Being a total Friends addict, I refer to a quote from that very show to puncuate the point I am trying to make with this article:
“I can´t believe my parents are pressuring me to find one of you people!” Monica Geller.
Since I split with my last serious boyfriend at the age of 28, I have had far too many conversations with my mother about when I’m going find a suitable young man to settle down with and pride her with much longed for grandchildren. Each time the conversation rears its ugly head I recoil in mock horror and protest at the lack of decent eligible men.
Having tried internet dating as well as the more conventional methods of meeting men, I find myself still resolutely single. What I do have for my troubles is a slightly battered heart and a mild case of paranoia when it comes to overanalysing the things men say and do.
I can (and will) recount some of my more entertaining dating scenarios here for your amusement.
Mr Fuckwit…After a very enjoyable first date followed by some very encouraging text messages, the man I now refer to as Mr Fuckwit asked me out on a second date. I went along thinking everything was going wonderfully and couldn’t wait to see him again. He had been so charming on our first date, sexy and yet gentlemanly. That rare combination we seek in a man. He was a little quiet when we first met up but I put it down to nerves and made the extra effort to be zesty and cheerful. It wasn’t until later that evening that his real problem came to light. We bumped into a good friend of mine at a local bar and while I was in the toilet, Mr Fuckwit told my friend that I was way out of my depth with him and that it wasn’t going to work. Not a problem for me since it was only our second date but why in the hell did he ask me out again? I decided not to confront him about it and just not see him again, which made for even more amusement when he invited me into his bed at the end of the night! I think you can all guess my response.
Mr Mummy’s Boy….He invited me back to his house on our first date. We’d met in the afternoon and had a lovely meal and drinks and were getting on very well, so when he invited me back, I made it clear that I had no intention of sleeping with him but said I would gladly go back and have a drink or two. Since we were getting along so well I didn’t want the
date to end. I followed him back to his house and as I pulled into the driveway I wondered why there were two others cars there. What he had failed to tell me was that he still lived with his super strict disciplinarian parents. Every five minutes his mother popped her head around the bedroom door on the pretext of offering us a cup of tea or a biscuit, but the look in her eyes said she was making sure her precious son wasn’t getting up to any funny business. I did want to give him the benefit of the doubt so for our next date I asked him back to my place and offered to cook dinner. He said he would love to but he had to be home by 10 o clock as that was his curfew! Argh!! That was the end of that very short lived relationship.
Mr Monkey Boy….A classic if ever there was one. Our first and only date took place athis house. It wasn’t meant to be that way but he got the directions to his house wrong and by the time I found it to pick him up (he didn’t
drive) it was too late to go out to eat. He made me beans on toast and plied me with cans of fosters lager. I still thought he was quite cute until after a number of cans of lager we got naked on his living room floor. He was hairier than King Kong, and had a penis the size of one of those stubby little lottery pens. I am not kidding at all. It was tiny, and getting a condom to stay on and not fall off was a feat in itself. That night was the first and only (thank god) time I have had to use the phrase “Is it in yet?” The cringe factor was way too much for me to give it another go despite my general opinion that size isn’t everything. I managed to get through it the first time and didn’t even bother to fake it. He even had the nerve to use the lousy line “Was that good for you too babe” afterwards. I didn’t dignify him with a lie and just replied “Why was that it?” I don’t normally sleep with guys on the first date but this was one occasion that I was glad I found out his ´shortcomings´ before getting in too deep.
These are only three of my dodgy dating experiences, and believe me there are far too many for me to recount. Commitmentphobes, Emotional fuckwits, Compulsive liars, Players and of course Mr Unavailables. I’ve attracted my fair share of losers.
I’m not saying all men are bad, but in the world of online dating it is so easy to get charmed by someone before you even have a chance to meet face to face and see if the chemistry is there. I’ve also had some very dodgy emails through one particular site. An offer of “enough money to keep me in Chanel No5 for a while” if I would let a 67 year old man come in my face, is the most disgusting one that springs to mind. I almost vomited when I read that. There are doubtless a lot of really nice men out there looking for love online. After all if there are decent women doing it then by the law of averages there must be decent men too.
So the question remains, is online dating the way forward? I’m not utterly disillusioned. I’ve met one good guy through this method who I would happily have loved forever. Ultimately he broke my heart, but not through any mean-heartedness, just through circumstance. I’ve also made two really good friends. Both have been known to be players where women are concerned, but since I’m not romantically involved with them I find it highly amusing to lecture them on their appalling behaviour.
I think the key is to be discerning. Keep your senses alert for warning signs. They are there if you allow your heart to acknowledge them and not be blinded by a need to love and be loved, or pressured by parents who nag you until your ears bleed.
Don’t settle for less than you want or deserve. Avoid all signs of fuckwittedness and you should be fine.
