A message to the two men at the bar…

Just how do people meet these days? Don’t give me that cliched answer of online, it’s a horrible way to connect, in my opinion.

I want to meet the old-fashioned way; a man picks up my accidently dropped glove in the street, our eyes meet and BOOM – love at first sight.

Or in a bookshop – why is that NOT a THING? Perusing the aisles, steer clear of freaky horror and bloody crime sections, head straight for Romance? Fantasy? Probably contemporary fiction is the best and safest place 😉

meeting in a bookshop from the film Dan in Real Life 

I can only dream of meetings in these locations. I file that thought away in the “future novels I may never write” folder.

Hilarity aside I was delighted to discover that a bar, near enough to me, but just far enough away to not be totally on my doorstep, regularly holds a singles night. Cherry* (not her real name) who runs the establishment is a bit of a matchmaker. You can tell she is itching to buy a hat for her first successful wedding.

Fifth Sunday hats by Ben Marc - discontinued

I’ve been to two such evenings now but there is something distinctly lacking. Although the men have been making enquiries about the event few have the oomph required to actually show up.

Considering it is a “Singles Night” most people turn up with friends for moral support but only a handful of us there last night had ventured out completely solo.

Last night I got talking to Jayne* (not her real name) who I had met last month and we soon caught up with what we’d been up to since we last met. Last month there had been a table of us, yesterday  just us two.

We both agreed Matt Hancock is creepy, but otherwise our political views meandered in opposite directions. We talked about books, there is some common ground there but Jayne is a really foodie with an appetite for travel. I’ve not visited half the places she has and gourmet food doesn’t excite me in quite the same way.

I don’t want to diss the sisterhood but I really don’t want to be stuck talking to her next month, just because we are the only two solo singles! To be honest I’m sure she feels the same way.

If it were a date I would have moved on sooner, but you can’t really leave a lone woman hanging, it would be rude.

Cherry came over and told us the two men at the bar were single.

“We have two empty seats at our table.” How bold was I? We desperately needed a spark to keep the flagging conversation going.

“Shall I send them over?” I nodded, feeling giddy and I swear I was only drinking lemonade.

But the men dithered and took too long to make a move, ordering more drinks for Dutch courage, one disappearing outside for a vape.

Meanwhile Jayne and I had grown bored of each other’s company we finished our drinks, decided to cut out losses and left in opposite directions.

Should we have waited longer and given them more of a chance? They looked nothing like Matt Hancock which is a promising start. There’s always next month I suppose, If I can pluck up the courage to venture out once more, it really isn’t easy for any of us.

So, my message to the two men at the bar is if you come again and see a cardigan wearing, bespectacled middle-aged woman with pink hair sat in the corner, that will be me – please come and say hello!

There's a man on my roof...

There is a man on the roof and it sounds as if he’s clanging a dustbin lid above the chimney, the noise is reverberating all the way down to the lounge.

That’s what it sounds like because that is pretty much what is happening. The metal lid will close my chimney and forever stop the birds from flying down. I will never again have to hear the flap of wings beating on the back of the electric fire, which I so rarely use – who wants a living room to smell of toasted dust?

view from my capped chimney pot

No longer will I be compelled, with some fear and trepidation to pull the fire away from the gaping hole to release said bird. The small ones have great navigational skills and are on autopilot for the freedom of the open doors.

However, my last visitor was a dozy pigeon, give him his due he’s been in there a couple of days by the time I steeled myself up to let him out so perhaps he’s not totally to blame for his disorientation. I had a sixth sense that he would cause me trouble and lo and behold he flapped around bouncing off the ceiling a few times before landing on the carpet. I threw a blanket over him gathered him up, which made me feel very brave, and dumped him outside.

For a fleeting moment I thought he might attempt to get back in, so I shooed him off and shut the door quick!

No lasting damage – thank goodness its not a real open fire covered with soot, we had a sooty bird print on the ceiling in our old house from a similar event, most people never noticed or commented, but I always knew.

I just need to clear up all the bird poo and detritus hidden behind the electric fire. I’m guessing it will make good compost on my raised beds – a job for a brighter day.

The chimney sweep, who fitted the cap is my third gentleman caller this week.

On Monday it was the boiler man and Tuesday a decorator giving me a quote for decorating some bedrooms.

I’m not being sexist; it doesn’t have to be a handyMAN who does these jobs. I’m all for girl power and the sisterhood. I admire anyone who has these practical skills I don’t possess.

I can do basic knitting and sewing. I can bleed radiators and use a plunger. I know I am not completely incompetent but sometime it’s nice to find the right people to help out, especially when you are on your own. 

Especially when you are feeling fragile… but more on that another day!