When I mentioned my latest crazy ideas to an (available) male friend, I was met with derision wrapped in a pastry case of pitfalls.

And of course, in many ways, he was right, HOWEVER, in the same vein, let’s acknowledge how many times ‘some’ great manuscripts have been rejected before they are critically acclaimed and become bestsellers.

Yes, some crazy ideas just need a little bit of spit and a polish with a Granny’s lacy hanky, and they are good to go. Unlike my friend, let’s not be too quick to judge.  It may be a YES from you dear reader…..

I was pondering the dilemma probably all of us face at one time or another, when you spot an attractive man, or woman, in the supermarket. Maybe you lock eyes and do that thing where you hold their gaze for a couple of seconds longer than necessary, or even, do a double-take. Obviously, that’s reserved for very attractive shoppers only.

If you are really a smitten kitten, you might even casually follow the attractive shopper around the store to judge by the contents of their basket, if they are shopping for a meal deal for one….. or two.

And of course, we mustn’t forget that in these modern times, depending on the contents of your pants and persuasion, do their 10 items or less, indicate the contents of their own pants and persuasion, and basically, are you likely to be compatible. It’s a minefield of genders out there, one cannot be too careful.

But you can follow the attractive person all around the store, via home cooking, and artisan bread and cakes, and sadly it will all still be futile if they are not actually available.  But how will you know….and here’s where my crazy idea came in…..

If there was some visible indicator of a person’s availability status, or their willingness to be approached for a quick chat, and possible exchange of numbers, then things would be a lot simpler.

Picture the scene.  You spot someone at the checkout. You lock eyes more than once, you are checking each other out.  But their queue is moving quicker than yours, and they are heading off far too soon out into the car park, whilst you are still trying to find your loyalty card.  Within seconds, they are lost forever. AND yes, possibly going home to their significant other. But possibly not.

So if you did happen to know that they were free and single, you could abandon your shopping for one, and follow in hot pursuit, ready to strike up a car park conversation.  And who knows what could happen.

I stand by my original idea, that all free and single, and happy to mingle with people, (note my nod to gender fluidness) should have a badge of availability honour.  Like those old Rotarians, but far less classy.

That way, you could be sure you weren’t approaching a man living with a coach load of children, or a lady living with a man. No woman would live with a coach load of men. It would be just plain silly. One is more than enough.

Armed with all this knowledge, you could bag yourself a mini Supermarket Speed date in Sainsbury’s, a Micro Date in Morrisons, or a Winner Winner Chicken Dinner in Waitrose.

The possibilities are endless.  So whose up for an availability badge, I’m ordering some sticky back plastic as soon as possible.

As we all enter a new decade, it’s a great time to clear out not only the clutter from your home, but also to say a permanent ‘See you later’ to those dead end relationships that only make you huff and puff and question your own sanity.

Why, I thought to myself, are you still friends with any man who doesn’t leave you smiling, or who has no positive effect on you whatsoever. So now in 2020 I’m taking steps to end those toxic relationships that drain the life out of you, and this one was the first to go.

After another ‘you couldn’t make it up’ lunch with this gentleman acquaintance, I took the easy decision of blocking him from my phone and ending all points of contact.  Sounds harsh, but here’s why…..

I’ve known, (let’s call him) Jim – surprisingly not his real name, – around 10 years.  Quite an attractive man, tall, carries himself well, and wouldn’t look out of place in an East End car lot.

In a different life, he might have been a would be member of a Kray type mob.  Back in the day that is.

An ex publican, plenty of chat, with a mouth that makes appointments for ‘mature man’ fisticuffs, that his body wouldn’t ever actually be able to keep.

But nevertheless, we shared a passion for red wine, warm climates, and long discussions about deciding what to do in our retirement.

But unfortunately for ‘Jim’, over the years, at times he’s not been a very nice friend, and whilst I’ve given him several second chances, this time, there was no point.

The last time I even spoke to ‘Jim’ was in 2015.  He had promised to collect some furniture for me, and I was relying  on him to deliver it to a new place I was renting.

As you can imagine, the actual moving part of all this was stressful enough, but to have him let me down quite spectacularly at the very last minute, tipped me over the edge.

I didn’t contact him again, or return any of his calls or texts.   Until December 2019.

