Ten years on

So, something struck me. Purely by chance I happened to look back.

I say purely by chance, it wasn't. I noticed that I'd hit 9000 page views. A lovely round number. So, I thought I'd see where that reckoned me over my 245 posts.

And so it came up - my first post was 11 July 2005; meaning the blog is today TEN YEARS OLD.

Now, I have to say that we have to ignore the fact that I posted a mere 19 posts before shutting off again for almost a full six years.

But anyway. From the first few days of the blog I saw a few startling things.

Firstly, was my almost glancing reference to the events of 7 July 2005. I don't mention the reason, just the date. If you need to know about the bombings on London public transport that killed 52 people within hours of the announcement that London would hold the 2012 Olympic Games, have a read on Wikipedia.

What I also manage to belittle is how close I was to being involved in the events of "seven/seven". Seventh July was a Thursday (I seem to erroneously refer to it being a Friday in my original post). I was involved in a court case in Leeds which was expected to last Monday to Wednesday, so I had booked Thursday and Friday as holiday - I needed to book Friday holiday to go to London, it just made sense to be out of the office all week and busy myself in London, living as I was then with my parents.

So I'd booked a train to arrive into London Kings Cross at 8:38 am. This would have meant me getting a tube probably ever so slightly before 8:50am.

The trial overran. I didn't travel on the Thursday - instead whilst I was having the 'unexpected' second lunch with Susie we were watching the events happen. I did go on the Friday though and was on the first train back into Kings Cross. My blitheness at reporting this I think comes from my want to minimise my claim to the day because so many other people have so much closer or more legitimate a claim to reference or ownership over that day.

Anyhow, you'll notice I was distracted by First Date. Well, First Date is now dead. One of the things I've noticed from my early blogs is how incoherent, distracted and basically assumed the reader had so much more knowledge than an ordinary chap may have. I obviously didn't read my previous post before writing the new one (though the same could be said of today).


First Date was a lovely, gorgeous chap called Steven Johnson. He was the first chap I met after splitting up with my ex and was exactly what I needed - pretty, funny and with no expectations. We tried to arrange another date before my Seychelles trip for my brother's wedding but couldn't; so when I got back I messaged him. It never quite happened. Then I saw him out on what was his 26th birthday. He was so beautiful. He bounced over to me, kissed me on the lips and told me it was his birthday. I kissed him back and wished him happy birthday. He said I should go back with him and I said if I and he were both still out at the end of the night then definitely. I bought him a drink then we each rejoined our friendship groups; still coyly glancing at each other. Then we each left the bar - him to go home with his housemate, me to carry on clubbing with my friends.

He didn't wake up the next morning.

He stopped breathing in his sleep.

This actually continues to devastate me perhaps an awful lot more than I let on. I know it's ten years ago, we weren't that close - some could say that because we never actually got to first date I am a one-nighter. But we weren't, we were friends. And he was always so happy to see me. It's also a very stark reminder of my own mortality. I know people die, my grandparents have all died; my parents regale me each week of a list of people in their village or that they worked with who have gone. But old people die - not 26 year-olds that you go clubbing with, get off with, wake up in bed with. If only I'd been in bed with him that night - like he wanted.

But what of the Ex? You may remember (and if not I'll helpfully post the link so you can read) that I was struggling with my Ex?

I don't think I ever explained. The Ex and I had dated for around 9 months (technically 2 stints of 4 months with one off in the middle). I met my Ex in August 2004, we dated, we went to Boston (the American one) and he spent the whole time there in a foul mood basically on the basis that it wasn't New York (he chose Boston over New York on the basis he'd been to New York already, he wanted to try Boston and my views didn't matter because I'd never been to America at all). We split up on return from Boston, but then - him getting needy before Christmas, me not having a strong enough will-power to resist - we got back together a few weeks before Christmas. 

Then, on Christmas day, my dad decided that we had to make the decision who was going to the Seychelles for my brother's wedding. Well, my Ex decided he was going and so that was that - his ticket was bought.

Within weeks the issues were there - his niggling, his aggravation, my general annoyance. Let's remember, though, that this is February - the coldest, darkest time of the year. I get bad in February, I know that.

But it didn't resolve itself; and by May he was annoying me more than ever. I was looking for a way out; but if I broke it off, morally I would be responsible for the cost of his ticket to the Seychelles. I was a trainee solicitor. So often I convinced myself that all I had to do was get through the holiday with him - enjoy it even - and then make a decision.