About the author: I’m a single 30 year old living in Nottingham. I recently dyed my hair blonde (albeit a dark blonde) in a vain attempt to inject more fun into my life, either that or subscribe even more closely to the Bridget Jones-esqe life that I lead. I work as a credit analyst which bores me rigid, but it pays the bills. I have lousy rotten luck with men, and I’m still hoping for my Mr. Darcy. I think there’s a good chance I watch too many chick flicks since I’m starting to lose faith in the existence of a decent man. I have a mildly serious case of handbag addiction and I’m a typical Virgo – I like things clean and neat. Visit my blog
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wonderful. thanks for sharing.
I met someone really awful on this site a couple of years ago. He lied about his age; two marriages; children’s birthdates and circumstances; past business activities, and just about everything else. How do I know this?Well, let’s just say it’s a very, very small world – and liars should be aware of this: all lies, sooner or later, are revealed. I went on a date with him, as he sounded interesting on the telephone. He’s tall, not bad-looking, with a nice, athletic bod (shame his equipment doesn’t work, though!). Almost the first comment he made was mildly critical of me, and things went from bad to worse. I put this down to nerves and distress (he says his ex-wife, upon whom he’s still hooked, is dying of breast cancer; but I strongly suspect that is probably another lie). He’s a complete ape, and is looking for someone to be a fuck-buddy only – and yet, girls get this: the guy is impotent! He spent all our subsequent time together (highly unsatisfactory from my point of view. I don’t find sex with a man’s forefinger all that rewarding) talking about other women he’d slept with or would like to sleep with!! I know rather more about some of ’em than I’d like … trimmed pubic curl, the lot. Example: “Becks (Rebecca, his second ex-wife) and I fucked like bunnies until the day she left. She came every time. She just lay there … she was a princess.” The man’s pretty well off his trolley: to be avoided at ALL costs. He advertises on the Guardian site as ‘[name removed]’ and on the Telegraph, from time to time, as [name removed]; real name is [real name removed] and he’s a complete fantasist and can only be regarded as a pathological liar. Oh, and he doesn’t own a flat in Bloomsbury: he rents a room somewhere in E Dulwich/Peckham …!
I know him too! What a relief that it’s not just me. Thanks, Mattie and tell me more!!!!
My girlfriend is in a state of shock after finding Mattie’s comments about [real name removed]! She had exactly the same experience with him and thought it was all her fault. She certainly never realized that he was such a pathological liar. Why does a man like that pursue women only to humiliate himself by then being unable to perform? I am sure the reason he is so angry and aggressive with these women must be linked to whatever syndrome that is. Mattie, if you are reading this, what lies do you believe were told?
Oh, Kathy and Luke – I’m so sorry not to have replied sooner. Have just found your comments, and apologise for addressing you jointly. It’s just to save time.
Firstly, Kathy – how ghastly to think that this awful bloody character continues to inflict himself on nice women. Because it’s only nice women who, as a rule, tend to fall for this kind of flim-flam, I fear. Doubtless he’s still out there, trying his luck on the sites mentioned. His excuse for the impotence is, he says, a heart-attack 10+ years ago – although he never actually links the two outright.
One lives and learns … and I only hope you are happy now, Kathy.
Luke, I hope your girlfriend has recovered fully from her experiences at the hands of this creature – sounds as if you are very understanding, which is always half the battle! I hope you’re both happy.
OK, you ask about the lies. Well, this is what I’ve been reliably informed:
TSE: age 61 (born 1946)
He has NOT got a Master’s in Psychology from University of Sussex awarded in 1974; neither did he have his own company in Old Street/City Road area (whose Board held EGM, voting him out, and then proceeded to run company into ground nearly bankrupting him at age c 38).
He says he contracted first marriage (wife named Jacqui) when aged 24; union lasted for only 4 years, producing 2 daughters. FACTS: he married for first time at age 27, first daughter born 3.5 years later and second daughter born 12 years later.
He says his first wife booted him out after 4 years, having installed a poet she met @ Open Uni Summer School. He was then alone for c 5 years before meeting, marrying and having twin sons by wife no 2, the famous ‘[name removed]’. (Who he says is seven years younger than him. FACT: age gap = 10 years.)
Funny that, as FACTS: his second wife gave birth to their sons 23 months (sic) after the birth of his second daughter by first wife (are you still with me?).He and [name removed] were not, in fact, married until their sons were nearly 2 years old. Presumably because it took that long for divorce to go through.
He says due to his ex-colleagues running business into the ground (see above), he and [name removed] had to sell “the lovely house in Crouch End” and move to Felixstowe.
FACT: there never was a house in Crouch End – it was a flat; the place in Felixstowe was funded by wife-to-be no 2, who sold her flat in London. Later, when she left him – surprise, surprise – she tried to wrest ownership of the house from him (or,rather, to take it back). Eventually, he mortgaged it to pay her off.
