Well, ooo-arrr-um, she isn't my spouse, but here's the story of how it happened for this squirrel lover...
Back in Sept. 2001 I was entering my final year of university. My prison that year took the form of a university-owned purpose-built flat that housed six people. There were six blocks, each comprising either two or three of these flats, four on one side of a road, two on the other. I was in one of the "two on the other" so to speak. Such spirit-sapping details will become more pertinent later...
When walking to and fro' the university campus, every now and again I would walk past somebody who - as I told my long-suffering flatmates every single time it happened - looked "interesting". She always had a thoughtful, interesting look on the ol' visage, the sort where either the cove in question is pondering life's great mysteries or they're constipated. In a hitherto rare display of optimism I hoped for the former (well you would, wouldn't you). As for her knee-length coat, well that was super-interesting in a pleasingly Penrose patterned way.
The Christmas break rolled round and I scurried off back to the parental nest, bringing as I did the image of coat-girl (from now on known as CG) in my head, a picture which positively popped to prominence in the T1000 bean when least expected. This kind of thing had happened before of course, but 21 years of ineptitude had seen to it that girlfriends I had had not one. Mind you, the difference a little tiny space makes..."girl friend" and "girlfriend". I could have written books on the subject. With this in mind, plus a dashed good pair of socks received for Christmas from Aunt C., adrenaline was flowing and I resolved that when I got back to university I would get around to saying hello to CG.
Got back to the academic establish. in early Jan. 2002 and, erm, you know how it is, cold light of day being what it is an' all that. That which was resolved had now rather dissolved. One Thursday near the start of Feb., my smallest and altogether hardest flatmate, who also happened to be president of the film society ... [Quick aside: When I first met her she said she was president of a society called "SinSoc", I reckoned that such a club must be enjoyably decadent and deliciously debauched what? Only later did I realise my error, "CinSoc" as it was being a society specialising in high-brow art-house cinema] ... was adamant that I should go and see a film that her society was putting on that evening, a film called "Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulin". Now as a rule I tend to avoid movies where I can't pronounce the title, but pres. insisted it was a beaut., so off I trotted.
Blimey. You know those times when it feels like you've been dragging your feet around a bit, chin on chest rather, down in the dumps, and then God grabs you by the collar, whispers the meaning of life in your lug-hole and tells you that you are the man, that nobody can stop you, and you start feeling the adrenaline surging? Well, this wasn't one of those occasions. The following morning though, it felt that the control centre upstairs in the cranium had caught up with what happened in the film, and I had a very real, calm, deep-seated feeling of positivity.
A few things happened subsequently, after seeing that film, one of which was deciding to say hello to CG. I had a totally unexpected chance in the mail room one day where she was going out just as I was going in. Not coming up with anything better than "So, you've got a letter there I see, taken from the mail room, good good" I thought it best not to offer up any words of approach, and walked straight past.
Around Feb. 9th or 10th my flatmate rushed up to the flat and said "JIBBO!! That girl you used to drone on about is in the laundry room, y'know, the one with that stupid coat that you think is so interesting". Being a student, dirty clothes and my bedroom were natural partners, so I gathered a few of 'em up (clothes, not bedrooms) and biffed off pronto-ish to the laundry room. Round the corner, up the steps, door code entered, deep breath, door open, hope there aren't loads of people...quick room scan, not many people. In fact, no people. Least none that weren't hiding behind the washing machines and tumble driers. And there probably weren't any there either to be fair. Thinking that another chance had proverbially slipped, it dawned that one of the tumble driers was going round. And on the aforementioned it said "22 minutes". Ever the super-sleuth, I eventually worked it out that she was going to be back in, ooh, around 22 minutes. After eight minutes of standing there doing nothing, apart from feeling like a right royal tit, I put my clothes into one of the washing machines and returned to the flat. I would come back in 22-8= 14 minutes. 14 minutes later and I was back in the L. room. Tumble drier said 3 minutes on it...hold on...the door was open and there were no clothes in it! Who the hell gets their clothes out EARLY?! Hopes...dashed. Curses...uttered. Slimy chat-up line....ruined.
Started thinking that this was all getting a bit silly. She was just a girl in a cool coat who had caught my eye. Big deal. Though she was pretty foxy in an interesting kind of way, I'm enough of a realist to think that stuff in the movies doesn't often come true. And plus, there was that girl that was a friend of a friend who was clever, sexy and sort of liked chess, in truth then, pretty much the holy trinity what? and I'd be seeing her again for sure.
Nevertheless, infused with an Amélie-esque spirit, I reckoned on using Valentine's Day as an opportunity to leave a card, one that just let CG know that somebody had noticed her, that somebody somewhere had taken the time to tell somebody else that they looked kinda cool, and that they made somebody just feel a bit happier for some unknown reason when walking past. Maybe I'd say hello to her one day, mebbe I wouldn't. I'd leave it in the mail room, addressed to "Room F205" as I didn't know her name.
