Making a Connection

Well, after last nights introspective musings/moanings, me and my wife actually did it. Neither the children were around and it wasn't in bed; both meaningful factors. I may not have been as good as Chelsea strip wearing David Mellor in his prime (one for my older readers there) but it... was... OK.

Thanks God. Life has some sort of meaning again other than trying to download obscure 60's garage tracks. There's also that optimistic buzz were you tell yourself that next time you'll fiddle about a bit more there, jiggle around more here and work on that Brazilian samba movement and it will all be fantastic in the Lovearium. Of course the reality will be demanding kids, work, creditors and the wiggling will have to wait till another snatched random moment. If death doesn't come first.

Talking of which, there's my new Father-in-Law. He is 86 years old and has been bedridden for maybe 2 years, sick and knackered for another 4 years before that.

My old Father in Law died at 77 and was active and lively up to the moment the final big heart attack got him. A bad reaction to bee sting a few weeks earlier was the catalyst. If not for that he might be around now.

Anyway, Bruce the new guy, the Stepfather-in-Law, is held in stasis by about half a dozen contrasting medical conditions. There's the strokes, the diabetes, the Bakers Cysts, the Alzheimers, the dodgy ticker... I could go on. All these things seem to react against each other in such a way that no one thing can kill him. Meanwhile, my Mother-in-Law, the carer, will almost certainly die before Bruce. Worn out by looking after him. We help, rarely and it will be on our conscience if this happens. Bruce takes over 50 separate medicines every single day, has various nurses, therapists and so on visiting (Try getting someone to come and visit if you have a sick child). He is supposed to do various light exercises to keep himself alive even longer.

Now, monged out though Bruce might be he is not falling for this. His quality of life is shit and while he is prepared to swallow dozens of meds he is not going to do various weedy little stretches to elongate the suffering.


God's plan here:

LIFE AS AN ENDURANCE TEST. POINTS LOST FOR COPPING OUT WITH AN O/D - OR NOT DOING PRESCRIBED EXERCISES?

SOMEONE ELSES LIFE AS A TEST IN COMPASSION FOR THOSE NEARBY.

OR A REALLY LONG DRAWN OUT BORING DEATH AS PUNISHMENT FOR SINS IN THIS LIFE OR EARLIER.

AND THEN AGAIN, MAYBE BRUCE IS ALIVE TO HELP FIND A CURE FOR x,y,z. THE LAST PILLS HE TAKES BEFORE HE DIES WILL HAVE A MIRACULOUS EFFECT ON SOMETHING OR ANOTHER AND THIS WILL BE THE POINT OF HIS WHOLE LIFE. OR MAYBE HE'LL ACCIDENTLY START A FIRE AND IN TRYING TO PUT THE BLAZE OUT AN EVIL PAEDOPHILE FIREMAN WILL LOSE HIS LIFE AND CHILDREN IN THIS TOWN WILL BE FREED FROM HIS REIGN OF TERROR.


Or then again, maybe nothing, just nothingness. A long pointless death to bookend a life which made little difference to anyone. I don't think that myself. And the thing with those scientist types who don't believe in mystery, God, life after death, weird stuff, none of them can explain what a conscience is very well. 'Culturally learned behaviour' or similar bollocks. And all of them are shit scared of dying; the ultimate contradiction to a scientific philosophy.

Sex after marriage

Is it a bad sign for a marriage when you get on better when you aren't having sex? Has to be doesn't it. It's sort of like: Now that you are considerate enough not to make me do that crap, I can actually like you for the person you are. There's quite a dance before you get there, however. In my limited experience no woman will actually say to a man (OK, well only rarely in the under 45s) that they don't like sex, never did, only ever pretended because it was expected, part of the contract. So you have to go through this rigmarole of how it is not the right time, the emotional stuff wasn't right, the souffle didn't rise on time (not a metaphor!), tiredness, kids in the wrong place, weren't feeling good about themselves, the relationship, whatever... Then on the few occasions it happens you discover that the problem is that you, the man, are crap at sex. In vain you point out that it has been over a week (in a year will I be writing, 'Over a Month'?) and that any friction down below is going to make it hard for you to hang onto your tonsils never mind anything else for a significant amount of time. Certainly not enough to stoke the boilers of that mutual pleasure machine... The resentment kicks in along with maybe some fear, your wife may well ask herself, Am I menopausal? Is this stuff all John's fault? I used to get off pretty easy 10 years ago. Is he totally useless or have I lost something?