He says she (wife no 2) has a highly aggressive form of breast cancer, and he still loves her. He also says he is looking for love. Work that one out, if you will. This sort of person cannot possibly even know what love is.
He says his mother died when he was 11, and that this has marked his entire life – as it well might. FACT: he was 16 when he lost his mother, and had therefore reached sexual maturity or near it when this happened; big, big difference.
The main theme of the lies is that he’s essentially an innocent – the ‘good guy’ to whom others do wrong. Also there’s an enormous amount of self-agrandisement in there.
He always makes out that women “come on” to him – as opposed to t’other way round, that is. I somehow doubt this, but it is indicative of his passivity and inability to take responsibility for anything in any form. Everything is always someone else’s fault, never his, and he is always seeking sympathy and understanding while rewarding these with spite and sarcasm.
He’s a serial liar – lies for the sake of it – and, a psychiatrist friend of mine suggests, probably suffering from a condition called Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Do look it up; it might help avoid contact with other such horrors!
A tortured soul. Shame – but he tortures others. And has produced 4 children …
All my best to you all,
Matts
Thank you, Mattie. That all makes sense. What a sad, messy story his life is. Thanks, too, for your good wishes. Things have worked out very well for me, and I certainly hope they have for you.
Hello, Kathy – still there? And all still well, I hope. Merry Christmas! I fear things haven’t worked out too well for me. And the “sad, messy story” continues … see my response to NML’s latest post! Aaargh: surely to God he’s got the message by now?! Best for 2008, Mattie x
Hi Mattie, Happy New Year to you! I’m sorry things are still messy and I would love to know how you are, so please tell me how I can find your response to NML’s latest post – I’d love to read it.
Yours, Kx
Hello, KC! And thanks for your good wishes – happy New Year to you, also! You can find the latest instalment (I hope, the last) in the whole, sorry saga among the 4 responses to NML’s Christmas message.
The man surely doesn’t live in the real world …!
Unfortunately, it has been a very unpleasant learning experience for me. I thought he might make a halfway decent friend (and, God knows, we can’t have enough of those) as he was such a well-informed and interesting chap. Once I discovered the extent of his mendacity, I was disgusted and ceased contact.
Now read on …!
Best,
Matts
Hi Mattie
Thank you, I have now managed to find your other post. How incredible that he persisted in emailing/calling for so long and especially after silence from you. It’s hard to imagine what goes on in Mr. E’s thought process. I’m sorry he turned out to be such a terrible friend – when I stopped seeing him it was because I literally couldn’t bear being in the same room with him or even listening to him on the phone. I was quite literally shocked by the malevolence of some of his comments, especially as in between he would be outrageously sentimental about his ex-wife and his sons (although he always seemed frighteningly hostile to his daughters). As I wrote this I just realized – I think this man absolutely hates women. It’s a shame that complicated and disturbed men like this are often more interesting to talk about than the kinder and more stable men who are out there. I know I’ve never met you, but I’m sure you will find someone open-hearted and loving – you might just find that at the beginning there is less excitement and interest. Hope any of that makes sense…
Kathy x
Hi, Kathy
How lovely to hear from you again!
Thank you so much for your thoughtful, helpful and kind response. It’s really sweet of you. Yes, absolutely – I, too, have reached the same conclusion as you: this monster really does HATE women. There’s no other word – or explanation.
He either spoke of 2nd ex-wife in strictly sexual or physical appearance terms or with a kind of awed and thoroughly sickly sentimentality (both of which I found equally stomach-churning). I never got a handle on what kind of person RF is, not as you so often can when someone speaks frequently of a third party they know very well but you don’t. That in itself is probably significant. And class played a huge part in her attraction, as he’s got several planks on both shoulder about being a working class boy from Wallasey. This enabled him to play the ‘poor little me’ card while basking in what he perceived as reflected glory. Pathetic, really.
The other main thing about him is that he inhabits a fantasy world – full of threats, but in the final analysis always subject to his editorial control. Come to think of it, it must – almost literally – be hell to be him. He must spend an awful lot of time being either enraged or petrified.
And, yes, his bouts of frightening vindictiveness are impossible to cope with, aren’t they? Especially as they appear suddenly, unprompted – and definitely undeserved.
My mother presented with similar syndrome, so I suppose I’m inured to a certain extent – as well as exposed – although I am now much wiser to this kind of power-play. Although, at the time I met Mr E I’d been through a series of disasters and heartbreaking losses and was at a very low ebb anyway (let alone being lonely and in an unfamiliar environment), which has to be an important factor in rendering me so attractive to such a person!
