The games we play - 'You've been snubbed'

Sometimes one post naturally follows another. Since the last post was all about what a rubbish flirt I am, then it makes sense this one should prove it. And it does.

Whilst I am a rubbish flirt, I am pretty good at banter. Banter with innuendo is my forte but my real strength lies in ambiguity. Pretty handy since a lot of the people who enter my life are equally ambiguous.

Then throw social media into the equation,  alongside the real reason behind modern day inability to communicate effectively -texting, and you have my very own recipe for disaster.

And so begins a texting fest with someone who crossed my path through social
media. It is undoubted that this occurred through my love of posting pictures of my shoes but since I love shoes, it's not unreasonable. With that, followed a fair few months of texting and then we met up. Far cuter than I ever  expected, I was completely flummoxed. When you only know someone through flirtatious texting, it's quite tricky knowing how to handle normal conversation. After all, if you have built a level of communication based only on this, then normal conversation would be as disappointing as discovering the voluptuous woman is merely a silicone fillet girl. So I did what I do best when thrown - I made an arse of myself.

So the story went on. We met a couple of more times but it was both confusing and mystifying. Flirtatious texting and a gentleman in flesh. I shouldn't complain since my idea of sexy, is a man with manners. Equally, I quite like men that you can tell if they find you attractive and this one - gave NOTHING away.

Perplexed as my mind lurched from 'If you just want to be friendly with people, then why flirt in texts?'  to the 'If you are flirting in texts then why are you the absolute opposite on meeting.' It was most unsettling. And he was, so I thought, an apparently genuine man which to me, was pretty out of my comfort zone since a) I rarely meet genuinely nice men and 2) I am never attracted to genuinely nice men and always place them firmly into my chums pocket. A totally new experience to meet a man who came across as genuine that I not only liked, but actually fancied. Now that is what you call progress.

Except that I couldn't work out what it was he wanted. So I took advice from an ex man in life, who put his head in  hands in despair at my inability to interpret. He was equally despairing of my own ambiguity and forced my hand in doing something that I find immensely difficult, which is to let my guard down.

So I sent a text that simply said I had been thinking of him. Now anyone who knows me will stand testimate that I can be very honest with those I care about, but those that I am unsure of will be subjected to a barge of smart arse answers and aserbic wit. What they won't get is honesty. So steeled by a vodka, the support of ex man in life's wisdom - I sent a text that simply stated the truth, that I had been thinking of him. And as I sat there squirming, I thought 'Really, how bad can this be, months of texting, three meet ups, cute face, nice thighs......

Response back. 'You need to get out more'

Snubbed. Big time

I am NEVER being honest again

The art of not flirting

I am a rubbish flirt, which is odd since I am naturally flirtatious. Actually, no one specifically said that I was a rubbish flirt but the enquiry as to why I feel so unable to be flirtatious when out - was a polite way of telling me that I am in fact, rubbish at it.

If we were in the 18th century then I am sure that my flirtation skills may have caused public outrage but in 2012, it seems that my expertise is woefully inadequate.

I am a bit shell shocked by the revelation that I am so rubbish and frankly, more than a little grateful. After the most entertaining night out in town, one in which every man I came across was carted and I appeared to be the only person in Bath that was actually sober - it became more than apparent that flirting is no longer a subtle art, but a blatant precursor to sex.

In fact, it seems that every interaction between male and female is simply about sex. Flirting has become no more than a superfast highway to the inevitable, one in which you decide if you like someone after you have slept with them and not before.

Now I get a fair amount of flack for my old fashioned views and the assumption that this somehow makes me uptight. I love sex, but like the best things in life - I think it is better when valued. Think fast food versus good restaurant: one is readily available, everyone knows where to get it, what to expect and knows they will probably feel a bit unfulfilled afterwards. A great restaurant on the other hand, one you have researched, considered, chosen carefully from - far more likely to be a memorable evening,  to be savoured, to remembered. Sex isn't so different.

