The Secret of Love - Part III

Swap the heart for the head, and you're left with this:




Friends With Benefits, or more commonly - Fuck Buddies*.

Now this relationship should definitely carry a Government health warning on the wrapper. This really is not for everyone.

But I do know friends for whom this has worked very well. Both parties are compatible intellectually - they're friends, but with an added spark of sexual connection. That underlying tension heightening the senses and weaving insinuation and invitation through every conversation like a scarlet satin thread caressing the skin.

They can act on it, knowing that the encounters will be charged with passion, but without the emotional baggage the heart brings to the party. Anything involving the heart has drawbacks as well as benefits. It's never a win-win.

But it's the trickiest combination to manage. Locking that heart out is well nigh impossible and if one partner fails and emotions sneak in, the delicate balance is destroyed.

The road to Fuck Buddydom is paved with broken hearts and ruined friendships.

* Sorry mother. Look away now.

The Secret of Love - Part II

So we've covered friends.

Let's look at another combination.

I love this one. The cause of more tears, sighs and broken hearts than any other, but we wouldn't be without it.

When heart and ladybits collide, you get this:


Crush, or infatuation - whatever you want to call it - it means fireworks.

The butterflies, the loss of appetite, the increased heart rate.

The 24/7 obsession that's never going to end, it burns so brightly.

But sadly, without the head - the meeting of like minds to fuel the flames of passion, it is consumed quickly and the fire dies.

This is the stuff of holiday romances, movies and rites of passage.

The Secret of Love - Part I

While searching the card displays in Paperchase at Euston station recently, I came across this:



Not dissimilar to the Secret of Happiness I revealed on this blog's first anniversary, but the theory differs because it says 'fall in love', not 'get married' for medium term happiness.

It set me thinking about the Secret of Love, which I will reveal in the form of Venn diagrams in homage to Salvadore.

Let us assume that human beings are controlled by three factors - Head, Heart and Ladybits*. Defining relationships depends on which ones intersect.

So: If Head and Heart intersect thus:

You get this:

Perfect Paddy's Day companions.


*or manbits

Things You Encounter When You HAVE Got Your Gun

I don't normally report news stories, but the following item really caight my eye.

A desperate man, out of work, and wanting presents for his kids, took one of their toy guns, sprayed it black and then attempted to hold up his local shop with it.

The Polish cashier was having none of it, shouted at him, grabbed the gun and then called the Police.

Stupid woman, I thought. It's just not worth the risk. Hand over the cash, let the owners claim on the insurance and take 6 months off on full pay with stress.

Turns out, the shop was a toy shop and the cashier recognised the gun.

Quality!

It's In The Bag

There are days when I’d like to be 10’ tall.

Like when I’m standing in Heaton Park with 70,000 others, struggling to catch a glimpse of Noel and Liam on the big screen, never mind the actual stage.

Yummy Mummy and Mr. Yummy Mummy gave up and retreated further back to enjoy a better view and avoid the golden showers*.

Luckily everyone was dressed for the wet weather we’d had all day and I was wearing Bli Guinness’ waterproof coat not mine, so no real harm was done.

The concert was awesome. Barman and I threaded our way to the barriers at the front and bounced to the music as part of a 70,000 strong choir extolling the virtues of Cigarettes and Alcohol.

The layers of clothing did provide plenty of concealed areas in which to smuggle cans of Strongbow**. I chose the back of my jeans and felt very pleased with myself when they went undetected at security. But hats off to Pops, another regular at the Local Pub for cheek and inventiveness and a new gold standard for smuggling.

He’d heard that a friend had smuggled in two boxes of wine the previous day by removing them from the cardboard boxes and concealing them in a 40GG bra worn by his girlfriend. He duly bought his own, ditched the box and arranged the bag down the front of his jeans and under his waterproofs. He made his way to security and was dismayed to see that the boys and girls in Hi-Vis jackets were conducting body searches.

His left breast is patted. - ‘?’

‘Mobile phone’

His right breast is patted - ‘?’

‘Pack of Hamlet cigars’

Her hand moves lower…. – ‘??’

‘Colostomy bag.’

‘Oh. In you go, Sir.’

Genius.



Update: once again Notkeith has come up with a fantastic original cartoon to go with my words. Thanks a million. Do go and admire his brilliant artistry here.

*Seriously, I get why you’d pee in a cup to avoid the queues at the 40 toilets (the amount deemed adequate for 70,000 people who’d been drinking all day) and also to guard your place near the front, but why feel the need to fling it in the air? If golden showers are your thing, that’s fine, but surely reserved for the privacy of your own home.

