Scratching Itches

Bloody men. Seriously. If they didn't have penises we'd throw stones at them.

I'm thinking about scratching a fifteen-year-old itch. Just thinking about it. Like I think about going back to do Medicine at university. Or I think about entering the property market. Or I think about selling my flute. Or I think about buying a pair of skinny jeans.

I'm allowed to think about it, aren't I?

This story goes back to Friday. I've been having a bit of a time at work recently and things have been a bit stressed - I've been spread over two departments - two days a week I spend with Popeye, Bongo, Jim Jams, Pog and Dil - my darling team, doing my normal job. The other three days of the week I'm working with another group authoring documents for them. This would be fine if the two departments didn't encroach on each other. In particular my regular job has been getting in the way of the strict deadlines imposed by the other team - and I've been getting requests for training, daft report requests, "Pandora - do you know where I can find...?", "Pandora, can you give this a quick edit..?" It's been like that at Tin Can String and Whistle for the last few weeks - it just seems worse with the public holidays and the like. Oh, and adding insult to injury, the RAM on my laptop corrupted so I've been running back and forth from the Unhelpful Desk to get it fixed.

Anyways, Friday afternoon I get an email from my friend Mack. Mack is the one who got me into freemasonry. Mack's pretty intuitive. He asked me why I was virbrating at such a rate. This is Mack speak for I've been thinking about you, how are you doing? After a bit of digging and a few quiet tears I admitted to him that I was feeling the heaviness that occassionally comes from being single. I think I blurted out "I want a husband." But I can't be sure.

Mack, as always, had some sage advice - the fact that Mack is four months older than me and has five kids should make me wary of his advice - but this is beside the point. His advice was valid. "Manifest, Pandora. You know what to do. Be specific. Don't ponder the hows - just the whats." So I shove out to the universe that I want a loving, caring, attractive, emotionally secure, financially secure, intelligent, sexy husband.

And I go on my way to beer club.

Stupid thing is that since then all these men from the past have come back in some shape or form.

Grounded Dutchman calls. Not that Grounded Dutchman has ever been anything more than a friend, I was wondering where he had got to.  He'd gone off the air for a while.

Then Bernd calls - one of my favorite fellows. Had a good chat with him. Again, Bernd is ten days younger than me - lovely guy, but happily married and a grandfather to boot.

Reindert gives me a call from America. Silly Dutchman comes back from a trip to Holland. Gareth rings from England... The list goes on. All my favorite men have got back in touch.

Universe! I want a husband of my own - not somebody elses!

Then the universe pulls the best for last.

Then the killer - Lachlan gets in touch. Lachlan of the fifteen-year-itch.

How does one describe the enigma that is Lachlan. All snake hips, cat's eyes and wry smiles, sexy in an unexpected way - John Cusack/Clive Owen sexy, too smart for his own good, daft sense of humour, knows the words to every song he's ever heard. A lover of beer and poetry. He who used to be my bestest of best friends.

Lachlan was the only one who said "Don't go" when I left England ten years ago. Lachlan is the only person I know who's ever had an opinion on my hair - actually if I'm honest, he's the only one who's ever told me what to do - and then I go ignore him. Lachlan who I have trawled endless bars with, drunk myself senseless with, smoked endless packets of cigarettes, read verses of Carol Ann Duffy with. Lachlan, who smells like a mix of Marlboro smoke, toothpaste, Fendi Life Essence and his own musky blend. Lachlan with his flat feet and slouch and Gloucester accent.

Lachlan, who hasn't really got a clue what I'm about now. I always make a point of catching up with him when I'm over in the UK. I keep a bit hidden from him - just as he keeps stuff hidden from me.

I left England in 1999. Not a month goes by without hearing from him.

The email read - when you're in England in November, want to go away, go to the Lake District or somewhere like that for a while? Come away with me.

How does Pandora read this? What does Pandora speak? Love, or be silent?

Well, it's kept my brain churning for the last few days. Time in the Lake District with Lachlan. What a great way to end my epic adventure abroad. Or is it just the universe having a laugh.

Hmm.

One more fact. Lachlan and I have only ever shared one kiss. Just one. Once.

I still think the universe is having a laugh.

Card of the Blog: The Lovers

See - I told you the universe was having a laugh!

Kilometres walked since 29 January: 306 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 184 km
Currently reading: The God of Small Things by Arundahti Roy
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 1.7 kg
April Kms: 190/220