And if sex is the main course, then flirting is the appetiser and this is the bit in which I am apparently hopeless. And I admit that I didn't find anything appealing about the mating dance of drunk men and I found it equally sleazy that some carted idiot thinks he's in with a chance by ordering a drink I didn't ask for. The only man that managed to have a vaguely intelligent conversation, plummeted in my opinion when he saw fit to but his arm around me. Frankly, after 20 min's conversation I felt it more than a little forward.

And when you miss sex as much as I do, it's odd that there is not one single cell in my body that hankers after meaningless sex with a man that values me no more than the next girl. It seems that my the reason my flirting skills are more than a little outdated is because flirting is all too often little more than an evening long with some pretty descriptive language.

Is this such a good thing? The more old fashioned approach in which two people play a protracted game that is far sexier, inevitably building intrigue and sexual tension. In old fashioned flirting- your not stating 'I want to have sex' but 'I'd probably like to have sex with you, let's see'  It's not perfect but it is sexy. Old fashioned flirting isn't a promise of sex, it's showing an interest, it's about the potential and the build up of anticipation. A flirty conversation leaves you smiling like a moron and the further down that road it goes, those little flutters of excitement that are simply priceless.

So you dispense with the  intrigue and the build up with a slightly more brutal version of "Your hot, shall we have sex?" Granted, the more blatant contemporary version is less fraught with error and making ones thought process so abundantly clear does leave less margin for misinterpretation.

With my method of flirting there is so much margin for error, and it seems I am simply rubbish. Admittedly, when there is no possibility for further venture I can flirt like a pro. It all goes a little awry when I actually like the person I am flirting with. Then I flirt like the march of a Russian soldier, two steps forward, one back. I flirt a little, a little more - then I panic in fear that my flirting my appear to forward and I may be judged for being, well - too forward.


So I flirt, I retreat, then I complain that the men I flirt with aren't being forthcoming enough. I recently had a conversation with ex- man in my life on my hopeless inadequacies in interpreting flirting. Sometimes, I struggle to tell the difference between someone being friendly or flirty. I think they are flirting, so I flirt back. Then I think they are just being friendly and I have misinterpreted and have made an arse of myself. According to ex-man in life I am in fact a quite unique combination of intimidating and contemporary version of Mother Theresa. It seems that whilst flirting used to be about subtlety, using me as a benchmark results in a fair sum number of mixed messages.

From my recent education into the world of modern flirting, I have nothing to fear since anyone I was flirting with would simply think I am in fact, retarded.

I fear it may be a long time before I ever have sex again

For an indispensible guide to the not so subtle art, click here
The non subtle art of flirting

Complementary technology, my arse

**

In a bid to become more productive, I have been wrestling with an online to-do list. In concept it isn't hard - simply select your tasks, tap them onto your list, achieve your tasks and tick complete.

Nothing is that simple for me. The concept of being organised just doesn't sit naturally. I am so reliant on natural chaos that the thought of being organised scares me. In order to be this super efficient person, I will have to change my mindset completely and in doing so,  lose part of my identity.

Being organised would be as uncomfortable as not caring about shoes. To dispense with superficiality would mean completely re figuring the traits my personality is dependent upon. In the blink of an eye, I would be an efficient beast that looked at people in a stern manner. Of course, this would require looking up since I will have lost 4 inches in height as a result of the comfy footwear.

I struggled with the idea until I asked my colleague whether I had skills that compensated for my utter incompetency with anything requiring mastery of modern concept. Apparently I do, so I went back to sticking post it notes on my computer screen and she returned to rolling her eyes in despair.

By the end of the day I had inputed a couple of tasks, such as 'master rememberthemilk'. I noted that in my personal list was 'read electricity meter' - this had been written 8 months ago, it's still there. The electricity meter has never been read and I just allow them to take money out. In my mind, my denial saves time and thus makes me more productive. I think

Added to the list today - send compliment. A work colleague had received an email offering praising for work delivered that had exceeded expectation. It's no surprise to anyone else since she is so efficient she has potential to be formidable but as she said - receiving a compliment can truly make the difference to ones day.

