I'm In Another Mood

Spent the majority of yesterday in a mood that saw me hating the rest of the world. I think my work colleagues (I can never bring myself to call them work-mates) recognise when I'm in one of these moods and establish a clear and present avoidance zone around my desk. And as always, it takes me a small while for me to recognise when I myself am in one of these moods, so I go through all the stages, from being in a mood, to thinking so what if I am in a mood? Finishing up with feeling guilty for being in a mood, then coming out of a mood. I attempted to atone at about three o'clock by fetching a coffee (or alternative) for anyone who wanted one. It's a tiny price to pay.

So, no rewards for being the one millionth person to guess who caused me to descend into a fugue of annoyance and dis-satisfaction. Someone I know as I write this is safely back in her house in Southampton with her daughter and hopefully some pleasant memories of two evenings she spent with a decent enough chap whilst stuck in a Travelodge in the midlands.

Colin thinks I am a complete failure. Mainly because I failed to get Sarah to blow the cobwebs off my rusty genitalia. I can't see that myself. I am sure Colin finds the only reasons to engage with the allegedly fairer sex are carnal ones. Actually, that's a bit unfair, I'm sure his bluster and bravado and willingness to be seen to be flying over the ashes of his marriage are a temporary state of affairs. No one can miss their family and former wife as easily as Colin is showing the world that he apparently doesn't.

I don't think it's too conceited for me to consider myself as having one or two more dimensions than Colin is claiming I ought to have. Perhaps if I simply was a one-dimensional entity I wouldn't feel so chuffing let down. You meet someone - or rather you re-meet someone - and you have a pleasant enough time with them (twice) and because you and that person have significantly different plumbing arrangements in the underwear department you think you might be able to carry such a relationship a little forwards only for the question of geography to raise up and smite you.

Southampton. Is it such a long way away? Is it on a different continent? Or a different galaxy? Can it only be reached by negotiating space-time-contiunuum-bending wormholes that exist solely at a quantum level and say yah-boo-sucks to the laws of physics? Nope. It's one hundred and fifty miles. This hardly qualifies as some unfathomable distance. I have actually been to Southampton, I just forgot that I had the other day; I saw Villa play at the Dell during my shameful 'I'm not actually a dad' days when Andrew was born. But that was a bus in and a bus out, so I had no chance to gain anything other than a fleeting impression of the place; although I was in a bad mood as I think Villa lost 1-0, thanks to a Matt Le Tissier penalty. No that any of that matters.

So I assume that Sarah has other reasons she is unwilling to share with me as to why she see no point in taking our relationship any further. Well, yah-boo-sucks to her. Guess I'll just have to get back to my female-free life again. It's something I've gotten used to, and I see no problem in returning to that mind-set. Especially after what was nothing but than a brief meteor flashing across my sky of celibacy and non-companionship.

And I did try.

I wondered whether I should contact her, or just leave things at the point of 'there's no point in us going on with this', so I took the modern-day coward's way out. I texted her. And it took me an hour to compose my textual masterpiece. God how I hate communicating to the ladies. No matter how much you scan what you write I'm sure there's some hidden meaning any woman could uncover lurking slightly beneath your words. Must be a genetic thing. However, this is what I texted: Hi Sarah. Thx 4 another lovely evening. Hope you got back to Southampton ok. And Ruth is ok! Call me? Bryn. No doubt Sarah has read this as meaning I had a bloody awful time and I'd rather thrust my testicles into the jet engine of a Boeing 747 than ever see her again, as she has not texted (or phoned) me back.

I'm trying to pretend that I don't give a hoot. I don't think I am being successful.

Felt like being cheered up last night so me, Gabe and Lukas had a bit of a chilling movie night. We armed ourselves with popcorn and beer and coke and sat through 'The Devil's Backbone' followed by the exquistive zombie-fest that is Dead Set. I had to explain to Lukas later that not every film has to have a satisfactory and generally appealing ending, where all the pieces slot together nicely, the guy gets the gal, the Earth is saved and all the ikkle bunny-buns live happily ever after. He remains unconvinced.

This morning I have been in an extremely militant mood. I asked Gabriel about Germany again and he repeated his fear that Lian will use his absence to audition every other thirteen-year-old boy in her peer group at tongue-technique and breathy-freshness. I told him if Lian meant anything as a girlfriend he would have to trust her. Gabriel replied that if he stayed in England whilst the rest of us jetted of to kraut-land trusting Lian would not be an issue. I said it wasn't possible, he was too young to be left on his own and that I would entertain no further discussion on this matter. Myself, Andrew, Gabriel, Lukas and Colin will all be journeying to Germany over Easter - end of the debate. Gabriel engaged his grumpy mode, which I eased somewhat by promising to take him (and possibly Lian) somewhere suitably wonderful for his fourteenth, which (unbelievably) in in twelve days time.

I would have sorted everything out there and then but Colin was not around and hadn't been since going out Friday night. Some guys have all the luck.