[Aside: Stalker signs may be flashing - if they are, well, they're malfunctioning - this was how I guessed her room number: fire alarm rings in block F => people traipse out, gather outside block E (my block). One of 'em = CG. Plus, giant poster covering window of room in block F = advert for a drama production. One of my flatmates = orchestra member for said prod. Tells me that she saw CG in a rehearsal for the prod. Every flat has same layout => deduction of what her room no. is]
"Forgive this boldness, forgive me please, be it not my intention, to cause you unease" "It's just when you glide by, albeit once in a while, my tummy feels warm, and my lips form a smile"
Now it aint Shelley or Wordsworth. And depending what kind of person you are you may read that in a card and suspect that it's come from a deranged mad man. But it was the best I could do and the goal was after all just to make someone's day. On the 15th of Feb I was sitting by my window in my bedroom thinking about doing some work. Hidden voices were chattering away on the main path from block F, past block E and then up to campus, far below my window, when a rather rummy thing happened. Amongst the noise I heard somebody say "I still can't believe it" and emit happy laughter, to which came the reply "yeah but what if it was from a stalker?". I wouldn't have been able to see the participants from my window even if I had looked out but I rather wanted to lean out and shout "Yeah but I'm not!".
And that, was that. The first person's voice sounded very happy. Mission accomplished. I felt proud that I had done something like that, and that I had gained confidence. Next time I met the chess-liking friend of a friend I'd be that little bit better at handling the situash I reckoned.
And then, one week later, CG replied.
[continued]
Two of my flatmates had been down in the mail room on the evening 21st of Feb checking their mail. They burst into the flat, clutching an envelope with a large "?" on it, insisting that I open it. I did so, and inside was a card with several beautifully hand-written lines. My heart was pounding as I read.
It's a funny thing, y'know, anonymous message leaving. CG and I wrote to each other every four or five days, for about a month. Always the same drill, envelope with F205 on in the mail room, envelope in reply with ? on the shelf not in any pigeon hole. We wrote to each other about what we liked about life, a bit about who we were and where we had grown up, always keeping the missives fairly short and anonymous, me writing them in cards with a different Jack Vettriano painting on the front of each, her writing them on the back of postcards or photocopies of these astonishing pictures, that I later discovered were all photographs from "Earth from the air: 365 days", taken by Yann Arthurs-Bertrand. In her fourth or fifth letter she told me that she was appearing in a Gilbert & Sullivan production, and that whilst she had grown to dislike much of the G&S society and G&S in general, she would be delighted if I came. I told her I would, and half-jokingly that I would be wearing a black jacket with an orange rose in its lapel in case she wanted to meet afterwards.
After the performance I hung around in the foyer for a little while (I had to anyway because I was going to carry my flatmate's french horn home for her). There was no sign of CG.
Flatmate and I returned to the flat, and sat around in the kitchen eating, listening to music, talking, joined as we were by another flatmate. By about midnight one of them said that they could here banging on the window. She turned the music off and went over to the window. CG was down on the path, throwing small stones up at our kitchen window, wondering if I was around and would I go down to see her.
Nervously I went down the stairs, outside, round the corner, along the path, and she was there, lying on her back slap in the middle of the path. I lay down beside her, keeping a non-threatening distance between us, and we sat and talked on that path until 2am. And then after that we went up to my kitchen and sat on the floor there, talking until 6 in the morning.
We both wanted to see each other again. It's now Sept. 2004 and Iva (pronounced ee-va) and I are living, loving and arguing together.
My happiest moment of recent years was when I took her to see Amélie, which was showing for just a couple of days in the local art-house cinema.
Great story indeed, Mark. I would imagine you never had to worry about getting enough words in your essays. 🙂
I met my wife on a blind date set up through mutual friends. I never was too keen on blind dates, but our friends' reassured me that we had alot in common. The moment I seen her I experienced the butterfly effect inside me, I knew she was the one.
Originally posted by Brother EdwinMy wife was my sister in law at the time. I kissed her at about 5am. We were down on the dock. We soon realized that it would be way too uncumfortable to see each other at family get togethers we decided to get married. 😉
Well how, where, and when did you meet your partner? Im looking for tips/advice.
Originally posted by David Tebb😀 what are you saying Tebbo ... want me to pass your number on to her? 😉
A delightful story, Mark. But whatever happened to the other attractive girl who was into chess? 😉
As it happens, I saw her again a couple of times as part of the friends group type thing. I never had the best of interactions with English students though. Tell such a person that you study Mathematics and they sort of blink, go a little red in the cheek, turn slowly, and then run quickly, fleeing from the alien numbers freak who must have as much sense of the aesthetic as a cave man with a hangover. Well. That's a bit unfair on her, for she was a kindly enough dame but my heart had been captured by the time I ended up seeing her again. Plus, she didn't have an interesting coat 😉
Anyways, cheers to Skip and to cookie-lady 🙂
PS: RC, behave! 😀
Originally posted by Paul DiracThank you kindly you midget-wrestling lover! 🙂
A jolly right good story, that. I see from your accent that you are from the north of England.
🙂
Sorry to disappoint though...I'm a southern softie all the way. Those 'ooo-arrr's were just my thinking-grunts. I don't have enough warm jumpers or umbrellas to live up north 😉
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I met my girl in Palma, Majorca. I was over with 6 mates on a drinking weekend. Luckily she was on a hen night so we were both at a level of drunkeness where we could communicate to some extent. It nearly went wrong with the killer question of "whats my name" as I walked her back to the hotel, I knew it was an "icky" but I had no idea if it was "nicky", or "vicky". 50/50 was kind to me. I am sure if I had got it wrong it would all have stopped there.
Andrew