Out of the blue he text to ask how I was, and that he’d like to buy me lunch to catch up.  And being the nosey bird that I am, I DID want to know what life had thrown at him during the 4 silent years. But nothing more than that. So I accepted the invite.

Lunch was arranged for 1.30.  My heart sank at his choice of venue, a fast food pub, but I didn’t intend to stay there too long. Quick drink, quick lunch, quick catch up, done. Maybe for another 4 years!

‘Jim’ arrived in the car park at the same time as me.  A vision approached me, in a long gold coloured Colombo style (flasher) Mac and hugs were exchanged.  I grabbed a table, he went to the bar to order drinks.  So far, so good.

But, it went downhill from there.  Without even exchanging pleasantries, my lunch date ceremoniously plonked 2 G & T’s on the table and launched into a mega speech, which should have come with a warning.

The opening statement was ‘well, I’ve been thinking,… we aren’t getting any younger, and what I think we should do is………’ it was as if I’d only seen him the day before, not 4 YEARS before!

For all he knew, I could have met the love of my life, and got married.  Unlikely, but he didn’t even wait to find out if I’d even had any meaningful relationships in all this time.

The diatribe continued for many minutes, with him telling me how we should pool our resources, and go off to Spain together and run a bar.

Oh and if it had rooms above it,  I could maybe run an Airbnb. ( as I’m already an Airbnb Superhost, this was the most sensible part of his suggestion).  He had it all worked out, and I really couldn’t get a word in edgeways.  He was on a roll.

Within all this, we had ordered some ‘fast’ food. As I’d looked at the menu, I’d mentally made a note of what he would order, and I wasn’t wrong, the cheapest item, as always.

As an ex publican, he knows exactly where the food has been bought from, and his choice is dictated not by what he likes, or fancy’s, but what HE is paying for it, simply because he knows what the pub has paid for it. But he thinks I don’t know this!

I listened patiently, he didn’t pause for breath, whilst he put a price on all the belongings he would sell, and instructed me to start saving, so we could make our escape.   At last he stopped, and threw an uninterested ‘ So how have you been…..’ in my direction.  Ah, I thought, my turn to talk, your turn to listen.

With that, ”Jim’ turned and took his mobile phone out of his Flasher Mac pocket, and proceeded to scroll through it, as only uninterested people do, and became completely engrossed, occasionally glancing my way and giving me a cursory, ‘Yeah, I’m listening’……..actually mate, you definitely are not.  

It was the most bizarre lunch date I’ve endured in a long time, and trust me, I’ve endured quite a few.  A man who was nothing more than an occasional ‘friend’, who I hadn’t seen, or spoken to for 4 years, sat in front of me virtually dictating what WE should do, without pausing for breath.  No niceties, no catch up, no verbal foreplay, just straight in wham bam……..but actually, NO THANK YOU MAN!

How arrogant, how presumptuous, how rude and completely oblivious to what he was doing.

Normally, I’d linger over a coffee, enjoy the chat, and be interested in what someone had been up to in the 4 years since I’d last spoken to them. But once I could see that this was just a load of self centred clap trap, I made my excuses, thanked him for a lovely ( it was not) meal, and left.

To give you some idea of how quickly I made my own escape, I arrived at the pub at 1.30pm, I was back home with a cup of tea at 3.00, and 15 minutes of that was journey time!

Quite some ‘speed date’ then…..!

I wish I could keep my mouth shut. I really do. Not only that, I wish I could NOT write the things that I do.  But it’s impossible, and the fact, that in my opinion, mature men are so boring, is one more example of things that I wish I could NOT write.

One of my last missives was concerning a gentleman friend, who’d committed several crimes against brushes, and generally pissed me off, though not to the point where I’d banished him to the ‘ex’ friends heap as he continues to give me plenty of ‘content’ with which to create witty and amusing missives for your (possible) entertainment.

Don’t get me wrong.  He’s a nice man, a very very nice man. But bloody hell, why are mature men so boring. He’s turned 65, and though I will never meet her, as she’s currently propping up a very new and shiny headstone in Highgate Cemetery, I think he’s turning into his Mother, which brings me nicely to the reason for my story. 

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I cannot believe how, or why it has taken me so long to add something vaguely witty or wise to my little Hello Sixty blog. This is the story of one man and two brushes and includes a bone china cup.  All will become clear, so stick with it.

