I hadn’t seen my unlucky buddy since his birthday (that’s right, he’s as old as Jesus). That was over five weeks ago.

So we decided that enough was enough and it was time to spend some qwalidee time together. Except we ended up going out with a bunch of my friends in the East end instead. But that was okay. We still managed to catch up with each other and he got to meet some new people to boot. And at the end of the night when we realised that it would be too much of a chore for me to get home from where we were it was decided that I would kip on his ever-so-comfortable futon. Nothing wrong with that is there?

Now before you all go jumping to the wrong conclusions (just like my friends who were out with us), Unlucky and I are very good friends. Honest.

Not long ago, a wise friend told Unlucky that now that he’s back in the dating game, he mustn’t let it slip into ‘just friends’ with potential suitors who come into his life. Because let’s face it, once you’ve crossed that line, there’s no going back… is there? And there is great merit in what Wise friend said, because there’s the old When-Harry-met-Sally syndrome isn’t there? Bystanders wondering ‘will they, won’t they?’ Friends thinking ‘something must happen, they get on so well after all’.

I mean really, can men and women ever really be just friends?

I like to think they can.

In fact, I was accused by Fairy-tale Bride last night of having found a new best friend to take her place. And I won’t deny that UM and I like being friends. We have a laugh, we act as counsel and confidante, partner in crime, support centre and well, I like that. A lot. And I think that for once, it’s okay that we crossed the friends line.

So I woke up in his sitting room this morning.
He made me a cuppa while I remained snuggled under my duvet on the futon. We bounced around ideas on when and where to get some food. Talked about music and what not. There was no awkwardness, just two friends having a chat and a cuppa in the comfort of each other’s company. Nowt wrong with that at all.

“It’s a big socks day today” my unlucky friend declared. I knew exactly what he meant.

And as I sit here in my chunkiest, woolliest, biggest socks, typing this and looking out of the window with the promise of Autumn nipping at my nose, I thank whoever’s out there for good friends and big socks.

sometimes i wonder
if i am fated to wander
from one broken relationship to another
somehow managing to latch onto these spent hearts
and mourning subconsciously
for the demise of the love
before
it has even begun

what do i do?
what exactly do i do
to perpetuate this?
how do i find the antidote that I so desperately seek?
is it my own doing?
because i get so scared that
my being broken
precludes
that i can never find something whole

I had always intended on remaining anonymous.
But things change, and via the commenting facility and the power of e-mail I have slowly been giving a little more of myself away and have been lucky enough to have met the real people behind some amazing blogs. Without wanting to be a sycophant the likes of Unlucky, JonnyB, Jonesy and Neil have proved to be totally unscary, supportive and a bloody great laugh.

I have even started telling a few carefully screened and select friends about my virtual world shenanigans.

But I had always thought I would keep this little world of mine a secret from my family. While I try to keep things light and fluffy the effort is generally in vain because sometimes I feel so feckless and inconsolable and my way has always been to write about it. So it makes sense that it has crept onto my blog more often than not. And I wanted to keep all of that darkness from my family.

But yesterday I came clean to my esteemed Big Bro Senior. He knew about this tawdry secret of mine but he didn't know where to find it.

And he asked, so I told him, albeit with mighty trepidation.

A barrage of e-mails ensued, and I was so pleased with the outcome...


PPQ: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:12
Well?

Big Bro Snr: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:16
Yes, hugely entertaining. I especially like the quote from Col.

PPQ: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:17
hugely entertaining eh...? what a compliment...

Big Bro Snr: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:23
Yeah, well of course I skipped over most of it. Some reading was not
appropriate under the circumstances..

PPQ: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:23
like what?

Big Bro Snr: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:26
Your love life

PPQ: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:27
Or lack thereof

Big Bro Snr: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:35
Things will change

PPQ: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:36
Oh Bro, are you trying to make me cry?!!!
That's so lovely!

Big Bro Snr: Sent: 24 August 2004 14:37
You're welcome but don't cry.

You see? Not only did he bestow the accolade of being entertaining on me, but he also reassured me about my stupid love-life-fixation. A double bonus.

Will it change the way I write now, knowing that he'll be stopping by from time to time? I'd like to think not. Do I want to continue to meet real people, or remain moderately anonymous? Only time will tell.

Right now I just know I'm enjoying it and I have been fortunate enough not to experience any blogbullies.

Jonesy's post about doors got me thinking.
A lot.
She's right of course.
Absolutely right.
But sometimes knowing something is right in principle doesn't mean that you end up doing it.
Sometimes, the inertia of your hum drum life prevents you from taking off your concrete shoes.
Sometimes, the scar tissue from previous battles aches and throbs.
Sometimes, your demons stand in your way, while sticking their tongues out and taunting you.
Sometimes, you're just plain stupid and you miss the opportunity.
And sometimes you're just scared.
Scared of getting hurt, scared of hurting someone else, scared that you might get what you want, scared that you might find out that it's not what you want.

I come across as a tough cookie, but I crumble easily.
I carry regret and guilt around with me in a make-believe Prada handbag (well, I'm not PPQ for nothing - a girl can dream), regardless of how many times people will tell me never to regret anything.
I am a walking oxymoron.
And I seem to walk straight past these doors that Jonesy talks about.


Guess I need to start walking more slowly and thinking a lot less.

Okay Nige, I got home last night and found that you did care after all.
I got home to find that you had sent signed photos for me and the Bubs, and spelt our names correctly.