And she's right. Think back to the times when someone has opened a door for you, picked something up you may have dropped, admired an outfit or praised you for a gesture. A few words acknowledging something about you, no matter how small - can truly brighten a day and raise a smile.

I thought about it and sent her an email.

Dear Veronica,

Nice tits

Kind regards,

Sophie

Now clearly this is not language that you would hear me utter, but the art of writing is to do so in a manner that captures the attention of the reader and makes a lasting impression.  I considered my choice of words to be a winning combination on both counts.

She was grinning for some time, a remarkable result I thought. As  a result of this positive reaction, the task 'send compliment' shall now become a permanent feature of my to-do list. Paying compliment should become a viral task, the whole universe will feel much jollier as a result

On returning home an email alert appeared on my mobile

Great arse

Best wishes,

Veronica

It would appear that you do indeed reap what you sow.

Think productive, you litte Ninja

My blog would seem an odd place to review a book but since this was always about revelations on myself and others - it is an entirely appropriate place. I have an inordinate respect for Graham Allcott. He has an interesting history, keen social entrepreneur and founder of both social and charitable enterprise. I could witter on about his many successes but really, they are  precisely what you would expect from someone who clearly has natural insightful and who happens to have mastered that art of productivity.


Yep, he's done great but the real source of respect comes for Graham Allcott being the mind behind Think Productive - a company that made me cry.


Now it is well documented that those that make me cry, have generally had a deep impact on my life and no matter the pain of the moment, will always afford a positive gain.


I'm pretty certain that there was nothing in the Think Productive manual about making people cry but they didn't flinch. It seems that in order to be productive you have to stop trying so hard to be productive. Self placed expectation was leading to the constant guilt about not achieving enough. It was this that was  making me deeply unproductive. This revelation - apparently obvious to everyone else, was a bolt from the blue to me. So I cried, quite a lot.


So when Graham Allcotts new book 'How to be a productivity Ninja' was released this week, I was quite excited. The world is full of books that tell us how to make our lives easier but most are no more than another quick fix, often requiring us to master some overly complicated system that we don't have time for. Invariable a list of self help productivity manuals will accrue on the bookshelf, simply charting our own sense of failure.


Grahams book is simple. It's not about managing your world, it's about managing yourself. It doesn't teach you to be perfect, it teaches you to accept who you are. It will not teach you to get to the top by adding things to your to do list, it gives you the skills of working out what is important and reducing the chaos.  Most of all, it gets rid of guilt and once you do that, you achieve so much more.


And that's because Graham understands people, projecting a sense of calm insight into every word he writes. When you read this book it makes so much sense that you cannot quite believe it took someone else to tell you. To the rest of us with our scattered paintball approach to organisation, Graham Allcot is like a sniper.


And like all the good things - it all starts within.

 http://www.productivityninja.co.uk/.

Profound my arse

I have just had a deep and meaningful conversation with one of my dearest male friends.

I shared my revelations.

His summary was as follows:

• You are lovely the way you are

• When men flirt with you they are only ever interested in one thing. 

• On the whole, most men are tossers

• You should remain cynical of any man that comes anywhere near you

It would appear that any threat profound thought placed on the shoe collection has been dealt with. 

Being superficial and cynical is apparently a much safer haven.

I give up

Irony, insight and a new perspective

I had a conversation last night that hinged around the fact that I was considered to be insightful. Apparently to the point of Witchdom.

Over the years I have grown used to the fact that the way in which my mind works can and does intimidate people. I have had countless friends tell me I need to stop analysing things and just accept things as they are. Which is advice that comes with a strong thread of irony.

