'Gobshite', noteworthiness, rabbit's foot

Communicatively, it has been an interesting past 24 hours or so, in fact, so interesting, that as I observe Barton pigeons taking shelter from heaving rain, I am inclined to suspect that each pigeon carries with it a most important missive. Let’s hope that the rain does not create any blurring effects.

Now then, chastisement - it happened, perhaps not unreasonably. However, I must blog-defend self against the suggestion of my not respecting Emma. Referring to someone as a, a-hem, ‘gobshite’ – in a public forum – may not quite ring of ‘love sweet love’. However, ‘gobshite’, used as it was on Tuesday evening, in an affectionate ‘self-deprecating’ sense, is not so loaded. It was the term that Emma – laughingly - used of herself when I drop-jawed upon hearing that I was already a known quantity to her grandmother. As it is, I have a lot of respect for Emma – she is a fine wit, can ask good Critical questions, has a sensitivity towards young Alex that is hugely attractive, and seems to capably spin many more plates than what number I have eaten hot dinners from. And if you’re now thinking that a raw nerve was touched, you’re right. That said, Jodie’s comment reminded me of this news story – which I did like a lot when I first read it.

Now then, on to lighter matters. You may remember that last week I foolishly (!) enacted an attempt at ‘doing grown-up’. In a nutshell, a text was sent to an ex – Harmony - enquiring as to how she was (without forewarning and in a rather vague fashion, she’d casually dipped back into my life 10 months ago). Well, a response to the text was received yesterday – in short note form – as had been invited. I said I’d share the outcome, so here it is – in bold, I have inserted the thoughts that struck me as I read it:

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To Shane Hubert Wexford (bit formal)

Thank you for the good times (a sweet yet ominous beginning) and the lessons I have learned and am still learning from the bad times. (Woooooooooahhhhhhh)

We connected and became disconnected. (Fair point) When I came to see you last Easter I came to see how you are, but I also came to say Goodbye. (What! You could have MENTIONED THAT! You make me sound like some kind of… fucking hell!)

I wasn’t clear (too fucking right), I’m happy (good, but Jesus Christ!), I’m in love with a beautiful man (fair detail – there was something of a bi- history) and I need and want you not to contact me again (oh Lordy, this is weird – I do not like the language you are using here).

If I happen to see you again by accident (an accident it would certainly be) I bear no malice. I just want my life to be separate from your’s. (I wonder if you had some help penning this) Have a good one. (What?) I wish you well in all you do. (Oh, do not go saying things that will make it hard for me to dislike you)

Goodbye from

Harmony Rosetta Hansen (That formality again)
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As ever, names have been changed to protect the profoundly guilty!

I turned to my mobile phone: Names – Erase – One by one – scrolled down to Harmony – select – confirm delete. Sorted. Dramatically. I then took a somewhat shaky ego-battered Shane to the shower. As quickly as I’d been irritated by the note, I did feel that the unpleasant clarity of it was a relief. That said, I also felt like seven thousand different kinds of wally-plonker-twit-tw**-arsehole for having thought that it was a good idea to have a bash at doing grown-up. It was a short note, and I felt it to be beautifully written – despite the language, the tone that I read, and the sense that it was horrible yet mature at the same time. Part of me wanted to think of her as a gobshite, but that would have been unfair – and I do mean that. On stepping out of the shower (which is located off the ground floor back porch), I dropped a dripping foot into Delia’s meaty food bowl. I swore, then laughed.

Have/Continue to have/Hope you had, a good weekend.