All the Right Things At all the Wrong Times

Well having giggled over D's truly resplendent list of phobias (my phobias, although I don't know the names, are 1) small, furry animals; 2) large, furry animals; 3) hotels having 'lost' my reservation and having to sleep in the street), I find myself being cast into a more reflective state of mind by L's post recounting her b'day. It was wonderful being altogether again, though it felt as if the evening drifted by far too quickly, and I got too drunk and let my mouth run away with me. Indeed, the whole evening was not helped by bloody Arsenal having a match and thus causing my local tube to be shut. Why oh why is a stupid sport allowed to disrupt thousands of peoples' existence(s)? I then had to run down to Highbury and Islington to catch the Victoria Line instead, in the pouring rain, and my make up applied in L's honour ran, and I turned up at P's late, with wet hair, and eye liner down my cheeks, while of course all other girls looked beautifully glamorous.

However, my main thought for this post is about how things never seem to happen at the right moments. So, for example, our super posh birthday tea turns into a Chinese takeout (but another random day may well yield a fun posh tea); or Marks and Spencers rather than Topshop stocks the best party dress (but Topshop will have other clothes, if we really want to shop there); what we want is there, but it is hidden away, and requires searching for, and then maybe it is not really meant for us. I will illuminate my comments by what happened today. My ex-boyfriend, Bertrand, and I, had organised many moons ago to catch up tonight over a curry on Brick Lane. Bertrand didn't exactly break my heart, but he perhaps cracked it slightly (maybe that's why I have been going slowly insane ever since we split up!) Anyway, he rang me today to tell me that at v short notice he was having to cancel our rendezvous. He began by saying that it was work related, and then told me that he and his current girlfriend had a huge row last night, that she told him she didn't want him to see me, that when I am on the phone to him I make him laugh more in an hour than she does in a month (she said this and that's why she doesn't want him to see me - and as Bertrand rightly guessed I did not mind in the least receiving this compliment). Of course, I was sad not to see Bertrand, but the whole incident was bitter sweet. Of course he should put his girlfriend's feelings before mine. Of course if they've had a row he should go home and patch it up. And of course he should want his girlfriend to be happy. He's finally grown up, and is behaving like a gentleman. Good for him. All the right words, but to a different girl, at a different time.