A Poem for those who find themselves single and middle aged!

I should be glad to be alive

But I hate being single aged 55!

My friends on Facebook are having fun

But they're all in couples, in twos not just one.

Romantic dinners and hikes in the Dales

Cream teas, spa days and trips to North Wales

The closest I get is a trip to the SPAR

It's just round the corner so not very far

A BIG bar of chocolate, ready meal for my tea

Which I eat while I binge Grey's Anatomy

 

Perhaps I need a new hobby, should I join a gym?

A book club? A dance class? I could fit something in

It just takes too much effort to move off the sofa

Far easier to sit here, a permanent loafer.

 

I could scroll on my phone, do online dating

Read profiles fake yet FASCINATING!

I'll send a wave, a smile, whatever

I like to think I'm being clever

But not a sausage, no reply

I add a new photo - I really do try!

 

Maybe I'm just not the greatest catch

Perhaps I am part of a faulty batch

And sadly I'm now out of guarantee

As I climb the stairs, you can hear my knees.

 

But people find love when it's meant to be

Cupid's arrow may fly but it never hits me

Perhaps I'm looking in all the wrong spots

My What Three Words muddled, words/three/what????

 

So, I wrote these words to commiserate

With all who despair at the lack of dates

Except the ones in the dried fruit aisle

And I do hope my words have at least made you smile :-)

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!

Inspiration Finally Found

We were all a bit skittish at Wednesday's writing group zoom meeting, although there was much discussion there was little writing.

Had we lost our mojo? Or had the prompt of thinking about a memory turned us into chattering teenagers, as at least two of us pondered our school days? Crisp new uniforms and shiny shoes.

I've continued pondering...

I thought about gingham school dresses and how I still wore one at secondary school. It was on the official uniform list and my mum made me a new one in a more grown up style, but I was the only one in summery blue and white checks.

Perhaps I didn't want to grow up as fast as everyone else.

There was also some talk about PANTOUM poetry, which I had never heard of before so I googled it. This was the best illustration of how to write one.

I've decided I quite like poetic form, I like the challenge of fitting words into a defined rhythm, which is very odd because I usually hate filling in forms and I'm actually a writing outside of the box kind of girl! As ever I am complex and contrary.

Which leads us full circle to gingham dresses being slightly out of place in those early days at "big" school. Navigating puberty and all the changes that occur between being a child and growing up to be an adult. 

Eventually inspiration struck and I came up with this...

First Love

    

Clinging on to childhood

In my gingham school dress

Sunny summer days so good

No boys I want to impress

 

In my gingham school dress

Carefree days of daisy chains

No boys I want to impress

Skipping down country lanes

 

Carefree days of daisy chains

Love me - love me not

Skipping down country lanes

Childhood all forgot

 

Love me - love me not

Catch his eye, heart beats fast

Childhood all forgot

Holiday romance doesn’t last

 

Catch his eye, heart beats fast

First ever pre-teen crush

Summer romance doesn’t last

Heart all turned to mush

 

First ever pre-teen crush

Sunny summer days so good

Heart all turned to mush

Clinging on to childhood 

Another google search and I've found a list of 168 poetic forms - which could keep me going for some time...

...watch this space!

A Rondel of Unrequited Fluff

 

The first Wednesday of each month is always the most creative as I click the zoom link for my writing group meeting.

It is such a joy to be able to join my writerly friends in these strange times.

Last night was no exception as we learnt all about Rondel poems, starting with one by Chaucer, Rondel of Merciless Beauty, read here by the mesmerising Jude Law…

 

We were encouraged to stick to Chaucer’s rhymes to make things easier, so of course I broke those rules immediately and didn’t! 

And we were told our love poem could be about anything, a beloved pet, a landscape or even smelly feet, “it’s just a bit of fluff” said PoetWoman who was leading the evening.

Well the word fluff stuck and I couldn’t get enough of the stuff, resulting in this little ditty….

I do hope it brightens your day 😊

 

A Rondel of Unrequited Fluff

 

You stretch and yawn and catch me unawares

There’s your belly button full of fluff

I reach my finger, but not far enough

 

I am bereft, can only stop and stare

My heart’s like jelly, made from wobbly stuff

You stretch and yawn and catch me unawares

There’s your belly button full of fluff

 

Upon my word you tempt me to despair

My life from this moment on will be tough

I dry my tears upon my silken cuff

You yawn and stretch and catch me unawares

There’s your belly button full of fluff

I reach my finger, but not far enough

The non-dating dilemma

Earlier this week I updated you on my #Stoma66 challenge progress so it’s only fair I update you on the other “project” I have on the go - the online dating.

