Back to Earth

I feel odd and very slightly unattached. I can't quite put my finger on it, nor can I quite capture it and put it into words.

I seem to re-discovered myself. Does that sound a little self-obsessed? Perhaps a tad new-age? Should I be lying on some semi-listening shrink's coach, talking about myself? Prattling on and on about myself?

The mask of Bryn-the-dad seems to have slipped. It's taken a long time. Far, far too long. And of course behind this mask of Bryn-the-dad there's the Bryn-the-person who's been stuck there for bloody ages and ain't too happy about it.

But I've only myself to blame. And I've Sarah to thank.

I'm in love!!

No I'm not, and there's the rub. I like Sarah enormously; she's good company and interesting and ... and now I'm struggling. Oh and she's attractive; perhaps too attractive for me. And she's maintained herself a great figure for her age (Yikes! There's that phrase again) that again is perhaps too good for someone so rapidly going to seed like myself.

Is there that spark? No. That spark belonged to Poppy and I think she took it with her to the netherworld.

But then is that a problem? What's the alternative? Two middle-aged people having lost their partners (one through divorce, one through death) facing a lonely future?

Of course it's a problem. I can't fool Sarah and it would be selfish for me to even considering doing so. If I put on the act just to prevent my future lonliness how could that be possible fair of me? She could certainly do better than me; she could find someone to genuinely dote on her every step.

Too much analysis and too much thinking as usual. I need to give it time; I need to see how things develop - although how they are going to develop when one hundred and fifty miles exist between us is one further question.

I rang Sarah on Sunday night, as promised. This time the niceties were out of the way at much swifter speed than usual, and we actually began to talk about us. Not about Sarah and I, the individuals, but as Sarah and I, the potential coupling. I guess once you've placed one particularily personal part of your body inside the particularily personal part of someone else it's a lot easier to talk about something as emotionally weighted as a relationship.

Sarah asked how I felt about things, meaning of course how I felt about things between us. I said I was a little confused but certainly felt nothing negative about the situation. Sarah said she felt exactly the same way. Then said: I suppose the most confusing thing is where we go from here. I agreed, then found myself saying how about you and Ruth coming up here and meeting the boys? This was evidently the correct thing to say as it was met with an enthusiastic response. We made arrangements for the bank holiday weekend. More fun and more people - a household of seven.

I decided to take the break away from Chez BrynT as a reboot moment and try and renegociate warmer relationships with the kids. This I did by completely ignoring the fact that I had departed on not the closest of terms. I'm sure I'd hammered the point home with my feelings towards their own lack of feelings to their mother's memory by my previous, admittedly childish actions. As much as such a point can be hammered into the thick skulls of teenage boys. So I considered it case closed.

The house was not as trashed as I thought it could have been. No teenage orgies seemed to have taken place, nor had it seems my address appeared on Faceachebook as an open invitation to half the world's ne'erthewells. But it wasn't exactly spring-clean clean as well, so I insisted we all jumped out of beds early on Sunday morning and have it out with the rubbish and the dust-bunnies. Both Lukas and Gabriel bounced out of slumberland with extraordinary (and unexpected) enthusiasm; Andrew proved a little more difficult to persuade as he claimed he'd made no contribution to the mess, to which Lukas opined: B0llocks. I spat on the fizzing fuse that erupted and began to work towards the powderkeg filled to overflowing with sibling fireworks by telling Andrew it was 'all boys together' and that I'd really appreciate his aid. So after a very long shower Andrew descended to the lounge and began to poke at things with a duster.

The return to a livable standard of cleanliness was hence a swift journey. As a reward (and as it was a Sunday) I said I'd cook one of my testicle-boiling chills for lunch. And not entirely out of bloody quorn.

I asked Gabe if an emergency had arisen that required the use of the twenty-quid I'd left them. He said it had. I asked him what had happened. He said he and Lukas had discovered the house's supply of take-away pizzas had reached dangerously sparse levels.

I also asked about the continually absent Colin. Lukas told me Colin had popped in Saturday morning and spent most of the day hogging the television watching rugby. I said I thought the rugby had finished. Lukas said he was watching the Lions verses the Tigers, or something. Then another game. Then he'd gone out. And had not as yet re-appearred. I am beginning to wonder just what little bro' is getting up to.

After such a pleasant and ground-breaking weekend it was inevitable the first couple of days of this week would see me sinking back to mundaneness. Meetings follow meetings as the people who act as the catalysts to much of what I do stand on their hands and do nothing but call more meetings. The only upside has been that Peter Handyman has been off sick for two days, meaning I've missed my latest one-to-one with him. I am quite pleased about that.