my virtually empty pint glass into his high-class, up-your-own-pretentious-backside J2O with enough force to spill half his drink on his expensive-looking brogues.
‘Oh grow up, Graham,’ my ex said. I actually stuck my tongue out at them as they turned and re-joined their group of happy couples. I then stood feeling like Billy no mates at the bar waiting to be served for what seemed like an eternity.
Now, with the benefit of a night’s sleep between me and last night’s encounter, I can see that my antics weren’t particularly sensible or mature. In an effort to show strength I showed weakness. My ex will get the impression that whatshe does still matters to me. She will take some satisfaction from sorting her life out quicker than me.
She will probably think I still care about her. Honestly, though, she would be wrong. I care about being part of a couple. I care about having someone to share things with. I care about having someone to sleep with. Seeing my ex last night just brought it all home to me. It isn’t that I want to be back with my ex. I don’t. I just want to be with someone. Yes, I am jealous that she has got there before me, but I didn’t for one minute last night wish that I was mister comb-over. OK, maybe for one minute…
I learned a valuable lesson last night. Not the lesson you might be thinking of, but a completely different one. Always empty the sand from your trainers before you walk into the house. I spent half of my morning hoovering up the mess. I tried to blame the children but my parents, not to mention the boys, weren’t having it.
Neither Jack nor Sean had any inkling as to who combover Mark was or where my ex met him. Without putting any pressure on them I asked them to let me know if they saw him about the house in the coming days. As far as I could tell he wasn’t there when I dropped the boys off at their mum’s after their respective cricket matches. My ex was though, standing hands on hips in the doorway. I apologised for my performance in the pub. ‘Fuck off,’ was her somewhat terse response. At least we are still on speaking terms.
I spent the afternoon diligently filling in a couple of application forms. I am not quite sure what an ‘asset protection manager’ is but I am sure I can Google it if they decide to interview me.
Tuesday 3 rd June
I am now committed to renting the flat off Martin Way. I have paid far too much money over to the estate agents. Subject to references, I hope to be able to move in in a couple of weeks. I am still not sure I am doing the right thing but for my own self-esteem as much as anything, I need to have ‘my own place’. I won’t dwell yet on the fact that it isn’t actually mine. I told my parents the good news.
My mum had one last ditch attempt to get me to go home to my ex. ‘Graham, are you sure you can’t just move back in to your old house? I am absolutely certain your family would still take you back if you asked.’
I thought about telling her about Mr comb-over but I didn’t have the energy. Instead I just shrugged and told her it wasn’t happening.
‘Well if you won’t go back then at least reassure us that you will continue bringing Jack and Sean round to see us,’ she followed up. At what point do your parents start to care more about their daughter-in-law and their grandchildren than they do about their own children?
Amy and Susie the shih poo were waiting for us at the Windmill when Albus and I arrived tonight. To lay my cards on the table, I have really got the hots for Amy and it isn’t just because it’s been a while since, you know.
We had another great night dog-walking and drinking, at the end of which we at last exchanged phone numbers. Amy suggested that we should engineer a weekend dog walking ‘chance’ encounter when we had our kids with us.
I am not sure of the etiquette of dating when you have kids. At what point should you introduce your children to your date? I let my kids have a say in
‘Oh grow up, Graham,’ my ex said. I actually stuck my tongue out at them as they turned and re-joined their group of happy couples. I then stood feeling like Billy no mates at the bar waiting to be served for what seemed like an eternity.
Now, with the benefit of a night’s sleep between me and last night’s encounter, I can see that my antics weren’t particularly sensible or mature. In an effort to show strength I showed weakness. My ex will get the impression that whatshe does still matters to me. She will take some satisfaction from sorting her life out quicker than me.
She will probably think I still care about her. Honestly, though, she would be wrong. I care about being part of a couple. I care about having someone to share things with. I care about having someone to sleep with. Seeing my ex last night just brought it all home to me. It isn’t that I want to be back with my ex. I don’t. I just want to be with someone. Yes, I am jealous that she has got there before me, but I didn’t for one minute last night wish that I was mister comb-over. OK, maybe for one minute…
I learned a valuable lesson last night. Not the lesson you might be thinking of, but a completely different one. Always empty the sand from your trainers before you walk into the house. I spent half of my morning hoovering up the mess. I tried to blame the children but my parents, not to mention the boys, weren’t having it.
Neither Jack nor Sean had any inkling as to who combover Mark was or where my ex met him. Without putting any pressure on them I asked them to let me know if they saw him about the house in the coming days. As far as I could tell he wasn’t there when I dropped the boys off at their mum’s after their respective cricket matches. My ex was though, standing hands on hips in the doorway. I apologised for my performance in the pub. ‘Fuck off,’ was her somewhat terse response. At least we are still on speaking terms.
I spent the afternoon diligently filling in a couple of application forms. I am not quite sure what an ‘asset protection manager’ is but I am sure I can Google it if they decide to interview me.
Tuesday 3 rd June
I am now committed to renting the flat off Martin Way. I have paid far too much money over to the estate agents. Subject to references, I hope to be able to move in in a couple of weeks. I am still not sure I am doing the right thing but for my own self-esteem as much as anything, I need to have ‘my own place’. I won’t dwell yet on the fact that it isn’t actually mine. I told my parents the good news.
My mum had one last ditch attempt to get me to go home to my ex. ‘Graham, are you sure you can’t just move back in to your old house? I am absolutely certain your family would still take you back if you asked.’
I thought about telling her about Mr comb-over but I didn’t have the energy. Instead I just shrugged and told her it wasn’t happening.
‘Well if you won’t go back then at least reassure us that you will continue bringing Jack and Sean round to see us,’ she followed up. At what point do your parents start to care more about their daughter-in-law and their grandchildren than they do about their own children?
Amy and Susie the shih poo were waiting for us at the Windmill when Albus and I arrived tonight. To lay my cards on the table, I have really got the hots for Amy and it isn’t just because it’s been a while since, you know.
We had another great night dog-walking and drinking, at the end of which we at last exchanged phone numbers. Amy suggested that we should engineer a weekend dog walking ‘chance’ encounter when we had our kids with us.
I am not sure of the etiquette of dating when you have kids. At what point should you introduce your children to your date? I let my kids have a say in
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