I was shocked when I realised just how long it was since I posted on this blog. Lots of reasons for that, which I won’t go into now, but it clearly needed something pretty major to bring me out of inactivity and get me posting again. That major event, unfortunately, is the break up of a long relationship – in fact the longest relationship of my life to date, with the exception of my parents and siblings!
I knew it was coming really. All the signs were there – the strain had been showing for months, but I pretended not to notice, even when it must have been glaringly obvious to everyone who saw us together. But I am getting ahead of myself and should start right at the very beginning.
I remember our meeting, 41 years ago, as if it were yesterday. It was an ordinary Saturday and I was strolling through Reading market, not looking for anything in particular. The first glimpse was out of the corner of my eye and I couldn’t help but stop and stare. My eyes beheld a vision of sleek, lithe, tanned suppleness that would have turned the head of any teenage boy. I was shy in those days and lacking in confidence, but I was well and truly smitten. I have often thought since then that you have no way of knowing that your newest acquaintance is about to become a long-term partner.
From then on we were inseparable and went everywhere together. When I left college and went to work we were, of course, apart during the day, but I couldn’t wait to get home in the evening and for us to be reunited. As my career progressed then I would arrange for us to be together on business trips all over Europe and beyond. It was always a wrench having to be separated for the security checks which we inevitably had to pass through separately and it always felt like a miniature triumph and no small relief when we were reunited on the other side of the x-ray machines and could continue our journey together.
Over the years, things changed, of course. We both did. There were the inevitable stretch marks, but I silently told myself that those were my fault anyway. The lithe suppleness had gone and the tan had become, it has to be said, rather mottled and uneven. But then, I had aged too. I was no longer the sleek, even skinny, teenager that I had been at our first meeting. My waist – then barely 32” – was now a rather comfortable and well-fed 36”. I hadn’t looked after myself the way I should have done and that is bound to put a strain on any relationship. I blame myself entirely. Our life together had changed. What had for years seemed natural, a perfect fit, now seemed rather strained. It was quite clear that, in places, it was all wearing a little thin. I tried to ignore it, of course. Told myself that things can’t possibly be exactly the same after four decades together. I was fooling myself and (I suspect) no-one else. It was a classic case of being in denial. For the last few months the strain has been blindingly obvious and, towards the end at least, must have been equally obvious to outside observers, though I pretended to myself that they didn’t notice.
Now it is over. Irreparably broken. After 40 years together the constant strain has become too much until my long-suffering, loyal partner quite literally just SNAPPED! Now I must come to terms with what has happened (especially my responsibility for it) and face the fact that it is time to buy a new belt!
beingafatherofgirls 