BRUSH NUMBER ONE FOR ONE MAN TWO BRUSHES and a bone china cup 

I’m really fussy about tea.  I like to make my own tea, and wherever possible it has to be Yorkshire Tea.

I don’t mind it being made in a mug during the day and evening, BUT my first cup of tea of the day just has to be made in a white bone china cup. Don’t ask me why it just does.

As lots of you will know, I’ve recently returned from a trip to Spain, and after selling all my worldly goods to go in the first place, now I need to restock my new abode with virtually everything from knives and forks and pots and pans, right up to beds, sofa’s and beyond.

One of my gentleman callers who starts virtually every sentence with ‘I’m not tight but….’ gets very turned on by a trip to Poundland and he treated me to 6 new mugs. They cost exactly a £1.00 each.

They were perfectly acceptable, but favorite was still my pure white, bone china breakfast teacup, which I bought myself, and cost £4.99 in Sainsbury’s.

And yes you can Taste the Difference.

Fast forward.  I’ve gone mad painting shelves and upcycling some shabby shite which I’ve paid next to nothing for at car boot sales, and I’m very fond of wrapping my brushes in cling film and leaving them laying around the kitchen until the next project.

Imagine if you will then how utterly grateful I was to Mr. ‘I’m not tight but…’ when I found that out of all the mugs in my kitchen, he’d ‘helpfully’ rounded up my paint brushes and left them to soak in……..my beautiful pure white bone china breakfast teacup.

It’s relevant to say here that Mr ‘I’m not tight but….’ is a nice chap, very helpful, and a top bloke for putting up shelves and curtain poles. But he’s SO careful with his money, and likes to hold onto it for as long as humanly possible

Oh, and did I mention he’s won the lottery not once, but twice!  Not life changing amounts, but more than enough to make a big difference, and just last week won yet another £150 on a scratch card.  Talk about money going to money! 

BRUSH NUMBER TWO FOR ONE MAN TWO BRUSHES and a dustpan and brush.   

One man, two brushes

Things disappear don’t they, usually, it’s just socks and things. But recently so did my dustpan and brush. I have no idea where it went, I think I must have just left it in a bin bag and chucked it out with the rubbish.

Mr ‘I’m not tight but…’ found this completely mystifying and mulled over its disappearance for an unhealthily long time.

The lost dustpan and brush was actually white, but he mourned the loss so much he began to even debate the colour, saying that he was sure it was maroon.

He’d been putting up some shelves, and there’s always that bit of dust that gets trapped on the skirting board, and of course, you don’t realise how handy a dustpan and brush can be until you’ve chucked them away!

But on about the 5^th time of him trying to start a conversation about the ffffflippin dustpan and brush, unsurprisingly I flipped and suggested that if I had one handy, I’d shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

Some days later, he left a voicemail on my phone that went something like this.

‘You are going to laugh at this’…….( I doubted it )……I’m in a shop, standing in front of loads of dustpan and brushes all in different colours, and I don’t know if I should get you one or not, and what colour you would like. You are not answering your phone and I really don’t know what to do’.

And then he hung up. Apparently at the time of the call he was standing in Poundland, where the dustpan and brush was ONE pound.  He didn’t get me one. It was £1.00. ONE Pound.

If you, on the other hand really don’t get ME, refer back to the paragraph in italics above.

In the end, I bought my own dustpan and brush, and it too cost a £1.00 from a boot sale, after a few outings, the handle broke.

Now if only someone had bought me a spare one………MEN!

Read more about Mr. I’m not tight but…….http://www.hellosixty.com/mature-men-are-so-boring/

Fancy some Fish and Chips on Friday?  he typed.   That would be lovely, I typed back.

We don’t actually talk very often, but we type a lot to each other.  Sometimes we watch whole programmes on the telly together too, whilst sitting miles apart. Yes I know, we should get out more but honestly, we are just good friends.

The exchanges are fairly succinct.  Celebrity MasterChef, for example, is accompanied by  ‘that looks like shite’,  or ’not enough jus with the lamb’  and ‘shovel it in Greg’………..highbrow stuff.

Then, in the middle of our ‘conversation,’ we both nod off on our respective sofa’s, about 20 miles apart until the next time.  (more…)