This is hopeful speculation on my part. I'm pretty sure my wife does believe that I'm crap in bed. And if I don't make some reparation afterwards in the way of white goods, a damn good listening ear and general household chores then the shit will hit the fan and it will be even longer before I can have another (no doubt quicker) try out.

The good thing today was that this pick up from a church which was supposed to be only rubbishy panels included a marvellous BELL. See picture!

MARRIED ANGST

Why is it so hard for intelligent women to be happy when they're married?

Children: Sap energy. Provide a focus/audience for disagreements. Are always there. Are more important than your wife's needs. Stop women from having interesting careers - unless they are selfish of course.

Husbands: Are selfish. Stupid. Useless in bed; either wanting too much sex or too little. They can generally come easily which is normally wrong, unless they are supposed to get things over quickly, which is usually the time when they are trying drag things out like some long distance Barry White. A gentleman should not have an orgasm unless his wife does, even if it means a torsion, road rage or prostate cancer. If a wife cannot have an orgasm because of issues of trust started over 10 years ago then emotional closeness should be developed through acts of romantic kindness. I know, it is fucking impossible. Unless you are gay and then you wouldn't want to sleep with a woman anyway. And besides do gay men do that "I feel your hurt and I want to wallow in it also" stuff with each other? I always thought they just had sex like one has food in Yo Sushi. Probably lesbians are very considerate with their partners and what do they actually accomplish in the little time that is left? - Crap poetry and subsidised jobs in the social work sphere.

Friends: Never good enough. Either too boring or too unreliable.

Elderly relatives: Parents start to get sick and become a major hassle and time burner.

Young relatives: Older children have children of their own and lo and behold you have to start looking after them. Inez my youngest was an aunt at the age of 9. I'm a grandfather but I'd rather be an international hedonist without ties.

Health: Women in their 40's are a non-stop round of minor complaints. All of which are demoralising, expensive, non-NHS treatable, non-fatal and an excuse for not having fun/sex/quality alcohol.

Time: Never enough of it. Especially with an average phone call having to last 90 minutes.

Talking of which, it's time for me to go to bed: Alone!

The Start

11.35pm and Johnny my 13 year old son has just come down stairs in a spaced out, sleep walking fashion in order to use the loo downstairs. There's one closer to his bedroom but sometimes if it is really late he comes all the way to the ground floor - maybe to check if his parents are still alive. Maybe he just likes roaming around.

I look at Johnny and I feel both proud and sad. Sad because I've fallen into that mini-me ego trap of thinking he is like some sort of re-run of myself and he's about to make all the same fuck ups and mistakes that I did. And because he doesn't even have the same freedom that I did back in 1973. This is car dangerous, paedo 2008 and nice 13 year old boys just can't roam around and take chances on the streets. Well, I think I'd let him but to his mum such an idea is tantamount to offering him a crack pipe in the back of a 1 star safety rated car without a safety belt on.

It seems that some young teenagers are allowed out alone to have fun in Lewes, our home town, but they are apparently broken family, working class fuck up kids. When me and Johnny see them however, they simply look like kids who are having a bit of a laugh. Albeit in often a vaguely anti-social way: Riding those daft dwarf stunt bikes the wrong way down a one way street; shouting; chucking chips at each other. Fun stuff if you're 13. Fun stuff at any age if you're a bit pissed.

Soon Johnny will be 14, 16, 18, 21 and hopefully he'll be able to make some fun for himself without us being able to do anything about it. In a nice, caring middle-class way, of course. Perhaps shouting slogans about global warming in a Peruvian shepherds hat whilst getting drunk on fairly traded Chardonnay.