Ironic since with all the love and intention that comes with those nuggets of advice, is perhaps the lack of acceptance for who I am. There is no question that my mind has been the vehicle for deep routed pain. When people hurt me, they can do so to a level that sometimes forces me to question whether others feel the same pain. It’s invariably not with malice, more of a result of not accepting their own issues. The problem with my mind is that I can work out the issues and thus can never hate the person for behaviour that my gut instinct tells me – makes them unhappy. 

So I accept that they are not unkind. Understanding their behaviour affords me no vehicle for anger. As a result, my own process of healing takes considerably longer than would be reasonably expected.

So last night was an evening of yet more irony. I had a conversation with a man who further back in time had messed with both my head and my heart. I learnt a lot from him. Mainly that the issues he had, were ones that were also part of my own personality. I don’t have a fear that a relationship might not work. I have a fear that it might.  My Achilles heel is vulnerability.

A friend advised recently that I need a man that doesn’t put up with my thought process. That advice comes from love, since as a friend - she knows the real me. But she is wrong – what I would need is a man perceptive enough to see through defence mechanisms and strong enough to not be scared of them.

And I scare people, which all comes down to the insightful thing. If you have an issue, I will nail it. I don’t seek to, it’s just the mind I have. I don’t have a problem with people’s issues but if they do, it becomes a problem. There can be nothing harder than trying to pretend you are the toughest person in the world only to have someone raising an eyebrow in your direction. Which I will.

Yet last night was a revelation to me. I have spent many years thinking that my life would be simpler and less painful if I didn’t have a mind that thought things through from every angle, in a split second. It’s not a new issue, I vividly recall feeling deeply lonely as a child - wishing with all my might that my brain would just stop whirring. It never did.

So the real irony is that in seeking to understand others and accepting them with their faults is the one thing about myself that others can often find hard to accept. In this they never really accepted who I am which in turn, means I never have either.

So as I sat last night listening to a man that I have always understood too well for his comfort, talk about my insightfulness in positive terms - was a watershed moment. He spoke of my blog, his view of my insight and my perception of situations with what appeared to be genuine admiration. More importantly, it was a brief moment without guard and without suspicion. And for a brief moment I saw that in accepting me for who I am, showed a glimmer of the man I know him to be.

Perhaps one day I will meet someone who can accept that I am who I am. The things I have written on this blog may have been raw, they may have been harsh but they all came from my bizarre thought process and they all came from honesty.

Maybe one day I will get past the meaningless flirtations, the challenging banter, to trust that when a man shows an interest – it’s not merely because they may consider me to be attractive. Perhaps when I enter into flirtation and banter it might be that I stop assuming there only to be one goal at the end of it, and it isn’t my mind. Perhaps one day, I will meet a man that doesn’t turn me into their mission because I challenge their pre-conceived ideas of what a woman should be. Perhaps, just perhaps I will get to a place where I can trust someone makes the effort because they see the real me, not the one I offer.

So to the man that fucked with my head, I thank you for offering me a moment where being me felt valued. To offer a view that was unsought, unexpected and with no cost attached. It was a long road and I am glad that what I always saw is who you are. I wish you nothing but happiness.

As for me, I may at some point – consider dropping the sparring gloves.

But it will take an insightful man.

I may have to think about all of this.

When it bites you from behind

Just occassionaly my veneer gets a bolt form the blue that causes so much unexpected hurt that it actually makes me want to vomit. It's an irrational response to stuff that is no longer relevent but its unaddressed. Unaddressed because I will simply never understand why anyone would want to cause someone pain.

Wouldn't life just be peachy if everyone that came into your life had integrity. It's not rocket science - the thing is that if you treat people kindly, you don't damage them. If you treat people kindly, you may hurt them but you don't mess with their head.

And yet it seems the hardest thing in the world, since on the whole - most of us walk around in denial about the impact we have on those that we meet. Perhaps if we lived in a society whhich was founded on giving rather than taking- perhaps it  would less of an issue,


I am running out of inner strength

Thank God I am not a spider

I have never really been sure if I believe in horoscopes, taking the view that you make your own future. State of mind, attitude to life, openness to people and experience must surely play a large part of the road you travel. But I'm also open minded. There are so many things that I know so little about that I believe that it is far better to be open to a wider concept than to follow the thought that if I don't believe in it, it doesn't exist.

