"In it for the long game" - ouch
It is lightly breezy night here in Barton. The town sleeps, whilst a burglar burgles and a bugler bugles. But surely the bugler will wake the town, no? Ah, no, for the burglar has attached a silencer to the bugle - it simply makes a pppffttt noise.
Seeing-in of new year was just right - drove down to north London around midday - quicker than expected, gentle cocktailing mixed with a stream of undemanding 4-player board games from 6pm up until 11:15pm, followed by quick dip into 'town', a bell did ring, fireworks fired, people seemed happy, police relaxed, much glass on ground, Kay and I chatted with a Bulgarian steward ("my job is to stop people jumping into the river, but if they do I will not follow them") who had been shipped in with a bunch of steward pals from Wales, returned to flat, slept well. Evening of Jan 01 I visited another PhDist pal - Lisa - first time we'd shared space outside of vaguely work-related contexts (vaguely work is what we do). Was very good - she asked many questions, talked quickly and challengingly about relationships (presently she throws hope, time and money at an online personal ads site), she understood that new year's day was not apt for reference to 'PhD', and had cooked a ginger cake. Early departure - roads empty - Sunday morning, just in time to collect and drop Pete and Marie at the airport - a week in Barcelona. Lucky - though deserving - gits. Returned to the ranch and happened upon the formula "3 pages of work-related reading = 2 hours of late afternoon sleep = no way I'm going to get to sleep at a reasonable hour tonight".
Had also managed to call in at Barton sports centre on my return from airport - the sportschild manning reception leapt to her feet following my simple "I'm new to town, can you tell me what facilities you've got here?" and proceeded with the "New Year's Resolutionists' Guided Tour". I should have worn a hat proclaiming "I am sad and unfit and cannot touch my toes". I cringed at the exercise and weights rooms - all runners, rowers and lifters therein inwardly chanting the Barton town get-fit mantra: "Firmer females pull fitter farmers". Indeed.
As well as blogging, I've been giving a more detailed account of my interactions and dialogue with Emma to recentish acquaintance Leeds Joe - a witty wordy 50 year old who also originates from the farrer north. From my anecdotalising, I am being told with complete confidence and not a scintilla of doubt that Emma is interested, that she still has sex with Ed - but doesn't love him (a most warming thought), and that if I'm serious I've got to be "in it for the long game" because, like the man said, "she is interested". Such a crisp form of feedback - whilst possibly being totally and utterly gob-smackingly blush-inducingly nut-crunchingly wrong - is good because it's encouraging but in 'real' not-so-starry-eyed kind of a way, however, it's also a bit of a deflator to think that if Mr Leeds Joe is right then Ms Emma is choosing to locate herself in a not so satisfying situation. I suspect a sense of financial security is relevant to that - Ed has a serious job and I suspect serious prospects. There then follows the question of how much respect could I feel for a person who would be led by this instinct. And then there follows the question of how much does their having a son figure as a mitigating factor in this situation. Final thought on this - for now: encroach no further, stay focused on more definite personal interests, remain open to dialogue and some flirting.
Had a chat with PhDist Catherine earlier - a good local egg in a similar PhD situ to self - we have agreed that a biggish chunk of the first part of 2005 will be agressive on us, I believe her words were "absolutely fu*!ing awful". However, assuming we've not tore each other's heads off having become arch enemies (we work in close proximity), we can take a holiday late in the year, I believe her words were "Wales possibly" - now there's a dark sense of humour. And on that note...
The bugler's silencer has become detached. The burglar has been arrested. Now I will sleep. Good evening.
Seeing-in of new year was just right - drove down to north London around midday - quicker than expected, gentle cocktailing mixed with a stream of undemanding 4-player board games from 6pm up until 11:15pm, followed by quick dip into 'town', a bell did ring, fireworks fired, people seemed happy, police relaxed, much glass on ground, Kay and I chatted with a Bulgarian steward ("my job is to stop people jumping into the river, but if they do I will not follow them") who had been shipped in with a bunch of steward pals from Wales, returned to flat, slept well. Evening of Jan 01 I visited another PhDist pal - Lisa - first time we'd shared space outside of vaguely work-related contexts (vaguely work is what we do). Was very good - she asked many questions, talked quickly and challengingly about relationships (presently she throws hope, time and money at an online personal ads site), she understood that new year's day was not apt for reference to 'PhD', and had cooked a ginger cake. Early departure - roads empty - Sunday morning, just in time to collect and drop Pete and Marie at the airport - a week in Barcelona. Lucky - though deserving - gits. Returned to the ranch and happened upon the formula "3 pages of work-related reading = 2 hours of late afternoon sleep = no way I'm going to get to sleep at a reasonable hour tonight".
Had also managed to call in at Barton sports centre on my return from airport - the sportschild manning reception leapt to her feet following my simple "I'm new to town, can you tell me what facilities you've got here?" and proceeded with the "New Year's Resolutionists' Guided Tour". I should have worn a hat proclaiming "I am sad and unfit and cannot touch my toes". I cringed at the exercise and weights rooms - all runners, rowers and lifters therein inwardly chanting the Barton town get-fit mantra: "Firmer females pull fitter farmers". Indeed.
As well as blogging, I've been giving a more detailed account of my interactions and dialogue with Emma to recentish acquaintance Leeds Joe - a witty wordy 50 year old who also originates from the farrer north. From my anecdotalising, I am being told with complete confidence and not a scintilla of doubt that Emma is interested, that she still has sex with Ed - but doesn't love him (a most warming thought), and that if I'm serious I've got to be "in it for the long game" because, like the man said, "she is interested". Such a crisp form of feedback - whilst possibly being totally and utterly gob-smackingly blush-inducingly nut-crunchingly wrong - is good because it's encouraging but in 'real' not-so-starry-eyed kind of a way, however, it's also a bit of a deflator to think that if Mr Leeds Joe is right then Ms Emma is choosing to locate herself in a not so satisfying situation. I suspect a sense of financial security is relevant to that - Ed has a serious job and I suspect serious prospects. There then follows the question of how much respect could I feel for a person who would be led by this instinct. And then there follows the question of how much does their having a son figure as a mitigating factor in this situation. Final thought on this - for now: encroach no further, stay focused on more definite personal interests, remain open to dialogue and some flirting.
Had a chat with PhDist Catherine earlier - a good local egg in a similar PhD situ to self - we have agreed that a biggish chunk of the first part of 2005 will be agressive on us, I believe her words were "absolutely fu*!ing awful". However, assuming we've not tore each other's heads off having become arch enemies (we work in close proximity), we can take a holiday late in the year, I believe her words were "Wales possibly" - now there's a dark sense of humour. And on that note...
The bugler's silencer has become detached. The burglar has been arrested. Now I will sleep. Good evening.
posted by Shane @ 12:34 am
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