I've seen you twice, in a short time...

                   

Only a week since we started..

Wise words from those Swedish poets of yore, and a UK number one in November 1977. The video of the same was an early artistic opportunity for director of note, Lasse Hallstrom. He subsequently went on to to showcase his What's Eating Gilbert Grape (1993), The Cider House Rules (1999) Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (2011) & The Hundred Foot Journey in 2014.

Fia-Spel (or Ludo as it is more commonly known outside the land of IKEA) is featured in several of the shots, with just a few displaying its name. Surely the four participants know exactly the name of the game being enjoyed with such hilarity and a profusion of woollen knitwear?

Heavens to Betsy! Director's artistic licence maybe or I'm a Dutchman.

In the same vein then, I have taken artistic licence with my recent affairs of the heart....

Firstly; I've seen my date just three times, in a relatively a short while, only 5 weeks since we started. 

Close, but I have seriously refrained from the wearing of knitted horrors.

Next time I shall include a small pullover or perhaps a cardigan so that I can wear my heart on a sleeve. Following the split, it does indeed seem to me, that I'm getting more open hearted.

Name and Date Unknown

As I gradually transition into the earthly paradise that is singledom, my attention is drawn to the labelling done by our society. 

We are conveniently packaged into bitesize homogenous groups for ease of consumption. Affronted daily as we are by smug self righteous forms that force us to disclose a marital status of their choosing, not mine.

Luckily the media have been subliminally championing our cause for aeons, thanks to the likes of The Lone Ranger, Valerie Singleton, One Direction and of course our hero Han Solo. 

In a rare moment of conventionality I stepped out onto the baggage reclaim of Single Life and approached the ultimate test of status commitment. Yes folks...I  have entered the Great Domestic Departure Lounge, in readiness to embark on The Dating Game. Making sure any lingering baggage has been stowed away, and carefully selecting inflight entertainment and suitable menu options.

Driving into Auckland, and parking near the futuristic sounding Vulcan Lane, I headed into the city. The meeting was going to take place amongst sprinkle of tourists and coffee shops that litter downtown Auckland.

Needless to say I was charming, witty but slightly accident prone, having overshot the location and therefore my date, by several hundred metres. Soon however, I was rescued by G.P.S. and a visibly loud checkered shirt, and we finally made rendezvous.

Over the next three hours we talked and laughed like teenagers. Well he did, mainly at me as I accidentally threw errant pieces of muffin and hollandaise in the air. Worse was to come as I shifted position and slipped on the newly laid cobbles (Auckland is getting a much needed make-over, the city centre resembles a smart modern European city, albeit without the accents). This action sent yet more muffin in a skywards trajectory. 

Add to that a coughing fit, and a "dead arm" as I struggled to look both casually relaxed and sophisticated whilst maintaining poise, balance and a slim tummy. It all takes effort you know!

Then finally at the end, I forgot where I had parked my car, thus ensuring a mad rambling answer to "where have you parked?"

However none of this seems to have detracted from the experience, for we are meeting again tomorrow for brunch. 

Or shall I call it a breakfast lunch food experience, I do so hate to be pigeonholed by hollandaise.

The Special Relationship

The relationship between my organs and I was at best, complex, and at the worst "extremely prejudicial" to my welfare. But, we endured and rose, like a majestic eagle in triumph over the dastardly setbacks. Through all of this I was blessed to have the support and love of my significant other. I will be forever in debt for the care and attention that was lavished on me throughout our lives together.

So it is with a mix of regret, trepidation and contentment that  we have ended our relationship of 24 years as partners. Sadness at the split, but optimistic too and content that we remain special friends and that our "divorce" was completely amicable. h

We are like the United States and the United Kingdom. We share a common heritage, language (well, NZ English is so very different to that of the Queen!, eh Bro?) and both hold the same ideals, values, history and collective memories. 

We still have many of the same common goals in life, but just have slightly varying ways of getting there. Our lives are still entwined, indeed after that length of time we have a compendium of memories; of treasured holidays, much loved pets departed, pets still present, scores of shared friends and relatives, and the accumulated possessions from 11 homes that we have lived in together. We continue as better friends, ones that understand each other completely, and are richer because of that.

Of course this opens up new blogging possibilities as I settle down to the life of a single man again, exploring the world of dating, single shopping and meals for one. Yet this also too brings freedom and the chance to soar like a bird to heights as yet unexplored. 

Lucky Number

Eh oh eh oh....no not Teletubbies, rather Lene Lovich whisked me through late 1978 as she climbed numerically higher up the charts. Rather than her initial one, it eventually transpired that her aforesaid fortuitous feng shui digit was three.
This turns out to be a huge coincidence as three times the speed of a vinyl album equates to 10, and ten just happens to be the subject matter of this post.

I had of late cause to reflect the direction my life had taken since my transplant. It soon sank home that the direction was outwards. Having undergone both dialysis and that transplant I had put on what we euphemistically call "just a few pounds". After enjoying the sticky embrace of sugar for four years, I ought to lose some weight, or risk the perilous return of diabetes.
A complete snub, in fact, to the brave and generous organ donor family.


So a simple routine developed, that of walking 5 kilometres per day on a garage based treadmill. Our garage, mind you, not the local BP.
To stem the inevitable tedium of staring at a range of domestic tools, storage boxes and the contents of the laundry basket, I downloaded my favourite 70-80s pop videos to watch on a hastily erected TV. Abba, Blondie, Cher, Depeche Mode, Enya (less disco moves for her output), Fleetwood Mac, and so on....
Three months in and like a forgetful bank cashier, I've lost 22 pounds.
That's 10 kilos in modern money, or ten bags of sugar :)

A good start you might think, as that equals my weight before going on dialysis, way back in 2008. We shall see how low I can go, and what turns out to be my lucky number.

That Syncing Feeling..

According to Ford, the voice activated audio system installed in my car allows you to" Stay in touch every second you’re driving, with state-of-the-art Ford SYNC voice control and connectivity technology "

Apparently it lets you make and take mobile phone calls, hands-free, using the simplest voice commands. It can even read out text messages you’ve been sent. :)
This sounds awesome, and would indeed be a sight to behold.

Except that instead of an efficient friendly and helpful voice behind SYNC, mine has been installed with the rude tone of a slightly geriatric Ukrainian pensioner, whose hearing trumpet has been left back in her war ravaged hovel.

I have given her the name Olga. as it sounds nothing like SYNC.

"Call Glenn"
I pause while Olga checks her contact list.....
"Calling Tim"

Which is bizarre as I don't have a Tim in my contacts.

"Call Vets"
"Deleting contact: Vet"
Olga will need a vet when I've finished with her.....

"Play artist New Order"
Olga consults her enormous music reference manual....
"Playing Artist The Artist, formerly known as The Artist Prince"

I attempt to intervene with a touch of the steering wheel Sync button, to override her. Of course this just irritates my Soviet stowaway.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand that word" she petulantly retorts. 

Then promptly goes silent as she knits a sock for the cold Ukrainian winter.

I thought it might be my accent, eccentrically English though it may be, but still fairly well spoken and very BBC. 

Why, even Apple's Siri understands my commands.

Thankfully there is one "advanced" feature that, so far, (fingers and wires crossed) I have yet to have need of. 

It is delightfully called the Ford Emergency Assist.

In the event of an accident and the car is compromised, Sync will call the emergency services automatically using the linked bluetooth phone, and give GPS details of the location and request immediate help.

Though heaven knows how long it takes for a plumber from Kiev to reach New Zealand...