So on the whole, I don't read horoscopes. After all, if the predictions for the coming week were accurate they would affect everyone of the same birth sign. In a small town, life would only have variation dependent of the number of star signs.

Sometime ago and perhaps I posted it on here - I completed all the relevant birth details for an online horoscope profile. The accuracy of my personal traits was quite disconcerting. I have idea as to how banging in my DOB, place of birth and exact timing would profile me in such an accurate way, but it did.

The Cancerian Crab, with an emotional shell around so hard that it takes some perseverance to get inside. Yet once penetrated, deeply loyal. One man in my life said "Hard as nails on the outside but  marshmallow inside" This statement made before extra few pounds were added and the outside became more like a marshmallow too. Ironic that he spent month bashing down barriers until I finally said I cared. At that point he had to be attached to an ECG machine. Not an experience that encourages one to be forth coming.

But it's a fair point.

I had supper with a friend on Friday evening and we had a long conversation on the very matter. Unable to see how I could be seen as hard, she made the fatal mistake of being really, really lovely. So I cried. On the positive side, the waiter was so alarmed he didn't advise me of the option for tipping, so it was a cheaper night than planned.

I don't like being vulnerable, if I let my guard down and think someone may hurt me, I'll retreat faster than you can blink. It's not a good thing. If I get hurt, I would rather chew my toenails than admit it. I spend a lot more time than is necessary assuming I need to outwit people. Its limiting.

I blame me. I'm perfectly normal with men that don't interest me. With men that cause an eyebrow to raise in interest (not a common occurrence) the defences go up, which really is the opposite of what should happen. It's tricky.

Clearly a crab. Thank god I'm not a black widow spider

Paralysed with guilt

Ten days ago, a teenager I refer to as my half child was seriously injured in a car crash. The child of a friend who had died and life long chum to my own son - he has, over the years been very much part of the furniture.

Now he has spinal injuries. Whether he will ever walk again is unknown and whilst he lies in a hospital bed pondering what the future may be, there is another teenager who also had his whole life turned upside down that night. For him, there is physical proof of the acute pain he will be in.

And that is the driver. A boy who having only driven for a month, miraculously walked away without injury. Except this poor child, through no fault on his part lost control of the car in horrendous weather conditions. Perhaps another 20 years driving experience may have made the difference, perhaps if they had left an hour earlier, taken the first right, driven 1mph slower, perhaps if he had done all of this and more - the crash wouldn't have happened.

But the crash did happen and no matter how much he relives the accident in his head, nothing can change the events of that night. This boy, a mere 18 years old himself, has just had his innocence ripped from him and though reassured by others that no one places any blame at his door, will be suffering the kind of soul destroying guilt that most of us are lucky never to experience.

How could it possibly feel to be the driver of a car in which one of your best friends is potentially paralysed. How could you carry on with your venture into adulthood, maintain that spring in your step, hold onto the kind of wide eyed optimism that you have at 18?

When someone you care about is hurt or killed in an accident, it is human nature to question 'Why them and not me?" When you were involved in the cause and are just 18, this is the kind of accident that can leave the most monumental psychological scar. You can be certain that this boy is not thinking as the rest of us are "Thank god none of the others were hurt. Frankly, much better one seriously injured teenager than three. It sounds harsh but in a car crash involving teenagers there really is a worse case scenario.

I cry when I think of the half child but take positivity from each and every tiny sign of progress, from the support he has from family and friends to the staff around him. I have confidence that he will receive the best level not just because of the extent of his injury but because when you meet him, you cannot fail but to adore him,

As for the boy driving, I know that it's frequently the unseen things that cause the biggest harm.  My heart breaks for him.

