Size matters…

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Apparently hand size is really important if you’re a bloke, but presumably not if you are an accountant as they always seem to have small digits…The better to count money with, albeit no guarantee of romantic success.  Being an accountant, I mean!  

The fact is most men are of average endowment regardless of how big other parts of them are. And that includes their egos… No, I haven’t been using a tape measure, I have this on good authority from a friend who is a nurse! Sorry chaps, but not everyone can be Ron Jeremy, and not every woman wants someone who needs longer shorts because of their shoe size!

I will admit that size matters to me.  But before all the men who read this go scurrying off to stroke their…um…egos, let me just say that I’m talking cerebrally here!  Like most of the independently-minded women I know, there is a list of desireable characteristics that make the difference between Mr Right and Mr Wrong-on-so-many-levels…you know, the ones that we tick off mentally before the man in question has had the time to open his mouth and ruin it all.  

My requirements are fairly simple…tall…younger…own hair and teeth…you get the picture.  But my particular kryptonite happens to be intelligence.   For me, brains and all the above in one package is a particularly devastating combination.  Add a fair dollop of wry humour and a generous spirit, and I’m probably putty by the end of the evening…or slutty…but only if they happen to have a six-figure IQ!

Howl…

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I was up all night finishing an assignment and happened to check my inbox as part of my ‘work avoidance strategy’, which usually alternates with the ‘I must-clean-the-bathroom-strategy’ at times of academic duress.

One email.  From a friend who is grieving a parent. My own dad died when I was sixteen and my sisters were much younger, so I’m familiar with the emotions. It happened at a fairly critical time in our lives and we all had to grow up quickly…but it’s a long time ago now, and although it hurts from time to time, we’ve adjusted to life with loss and carried on living because that’s what you do to thrive in the present.

Still, as I read the words on my screen, I felt tears stinging my eyes and running down my cheeks. Everyone deals with sadness in their own way, but somehow this note made me want to howl and sob. I couldn’t stop myself.  Of course, I know it’s more than just an empathetic reaction to a friend’s bereavement. And though I could put it down to sleep deprivation, the real reason my heart aches is that I’ve lost someone too.

There is grace in grief, and strength in allowing yourself to mourn. Absent friends. A much-loved pet. Dreams that have passed their sell by date. There’s also a time to wipe your tears away and make a conscious choice to savour every moment.  I’m going to do that today.

Unintended consequences…

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I woke up this morning feeling a little fuzzy headed after a night on the tiles. Whether it’s the morning after the night before, or just the events of the preceding evening, I’m in reflective mood. Well, they do say for every action there is an outcome, so it probably follows that if you drink lots of red wine, you will get a hangover…But what about outcomes we don’t intend? 

I sometimes think if we had sufficient information, we would be more prescient – able to predict the consequences of our actions.  But would this be a good thing?  If we knew, I mean – absolutely –  knew what would happen if we followed our hearts’ content, if we said what we really felt, if we kissed the friend we’d loved from afar, or took a job on the other side of the world…Would we still do it?  Or would all that knowing paralyse us and simply leave us wondering …‘what if’?

In the silence between our words, we litter our conversations with unspoken longing.   Often we don’t say what we mean or withhold information for fear of being made vulnerable. We may be intelligent apes, but it is not our language that give us away. When we don’t intend to reveal what we are really thinking, it is our hearts that betray us more eloquently than speech.

Shoot from the lip…

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As little girls we are taught that sugar and spice is nice, the emphasis on the sugar, the implication being that ‘nice’ girls never express their opinion. Yeah, right…! Still, this anachronism was brought home to me this week in a most  unexpected place… my Msc class.  

I know! University is meant to be a place of free expression, debate and argument.  If not, what on earth is the point?  For my sins I’m doing a post graduate degree in Corporate Governance and Ethics. It’s true I have given up self improvement, but I love learning…probably serves me right. Anyway, in one of my classes,  I made an off-the-cuff remark about arms dealers in Africa.  Sardonic, yes.  Serious…? Hardly!! Clearly, I was being ironic when I said that manufacturing in Africa would grow if local people made guns – well, let’s be honest, of the known conflicts in the world, the majority take place across the central belt of Africa – why not exploit the market?  Among my many flaws I am a free marketeer.

At this point, horrified hisses in class…H.a.l.l.o people! Get real…would I actually be doing a class on Corporate Responsibility if I felt that poor African farmers should give up their maize and cows and start assembling Kalashnikovs? Oh puh-leeze!  I even got accused of being a Daily Mail reader.  That was bad, but it was not the final straw.

