Dating as a middle aged man

My marriage has ended. The reasons are private, but I will say that no one did anything wrong. Having been separated emotionally for over a year, and in separate homes for about six months, it's time for me to live my best life, and be the best me I can be.

I love in a flat with my eldest adult son.  We don't intereact that much as he is quite agoraphobic, and quite frankly has a healthy online social life that is far more interesting than socialising with his fifty something father.

I have a great group of friends, and I am trying to see more of them where I can, usually at local gigs.

I am however lonely a lot of the time.  I can spend long swathes of time alone, but its getting very boring, and there is a danger of becoming quite hermatic (is that a word? Being a hermit?).  I have started going out on my own to gigs, to the cinema, for meals out, and although being around other people is great for my mental health, I have come to realise that it would be lovely to have someone in my life I can be close to, share experiences, just chat about silly things; who I can drop the social mask in front of.

Anyone who have been in a long term relationship that ends could probably tell you how scary, and difficult it is to even make new friends, let alone meet people that might become more emotionally important.  If you are my age I think it is even harder. 

Traditionally people might meet in social situations, especially if they are young, and are finding their first real person to form a meaningful replationship with.  This might be in a pub, or a nightclub, or at a party.  This is all well and good when these arenas are still exciting, and appropraite to your situation.  My theory though is if you want to share a good proportion of your life with someone, you need to find them in an environment you  enjoy or frequent as part of you own enjoyment.  If you don't like clubbing, there's no real point trying to find a partner there, as they are likely to want to carry on clubbing.  If you don't like going to pubs likewise.  Unfortunately if you're a bit of a homebird you are not going to meet a like minded soul as just staring through their windows trying to catch their eye could be considered creepy, and might end up involving a visit from the people with bodycams, and night sticks.

Another way to meet people is by word of mouth.  Unfortunately all the single women I know of are friends of my ex-wife.  This presents two problems; firstly loyalty to their friend, although I'm sure she would give her blessing, and the other problem is that they know my personality, and consequently are just not attracted to me, even though I'm on the face of it devilishly attractive (Citation needed.  Edit this bit out later you fool)

You can of course meet people is at work, but that obviously presents another problem.  If you date, and it goes badly, you might have to see them every day.

So that leaves the rather scary prospect of internet dating.  Now I have used internet dating, but not for nearly two decades.  It used to be quite fun, I met a dated a few great people, I even married one of them.  There was a great chat, and form culture that was really useful in providing support from other singletons.  Guess what?  It is not like that now.  

Firstly, they whole internet dating ecosystem has been heavily moneterised.  This in itself is not a showstopper. They are providing a service that needs to be funded, and charging for service can in theory put off the chancers, scammers, and players.  However they apps, and services I have looked at so far are using outdated ways of payment.  I would be very worried about putting my credit card details on some of these sites, and there have been too many stories in the press about sites getting hacked, and financial data being sold on the dark web.  

Secondly there is now a culture of making an instant decision about a person based on very little information.  You tend to have to swipe left or right to either commit to moving the process forward, or to drop that person into the dating bin of doom.  

Thirdly, you need to decide from a prescriptive list the type of relationship you are looking for.  Again, this is not a bad thing.  Some people know they want a long term relationship, or choose that option to put off any suiter who might not be serious.  There is a new, well to me, catagory of a casual relationship;  if you look on the internet there are many descriptions of what this might be.  In reallity it seems that this have become a term to replace 'friends with benefits'. The other major catagory is of friendship.  Now this is curious.  Making friends using the internet feels as contrived, and artificial as finding a life partner, but perhap more so.  Kids at school make friends, buy asking 'Will you be my friend?' in the playground, and this feels very much the same. 

What doesn't seem to have changed is the experience men, and women have on these sites.  If you read a few profiles of women on the sites it becomes apparent that there is still a culture of men expecting instanct gratification, being over confident, and pushy, and probably being coersive, and bullying.  If you could visualise internet dating into o couple of images I would imaging a womans experience is like a scene from a nature program where there is one female frog in a pond, literally being drowned by the weight of randy male frogs clinging desperately to her.  On the converse side a male frog is sitting lonely on a lilypad hoping that the lady frog might spot him, and think 'What a nice respectful amphibian, I think I'll shake these pervert off and go and share a nice fly with him'.

For me it's early days.  I have no expectations, and in truth I've found that love will find you when you least expect it

Kind, slightly sagging frog signing off.

365? Really

 Forgive me Universe for I have sinned.  It's been 8 months since my last post.  I have started another 365 Self portrait project again, so i will be posting a select here.   The last one I did almost killed my passion for photography.  I think this one will reignite it, especially in the current climate where we all need as much stimulation as possible to stave off cabin fever.  So here is a catch up of the first 20 days.  Please forgive me.