You might think because I’ve gone all quiet perhaps I’m playing my cards close to my chest and enjoying a whirlwind romance away from prying eyes…. Hahaha

No such luck, sad to say the online “dating” hasn’t even produced one date. And this week’s potential matches are guys I’ve already looked at and rejected.

I’ve given up with “liking” anyone as it never seems to be reciprocated. Maybe I don’t really know the rules of this game.

I toyed with the idea of writing a message to a would-be poet, possibly even in verse to try and get a favourable response.

But in his profile, he said he imagined eyes meeting across the aisles of a supermarket and ending up frolicking midst the salad leaves.

Hmmmm – that’s not quite how I envisaged our beginning.

For me, we’d meet in a bookshop, somewhere between thrillers and romance. What first caught our attention was that we’d picked up books each other had already read. The meeting of eyes and minds an unexpected bonus.

Conversation would flow naturally as we discussed plot twists and much-loved characters, we’d recommend a book for each other and swap numbers arranging to meet in the near future, over coffee, maybe even dinner to discuss the stories further.

I’d dash home, devouring every word of the book he had chosen especially for me. Imagining him as the complex but sexy male lead character. I’d fall in love with every line.

Our once upon a time meeting would progress – hopefully concluding with an inevitable Jane Austen style happy ever after, a few minor ups and downs along the way but somehow even from the start we would know the trajectory our lives would take.

I thought online dating was the answer but maybe I just have to hang around in bookshops instead!

The thing is I thought actual dating might be fun, meeting new people, going out to new places, expanding my horizons with fresh experiences.

Turns out in the last few days I have filled up my diary with lunches and outings and I’m not sure if I can fit anything else into my social calendar.

At this precise moment in time of writing I’m content and happy with life, solo or not, of course this could change as quick as a click of my fingers.

Strangely this was my exactly mindset when Andrew left a note for me asking me on a date. Happy single with no time of inclination to invite a man into my life.

Perhaps the perfect man is right around the corner… I’ll bump into him, spill my orange juice, discover he actually OWNS a bookshop and have a surreal experience in his kitchen – hang on that’s the plot for Notting Hill.

But that all worked out in the end … and to quote some other favourite romantic films….

“… everything will be all right in the end. So if it is not all right, it is not yet the end.”

And how will it end?

“It’s a mystery!”

(Bonus points if you know where both quotes come from!)

Scarily Honest or Honestly Scary?

Well I've been trying this online dating malarkey for just over a week.

The online aspect of it is great, it's quite compelling scrolling on my phone and seeing just who is out there. I'm convinced I've found the right dating site to suit my needs.

As for the actual dating side of things.... well the nearest I've got to a date this week was a date biscuit! A bit like a fig roll, not terribly satisfying and won't go there again!

I've been pro-active, life's too short to sit here waiting, I've "liked" a few profiles.

No 1. Likes visiting the Edinburgh Fringe - well as a lover of the arts  I'm quite partial myself to a bit of drama, comedy and stand up. But the tragedy is he never responded to my wave....

Undeterred I moved on to ...

No 2. Can't remember much about his likes and dislikes but there was a gorgeous photo of him with smouldering eyes I could gaze at for hours. Set my heart a flutter but the feeling wasn't reciprocated.

Pushing the geographically boundaries further I found ....

No 3. Staunch Remainer and lover of Victoria sponge cake.  Maybe I could bake him a cake iced in blue with stars around the edge? A bit too quirky???

Still no reply - not a sausage!!!

Maybe my own profile is too HONEST. I did make it clear at the start that I was a widow and cancer survivor, but I did draw a line and stopped before explaining what an ileostomy bag was!

I think being a widow and cancer survivor shows real strength of character. But perhaps it's just a little too daunting for someone else to contemplate. Too much baggage?

Or perhaps the photos showing off my various shades of hair colour makes me look SCARY, too challenging?

Where is the man prepared and brave enough to take me on?

I was always told you have to kiss several frogs along the path to ever lasting love, I'm all puckered up but if the wind changes direction my face will stay in this distorted fashion. As if I wasn't scary enough! HAHAHA

As you can see I've not lost my weird sense of humour and if my adventures make you, my readers, giggle then quite honestly I'm happy with my lot and in no way scared of a solo future....

.....just wishing, hoping, praying and daydreaming that things might one day change!