Life is harsh

Hip, Hip, Horror - When heels become a weighty issue

I seem to be storing fat deposits, which is odd - since I am not pregnant.

And so I went off to TK Maxx in a bid to rid myself of the horror of it all by the purchase of new shoes.

Whilst new shoes were purchased, they did little to alleviate the horror of having flesh that is ....fleshy.


I have never worried about my weight and even now, what the scales say- should I stand on them, doesn't bother me in the slightest. But fleshy bits are simply too much to deal with. When I stood in the changing rooms and tried on my normal size 6 jeans, I looked like a someone had tried to squeeze a water snake though and empty loo roll. Just to confirm my worst fears, I slapped my bottom and I saw movement.

That caused the kind of reaction that TK Maxx did very well out of.

Yet for the first time ever, I actually look female, with proper hips and a waist - but only from a distance. Close up and I'd be concerned that should you stand next to me in a typhoon, you may be physically harmed.  To add to my own revulsion and confirm the horror of the situation, I stuck my fingers into the flesh at the back of my waist and lost sight of my finger nail.

This is a new one for me. I have never put on sufficient weight to cause concern, never dieted - but this weight gain would take a level of acceptance that I am not ready to deal with. When I stand straight I want to hear a snapping sound, not an aftershock.

So there was only one sensible reaction and it was not buying larger clothes. It was the purchase of  an exceptionally tight dress and an exercise device that judging by the picture of the man on the front, is rather good at causing bodily tautness.

I shall hang the dress in the snug as an incentive to stomach crunch my way back to stick instectdom. It will be an incentive, since I would rather massage a mans toes than be seen in public with a dress that is that figure hugging. Anyone who knows my aversion to the male big toe - will understand the gravity of that declaration.

And I know with certainty that my friends consider my revulsion at the fleshy bits to be verging on insanity but I say this: without my superficiality, my wardrobe and my shoe collection - where would you gain your entertainment.

Count this as my public duty

Thigh deep in cycling

There are many things you can judge a man on. And whilst I set the bar quite high for integrity, value and morals, it starts with the thighs.

In the years I spent married, I can't say that I paid undue attention to men's thighs. One can only assume that since infidelity is not a practise I would partake in, that there was little reason for  to do. That all changed the day 'It' walked out and I discovered that a well toned body was something to be admired. With divorce came the belated and utter admiration for a pair of well toned thighs. Possibly to an unhealthy degree. If the well toned thighs come with well defined upper arms and a torso with tone - I am done for.

Put me within 5ft of well toned thighs and I lose the ability to communicate normally. There are those that would argue this to be my normal articulation ability, but anyone that has seen me respond to those with the right body - will know that I turn into a total airhead.

Which is unfortunate.

It is fair to say that living with a man that never exercised did little to feed the admiration for the male body. Post dutiful wife role I can see that in fact, the suitable kempt male body- is a thing of utter beauty. Sadly, it can be short lived. Far too many men act like peacocks, with lots of preening in a bid to secure a mate. Once found, they start eating. Before you know it, you are curled up on the sofa clutching someone's muffin top and the thighs become like a shelf for the remote.

But this new adoration for mens thighs comes with a price - and that is the envy that comes with it. Whilst gazing in admiration, I find myself hankering after the kind of muscle tone that feeds my inappropriate thought process. On high level thigh envy, I decide I need start cycling.

So I go to the bike shop and try a girls bike.  It's also very small which given my stature, should be perfect. I sit on it and feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I try a bigger one and still look like I have a spine disorder. Far worse, its red and white and frankly, it's a bit girlie.

The mens bike is matt charcoal, so I want it already because I am a girl and we choose technical stuff on important criteria, such as the colour. Sitting on it and it feels almost comfortable, if a little short.

"You are body is better suited to a man's bike" say's the man

"Are you saying that I have a man's body?" say I

"What I mean" he say's, back peddling frantically

"Is that women's bike's are designed for average women, and you are clearly not one of those"

So I leave the shop with my man's bike, feeling inordinately chuffed that I am not like other women.