What really got to me was that this class of  young people in their 20s and 30s  had sacrificed their sense of humour and opinions on the altar of political correctness. Somehow it was anathaema that I had expressed an opinion (albeit ironically) that went against the general consensus. Hmmm, and 200,000 lemmings must be right too!  I’m sorry, but when did it become ok to have a focus on not expressing one’s views? Un-opinioned and bland is the enemy of progress to my mind.  And yes, I do have one!  I’m not afraid to use it. That’s one of the benefits of being sapient…

Still, I’m old enough for this not to matter overmuch. But consider this blog fair warning to those po-faced political correctoids…Get over it, or get over yourselves! I am opinioned woman, and I will roar.  Whether you like it or not!

Porn again…

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When I was younger, I spent a year in a mid-Western town in the US.  Its claim to fame – other than being cheerleader central  – was that the KKK were as active as the local Baptists. They also happened to have a XXX-rated drive in.  Yep, no kidding.  They liked abbreviations with three consonants! You could see the screen from miles away… Well, it was flat and there were loads of corn fields….but still. Personally, I never got the appeal of driving down the road to watch silent movies!  I also never could reconcile the hypocrisy – god fearing by day, deeply disturbed by night.  You get the picture…

I must admit, I struggle with pornography. I think it exploits the weak…and the weakness in others. It’s one thing to explore when you are an hormonal adolescent male, quite another when you are a grown man. In an internet age, it is on-line and on-demand. It’s in your face and up for grabs.Travel on business today and most hotels will offer you a selection of ‘adult’ movies, which aren’t itemised on your hotel bill. It gives men unrealistic expectations, and puts additional pressure on women. Surely the Hollywood wax was not invented until some male director thought it made for better viewing on camera? And as for those terminally pert, pneumatic boobs..not to mention male enhancements? Ouch!

I am not a Puritan. Nor am I anti-eroticism.  I’ve done my fair share of wild living.  And I recognise pornography is nothing new. Netsuke sculptures from Japan, the Kama Sutra from India, Victorian postcards.  Human sexuality is part of society. And for some people, watching it is a turn-on. I get that.  We are all consenting adults and for the most part are allowed our peccadillos…as long as they don’t involve children or animals!. Nevertheless, for me it’s a bit like sailing – I’d rather be doing it than watching other people do it!  And my ‘turn on’ is definitely cerebral – to get into my knickers, you have to access my mind first!

In the running…

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It was one of those days that I took a very hard look in the mirror and knew that something fundamental had to change. So, instead of drowning my sadness in a glass of red wine (usually my preferred option) I put on my trainers and went for a run…

What makes this blogworthy, is that I’ve discovered that I can actually run 5 miles (about 8 km) without stopping.  Slowly. Steadily. A small, but significant accomplishment. Especially since I’m not exactly built like an athlete.  Well, I have a pair of legs, but that’s where the similarity ends…

More surprisingly, I’ve discovered that I really enjoy running. O.M.G.!  did I actually write that?  OK, let me be honest here…the first 20 minutes are always agony and I keep hoping that the NRLI will actually ignore the drowning people and be on standby in case I collapse outside the lifeboat station… No such luck!

Still, once I get past that landmark, and head along the open stretch of coast between my home town and the next village, my head empties and I actually begin to enjoy the experience. I know it’s probably the endorphins kicking in, but somehow running makes me feel good in a whole new way.  For an hour, I can forget about my worries, and just be. Nothing but me, the sea and my iPod.

Of course, being a goal-oriented individual, I’ve decided that 5 miles isn’t enough, and I’m now in training to see if I can actually reach the 13 mile (20 km) mark.  Who am I competing against?  Myself. Will I get there?  Your guess is as good as mine.  I’m in the running… And I am definitely going to have a good time trying.

Premature election…

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So, now we know what desperation feels like. Our foul government (foul, because they have turned our country into a sewer) clinging to office like a mistress embracing a dying lover. 

I’m not sure who I detest more. Our Prime Minister (un-elected, lets just remind ourselves) or his party of lunatics. Peter Mandelson, who with each passing trade machination resembles Iago more closely. John Prescott, who is beginning to look like a rather large Cumberland sausage or Alistair Darling whose ‘safe pair of hands’ has cost taxpayers a £75.2bn deficit, one my generation will struggle to pay back within the next decade or three…

Frankly, the country has gone to the dogs. The total government debt is equivalent to 49% of gross domestic product. Britain has the highest teenage pregnancy rate in Europe and a Child Poverty level which exceeds that of some third world countries.  On a daily basis Gordon and his cronies, these  self-styled ‘guardians of the nation’s moral compass’ reveal their utter contempt for the voters who brought them to power in the first instance. If it’s not the expenses scandal – which discredits politics as a whole –  it’s the own goal of going on television and crying in front of the nation to get votes. Man up, Gordo…everyone knows we don’t do PDA!