I get the impression he never actually sees his daughters, actually. He certainly walked out on the younger one round about her first birthday. And the last time he mentioned elder daughter to me in an email at time of 7/7 London bombings, he referred to her living in London. As far as I know (she and I work in related spheres), she’s been in West Yorks for quite a while now …
My guess, for what it’s worth, is that he dumped a perfectly OK (or OK-ish,and who’s to say that isn’t the best that many of us may expect?) marriage and two little girls for a Grand Passion with a well-educated, clever, successful and apparently very attractive much-younger woman who -coogoshlumme! – promptly presented him with not one but two sons simultaneousely. Blimey! Must have thought he’d died and gone to heaven, despite all the difficulties dismantling long-term relationships, households, etc., involve. Then the object of the GP bloody well goes and walks out on him, running off with another man with whom she’d been having an affair. The other man being her first husband (to whom she is now re-married)!! Oh, the gall of it! Yet he’s still hooked on her, so can’t direct his accumulated bile at her. And the situation has triggered off all his worst proclivities (which may have been kept in check to a certain extent by the spurious form of confidence gained from having won the fabulous Rebecca, the house by the sea and the two amazing sons – who are, admittedly, super-bright). Martin Amis, speaking of his father, said something to the effect that going through – and inflicting – all the agonies of leaving your wife and children for another woman and then having the other woman leave you must be … “pain cubed”. You can see his point. (And I’ll bet he was wincing when he heard himself say it, given his own circs!!)
Ouf. Damn. Still feel utterly disgusted with myself for having been taken in by this ‘friend’. I ended our brief affair (if it could be called that: 4 meetings within a span of two months!) nearly 3 years ago. Good thing, though, that I subsequently allotted far more importance to my instincts. But I’m clearly not nearly as sensible and wise as you are!
Doubtless, he has now comprehensively re-written the whole script – to his advantage. Grrrrr! Only consolation is that nearly all his women must have walked out on him, sooner or later. And, of course, always will.
But darn good point, Kathy – why-oh-why are these types so interesting to talk about? Probably for the same reason he’s made repeated sporadic efforts to hang onto me – it’s the intriguing complexity and challenge. And maybe my idiot credulity lent him some form of credibility? Jaysus, who knows?!
Dunno about meeting an ‘open-hearted and loving man’. I mean, I have met lots of them – and they’re all married to friends of mine/gay/much younger or much older/good colleagues with families at home. So it’s not so much a case of me being an emotionally-unavailable type, more a case of the emotionally-available types being unavailable to me!!
I do not much trouble attracting men. Sounds shamefully boastful, but is fact – and I suspect has a lot to do with my dressing modestly, scorning make-up and stalking about, straight-backed and straight-faced, with nose in the air: is evidently huge challenge to the silly buggers! In France, though, such demeanour earns male respect. In Ireland, also. Yeah, as the yanks say: ‘go figure’! But I invariably attract the wrong sort, here in UK where, alas, I am stuck for time being. I must confess I really do need someone very bright – and also sophisticated & cultured; such men are few-and-far between, I fear. Sad but true: Mr E was the only physically attractive man I’ve met in England during past 10 years who was (a) single, (b) as highly-educated/well-read as me, (c) as active as me, if not even more so, and (d) had also lived/worked abroad. Which may explain why I kept him on as a friend, with reservations.
My experience of the Britmale has not, on the whole, been good: those that do fall for me tend to fall heavily then, once they’ve got me, start dismantling me via increasingly cruel criticism even amounting, more often than I’d care to admit, to outright abuse. I cannot and will not tolerate such destructive spite. Why should I be blamed for their spinelessness and inadequacies?
Otherwise, I find they simply cannot be bothered. Me, I wish to be courted and cosseted at length before I deign to remove my undies! Where a Frenchman or Irishman would pursue hotly and largely be prepared to woo (and, golly, in both cultures it’s perfectly acceptable to like and know poetry!!), a Britmale gives up and slopes off to the pub/settles down in front of Sky Sports with a few bevvies.
As my bestfr says (she maintains this will be her epitaph!): “It’s their loss.”
Thanks again for your perceptive, enlightening and reassuring comments. All the best to you, Kathy
Matts xx
Hi Mattie
I think we may have discovered another small lie – he told me his daughters shared a flat in Watford…he had a litany of complaints about and criticisms of them. He never seemed to connect it to his treatment of their mother…
By the way, like you I met him when I was at a low ebb. I’d recently finally given up on a long distance relationship with someone I loved. So I’m sure he picked up on that. Like you, I had a very caustic and dismissive parent, in my case, my father.
So I think we both had a higher tolerance level than many people would have had for his extraordinary levels of spite. As well probably as recognising his intelligence – my family is both disfunctional and full of very bright people. We both need to recognise too that without this website we’d have had no way of knowing that we weren’t to blame – I thought that I had caused both the spite and the impotence so I cannot begin to tell you what a shocking relief it was to come across your posting. (Thank god they hadn’t removed names from the posting at that point).