So anyway, I think I may have been a little hasty, and I take it all back.

All is forgiven.

I wish I knew what I wanted.

Cos then when what I wanted was in front of me...
...I would know to grab it and make it mine.

...PPQ's TopTen Happy-makers

1) Unexpected visits from someone who you really want to see
2) Duck-billed platypuses and English bull terriers
3) Another bus turning up just as soon as you'd missed the last one
4) Finding genuine Gucci shoes, last pair, in your size for the ridiculous price of £20
5) Bubs' coriander omlette and any of my Ma's food
6) A good old chinwag with friends over a cheeky bottle (or 3) of Crianza Rioja
7) Being by the seaside
8) Buying a CD on a one-song-whim and finding that it's a work of genius
9) Reading a book so engrossing that I forget where I am
10) Singing in the shower

Fancy sharing some of yours? Answers on a postcard to the usual comments box.

She kept asking me such difficult questions. I tried to answer them, really I did, but as hard as I tried, I’m not so sure that I convinced her. Sure I was on hand with limitless hugs and I softened my voice and stroked her hair, but sometimes that just isn’t enough. And in the end I just plum wore myself out trying to find the answers she sought, because lately I had been abusing myself with the very same questions and not even convincing myself.

She: When will it all stop? When will I feel better? Why is my life so shit? Why can’t I have someone else’s life? Why can’t I be happy?

Me: Soon. Soon. It’s temporary. Because you work best as you and your life will be good soon. You can be happy, you just need to get through this first. But you have to let yourself grieve before you can get closure.

Sometimes, there’s nothing more heartbreaking than watching someone else’s heart break. Knowing that your plasters won’t hold their heart together for very long, that you don’t have any magic words that will soothe their furrowed brow and fill the ineffable emptiness deep inside them. That even though their tears may subside temporarily while you’re with them, comforting them, that as soon as you leave their tears will come flooding back.

I have learned some hard lessons. That you can not make someone love you, you can only be someone who can be loved. That time heals. That you often hurt the ones you love. And that it is a universally accepted fact that the guy will always start dating first and that the person who was broken up with will suffer for way longer than is fair.

But the more I learn, the more I need to believe that good things come to those who wait. And that everyone deserves to be loved.

'Cos my mama taught me so.

Bloody Nora, it's my one hundredth post!

Because of this mini-milestone I have decided that this will not be a ranting, moany post. No no. On the contrary. This is a mini-celebration.

While I was sat in someone's garden last night enjoying a chat and a cigarette, I saw two shooting stars. In London. I mean, to see a shooting star is pretty hard work, but to see two, in one night, in London? That's pretty bloody special. And it got me thinking about some stuff that I have a tendency to forget when I feel a little battered by life and love and the universe.

I am blessed with some good guys in my life. Friends who offer me honesty and support and humour and sympathy. Tireless individuals who can share a joke, or lend me a shoulder and a strong back. Who I can call at 4am with a minor catastrophe or an hilarious anecdote, who I can rely on to sacrifice some of their holiday to take time off work and come get me from hospital after an operation.

I don't know if I tell them enough just how much I love having them around. Or how much they mean to me. But I thank my lucky stars for them. I reckon if you look hard enough, when you catch them unaware you can just about see the feathered tips of their white wings unfurling.

And moreover, it's not just these guys who I am thankful for. People will never cease to amaze me. Being a hardened Londoner I tend to find it easy to forget how kind people can be. But I love the fact that random acts of kindness do still happen, and they happen when I'm least expecting it, that it's quite often people who hardly know me and that every time it happens, it still bowls me over.

Because I'd hate to take that for granted.

*With abject apologies for the self-wallowing ranty whinge

Another late night at the office last night - got home at ten to midnight.

I'm tired.

Had my appraisal where I was told that even though I've been waiting for a pay rise to suit my promotion from a year ago, I'll only get it if I hit my next 3 month objectives. And even then it's not enough to suit the role I now do. Or the hours that I work. Or the industry average.

I'm tired.

I'm still single, which isn't surprising seeing that I spend all my time in this god forsaken office.

I feel blue about so many things in my life, but am loathe to admit that to anyone. Besides, I've flirted with depression for as long as I can remember and have always managed to adopt the ostrich approach in the past. But these days it's getting easier to talk myself into a funk, than it is to talk myself out.

I'm tired, harassed, I saunter from insomniac to narcoleptic on a day to day basis.

And worst of all, I have developed an irritating twitch in my right eye which makes me look like Herbert Lom from the Pink Panther Strikes Again.

I'm so tired and overwhelmed by it all.

And then I found an old notebook with my familiar scrawl....good old George Bernard Shaw, always seems to articulate things in just the right way...

"People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. The people who get on in this world are the people who look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them."

I guess that's me told then.

Someone pass me the job pages.

Everything was just perfect.

From the globed blush pink peonies, the painfully co-ordinated pink bridesmaid dresses and ties for the men, to the antique lace on the bride's dress and veil.

The groom looked at ease and bursting with pride, and the bride was just ecstatic.

The church ceremony was sentimental but not sickly, and the reception was held in a villa nestled in the hills of Lucca, surrounded by olive groves and vineyards. The blistering heat from earlier in the day was forgotten thanks to the cool breeze on that hill and the breath taking view.

And later on that evening, even the full moon was gracious even to turn itself pink as if it knew the bride's favourite colour.

Some dreams do come true.