiting the vicious circle of "I can do it", "I can't do it", "I can do it", I don't want to do it", "I can do it", "I'll just leave it a little while longer ...". Distractions are thus required.

So, so far we have Mr Quilted Jacket at an ungodly hour on the station platform, the prospect of sighting Mr Daniel Craig on the Tube journey, and Mr Cute, Tall but has turned up trousers (I'll have to think of a better moniker!) to accompany me from the Tube to the office. The latter I like because he's cute and tall, so tall that even in heels I have to turn my head skywards to smile at him which in turn makes me feel very girly and then makes me laugh! Add to that the not-even-vaguely-unattractive boss and you see I've now got a thoroughfare of good looking men to distract me throughout the day away from Mr Magic.

This is a good thing, even if it does involve a quilted jacket :-)

Hot Cockles suffers a Hiatus

I am not a poet, a writer or an artist. I am not a scholar, a critic or a connoisseur. I am simply a person who enjoys, appreciates and quite often finds myself lost in the expression of others.

If you haven't read it before, or for a while, I'd recommend obtaining a copy of Alice in Wonderland. It is quite possibly the most absurd book I've read, and one of the few that has never ending appeal and enjoyment contained within it's precious pages. If there were ever an expressive piece to challenge your imagination, this is it.

There are many other books, works of art and pieces of poetry that I'd recommend given half the chance. Today, I'll settle with sharing a poem I earlier happened upon whilst looking for inspiration in a book of poetry that resides on my desk. As much as I'd like to write about what's on my mind, what I'd like to do now, what I can't understand and what I'd like to happen next it's nothing that hasn't already been said.

This, however, is a shortened version of where I am right now:

"The day he moved out was terrible -
That evening she went through hell.
His absence wasn't a problem
But the corkscrew was gone as well."

- Loss, by Wendy Cope