Of course it is fascinating to discuss someone this complicated, dishonest and infuriating. But the reason I say I’m convinced you will now meet someone kind and open is that having a brush with someone as disturbed at Mr E actually freed me. I had always chosen to be with difficult men who probably felt comfortably like my family however miserable I felt with them. I had never learned to tolerate dates where I initially felt unexcited and maybe even bored. But after Mr E I finally agreed to go out for a drink with a man from another section of the company where I work. For some reason I kept seeing him – the first two dates were very awkward and suddenly on the third date I started to like him – on the 5th date he suddenly became wonderfully attractive to me. That was 18 months ago and I’m still having a lovely time. It’s great to respect and like someone as well as love and desire them!
But I needed to be pushed to that point and Mr E filled me with such rage and disgust that I honestly think he brought about some sort of change.
So you keep letting of steam about him here or anywhere else – it may be doing you good! Then look around for a quiet, kind man who doesn’t see you as a challenge to conquer.
Kxx
Dear Kathy,
Thank you so much for your reply. Your story is a heart-warming and inspirational one – and you clearly richly deserve such calm, contented happiness after so much misery.
Also your comments at the end have the recognisable ring of good advice: thank you!
Just a quick comment about impotence: a woman is NEVER to blame for this; it is always either attributable to psychological or physiological (very commonly, in the middle-aged male, either due to heart disease and/or prostate problems) factors in the man himself. ALWAYS.
Never stops most of the bastards intimating its our fault, though!
It has, indeed, been wonderfully therapeutic to compare experiences of Toxic T with you. We do both seem to have been marked by similar family-ar difficulties.
And, yes, I perfectly understand your rage and disgust. I even felt physically sick during and after last month’s brief telcon with Toxic T. And am furious to have these hitherto dwindling coals thus stoked up again just as I was beginning to reach some equilibrium or acceptance of my solitary state.
I fear that the solution for me is not quite so simple. Middle-aged ‘prof’ men seeking long-term partners are looking for women with their own homes, etc. And, of course, because of our divorce laws and so on, they generally find such women – there are plenty of them about. My husband, for example, went off with a divorced woman who – thanks to her ex-husband, not her own efforts as she didn’t work – lived in and owned a lovely detached house on a very expensive stretch of the South Coast. The lover I had before TT – and it was several years before TT, so appalled was I by his behaviour – dumped me as soon as a rich widow hove into view! His parting shot? “She’s a GOOD WOMAN … her husband died.” Meaning I’m a ‘bad woman’ because I divorced my husband – for near-bankrupting me, and beating the crap out of me for the privilege?!
Ah, that’ll be the famous masculine logic – don’t you just love it?!
You see, Kathy, thanks to a couple of redundancies and the mini-slump of the early Noughties I no longer have the VG job and the desres in AONB (the latter that I worked so long and hard to acquire after financially-disastrous marriage – stupid me: I had re-mortgaged my property to bale out indebted spouse; property market + marriage promptly went into freefall!). After re-locating and re-training post offloading of frankly not-so-bijou residence onto unsuspecting fool for extortionate sum, I secured offers of work abroad and had sufficient capital left to purchase modest home outright. Whoopee! Cooking with gas or what?! You may gather I was really looking forward to new life in the France beautiful among the types French far from the Anglo-Saxons-wot-are-disgustings-and-barbarians, as any fule kno.
Then hitherto unsuspected critical illness promptly turned acute; nearly died in resuss; took nearly a year to recover, while undergoing lots of surgical interventions (ended 5 months before I met TT), blahblahblah. This interesting period in my personal history (!) saw off most of my remaining dosh.
So career went bung; lost much-loved and cosy home in beautiful location, equally-adored cat, share in sweet, funny pony then, later, most of my possessions subsequently followed by about 99% of my money. Majority of my ‘friends’ dumped me, when my life went down the pan. Interestingly, the bohemian tendency hung on. But my beloved and ever-constant closest friend of 25 years was dying when my home was being sold (and a lovely French friend, too, expired at this point).
In the less than 2 years that followed sale of my home, I relocated 7 times and was homeless – thankfully for only a matter of a day or so – twice (but is recurrent nightmare. I’ve worked as a volunteer with homeless people, and know what they go through). In any case, living in rented accommodation is, I find, sheer hell after being an owner-occupier!
So you see, it is impossible to think of a relationship – even though, sometimes, I really do long to have someone to share the joys and frustrations of everyday life and affection, thoughts, ideas, humour, etc. There is no way I will ever be able to afford to buy another home. And I am struggling, financially, to say the least (I do not mind this, too much; but sometimes I really miss e.g. my cat, and being able to cook on a proper cooker and sit at my dining table to eat. Dammit, like Napoleon’s armies, I march on my stomach crying ‘Vive l’interieur!’!)
Constant rejection on the jobs market hasn’t helped my self-esteem, although I keep my skills exercised and updated via occasional freelance gigs – which I really enjoy, but all are conducted remotely so I don’t meet other people through them.