** Can’t do the black stuff in cans. All kinds of wrong and lager is just a golden shower in a can, IMHO.

Highs and Lows

High

So JP and Tiddler did the Great Manchester Mini Run on Saturday following their inaugural run last year. They were both 'going for it' so I made sure we were at the front of the 2000+ kids waiting for Usain Bolt and Haile Gebrselassie to fire the starting gun. JP came an astonishing 8th, yes 8th, in an equally astonishing 6 minutes and 21 seconds. Tiddler wasn't that far behind him having finally discovered how to run without skipping. But then they're both slim and weigh about as much as a bag of fluff, so there's very little to carry round and they're aerodynamically streamlined.

Low

Unlike their mother, who had to try to keep up with them (failing miserably, I'd add here) as the 'designated accompanying adult'.

It was only when I crossed the finish line that it dawned on me that doing a one mile sprint race the day before the Great Manchester Run wasn't the best idea I've ever had and totally wrecked the months of training I'd put in. I never sprint. I'm definitely built for endurance rather than speed and came away red-faced and limping. Not good. Next year I shall watch from the safety of the finish line. The whole course is barriered off and marshalled so even Tiddler couldn't get in much trouble on his own.

High

So I limped off to Old Trafford to watch United win the title at home for only the second time since the Premiership started and ensure that the Fat Spanish Waiter has an empty trophy cabinet again.

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
We're going to Italy
Que sera, sera

Low

So I was stiff and sore yesterday morning - and not in a good way. My 55 minute target was out of the window as dosed to the eyeballs with Ibuprofen, I was just looking to break the hour. It was close all the way round and I was relying on a sprint finish to clinch a sub-60 time. As I passed Mr Duck Senior and the Little Ducks on the Cheering Bus at 9k, blowing me kisses and waving their giant foam fingers I tried to kick for home.

Nothing happened. My legs just wouldn't respond. The petrol warning light had been on for at least 2k and now I was down to vapour. I finished in a tantalisingly close 61 minutes. Boo.

High

So a little despondent and VERY stiff and sore, the Little Ducks and I headed for the Local Pub and a celebratory lunch. We had steaks and Belgian waffle stacks and I reflected on the fact that I improved on last year's time, came 2000 places higher than last year and 639th in my gender and age group. I also raised over £500 for Cancer Research. Not bad for a lame Duck.

Things You Encounter When You Haven't Got Your Gun #6

Champions!

No, I'm not being premature here, although after 3 points on derby day yesterday, United edge ever closer.

Top of the League and THAT'S A FACT, Rafa.

No, Tiddler's team have just won their East Lancs. Under 7's Strictly Alphabetical Order Because That's Fair Division with an impressive:

Played 20 - Won 17 - Drawn 1 - Lost 2 - Goals For - 101 - Goals against - 27

We had a presentation night last weekend, at which they collected a huge league trophy, half the size of the proud captain, who kissed it and held it aloft in finest premiership tradition while the crowds cheered.

Tiddler himself collected his individual trophy and was photographed with the League trophy. Last month's Flock of Seagulls look has been replaced with a Floppy Tulip*, but the smile was worth a thousand jars of hair wax.

The United Junior Academy Manager came to watch an Under 7's tournament we were participating in at the weekend, and we got a sneak preview of some of the teams we'll be playing next year in the East Lancs Under 8's Tough Division. The boys were somewhat disappointed when at the end of the group phase, the organisers announced over the PA that everyone was a winner and would be getting certificates.

Our success-hungry Tiddlers looked confused. Who won? When were the semi-finals and finals? Was anyone going to Rome?

Can you imagine the outcry if at the end of the Champions League Group Phase UEFA issued certificates to all the teams, with a press release congratulating everyone on being winners just for taking part?

I think not.

And in a double TYEWYHGYG whammy, I am not eligible for a ticket to Rome because last summer when I renewed my season ticket, I opted out of automatic Carling Cup tickets. Had I known that this penalty was in the offing at the time, I would have gritted my teeth and resigned myself to watching the reserves progress through the Mickey Mouse Cup, with a Champions League Final ticket at stake. So there will be no mooning over Messi for me in Rome in 2 weeks.

Boo.

* Starts out as an impressive Beckhamesque mohawk, but with fine, long blonde locks, droops and twists to resemble a floppy tulip after a few minutes despite a ton of hair wax.




NB If you're wondering why POAD has been silent for a few weeks I don't really have an answer I'm afraid, other than my dreaded insomnia has been back and Nothing, I repeat Nothing is funny when you're sleep deprived.