Separate Ways

Quick update:
I saw the woman from the work placement again the day after I wrote that last entry - something that had been arranged in advance. Considering I'd asked her out the night before, she seemed very unfazed. I kept it amicable but short and to the point, then headed home for the day.

Text from her, minutes later "Thought I might get at least one more drink...."

So we stay in touch - intermitently - by text. Chatty but not flirty.

Text from her, Late Saturday night: she's wearing a green dress and red shoes.

Text from her Sunday morning: apologies, she was drunk when she sent it. I take the piss, saying she must have looked like a munchkin.

Text from her Monday morning: "I was in Blackpool... if the offer of a date is still on the cards, I'd be happy to accompany you somewhere less like purgatory. X"

My first draft starts with "Wow.. yes!" then I scale back.

Boyfriend shmoyfriend!

I wonder has she dumped him or just put him on the backburner while testing out her options?

I wonder... what's it like going on a date with a 21 year old?

I started the day with two ideas in my head about women I fancy. Two separate conversations ran like this

Chatting with one colleague, working up to asking her out for a drink:
"Have you ever been to Amsterdam?"
"No, well not for ages, 20 years ago."
"It's great. I ended up going round the Red Light district. I'm not into that kind of thing, but it was fascinating. I kept saying to my boyfriend, 'look, she's looking at you' as we went past the windows."
Hmm, yeah, ok. Whatever.

And then tonight, after a couple of drinks with a woman who'd been working with me on a placement:
"So you and Joanne, nothing going on there?"
"No, we go way back, but nothing going on. You know, it would've been inappropriate, asking you out on a date while you were on a placement."
"Are you asking me out on a date?" Smiling.
"Yes, would you like to go on a date?"
"Oh.... ha, ha. If you'd asked two weeks ago...."
Hmm, yeah, ok. Bugger.

B is for Boyfriend. B is for Bugger.

I spent Sunday afternoon in the Tate gallery in Liverpool. Took these pictures in their Colour exhibition:

I think my new ex girlfriend enjoyed the exhibition too.

I did the decent thing last weekend and brought the relationship to an end. She'd been expecting it and agreed it was the best thing to do. And we talked about staying friends, this trip to Liverpool was something we'd talked about doing for a while - so here we were, bathed in neon light with the gallery attendant telling me off for taking photos on my phone.

We did the tourist thing, drank coffee and ate cake, sat snuggled up warm on the deck of the Mersey Ferry, got on well. Headed into the city to find somewhere to eat.

"I can understand why you should feel after all these let downs," she said over a gourmet burger, "that you can't trust anyone again."
Bloody hell, how off the mark can you get?
"It's not other people I don't trust. I'm ready to trust, I trust all my close friends. It's me I don't trust."
"You don't think you'd stay faithful?"
"No...."

Driving home she told me - because I ought to know - that I had hurt her, despite doing what was the right thing. That shut me up.

So here I am again - single. I wonder if I'm destined to follow this same loop: single... dating and excited.... dating and bored.... single and desperate. Thinking I can do better than the woman I'm with, thinking any excitement's better than being single. Standards rising and falling like tides.

Trust... trust me to fuck it up.

Dogs age seven years to our one. That accelerates as they get old, more like eight or nine years to our one towards the end.

This photo stays up on my son's bedroom wall, no matter what else changes in his room, from Lego to Airfix to Playstation...

A ten week old Labrador cross puppy sits up on a toddler's chair. So small she only just comes up to a three year old's proud hand. He is beaming - his own puppy, sharp-toothed and disobedient. Even in the washout of the flashlight you can see the biggest smile.

Now he's fourteen, she's eleven - 85 in accelerating dog years. She's stiffening up, showing her bones, slowing down.

I found a quote today that "old men miss many dogs." True, but how much is my son going to miss his first dog when her time comes?

When you arrive on a beach, you can't tell if the tide is coming in or going out. You look around for familiar landmarks or just handy rocks to take a measure from, sit there and wait. Eventually the direction emerges through the to-and-fro of the waves. And that's how the last ten days has felt - a chance to sit and wait to see which way the drift is going. I've thought about my relationship with my girlfriend in the plentiful quiet moments every day presented. And I see that the tide is going out, the feelings I had for her are ebbing away.

So now just to tell her.

It's not you, it's me. Partly true. She's lovely and kind. But I didn't miss her one bit on that holiday. I had my son, my mates and their kids, my dog, fresh air and sunshine. I just didn't remotely need her with me. I know that's a holiday, not normal life - but I'm the same with work. I love my job, get on with everyone there - when I'm immersed in that world, I don't miss her. So, I'm content to be on my own with my son, mates and work - it doesn't leave much around the edges for her.

It's not you, it's me. Partly untrue. There is something missing in my life, but it's not her. She's lovely and kind, but I still think I can do better. And that has stopped me trying. I need to feel I'm playing out of my league. To stretch a football metaphor, she and I feel like a couple of mid-table finishers, nothing left to play for. I need to be a giant-killer, on a cup-run, battling for a play-off place.

I don't think I'll use that metaphor when I see her tomorrow.