I live in a small market town, which even the locals admit to being very unfriendly. Everywhere else I’ve lived, I’ve made friends. Here, it took a year to make a couple – but they are busy, I don’t often see them and, when we do meet, it is on one-to-one basis; so they hardly constitute a social life. My attempts to find work elsewhere, enabling me to relocate to more populous locations with more cultural and social amenities have failed every time. Either I’m too old, or that old excuse ‘over-qualified’.
As for the chaps, typically it seems many potential dates immediately assume I simply have to be a gold digger (all evidence to the contrary – I’m very independent, and anyway do gold diggers endanger their main asset in order to help their partners? I think not!). They are chary of this, being mostly understandably unwilling to take on what they see as a potential financial burden. I find this incredibly embarrassing, as I am very proud and have always paid my own way – usually more than that, in fact.
I also believe that I have demonstrated strength, resourcefulness and powers of endurance that few people possess – and all of this without the usual support structures that most people have. These qualities, however, don’t appear to count for anything in our overwhelmingly materialistic society where what you have overrides what you are inside.
The other typical male reaction – and this is, possibly, much more common – is to see me as an object for their use/enjoyment/abuse. Available, unprotected, alone: what else could I be? This, too, I find utterly repellent and morally repugnant. They might be animals; but I emphatically am not.
Bullying is now universally endemic, in my experience: at work; in one’s personal life and at home (one landlord instigated a hate campaign against me. Why? Because he could … because he had track record in such practices … because I was to be punished for being privately-educated. Incidentally, it was in his property that I was living while I went out with Mr E. Mr E’s explanation for the landlord’s vicious attacks? “Probably because you were being a git.”
If it were not for the friendship and subtle support of a happily-married male cousin – who (sadly for me but not for him!) lives in Ireland – a handful of incredibly kind Irishmen I encountered during my brief stay in their great little country, and a number of clergy, I would be contemptuous and terrified of ALL men by now. To some extent, although I battle this (hell, I’m a rider – we’re supposed to be BRAVE, dammit!!), I am scared of most men – and certainly wouldn’t dare be alone with one. Before all this, I was in fact a ‘man’s woman’ – most of my chums at university were men; I worked, perfectly happily, in notoriously male-dominated sectors. Now, although I long for a hug sometimes, the thought of being touched by a man is repugnant – and while I believe a really good man could help me get over this, I wonder if I will ever get over it or be given a chance to do so.
Anyway, even suppposing I were to meet a kind and insightful man who was interested in pursuing a relationship with me, it would be doomed ab initio. For even if he were prepared to take on a near-penniless woman, which is highly unlikely, I could not contemplate moving in with a man. Being in his territory, and completely therefore in his power. Power corrupts on a personal level just as much as it does on a macro- or governmental level – God knows, this is a lesson that has been drummed into me forcefully during the past years. And for many years I had my own home,my own possessions – the fruits of my own labours. I would feel obligated to contribute, and ashamed that I could not to the extent required. This kind of imbalance would screw up any relationship, as far as I am concerned.
So, you see the situation is impossible. And the fact that all life has seen fit to throw at me so far is the egregious Mr E really does make me incandescent with rage. For God’s sake, I’m a pretty goodlooking old girl – how many women of my age are in such great shape?! 5’7″ and 8st7lbs of toned, shapely figure, with a BMI of 19.1 (nearly on a par with an athlete) and the complexion of a much younger woman. Even TT spontaneously commented with favour on all of the aforementioned!! I’m bright, and warm-hearted, a loyal friend and someone who’s frequently tried to ‘put something back’ (tons of charitable work, off and on, as fundraiser and then as volunteer). Tested and proved through physical, emotional and mental fires … I know I am/have all of these things and they’re hardwon and surely worth something? I know I’m not a genius or beautiful or of unique achievement; but I do know I’m worth so much more than my circumstances might indicate.
And the feedback I get from men? Casual fuck/convenient c***, someone they can safely take out their own rage upon, or materially needy and thus someone to be shunned.
Oh, Kathy – sorry to have gone on and on (and on and on!) about myself. You really don’t need this, I’m sure! And so you really don’t have to reply and/or engage with all this rubbish – I should not hold it against you if you didn’t. I am so glad for you that you are happily partnered, and hope that you both continue to enjoy happiness and fulfilment. You and himself will be figuring in my prayers! God bless, and good luck to you.
