Auld Lang Syne

Here we are on my favourite day of the week, Saturday. What a great day Saturday is. Not Sunday; which isn't without its own special charms, but loses house points for being the day before Monday, but Saturday. Hip hip, hooray for Saturday. No alarm clock, no bus timetable, no patients, no annoying nurses/doctors.

Moving on.......what have I been up to this week? Not much. Work, work, work, two Pilates classes and nothing for the inner eight year old. I'm going to have to do something for her soon. I watched The History Boys and was bitterly disappointed. I saw the stage production a couple of years ago and it was simply outstanding. Some plays work well as movies and some plays should be left well alone.

Last night I went to the pub with my friend Yummy Mummy. For some reason the conversation turned to ex boyfriends. Now, I'm no bunny boiler. I like men, I think everyone should have one. Casting my mind back and thinking about my ex boyfriends there's probably only one of them that makes me think, "yes, I should have set fire to you when I had the chance". We'll disguise his identity and call him Idiot Boy. Idiot Boy was the first boyfriend I had in Australia. He was nice enough at first but it was never going to lead to commitment and I was okay with that. He seemed to think that I would have jumped at the chance of marrying him as a) he thought very highly of himself and b) I was only a temporary resident at that time and marriage would have given me permanent status. Anyway, I'm not going to divulge the finer details of the relationship (all 5 readers let out a huge sigh of relief) but suffice it to say that after several ups and downs and with an underlying suspicion of infidelity on Idiot Boy's part, the relationship ended. Not with a massive fight, not with things being thrown or harsh words being said, more of a general feeling of unease and a cessation of contact. The last time I saw Idiot Boy was about 6 years ago. As is always the case when anyone bumps into an ex, I was wearing my old gym gear, hair scraped back, no make up and looking fairly average. He saw me before I saw him, I noticed him in the distance walking towards me, he raised his hand in greeting but turned his head away and strode purposefully (and very quickly) into a take away shop. I don't know if he actually wanted take away or whether or not he ran in there to avoid me. Either way, I didn't care. I didn't want to see him or stop and chat. That was that.

We now return to the pub. Don't ask me how it came about but Yummy Mummy actually knows Idiot Boy. He used to play football (soccer to the Aussies) with her husband. She described him perfectly. Idiot Boy is now married with two children, has left the forces and is telling people he's a lawyer. I know this isn't true, as even though I haven't seen him for 7 years there's no way it's happened. Apparently everyone thinks he's an idiot, which of course is because he is one. I knew his wife was blonde before Yummy confirmed it as he always had a thing about them. I haven't been blonde since I was about 12 and I'm pretty sure I'm the only brunette he ever went out with. Yummy informed me that Idiot Boy would be playing football for another team (he left her husbands team after a massive fight because he is an....oh, you get the idea) the next day - today - at a reasonably accessible location. I could see for myself. Later, she emailed me a photograph and there he was. A little older looking, a lot less attractive, but for all that, my Idiot Boy.

In my slightly tiddly state I started to think that turning up at the match would be a great thing to do. I'd be casual yet gorgeous; a bit of lippy, a fitted jumper and hair GHDd to within an inch of its life. He would look across the pitch and see me on the touchline, looking stunning and unavailable. Our eyes might meet, I would glance away casually without a hint of recognition. I might have wandered off before his match had finished. There's a few variations on the theme but essentially with the same outcome, he would look across at what he'd missed out on and wondered how he could have let it slip away.

I woke up this morning and rehashed the events of the previous evening. I knew there was no way on earth I was going to cross Sydney to stand by a football pitch in the vague hope that my ex might see me. What had seemed like a great idea last night had evaporated by the time I put the kettle on. There's a reason that we didn't keep in touch. We didn't really like each other. I missed him for a while but as my dear, late Nan would so often say, "you miss a cold when it's gone."* I got over him, he got over me. We moved on. He found a blonde wife, who, Yummy informs me, is a little bit thick and I found that I didn't want a boyfriend who didn't appreciate me, didn't see me as an intellectual equal, care about my opinions or, to be honest, didn't care about me. I'm curious but that's all. I'd be lying if I said I don't wonder about what would happen if we bumped into each other but if we ever do meet it'll be by chance.

What's the point of this post then? I'm not sure. I suppose it's natural to wonder what's happened to ex partners or old friends or people you used to know. Sometimes we should have made more of an effort to hang onto old acquaintances and sometimes the past belongs where it is.

'you miss a cold when it's gone....' I'd be interested as to how different people interpret this phrase. I'll tell you what it means to me when I've had a couple of your opinions.

Afterthought - I wrote that the blonde wife was 'a bit thick'. I know that sounds awful but I'm leaving it in. I suppose the reason I put it in there is that I'm not surprised he's with a woman who isn't considered intelligent by people who meet her. I'm sure she's lovely and I hope they're happy together, I really do. I just don't have much time for men who don't like intelligent women, and those men are out there. Intelligent women - and people in general - aren't that easy to control.