So far, Labour have refused to fix a date for the election. Legally these moribund men are compelled to do so within the next few months, but they are dragging it out to the last possible minute. ‘Can’t peak too early’, they say… ‘Hurry up and finish’…I say.  Presumeably they want the experience to last, so they can chuck another few ill-conceived policies our way and really cock it up for the party that will inevitably succeed them. Unfortunately for the Government, electoral viagra hasn’t been invented yet.

As for me, I’m going to use the only preventative measure I can in this instance- my vote!

Star Trek…

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I adore Science Fiction. So much so, I even studied it at Uni as part of my degree. Bug-eyed Monsters, The Green Lantern and Bladerunner all have a special place in my heart. Now before you get completely the wrong idea, I’m not quite ready to don lycra and attend conventions as a warrior queen from the planet Zorg. Still, it’s fair to say this intergalactic love affair started young.

When I was a kid, Betamax and VHS were vying for supremacy, but for those of us whose parents hadn’t quite got round to getting a video machine, there was always cine film.  I’m not quite sure whether Star Trek was the only thing you could hire during the cultural boycotts of the apartheid years, or if my dad was secretly modelling himself on Captain Kirk…, but one thing I do know.

My sisters and I always looked forward to Saturday, because this would mean a trip to our local corner shop, for crisps and a cooldrink, a weekend treat.  Then….’un-bear-able’ excitement as my dad picked up the hire projector and ‘shorts’, and turned our lounge into a cinema.  We would help to move the Tretchikoff picture off the wall, and arrange ourselves neatly in front of the sofa.  Anticipation mounted.  And as the projector began whirring, Gene Roddenberry would transport us to a world of space age heroics and alien encounters.

Like me, Star Trek made its debut 43 years ago.  Roddenberry wanted his series to show mankind what it might develop into, if only it would learn from the lessons of the past, most specifically by ending violence. Of course, this was lost on me at the time, but it makes sense now.  Star Trek was fairly progressive – many of the original episodes were allegories for the issues of the time in which it was made.

These cinematic adventures made a lasting impression.  As far as I was concerned Star Trek had it all – a racially diverse cast of strong alien and human characters, diabolical villains and groovy music.  And let’s not forget my ultimate favourite gadget – a transporter!  Gotta have me one of those. Just so you know… I’ll be first in line if they ever invent a safe way to beam me to another dimension.  Now, where did I put that light sabre…?

Half-hearted…

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I shared a low-key but lovely Valentine’s weekend with an old friend. We meet periodically so we can put the world to rights over a bottle of wine and some good food.  This weekend, as we walked the beach in Margate and passed the lovers’ umbrellas and heart shaped lanterns adorning the harbour wall cafe, we agreed  ice-cream is a lot like love…

If you are going to have it, there’s no point in being a wimp. Why settle for vanilla when you can order that Knickerbockerglory with the whipped cream and crazy toppings? I know far too many sensible women, who got so tired of waiting for ‘Mr.Right’ to show up that they capitulated when ‘Mr.So-So’ entered the room. They aren’t enjoying their ice-cream, because they live a half-life – stuck in bland relationships with lovers who can’t quite commit to a flavourful partnership.What’s the point of that?

If you are going to love someone, then love generously and enjoy the experience. Life is too short for emotional parsimony. Giving only half of your heart because you are afraid of getting hurt, or worried about what the world might think, crushes real affection and robs the soul of joy. These days I really can’t be doing with any of that iffy, ambivalent stuff.  And in this, I am definitely with Frank Sinatra…‘no messing with Mr In-Between’ for me.  Of course, my ‘Mr Unique’ might be turn out to be just that – a one-off treat … ! At least I get to have cherries and chocolate sprinkles…

Killer App…

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I love my ipod Touch.  Not only can I load all of the 500 CDs I own onto this small object of beauty, I have discovered a new source of pleasure. Apps!  Who knew there were so many ways to channel one’s inner geek…

I sail, so I have the ‘Tidal prediction’ App, which shows tide tables for every known port in the world.(You never know when your ship might come in, but I’m holding out for the Bahamas). And I’m a practical kinda gal so I have the ‘Spirit level’ App (Yes, that would be my Virgo tendencies emerging). Of course the ‘Measurement conversion’ App really does sort the Dicks from the Toms and Harries.(Gosh darling, didn’t realise 6 centimetres was the same in inches!)

Actually, after recent romantic misadventures, I’d like to see the istore create the ‘Manometer’.  This is an App which emits a loud warning siren when you are in close proximity to a narcissistic egomaniac who thinks he’s god’s gift to womankind. Works just the same for habitual philanderers! And, it comes preloaded with a ringtone that sounds curiously like your mobile phone, allowing you to exit stage left when the dire conversation makes you want to stick needles in your eyes rather than continue smiling through gritted teeth. Handily, this App can also scan any prospective romantic interest and tell you whether he’s all mouth and no trousers, or whether the attributes match the patter. Now that really is an App to die for…