Best,
Mattie xx
PS BTW, TT’s morgage is with, guess who – yup: Northern Crock!! Aha, harhar, harharhar, oh joy! There IS such a thing as justice, after all …
Dear Mattie
Of course you’re brave – I wouldn’t be standing after all you’ve been through. You certainly didn’t need TT – I think one trigger for his aggression is anyone having a legitimate reason for sorrow or pain, as that detracted from his oceans of self-pity. I think you and I have conclusively answered the question posed at the top of this thread – online dating is definitely NOT the way forward. I say that because I think it allows the Mr TE types to cause much more damage. If either of us had met him at a dinner party, we would hav been able to ask the host or other guests about him and would have had some access to inside information. When you meet someone online, you have to accept their version of their life as you have no outside witnesses to check the facts for you! As I said before, if you hadn’t magically popped up online, I’d have carried a sense of blame about Mr TE for years to come.
As for you, which is of course far more important than anything to do with him, you seem to me to have so much to offer the world. By your own admission, you are attractive and fit, and you write beautifully and with great wit and style. You obviously love animals, which I respond to, as my first loves (forget men – even nice ones) are animals. It must have been heartbreaking not to have a cat – you probably already do this, but have you considered volunteering at a local animal shelter or rescue? Cats Protection are always looking for people to spend time with their cats, or even, if your landlord allows, to take mothers and kittens or elderly or post-operative cats home to foster. They meet all your expenses and it is a great way to make friends. I don’t know how your health is, but some stables also trade free riding in return for mucking out, grooming etc. I don’t want to speak out of turn, as I’m sure you’ve already thought of all this, but it sounds to me like you need the companionship of nice humans and animals far more than dating and romance and predatory men – at least for the moment! I have a feeling that if you can find a few moments in your week when you feel contented and absorbed, that the nicer kind of man will begin to find you, without you having to look. It does also help, I think, to be friends with a man for a good long while before anything else happens – I HATE dating – online or otherwise.
Good luck and do forgive me if I have said anything out of turn.
Kx
Dear Kathy,
Thank you so much for your kind reply, which was so thoughtfully and considerately expressed that I cannot imagine how it could possibly be interpreted in such a way as to require any apology. So set your mind at rest on that score, do.
I absolutely agree with your comments about TT – and especially your very perceptive line about his aggressive responses based on perceived competition with the levels of his ‘oceans of self-pity’: got it in one – well-said!
Yes, of course, if either of us had met TT socially, his acquaintances (I find it difficult to believe he actually has any friends!) would surely have been able to warn us off one way or another.
Anyway, whatever – I’m extremely gratified that you spotted my original chest-unburdening post, and found it so helpful. Obviously, the joint motivation behind it was to alert others to TT’s shenanigans, too. That’s why I named names and all that.
Frankly, the thought of Mr E inviting any other unsuspecting woman into his Bluebeard’s Castle of a fantasy-fuelled folie a deux was so dreadful that I felt I’d better take some form of action. Last time I looked, he’s still doing the Internet thing – the bollix!
Yet another reason NOT to go for Internet dating sites. Isn’t Internet dating the absolute giddy limit? It does allow great scope for dishonesty (quite a few of the men are attached/married or looking to see how many women they can ‘get’). And the dreadful ‘box-ticking’ practices it encourages lead to men’s expectations becoming stratospheric, establishing a wildly-unrealistic sense of entitlement as a result.
US-style ‘dating’ is bloody awful, anyway, as you say; it tends to bring out the rampantly consumerist worst in people. I am entirely with you on the advisability of the far more sensible and viable method of letting things occur naturally. And taking your time, forming a firm friendship first of all.
Thank you, also, for your encouraging comments. I am, indeed, a ravishing vish of loveliness (comparatively speaking; see below, for contextual ‘colour’ and indication of competition – ie none), and gifted with the gob as well as guts. Comparatively speaking … Damn it, I know I deserve a hell of a lot more than this! The fact that I am powerless to improve my situation is, probably, the worst aspect of my life as it now is.
As for the animals, well, absolutely – and interesting to hear you’re another animal lover. They can be so much nicer – to say nothing of more reliable and honest – than most human beings.
So yes, very good thinking, Kathy. Thank you for that. In fact, I asked my landlady not long after I arrived if I could take in a rescue cat (there’s a very active cat rescue organisation about 10 miles away). She vetoed it. That was just over 2 years ago, and it still sticks in my craw.
In fact it is now a source of even more resentment, as rather unpleasant new neighbour – also a tenant (she’s young) – has permission to have her dog live with her. A yappy dog. A 24/7-yappy fecking dog. And the party walls are paper-thin. Fed up with being awoken at any time from midnight to 0330h (and, given my underlying depression, unable to get back to sleep thereafter), I enlisted the aid of local Environmental Health Dept. Seems to have worked – although the ganky little wagon’s response to EHD’s polite and helpful suggestions addressed to her was to shove an abusive note through my letter box! Handwritten, in red inked capital letters, yet (I assume joined-up writing is beyond her)! She promptly received a much more coldly nasty reply, which has successfully shut her up and – more importantly – prompted her to get the effing mutt trained. Up to a point, anyway.
Hm. ‘A coldly nasty reply,’ eh? Maybe I did derive some benefit from my brief relations with Mr E …!
