My heart still misses a beat, every time

Not so long ago ten days was a very, very long time with no Spaniel to pine after. Two week’s later I am so over him. The very next time I saw him after reality came along and slapped me in the face I saw him rather a lot. First of all I was trying to do a playground observation, who was on playground duty? Yup, Spaniel. Then I wanted to observe one of my children in her literacy session to work out how well she was functionally reading. Who does lunchtime literacy? Yup, Spaniel. I learnt very little about how much my student can read but an awful lot about how little Spaniel can teach literacy. I wanted to give him some feedback. You know, basic stuff like “‘durrrrr’ is not the sound D makes /d/ is the sound D makes”. He couldn’t have been less interested. OK so can I see her records of achievement? What? Why doesn’t she have one? Why don’t you have a record of how much she is doing? How do you know what she has achieved? He virtually shoves me out the door. Useless wanker. I can’t believe you blog about language and yet don’t understand the difference between a phoneme and a grapheme.

Also in those ten days I had my band night, saw The Horrors (perfect remedy to a bruised heart/ego), New Islands, Table Manners and Friendly Fires in a Pitch Black gig (hmmm free wine!), went to a photography exhibition, a Bollywood dance class and had a very expensive day in a spa being scrubbed, pummelled and rubbed. Not entirely sure why I had to be topless for a face mask, but meh. So yeah ten days is a very long time. Long enough for fresh heartbreak.

This will come as NO surprise to regular readers but I ended up quite fancying one of the bassists from one of the mathier bands playing my band night. Every time I turned around he was there trying to talk to me. He made fun of the DJ’s manboobs. I had a sudden flashback to snogging the DJ many years ago in his pre-manboob days in a sleazy Soho club. He looks revolted. He asks a lot of questions, more questions than casual interest would ask. At the end of the night Pippa and I agree one band will stay at my house, and the mathy band will stay at her house. Math Bassist (lets call him…. P/B = photographer/bassist) tries to find any excuse to stay at mine. I try to explain the illogic of the plan. He doesn’t buy it. Pippa tries to explain the geography of this to him. He doesn’t get it. Everyone else tries to explain to him the illogicality of squeezing eight bandite boys into my tiny flat and their equipment and the resultant drive half way round London in the morning before home on the south coast. He still doesn’t get it so I leave him and Pippa to argue and scarper with the first band. Before I leave he invites me to his photography exhibition a few days later. Oh I wonder…. Ok I promise not to get Spaniel stalker crazy this time.

In a fit of curiosity, or poor judgement, I post a profile onto a dating site. Oh I’m so bad at these things, what can I possibly say? I like knitting and baking and basically want to date some indie geek. Simple, honest and probably ineffective. More of this to come later.

The day of the exhibition arrives. My hayfever is so severe I look like I’ve had a pretty good cry. I’ve had a nosebleed for several days and I’m choking on the constant stream of mucus in my throat. It’s not a good look. I duly attend (with moral support). I see P/B he looks through me. He doesn’t speak two words to me. Literally not two. I got “hello” so he did actually see me. Thankfully his friend is a sweetheart. He shows me around and is lovely. And he’s very hot. Maybe I’m backing the wrong horse. An hour later the rest of us head to a club in town. I leave directions with his mate so they can catch us up. It gets to midnight and I’m in danger of choking on mucus so I head home. As soon I get home I get a text. “sorry I got mixed up. Where are you?” Yup, its P/B. Tut tut. We have a brief textual conversation. I’m a bit confused. I thought we were arranging to meet on Sunday. But by the end of it I’m not sure if he was just asking for my advice. By Sunday afternoon its pretty clear he might not have wanted to meet up with me. So in the evening I let him know we’re off to see a band in the evening and he should come join us if he’s free. He actually turns up. I am so easily persuadable we end up in a dead night club. The bouncers are incredibly unfriendly people. The six of us squeeze into a tiny booth. P/B has his leg pressed against mine for the WHOLE evening. If he didn’t like me he would move, yes? Oh I don’t know. The other five come from the West Midlands. I have nothing to contribute. We get kicked out of a club for the second time that night (24 hour drinking is such a MYTH) so the others decide to head homeward to New Cross. As I live in the other direction and have work in the morning I bail out. He hugs me rather closely and holds my arm firmly while giving me the date of his next gig. Hmm. Hopeful.

The next day I get a text from one of the others present breaking the bad news: "i'm sorry sweets! i don't kknow how to tell you- he already has a girlfriend". he shoudl have mentioned that earlier *sigh* But it's ok. I'm well acquainted with the familiar gut-punch of disappointment.