It's just growing in the wrong place

As Corvid-19 continues to spread, and cause mayhem, we are continuing to observer the government rules about staying at home.  We are very fortunate in that we have a garden.  This means we can throw the kids outside now, and again to make sure they get some daylight, and generate Vitamin D.  The las thing the NHS needs right now is a wave of ricketts, and scurvy. We are also blessed with one of these.

Because of this blessing we do not have a beautiful garden.  We do not have a pretty garden.  What we do have is something akin to Twickenham, at the end of the six nations rugby tournament, during a particularly rainy season. Obviously this Metaphor only applies to when they used to actually play rugby at Twicknham, prior to the virus situation.

However, in these challenging times we have to count our blessings.  Nature has provided for us if we only look closely, and re-adjust our pre-corvid standards.  With that in mind I decided to dust off the old box brownie, put on my best garden slippers, and capture some of these delightful flowers, formerly known as weeds.  Look closely at these unwanted flowers, and you will soon see that, despite being invasive, and difficult to get rid of, the truly are amazing, colourful, and wonders of nature.

We do have a few flowers we have planted too.  Our gardening adage is very much survival of the fittest.

It's the nearest bit of sea.

Did I ever tell you of the time I went to Maldon on Sea. When I rearranged my hours at work, to get a day off each week, I had great plans of going on adventures with my camera.  As you will realise if you read my last post, those plans did not come to fruition, however early on when I was full of enthusiasm I did manage to get out of the county.  I wanted to see the sea.  I calculated the nearest sea would be at the obviously named Maldon on Sea.  It has sea in the towns name.  There must be sea there right?  Remember this, there may be a test later.
Maldon on Sea is very easy to get to.  It doesn't take long.  There is a nice little car park behind the high street that is very easy to find, and does not cost a lot of money.  This is probably a lovely little town in the summer.  Sadly I didn't go in the summer.  I went in the second week of January, and, despite it being very sunny, it was bitterly cold.  The was a wind whistling up the estuary which seemed to be delivered directly across the North Sea, from the frozen fjords of Norway.  However, I had come prepared.  I had on my flat cap, although I had left my whippet at home, and I also had a very cheap but efficient pair of gloves I bought when I had my one, and only, let me emphasise, ONLY, snowboard lesson.
Now when you head out of the carpark there some very clean, if very dated, public toilets.  If you are a born again diabetic, and it's a very cold day, this is a very welcome facility.  Full marks Maldon.  I'm sure the phone numbers on the back of the cubicle door will come in very handy, although I will need to look up some of the words on Urban Dictionary.  After a quick pitstop (check spelling) you head out onto the high street to be presented with a very old church. 

I stop to take some pictures, but the locals stare intently. This may because there is not a lot to do on a cold January morning in Maldon, or perhaps they think I might be casing the joint to steal the church silver, or perhaps it is that someone taking their gloves off to take photos in sub arctic temperatures must clearly be a madman, and surely we need to all the local constabulary, or the men in white coats.  The staring becomes to much so I make my excuses, and leave, like a reported from the Sunday tabloids infiltrating a wife swapping ring in Chingford.
I head down the main street noting the vast number of charity shops, and coffee establisments.  I decide I'm not here to shop or drink coffee, so I head in the direction I believe will be the quickest to see the sea, it is called Maldon on Sea after all! Remember this.
I duck down a side street, and the town starts to get a bit older, and has a more friendly feel to it.  Judging by how people take care of their properties they love this town.  It is starting to grow on me too, but I do love a good seaside town so that isn't too surprising.  I turn a corner, and I see ships.  Definitely ships, ocean going, barnacle bottomed, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, ships.  This must be where the sea is.  I don't know if other families do this, but when we go near the coast we have this unwritten game of who can see the sea first. Whoever shouts "I can see the Sea!", first is the de facto winner of this game.  Of course I am on my own today, and I am not going to shout out "I can see the Sea!";  the locals already have me pegged as a nutter remember!  But soon I am sure I will be able to see the Sea, at Maldon on Sea; Sea is in the name, as you may recall from the start of this post.  As I head towards the ships I know that soon I will round a corner where these ships are moored, and my quest will be fullfilled; and lo I approach the quay.