As for the stables, you’re right in supposing I’d considered the possibility you mention. But during my first month in this benighted hellhole (twinned with Mogadishu. The sewers of Mogadishu, that is) my car was vandalised beyond repair. This was before I had a chance to transfer insurance cover from Irish to British, so haven’t been able to afford to replace it. Have been without a car ever since, which is major drawback. The nearest stables are only accessible by car – as are most places around here (I really do live in the sticks, I’m afraid). Only half-way decent bus service is to larger town, 22 miles away – and the last bus back here leaves (can you believe this!) @ 1930h!
I had also considered volunteering for Riding for the Disabled, locally – but again both regional branches are miles away out in the wilds. And locals so tightly cliquey and madly suspicious of strangers that any other locally-based member giving me a lift is – absurd though it may seem and, indeed, is – out of the question.
After my divorce/sale of property 14 years ago, I moved out and in with a new partner. Career was going really well, and I worked as a sort of consultant temp p/t. This left me free for voluntary work with local branch of RDA, who had their own horses, stables and paddocks – meaning one worked as much, if not more so, with the horses and ponies as with the clients! Was fab – even though the women who ran it were the usual equestrian type of leathery ladies with parade-ground voices, who treated all volunteers as if we were pig-ignorant cannon fodder! Some of us fought back, making for some old-fashioned, St Trinians-type mischief.
That was such a good time … I miss all that, y’know. Sharing a place with partner, planning to buy together; working on interesting, well-paid projects; being able to continue my City social life/cultural pursuits (was within commuting distance) – and my bestfr was still alive and accessible, bless ‘im.
Now is impossible. Was rejected yesterday for a job in a city where I’d worked before, for which I’d managed to convince myself I would be short-listed. Precisely my area(s) of expertise and client sectors. But, no … it’s been nearly 7 years, now. And, even though I’ve re-trained x 2 (in my own time and mostly at my own expense), appropriate work is just as elusive now as it was back in 2001. In fact, by my conservative calculations this rejection must be c. number 1,500!
Have been offered work abroad – but had to turn down one gig as still undergoing ops/investigations for stomach cancer; another arose, but THEY got cold feet last minute and withdrew their offer. France still open to me; but my lack of substantial funds rules it out as a viable proposition. Why? Because I’d have to start off as ‘vacataire’ (self-employed), on low-paid hourly basis probably part-time – and paying rent, etc., in the kind of expensive location where I’d be able to operate to a degree enabling me to build up a living gradually, wouldn’t be possible on such low earnings (e.g. Euros 18 p.h., maybe 10-15 hours p.w.).
It’s terribly dispiriting. I mean, I started again from scratch financially, etc., 14 years ago – and, God knows, that wasn’t easy. But I was a lot younger, and living near London, with a social/professional network.
Now … well!
And you know I really do think the financial indepence bit is crucial – for me, as much as for any man who might take an interest in me. So fat chance of my ever being ‘found’ by a decent chap – and certainly not in this town, which is full of the most mean-spirited souls I’ve ever met. Also unprepossessing – market day is like a crowd scene from a Fellini film! They all come down from the hills, attracted by the smell of fresh meat and cluster in close groups, gossiping with hideous spite: “Oooh, she never!” “She did!”.
Fascinating. Nothing like living in a place like this to put a girl in touch with her inner nazi! Am now complete convert to the concept of eugenics!!
Seriously, Kathy, I kid you not: this place is horrifying. There are so few exceptions – the women who run the (all-female) gym I attend are darlings, for instance, and incredibly sweet to me; but we don’t have enough in common to form the basis for closer/wider relationships. I have an absolutely lovely couple of retired friends (nurse/merchant banker); but they’re incredibly busy with family, grandchildren and travel, etc. so I rarely see them. I had some very nice immediate neighbours; but they’ve all moved out (the place is going to the dogs!!).
Every time I think the locals have plumbed the depths, they promptly descend to a new nadir of anti-social behaviour! I could give you chapter and verse; but it would take hours! All I can say is that it would be vastly entertaining if it weren’t so hurtful and difficult.
I’ve certainly never been so isolated as I have been during the past couple of years. And me, I am a hopeless ‘craic’ addict! It shocks ME – and I’m living through it. Really, it’s a nightmare – only without the solace of waking up.
Bugger.
Oh, well – onwards and downwards.
Grr. Whingewhinge, groan, moan, grouse. Seems to be what I do best, these days!
I might ask the lovely NML if she could forward my email address to you, if you would like to stay in touch. I don’t always attempt to reach Ecclesian heights of self-pity!!
Take care of yourself. And, again, many thanks for your emails. It’s been great, and very satisfying, to know that I’ve relieved someone who deserves far better from a burden of false guilt.
Anyway, time to shut up now.
G’night and God bless.
Mattie xx