Sunday, May 07, 2006

Wrinkly feet

I've had my tootsies dangling into the side of the pool for so long that they were starting to get a bit wrinkly so I took them back out and now just sit on my towel watching all the beautiful people splashing around while I try not to get the pages of my latest novel wet. The title of my blog was originally intended as a reference to my tentative steps back into dating, or at least, contemplating the possibility that it might one day be something that I might want to try again.

I'd never had any problems attracting chaps but none of them had come anywhere close to being life-long significant other material. Jack's Dad was probably the most disastrous of them all and worthy of an entire post of his own ( if I could be arsed to spend that amount of time and energy thinking about him, which I can't) and we were only really together about 6 weeks when I was 18, had car trouble, and he lent me his RS Turbo. He left me my most enduring gift though and fortunately, his best genes seem to have got through despite the odds.

I was always wary of getting too involved with anyone once Jack came along, and although there were some lovely guys ( Martin, the driver of Europe's biggest crane and the owner of the weeniest little chipolata dick - make of that what you will - came to see me a couple of years ago - he's still very good looking in a cheeky Sean Bean kind of way, a terrible flirt and serial womaniser but now married with a child), the longest relationship was with Marko, and that was only because he worked abroad most of the year so we didn't see one another long enough to fall out. We split up over 10 years ago now but we're still good friends ( even after the incident with my sister). He came round this afternoon and brought me a twisted fig plant for The Shed which had outgrown his flat and generally mooched about bestowing unrequited advice about what I should be doing with my outbuildings. It never takes me long to remember why we're not together anymore.

I took this of Marko one New Year's Day. We'd been to a Ball, there was a mix-up with handbags and someone else had taken home my keys ( and knickers but that's another story) so we'd ended up at a friend's house where a dozen of us had partied 'til morning and we'd had to share a bunk bed. The rest of us looked like we'd been through a hurricane, He emerged looking immaculate. Irritating Bastard!

Dave the Gnome was lovely. I still see him every now and again although not so much since he and his fiancee bought a house together. He would cook me shepherd's pie or sausages and mash when I came in from night-school and clean my old Golf 'til it gleamed. Everything was fine until I spent 5 days away in Paris and Strasbourg with my law faculty and realised how nice it was to be able to move around and breath freely and easily without his benign presence crowding in on me. That was the end of that one.

Since then ( and that was about 9 years ago), there hasn't been much to report at all apart from my mail-order boyfriend.

It's true. I'd been shown a charity calendar which a local company had produced and as I flicked through it, I was delighted to see someone I recognised - a dad from Jack's football team. I promptly wrote to the company enclosing a cheque and offering to pay extra for personal delivery, " particularly by Mr November"! Bugger me, if he didn't turn up on my doorstep the following week, just as I'd spilt soup all down my dress. We started to see one another on and off for a bit. He was really good-looking but it soon became apparent that he had only 2 topics of conversation - work and football. He wasn't that great at kissing either. The first time we tried, I could feel my chin being scoured away, so frantic was his drooly head-sawing that I placed my hands firmly on either side of his head just to hold him still. He took that as a sign of passion and got even more excited.



Never a quitter when the going gets tough, I soldiered on for quite some time after, but it was only when he started training for the London Marathon that I could bear it no longer. On the one hand, his conversational repertoire had now grown by 50%, but he was also keeping a record of his urine PH levels on an Excel spreadsheet, including colourful little graphs and an analysis of his protein absorption. I soon bid farewell to him and his litmus paper.

So I stopped bothering after that, had one very intense encounter which burned very very brightly for a matter of weeks and then snuffed itself out as quickly as it had appeared. That was right when I took to my sofa, hid myself under my blanket and didn't venture out for almost 4 years.

So I think I've established that I'm quite dysfunctional in an ordinary relationship, so I gave cyber a try. It was easy. I was ever so popular. I could write like the size 10 I used to be without any of the grey hairs, crows' feet, dark eye bags and I could control my Profile Picture.

( Any resemblance to the actual Miss Cherrypie is purely coincidental. The writer cannot be responsible for variations in quality of the product which may be received. Size varies. Withering and limpness may result from length of time in transit, to combat this stand in a warm place, out of direct sunlight ( red hair, pale skin, blue eyes) and apply gin and tonic liberally, feed a rich diet frequently whilst maintaining gentle pressure to the small of the back. Do not leave unattended for long periods of time as likely to wander off to "Countdown")

23 Comments:

Blogger andrea said...

Those crazy English folk indeed! I can hardly wait to read the one about Jack's dad after this. Who needs neighbourhood gossip when you have Cherrypie for entertainment?

2:51 pm  
Blogger Kate said...

That's the problem with getting things mail order, they are never as good as they look in the pics.

Good luck with your toe dipping :-)

3:51 pm  
Blogger tom909 said...

Cherrypie, do you write for a living? If you don't you should! But isn't it a bit dodgy putting all these guys up on here - Bit high risk being a Mr Cherrypie.

5:20 pm  
Blogger delcatto said...

Someone will turn up when you least expect it.Usually when you're covered in oil,grease,gravy or something smelly having been awake all night.
I just can't get rid of that image of cranes and chipolatas...

9:16 pm  
Blogger Cherrypie said...