Anyhow, things came to a head on Friday 13th May 2005. That would make sense, wouldn't it? On the Saturday we had to go to his friend's wedding; but on the Friday I was on a course in Birmingham. He regularly moaned about having to have a weekend away every month - normally somewhere expensive (that's where Boston came in) but I tried to tie him down with cheaper, local alternatives. So on the basis I was in Birmingham on a Friday, it was somewhere different, we decided to get a hotel for the night.

Then happened what I will forever call the "catching the Ex giving someone else a blow job in a nightclub toilet in Birmingham" incident. It kind of speaks for itself.

The Ex was travelling to Birmingham but couldn't find the hotel. He kept repeatedly driving around the ringroad, unable to find the hotel. He kept repeatedly ringing me telling me how he was unable to find the hotel. I was no help as I didn't know Birmingham and I certainly didn't know where he was. Anyhow, he found the hotel and was alarmingly - disarmingly - calm about things. The Ex was never calm about things like these. But that day, he was.

Anyhow, we booked in to one of the eeriest converted lunatic asylums you've ever stayed in. The weekend was certainly going well. But, the hotel was easy walking distance of the gay scene, so we walked into the gay scene and had - until the Catching The Ex Giving Someone Else A Blow Job In A Nightclub Toilet In Birmingham incident - actually quite a nice night.

Towards the end of the night we were thinking of leaving. The Ex needed the toilet before we went so I was left holding the drinks. But then I started getting needy. Really needy. So I abandonned the drinks and went to the toilets too.

There was no-one at the urinals and only one of the cubicles was locked. This had to be the Ex - I'd seen him go to the toilets, I hadn't seen him come out. So I had my wee and then I thought I'd pop my head over the partition, see if he was ok.

He was more than ok.

So I left the club and went back to the hotel.

He started messaging me - asking me where I was. I didn't reply. Instead I contacted the night porter and informed him that my companion would not be staying the night but would be collecting his bags from reception which were outside the room. The night porter responded with "as if I don't have enough to do". I'm not sure how busy the life of a night porter is.

Next thing I know the Ex is pounding on the door, asking me to let him in. My response of "I saw you sucking that other guy's cock" was met with a few moments of silence, before the night porter emitted "come on mate, don't think you're staying in there tonight."

I turned off my mobile, I unplugged the hotel phone when he started ringing that. The next morning I texted him when I was safely on my train - told him to go to the wedding, just without me.

That night was weird. I was disappointed, and yet relieved. This got me out of the whole thing, scot free  (and holiday-refund free) - and yet he still had the bloody gall to cheat on me.

Anyhow, after splitting, he - and, to be fair, I - wanted to stay friends. I'm not a fan of having life-long enemies. However, he made it difficult. I used to pop in on my way home from work; but he always wanted sex. I exasperated this on Day Two. I think at that point, I had managed to put my foot down - refusing to see the Ex again because he only ever wanted sex.

And I've never seen him since.

We're friends on Facebook in the same way as I am friends with 400 or so people that I used to know. He's been in a long-term relationship with someone older than him for a good 9 years or so - so almost as soon as he split up with me. But the seem happy, so that's good.

(Just by way of information, he did give me a Pulitzer-Prize winning reasoning behind it - apparently the chap really fancied ME; wanted to get with me. My Ex informed him the only way this would happen was by way of threesome. Chap seemed happy with that plan, so my ex then had to determine that he was clean before even propositioning it to me. The only way to check the cleanliness was - obviously - an oral inspection). 

I've moved jobs three times and moved out of my parents' since then. I've been in my house 9 years now, albeit I am finally putting some finishing touches to the last room before I hopefully sell it and move to London - a long overdue move (more on this later).

I have college written down as a thing to update on, but it is kind of a given. I kept going to college, I got my AS in Psychology (B) but then they transferred the course to another campus so couldn't carry on.

The word terranomically still hasn't taken off, though to be fair I haven't really used it myself. Think astronomically, only not quite so melodramatic - only earth-shattering.

Otherwise (and I'm not doing a full retrospective here) you'll notice the blog is less personal. I think one of the reasons I struggled past post 19 was that it was there is only so much that you can say when you day involves the same, isolated car commute to work, the same (or, if different, so inherently microcosmically so that no-one would understand the difference without getting very quickly bored) day at work, the same trip home, and the same evening at home as every single other night (weekends excepted). My rants off on sexuality, technology, even branding and advertising, allow me to say something when otherwise I would perhaps have nothing else to say.

Obviously there are still the same old spelling, grammatical and syntax errors - there always will be. I'm either writing it on the move or when I've had a drink (or both); I can't be bothered to proof-read my own copy (and psychology says if you do, you will read what you think you wrote anyway). I do, however, think the posts are somewhat more coherent.

So, that's an update on the first few days from ten years ago...

Blog on!