"Do you want to come for a walk?" I asked Andrew last night, and then I made that same face that Fat Rosie upstairs makes when she presses her snout to the window as we pass. It works every time; we're two fat, happy Rosies. We set off north towards the river, my tail wagging and my hand in his. We passed the Barge pub as we crossed Charlemont Bridge and I thought of the college crowd I used to work with and their Friday night drinks. I never went, and eventually they stopped asking. I was content enough to make smalltalk over scones in the mornings.
I wasn't always so sensible. Before them, back when I worked part-time for the bank, I was the most convivial of colleagues. Always out, always drunk. I behaved appallingly at office parties, but never so's you'd notice. I was quietly self-destructive, losing shoes and cameras, confidence and large chunks of our nights out. I fucking hated that job, and I loved that everyone else there hated it with me. I also loved Philip. He had a girlfriend, of course, but he was planning to leave her for me. Yeah, I know. Or at least I know now. Then, the Social Club facilitated our disappointing affair with morale-improving bank-sponsored drink-fuelled nights out and weekends away. I should have had more sense, but that sad truth of it is that I had so little self-respect and so much vodka in me that I sunk all my hope into that hapless hoor. I'd love to say I got sense and walked away from it once I realised that things weren't going to improve, but I didn't. He had to dump me.
I let myself down so badly that it still smarts. The last two years or so have seen a sea change in how I think about love (something even PC Live saw fit to pass small comment on) and I've spent a lot of time reflecting on what those earlier destructive relationships meant to me. I'd take so very much of it back, I think. I've gone with the je ne regrette rien line before; these experiences have made me who I am and I think I've turned out pretty well. But while I am what I am and I deal my own deck, etc. I wish I had played some of those cards closer to my chest and not left myself so exposed.
I hadn't thought of Philip in a long time, but as Andrew and I passed the Barge a second time on our way home on Thursday night, I saw Philip walking in the door with his brother. I thought about shouting over a hello, introducing him to my husband. But I didn't. I didn't even mention him to Andrew. It no longer seemed important.
On Friday morning I read about Katy Perry's "revenge" on her teenage crush. He turned up at one of her gigs last week and she had a go at him for turning down her advances as a teenager. 'Oh yeah, you really chose right, honey! What’s up! What’s up now, player! I’m going to dedicate this next one to Shane Lopes, everyone!' she said, before dedicating her song Ur So Gay to him. And, for the first time in my life, I felt grateful that I am not a 25 year-old popstar in a latex minidress with a massive chip on my shoulder.
I wasn't always so sensible. Before them, back when I worked part-time for the bank, I was the most convivial of colleagues. Always out, always drunk. I behaved appallingly at office parties, but never so's you'd notice. I was quietly self-destructive, losing shoes and cameras, confidence and large chunks of our nights out. I fucking hated that job, and I loved that everyone else there hated it with me. I also loved Philip. He had a girlfriend, of course, but he was planning to leave her for me. Yeah, I know. Or at least I know now. Then, the Social Club facilitated our disappointing affair with morale-improving bank-sponsored drink-fuelled nights out and weekends away. I should have had more sense, but that sad truth of it is that I had so little self-respect and so much vodka in me that I sunk all my hope into that hapless hoor. I'd love to say I got sense and walked away from it once I realised that things weren't going to improve, but I didn't. He had to dump me.
I let myself down so badly that it still smarts. The last two years or so have seen a sea change in how I think about love (something even PC Live saw fit to pass small comment on) and I've spent a lot of time reflecting on what those earlier destructive relationships meant to me. I'd take so very much of it back, I think. I've gone with the je ne regrette rien line before; these experiences have made me who I am and I think I've turned out pretty well. But while I am what I am and I deal my own deck, etc. I wish I had played some of those cards closer to my chest and not left myself so exposed.
I hadn't thought of Philip in a long time, but as Andrew and I passed the Barge a second time on our way home on Thursday night, I saw Philip walking in the door with his brother. I thought about shouting over a hello, introducing him to my husband. But I didn't. I didn't even mention him to Andrew. It no longer seemed important.
On Friday morning I read about Katy Perry's "revenge" on her teenage crush. He turned up at one of her gigs last week and she had a go at him for turning down her advances as a teenager. 'Oh yeah, you really chose right, honey! What’s up! What’s up now, player! I’m going to dedicate this next one to Shane Lopes, everyone!' she said, before dedicating her song Ur So Gay to him. And, for the first time in my life, I felt grateful that I am not a 25 year-old popstar in a latex minidress with a massive chip on my shoulder.