Oh, Andrea, I try to keep upbeat and anything to do with him is definitely blog noir. I'm sure I'll get round to it in time. Problem is, it just keeps growing. He's perfect soap opera material but I'm not sure I'm ready to be cast as Vera Duckworth. ( Darbster - I know you are reading this so cut out the Tracy Barlow mutterings RIGHT NOW!)

2:07 am  
Blogger Cherrypie said...

Mail Order sucks, Kate. I was a very early victim of identity fraud only the perpetrators were too thick to do it properly. Thank you for inspiring another future post x

2:09 am  
Blogger Cherrypie said...

Tom - I doubt Mr Cherrypie is out there so I blaze my trail regardless of the sparks that might escape from it ( although always very careful not to harm any wildlife along the way nor litter the countryside in the process). If Marko should venture across the path, he'd be chuffed I'd used the best image of him that has ever been taken ( I still wonder whether Carly Simon wasn't thinking of the wrong guy when she wrote that song for Ryan O'Neal).

I think I've been fair to the others given what I could have written but I agree, kiss-and-tell is inherently abhorrent.

I'm a bit superstitious so chances are, if I ever did meet anyone , I'd not tell my closest friends, let alone blog about it, at least not 'til we'd got past the farting in front of one another phase.

Anyway, you unwittingly provoked that last post with your comment. You have a knack of inspiring long comment repsonses too. Ever thought about a career at Random House? x

PS. I've drafted some pretty awesome contracts and assorted Deeds in my time but closest I've been to published is the Annual Report to Parents when I was a School Governor ( see also early posts about my Hull Daily Mail dilemma)

2:24 am  
Blogger Cherrypie said...

Del - I am permanently covered in oil, grease, gravy or something smelly and I am also a serial insomniac. He probably turned up already but I was too busy washing my hands/ clothes/ unmentionables to notice or too tired to care.

2:27 am  
Blogger andrea said...

Blog noir! That's brilliant. I have to use it!

5:12 am  
Blogger CeCe said...

You're funny. You'll find a nice guy no problem, as soon as you open yourself up!

5:23 am  
Blogger Mark Gamon said...

Grey hairs? Pull the other one...

8:27 am  
Blogger Mark Gamon said...

Mind you, that Marko does look like a beat poet from the fifties... ;)

8:30 am  
Blogger homo escapeons said...

C'mon in the waters fine.
Never mind the Sharks Luv just don't wear anything shiny that will attract them.

Now, just slowly wade out until the waters is up to your waist before you dunk your head. Enjoy the sensation of the sandbars on your toes.

Look out on the horizon just beyond the Buoys (boys). You will notice that there are a few good men patiently treading water.

It's time to make a splash!

3:40 pm  
Blogger Cherrypie said...

New profile photo, Cece. I like it.

Mark - I actually spend a small fortune with Danny the Hunky Hairdresser to hide the grey. I love that you think Marko looks like he's in his fifties too. I really really hope he's looking in. Best laugh I've had all day.

Donn - I'm perfectly happy sitting right here in the sunshine, thanks all the same. I keep an interested eye on the water and whilst I've noticed a few water-treaders, the good ones are usually just waiting for their wives or girlfriends to catch them up and I don't want to play with their beach balls.

Now if I thought there might be a chance of getting carried away on a rip-tide, I might put my water wings on x

5:38 pm  
Blogger Useless Man said...

Tremendous! One question though. What does it mean if I have wrinkled fingers?

8:03 pm  
Blogger krusty the baker said...

My experience of internet dating is not one that recommends itself.

Wow, your writing is of a seriously high quality, I can 'hear' it.

Why not try a lilo? You can always push unwanted attention back into the deep-end...

10:45 pm  
Blogger St Jude said...

Another gem!!

12:39 am  
Blogger Cherrypie said...

Mr. U.Man - you are either chained to the kitchen sink or else you are Len Fairclough ( explanation available for non-vintage-Coronation-Street-viewers)

Krusty - I am very much liking the lilo idea - I have one somewhere left over from a trip to Greece. I shall seek out my puncture repair kit in the morning

Judy - welcome back. Admiring the sun tan ( schucks. Thanks)

2:48 am  
Anonymous Beki said...

To paraphase a saying from an Oprah show self-help person (iirc Ilya Vasant?):

"Try to remember that men are children of god cleverly disguised as idiots"

9:16 pm  
Blogger tom909 said...

Well, what a patronising bastard - if I get my hands on that fucker he'll need all the self help he can get.

10:40 pm  
Blogger cream said...

Chipolata Dick, Cherrybabe!
I am gonna laugh at Christmas when I'm stuffing the turkey!
Great photo!

9:28 am  
Blogger Ian T. said...

Red hair, pale skin and blue eyes is hot in my book!

I enjoyed your brave synopsis of past relationships.

Jack's Dad was probably the most disastrous of them all and worthy of an entire post of his own

I've toyed with the idea of doing a comic about my first wife, but there's sooo much material and it's all so awful :).

12:28 am  
Blogger Cherrypie said...

Tom - I think I had a date with him once - he smelt of chips and had clammy palms. He's not worth troubling over.

Ian - there are somethings that better just forgotten. Delete and move on!

6:11 pm  

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