 The sun is low in the sky and temporarily blinds me, but I press on.  I dip into the shade of a olde worlde looking pub; the sun sin't over the yard arm, but they are serving breakfast, but no! Focus!  I'm not here to eat breakfast at a pub, I'm here with one purpose, and it is nearly met, my eyes adjust to the bright, morning Essex sun, and at last I can see....mud!  MUD!! Lots, and lots of MUD!!! Mud as far as the eye can see!!!!  My heart sinks a little.  The icy wind that cuts through me cannot penetrate the deepening mire of disapointment, a mire surely thicker than the vast expanse of gloopy, gloopy mud that oozes before me.  This can't be it.  I can't have come all this way to see something that I could have walked down the road to see between the banks of the dying River Colne.
A couple walk past, and look at me with pity.  I can almost hear them whispering to each other when that have passed me "I bet he thought he would see the Sea!"
I decide this can't be it.  There must be a place I can see the sea in Maldon on Sea; it's in the name after all!
I walk past the ships, petulantly trying not to admire them; blaming them for my fog of sea-less disappointment.  I pass the harbour office.  I'm tempted to go in an ask where the sea might be found, but the swarthy looking men hanging around smoking, make me feel inadequate, and so I pass on with what I hope is a nonchalant air.  As I turn the corner I am met with what I now know is Promenade Park. Along one side of this lovely park, and it is lovely, is a vast sea wall stretching into the distance.  A sea wall, SEA wall.  I can barely make out where it ends.  It is surely longer that Southend on Sea's pier; for the record Southend on Sea has a lot of mud too, but you can usually see the Sea, and it also has sea in it's name, and richly deserved too!
I set out along the sea wall.  To one side is the pretty Promenade Park with it's vast expanse of lawns, and flowbeds, it's play parks, and boating lakes; to the other side of the sea wall is, well erm, mud (I hate to mention it again, but mud is as mud does).  As I progress along the concrete walkway, dodging dog drops, I see a figure emerge at what must be the end of the see wall.  A vast figure looking out to erm mud. 

As I draw near I can make out the figure is armed and dangerous. It appears to be a warrior with sword held aloft.  I expect he is there to deter the invaders that would have had to wade waist high in dirt, because as you might have guessed when I get to the end of the sea wall I can see nothing but miles of mud shimmering in the winter sun.  I sit dejectedly leaning against the statue of Maldon on Sea's ancient protector.  I'm not going to see the sea today!
Slowly I plod back to town.  I look around the charity shops, and drink coffee. 
I can't be downhearted for long.  Maldon on Sea is a really lovely little town.  I will come back one day, when it's warm.  An I will bring my children.  We will drink in the pub that announces Ping Pong as one of it's main attractions, and we will eat ice-cream in Promenade Park while we watch the model boats on the boating lake. And I will regale them of the time I came to see the Sea, and they will look on me in wonder, and observer
"Why didn't you wait until the tide came in you silly twonk?"

Wednesday is the new weekend

I work part time. This is mainly due to the circumstances around having to look after my son who has severe learning difficulties. As a result my current employment means I get a whole day off each week. Now I generally end up wasting the day by arranging things like dentist appointments; I recently had to get root canal work which was fun while it lasted.  Occasionally I would do fun selfish things like take a trip to the seaside, well to the mudflats, of Maldon, but mainly I waste the day by popping into St. Albans, and wandering around buying too many books, and generally having a meh time.
This week was a little different.  My neighbour decided to book roofers to repair the hat of his house. It needed doing, and chunks of concrete were in grave danger of falling down, and braining someone. Unfortunately the scaffolders had completely blocked my exit so my car was going nowhere in a hurry. So what's a chap to do?  I decided to do something I hadn't done for a long time.  I grabbed my camera gear, and headed off over the fields for a healthy perambulation in the fresh air.
We are lucky to live so close to the countryside, and although you can never escape the dull roar of the M25, there is still plenty of greenery that you can put up with it. One particular field if often festooned by the rich reds of Poppies, and the luscious blues of Cornflower.

In the spring this is a rich carpet of red, and blue, but at this time of year the poppies have mainly gone to seed, and the cornflower are fading fast. It is however a pretty sight.

A little further on my travels I cross a bridge over the aforementioned M25. It is here that the local graffiti brigade ply their trade.  It starts with the novice painters who have little imagination in both their application, and their choice of football team.

The next level up at least try to bring some creativity into their work, although I'm not sure these satanic artists are trying to portray Ali G or Jimmy Saville.  Perhaps we will never know.

Our next paint sprayers start to use colour in a more flamboyant manner, and you will see in the top left corner some stencil work that even Banksy would be proud of.

And then finally someone comes along showboating, and all the other little arty vandals give up and go home.

The previous weekend we could hear what I can only describe, in my Victor Meldrewesque middle aged fashion, as dance music drifting over our town. We could not decide whether it was from the local football club, or a party, or even the booming from the local drug dealers car plying their trade.  I think I have now solved the mystery. A field that has been used as a bike scrambling course, much to the annoyance of the owners, had been used as the overspill campsite from a local farm that appeared to have been having a little festival.  Judging by the amount of plastic litter strewn about they had not followed Glastonbury's example of trying to save the planet

Much Nitrous Oxide was consumed judging by the amount of canisters, and balloons.

Al least the revelers were prepared for rain! 

And isn't there always someone who loses their pant?

Someone will be cursing wasting their stash (don't worry folks I binned it)

Always keep your little dry!

The farm might be having a tent sale soon folks.

So at the end of my little stroll, I was presented with some wisdom from the country folk.

And you can't argue with that!