I’m in LOVE fellow musers…unconditional, irrevocable, Bella-and-Edward-eat-your-hearts-out love (or necks perhaps…do vampires have hearts)?
The first time I ever saw him, I knew he was the one. Strong, sturdy, timeless and bang on trend. He was just what I wanted, and needed. Something to cosy up to, to keep me warm on those chilly winter nights that are fast drawing in. Allow me to introduce you to the new love of my life…my new Anika Flying Jacket…Courtesy of both Whistles and the continued generosity of an early Christmas present from Mummy Musing.
As much as work is proving to be quite the bane of my fabulous life at the moment, one does have to admit that grinding away in the dizzying heights of fashion retail management has its benefits, namely the discount. It is true that I have been working like an impeccably-dressed donkey over the last few weeks and missing days off in the absence of my new Assistant Manager starting. We’re straight into mid-season sale, I have staff dropping their hours left, right and centre and am now found to be working with the world’s most unruly printer. Times are hard, musers, but the collection is covetable and whilst I am often to be found staring at my new jacket, I have got my eye on the rather gorgeous Freya dress, a new vampy number for the December season I think.
To be honest, one cannot blame me for my obsessive behaviour over my wardrobe when the boys in my life are still acting so stiflingly strange…Shoreditch Boy has disappeared off the planet again. Perhaps he’s still on Majorca time? Or, even worse perhaps he’s still on Shoreditch time which means I’m bound to get a frown-prompting barrage of text messages in about three weeks. I think this one is best left where it is left. Number deleted, cuteness forgotten, the world makes sense again.
But the swift departure of one, as usual, signals the return of another. Tattooed One is back on the scene and looking decidedly hot. He’s up to his usual sweet, cuddly trickery making all kinds of small promises I’m sure he doesn’t intend to keep. I am not fooled boy, not for one second, but have to admit the thought has crossed my mind more than once. Plus he is lovely to have a cuddle with. Please somebody stop me.
Plus, there was the rather unfortunate incident with yet another James, a bar manager, who seemed cute and friendly but after a failed attempt to befriend me in his office, he swiftly landed on the twat pile and I wasted a perfectly good drawing of a telephone on a serviette. Obviously some men have no taste when it comes to artistic qualities in their women. Another James eh? But in true Bradshaw style it has ‘got me thinking’ about what’s in a name…
On reflection, it appears I am quite the stickler for consistency when it comes to names of the men in my life. I worked out that I have had not one but FIVE near misses with Jameses this year. There was Gally (say no more), followed by the Hopeful Affair with Fate on Brick Lane. Not long after that came Shoreditch Boy in all his Elfin beauty and then the sad, much regrettable, lingering with Twat Rep in Greece and finally Mr Rymans and his obsession with his office. Will I ever learn? Should I be paying attention to these names and the all the mischief and confusion they seem to bring? Should I actively avoid these names at all costs in favour of a much happier relationship future?
In fact, the newly-coined James Syndrome has now surpassed my previous name obsession I shall simply call the Phe-Tom-enon. Four bad Toms, four of them in my life which I’ll highlight for you now, at the risk of sounding like I’m naming episodes of Friends…
1) The First One – I was sixteen and vulnerable. He charmed, he cheated, he looked a bit like that chubby singer from Papa Roach.
2) The One Who Got Away – I actually sent him away as I couldn’t stand the ups and downs any longer during my crucial Uni years. It was horrible, psychotic in parts and one cannot help but wonder ‘what if’ from time to time.
3) The One That Never Was – I’m not sure why it never was, but it wasn’t. He was nice, but his jacket was too big for him, so maybe it was no loss.
4) The Electric Ballroom One – The less said about this one the better I believe. Though I was so plastered I kept calling him and his mate ‘Tom and Serge’. I also fell into a bin.
The Phe-Tom-enon doesn’t seem to be letting up either what with endless temptation from such fine specimens as Mr Rowley a mere seventy miles away. So what’s a girl to do? ‘The heart wants what it wants’ as Lovemenot always says and if that is the case, it appears my heart is never more enamoured than in the presence of a James or a Tom. Well my heart and I do not seem to be reading from the same page. I have never really bought the whole idea of ‘coincidence’, so maybe it’s time to address names further afield than these two familiars and see what the wealth of Adams, Dans, Joes, Bens etc have in store?
You’ve got to laugh (trust me, it was either vent it out in a Blog, or be sectioned) in these circumstances. Alternatively I feel it is important to reflect on the ludicrous nature of my lovelife…and try to turn it into a money-making scheme. So have decided to create a sweepstake amongst my nearest and dearest, all of whom are placing bets on what the name of 2011 will be. I have mine all set, ready and ever hopeful and Lovemenot is sticking with the consistency of the Toms. Others, however, are picking total wild cards, many names of which I have yet to be acquainted with, which could prove quite exciting.
Anyway, the weather is turning brisker by the second, the nights are closing in and I’m off for a romantic stroll safe in the leathery arms of my new boyfriend. Place your bets people….
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