Time Flies...AKA The Wilderness Months

Rule Number One of The Blog Club… ‘Blog and Blog Regularly’. It appears I have been somewhat overlooking my musings of late – not that I haven’t been having them; needless to say my mind, as ever, is a ticking timebomb of whys, hows and what ifs on a near-constant basis. So to skim over the events of the past few months I shall start by saying this; I don’t believe I could have packed more into my life if I tried.

May flies by with flashes of uncertainty as I start to settle at work and am finally no longer looking at the clock every morning at 7.15am knowing that The Great Unmentionable will be leaving for work. Alas, life continues in a haze of new customers, friends and experiences under a great ash cloud, which grinds the modern world to a stand-still and leaves my poor parents unable to fly to Dublin and having to make do with an Oxford retreat instead.

I had kissed goodbye to April and all its wonder with a scrawled angel now forever sat on my shoulder another visit from the Dream Boy, a man who now inhabits my waking thoughts on a daily basis. I’m not going to gush at their sheer brilliance again, but our main man was still playing ‘no speakies’ and this continues to frustrate me.

I emerged into the heat of May newly confident in my care-free spirit – of course encouraged by MMH during a tipsy bonding conversation at Waterrats – and hopeful of the future, a much-needed holiday with my oldest and dearest friend Goldfinger booked and a desire to move forward and perhaps try that Acid Wash tube skirt at work. I couldn’t beat the sudden overbearing unhappiness in my flat but felt it best to stay put, at least for now. Something just wasn’t right between those four walls that I was supposed to call home, it never really had been.

Mr All-Seeing and All Knowing had swiftly become Mr No-Seeing and No-Knowing since he had pretty much shacked up with the new GF (whom I take full responsibility for finding - well my impeccable profile writing anyway). Not that I was complaining, at this point I’m a mere two months into self-imposed Gally-rehab and still prone to suffering the kind of unbearable lows that only repeated plays of ‘Tunnels’ by Arcade Fire can drag me out of. My mindset remains unaltered – ‘F**k all couples and F**k their stupid romances’, so regular stints in ‘new couple central’ could prove unhealthy (think some of the more memorable, pig’s blood-spattered scenes from Carrie here).

Now we come to a much anticipated visit from Goldfinger. My oldest friend who really has been through it all with me – Primary school, Secondary School, years of Ballet classes (where her costume may have occasionally included gloves on cold days) and my erratic penmanship during the separated Uni years. In many ways nobody knows me better, we’ve had so many good times (she has never let me forget a very naïve error made at a tender age when I pointed at and mistook a discarded condom for a prawn, lying on the ground in Goodland’s Gardens), bad times (concussed by a football – more than once) and downright hilarious times – try 22 years of downright hilarious times.

There is nobody who would happily prance around to ‘Telephone’ whilst gleefully clutching a teapot more than Goldie (video evidence never to be seen in public I’m afraid). Nor is there anybody who would be able to share in my delight at the random old woman munching on a tasty Gregg’s morsel whilst perched on the wall outside my flat – only to later be confronted with her scary look-a-like clinging onto the railings outside Finchley Central Station for dear life - as much as Goldie. We may be world’s apart in some ways, but we have so much that keeps us together. I couldn’t imagine a world without an occasional ‘Hola’ email, or her words of good, honest advice thrown in for feasible measure (‘you just can’t contact him anymore, you’ll feel better…failing that...harass R----- until he’s yours).

Goldie, Goldfinger – she goes under many more pseudonyms – was so called after the Ash song, one that cemented our friendship during those turbulent early years of Secondary School. This was our first transgression from greasy boyband love songs to Brit Pop and angst! Thus, Goldie and Wheeler-Dealer were created (you see, even then I had designs on marrying a rock star). And years on there have been many many songs and many many crushes for us both, but not so in the Ash league. And so..to celebrate this and so much more, we had a girly couple of days surrounding Ash’s 18th Anniversary appearance at Koko. Cue inappropriate footwear and even more inappropriate laughter on the tube.

The gig itself was mesmerising, being bustled from pillar to post in a raging pit to some classic tunage never felt so good. The band were amazing, as we stood both surging forward in the crowd and being pulled back to a simpler time, proof that there is sometimes such a fine line between the revelations of a naïve 13 year old and the musings of a deep-thinking, often troubled 25 year old. Tears were shed, toes were stepped on but there isn’t anyone I would have rather been there with.

I think we all need a friend like Goldie in our lives. Someone to lift the spirits, the positive spin to your negative mood and someone to sit and listen and care even if they think you’re mad/losing it/stupid for even thinking it/all of the above. So this continues to be one hell of a lesson in friendship for me..thanks Goldie, here’s to another 22 years of believing we can have it all.