And then I tackle my first hill. It is not as easy as it looks.

Apparently, it takes more than a mans bike and a lot of Lycra to get those thighs.

A downhill challenge

I haven't been able to write for some time, which is a good thing as much as a bad. The last three years have been a journey in so many different forms and I have spent some time on it, trying to work out both the stuff in my head and the stuff around me. People have come into my life, people have left and I have used this blog to work things out. It's how I stop myself reacting to things.

Writing has been my space for cathartic vomit, to be happy, be hurt, to reframe, to rationalise, to deal with the things that at times, I have found unbearable. I write about things that I am incapable of expressing - which on the whole is my own vulnerability. I'm good at understanding other peoples issues, good at trying to separate someones behaviour from the person they truly are beneath. I am hopeless at telling anyone that I am hurt, or terrified, or vulnerable.

 And yet the blog has become the place where in fact, I cannot purge too many thoughts. There are so many observations that I have made, so much that I have worked out but to say them, to work it out here, would be picking away at the people I have cared about. (This clearly does not extent to IT) Which is a shame, since some of the best observations I have made are about the behaviour of others almost buried alive by their own baggage. Still, it's not like I am without mine.

 So, some time back I bumped into a man I once dated. We had a drink (in the company of others) and it was one of the biggest head screws I have ever experienced. The entire conversation was tinged with subtext and though they did not understand the specifics, made all present, most uncomfortable.

 Now I am a quick witted girl and I can hold my own on quick fire retort. What I couldn't do is keep up with who said what. By the end of the evening I wasn't even sure of my own name. There was lots of "don't you think if this happens, someone can project this onto someone who once did that" The general gist was "I recognise I was a bit of an arse but someone was once a bit of an arse to me, so that's okay"

 I say this - Life is full of people being unkind, of mothers that bullied, of fathers that ran off. Girlfriends are unfaithful, dogs bite, people die. No matter what it is, none of it makes it okay to treat someone else unkindly. No one is perfect, we all have issues but hey, lets all try and work those out with some honesty and not by 'projecting'the same onto people that come into you life and care.

As I drove off, the thought occurred that generally speaking, the people that screw with your head are generally people with screwed up heads. Trying to rationalise with a screwed up head is quite a tricky affair and probably best left to an expert in screwed up heads. But what a totally an utter waste of someones life. To be so damaged that you push everyone away has to be the ultimate road to loneliness.

In that moment of clarity on what is strikingly obvious, I realised that I do not need anyone messing with my head anymore and what I really needed, was to find something bigger to focus on. I needed a challenge that made the issues of others pale.

So three days later, I got on a plane to Bulgaria. I have never skied, I have never wanted to. I loathe the cold, much more of a SE Asia kind of girl. So I booked a three day skiing course, by myself. All I knew was that Bulgaria was somewhere in Estern Europe and I hated Skiing.

I cried in fear every day, I nearly died in the process of experiencing Bulgarian alcohol and my skiing isn't hugely better than it was before I left. I cried (like a snivelling baby) not because I found skiing difficult, it's not really that hard (theoretically). I cried because I avoid doing anything outside my comfort zone. Facing downhill on a slope in some alarmingly slippery skis, tapped into my bigest fear. Being vulnerable.

The ski instructor's plied me with empathy and shots and by the end of it, assessed that whilst I could ski, my biggest problem was that I refused to believe that I could. It was the perfect example of how fear prevents you going further in life.

On finding a challenge to make all the things that had become bigger than they ever deserved, it worked. More than that it taught me that I'm stronger than I thought. I cried in front of strangers and the sky didn't fall in.

So I'm vulnerable, I'm human. And despite the ridiculous heels, the acerbic tongue and the ability to think one step ahead, I cry like a girl on skis.

Occasionally.

