Sunday 17 April 2011


The more I marshall my thoughts the more I see that nothing is straight forward. I will just have come to the conclusion that I am whatever condition I am contemplating when I realise that I am also the opposite. Take loyalty, for instance. Loyalty is a characterisitic - is it? - I take very seriously, indeed. I take it to the point where I can't take a different bus from my usual one, (honestly). Some years ago I changed haircutter. The one I had been going to for decades began to prefer angling. At the time, I was still working and not all that flexibile as regards availability. It became increasingly difficult to find a mutual time when he was not at one end of a fishing rod and I was not in my work space. It took me months but, eventually, I did make the change, spurred on by a friend whose hair cut I had always admired, to give hers a try. I then wrote a letter to the original cutter telling him I felt like an unfaithful wife and falling on my metaphoric knees with regret. My wardrobe is full of clothes I shall never wear again. My life, currently, bears no resemblance to my life erstwhile. I rarely go out to elegant places requiring elegant clothes. Those I have that would have fitted the bill have become like wall-paper. I am so used to seeing them I can't picture the scene without them. The sight of them reassures me. I can only imagine their feelings if I were to throw them away, now; feelings of rejection and disappointment, of not having maintained the grade after all these years and all the service they once rendered. Dresses and skirts are the hardest hit. For various reasons, I can't wear those comfortably, now. Alright, since you press me: a) I need to wear serviceable shoes, not designed for 'look-at-me' b) tights are a nightmare to arthritic hands. Old lady pop socks are not a good look with crossed legs under a skirt, thus, trousers and - sh- pop socks. When I was working, I had a superviser who was older than God. Nevertheless, her reputation and, indeed, her capacities, were phenomenal. Could I take her seriously? Could I damn it: only with enormous concentration as I did my best to keep my eyes off her mottled legs and funny old knobbly knees under a ridden-up rumpled skirt. Extraordinary confidence simply to get on with her no-tights life.

I would regard as a long-lost friend anyone who crossed my path years after our relationship had faded in to nothingness. I am great friends with the Father of my children with whom I have not lived for longer than I am prepared to record. There must be something wrong in the State of my Inner World. The stuff I hang on to, actual and emotional, does not bear rational loyalty- exploration. Perhaps I am loyal because I fear not being. I know! I am actually not loyal at all and rather than face it and re-paper my life, I leave the old, useless hangings in situ. How's that for an analysis? Let me know and I'll see if it gives me the strength to clear out three decades - you do the sum - of past mistakes and worn-out theses. Nos da.

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