Parasites and parenting

I sat with a dear male friend last night and whilst he was keen not too - I pushed him on an area of his life that is a little tricky. He loves his other half. She love him. He doesn't want children, she does.

I took the hard arse route, as is my way and partly from a weariness of mens inability to understand that women fill in the gaps with words they want to hear. As a collective group, we need to understand if there is a gap, it's because there is nothing in it.

Women think "If I love him long enough that he will eventually come around". Most men avoid thinking on the basis that if they are not thinking about it, the whole thing will go away (even if he knows it won't).

So as hard arse militant female, I point out (and no, he didn't ask me to) that if he doesn't want to have children then he needs to end the relationship and allow her the chance to find someone that does want children. Hard to do when you love someone, but in the end it will be a relationship filled with resentment or with children that weren't really wanted. I have vivid recollections of the night 'It' shared that he had never wanted the twins, but thought it might make our marriage better. Since it ended in divorce, I guess he was right.

It became clear that the real crux of the matter was dear male chum did not know if he wanted children and there were perhaps some deep routed reasons for his reluctance. And that's the crux, he was looking for answers to questions most of us don't ask until it's too late.

So to the male friend that doesn't know if he wants children - it's a healthy start. Maybe you do, maybe you don't, but there are no answers to anything, certainly no guarantees. You may hate parenthood, you may love it. It is hard, heartbreaking and tiring with periods of mirth scattered amongst many years of tiresome slog. It's not about you, it's about them and they will serve no real purpose in the short term.

As one famous for voicing thoughts, I have spent several years of my life loading washing machines, finding cereal bowls under wall hung loos and picking cornflakes out of my underwear drawer and asking myself 'What exactly is the benefit of having children? and never really coming up with a conclusive answer.

So tonight I revisit a website forum from the early days of being a mother of multiples, and discover that the 10 year old son of one of the regular posters has just lost his fight for life. Then I finally understood the day to day purpose in having children. The benefit is intangible, it is unseen. It is the kind of love that you do not know how deep it runs until you have something go terribly wrong or if you have the most painful experience in life of losing a child.

Having children is a pre-programmed need to keep the human race going, little more. For those that think that they bring some sense of meaning to your life, prepare to be disappointed because on a day to day level - they can make your life pretty meaningless. You need to be looking at the wider picture. Look not at what you seek to gain but at what you will gain from giving.

Children will drive you insane, they will leave you exhausted, frustrated and feeling like a total failure. Yet they can only do this if you were hoping to gain something from having them. An unwise expectation.

Yet if there was one role that children have that they do well - it is that they make you less selfish. Parenting is about giving and those that fail to do so, fail to gain anything from the experience of having children.

Children are parasites by nature, they take everything from you in order to survive. Once they have mastered the art of feeding themselves and stealing chocolate from every known stash in the house, they take your possessions and your money and once thats over, they take your sanity. Only at the point that you expect nothing from them, is when you see what you gain.

And it's this: when you learn to truly give, you gain a level of pleasure only attained when not seeking in return. If you were not loved as a child, you won't fill the gap when you are an adult - you will just spend a lifetime trying to be a better parent than yours were. When you were marginalised as a child through lack of opportunity and you push your child to achieve, don't be surprised if your child sticks two fingers in the air and refuse to gain employment in anything more than the local kitchen. When you buy your child gifts instead of time, do not raise an eyebrow that they do not want to spend Christmas with you. Their purpose is not to make you feel fabulous and validate the choice to have them, their purpose is to grow into a loved individual who carries on the human race.

And giving to that degree is what good parents do because children do not ask to be born, we choose to have them. They are not here to serve you a purpose, they are here to continue the human race and whilst we all think of ourselves as having given up so much of our lives in having them -we don't realise just how much they gave us, until they leave. Or die.

And only those that have suffered the unimaginable pain of losing a child will understand just how deep routed that love is, just how much their lives were changed as a result of that child being born and just how much they really gained from that short period.

As for my dear male friend. You would make a great Dad.

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