Relationships: Part II

For all you Orwellian voyeuristic freaks interested in my date last Saturday it was, all in all, a success. The pessimist in me, however, was sure to make his presence felt.

I awoke on the morning in question with the somatic anxiety that I had hoped would have faded from the day before when I’d had an exam. Evidently I was equally nervous about the date as I was about the exam.

On the bus journey down into town familiar fatalist thoughts crept into my mind: Would I forget her name (it wouldn’t be the first time)? Would I spill hot tea over her (again, going over old ground here)? Would she not even show up (mercifully not based on experience)?

I queued and got a table at the restaurant – a health food restaurant as she’s a self-described ‘hippie-dippie-veggie’– and after a few tense minutes, to my relief and delight, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. Smiles, hugs, kisses on the cheek and fumbled seating etiquette ensued. I managed not to step on her feet but the poor lady standing behind me in the queue was less fortunate. Whoever you are, I apologise.

We ordered drinks – hot cordial for her and, tempting fate, tea for me – and settled into the conversation.

I had a thought, when the food came, that restaurants aren’t the best places to go on dates: Chatting over the (ideally, candle-lit) little table is all very well but as soon as the food arrives conversation either stops or becomes very awkward while you both try to eat and talk at the same time.

We seemed to cope, mainly by me asking questions and her covering her mouth and frantically clearing it of debris before answering. As a result I finished my fish finger sandwich long before her poached eggs were even half devoured.

After the meal I broke a cardinal rule of mine with regard to dating: we went to the cinema. I’ve never really liked going to the cinema on a date as I’ve always been conscious that the other person may not like the film we’d chosen.

As it turned out we both enjoyed it and it was a nice excuse to spend time with each other and not have to worry about conversation… or so I convinced myself later that evening, although I’m still not sold on the idea.

We parted in a bit of a rush. She was going on to meet a friend and I was catching the bus, so any urges to end the encounter with a kiss were hastily abandoned.

We kept each other virtual company by text on Sunday, expressing mutual feelings of wanting to be each other’s hot water bottle – a dead giveaway there’s something more than friendship on the cards.

Epilogue

I’ve moved back to London now (with no job and exams to revise for) and I find myself asking whether it’s all going to be worth it. London to Worthing isn’t exactly ‘long distance’ but we’ve barely scratched the surface of familiarity. She’s promised to visit, which is a comforting sign that she’s as into me as I think, and it’d be silly to abandon something that’s started so promisingly purely because of geography.

I wish we’d had more time as friends before leaping into something more. But, as a friend of mine told me: “You can’t always have it run as you think it should.” Could this be the mystery of love, that comes when you least expect it? If it’s not meant to be then it’ll fizzle out.

I keep asking myself: Why does there have to be such an uncomfortable phase between meeting someone and getting to the stage where you are entirely comfortable with each other’s company?

While we were sitting in the cinema and again walking down the street I found my hand hanging at my side in the vain hope that either she’d take it or I’d summon up the courage to take hers. How can such intimate thoughts of cuddling up on a sofa or meeting each other’s parents be running through my head when I’ve not even held her hand?

I guess it’s all part of the game…

Relationships: part I

I won’t lie to you, it’s been a while… since I’ve been in a relationship.

I’ve never been one to rely on relationships to define who I am (I’m talking about the romantic kind) which is what I’m guilty of thinking of people who seem to flit from one emotional pillar to another.

I won’t be the first, though, to say that being in a stable relationship rocks and a lot of self-doubting bugbears are banished when you’re in one. All the issues regarding your opinion of yourself – am I too fat/thin/short/tall?; am I cultured enough?; are people put off by my excessive tidiness? – seem to become irrelevant when you find someone who likes you just the way you are.

The reason I bring this up is because I had the most energising night of interrupted sleep the other day. Having had a last minute offer to review a play that evening I hesitantly took up the offer, foregoing a physically and psychologically exhausting session of capoeira which, on reflection, wouldn’t have done my ego any good. What a good decision that turned out to be.

It turns out that the press officer who contacted me for the gig is a sweet, charming, eloquent and beautiful girl who has agreed to let me repay her the favour of offering me the gig with late lunch on Saturday. After staying up ‘til 1am writing the review, when I got into bed I couldn’t settle down with the thought of her running through my mind.

I barely knew her yet already in my mind I could form happy situations involving the two of us: holidaying in a rural cottage in Devon; arriving at a mutual friend’s birthday party as a couple; or curled up on the sofa watching Fred & Ginger films on our sofa in our quiet apartment on the south coast.

Of course, it’s early days and we may yet find that we’re completely incompatible for one reason or another. But for now I’m happy in my imaginary euphoria.

Only time will tell whether these figments of fervour will form through fantastic circumstance. Watch this space…

Art and Science: part I

Earlier this year on a family holiday to France I started to torment myself with the question of whether art or science affected society and, if so, to what extent? 'Did they affect each other', I wondered?

Many a civilised dinner conversation was turned into a debate about the various merits of both and amongst my family there were many opinions. I’d like to share, if I may, one of the conclusions that I’ve come to over the past six or seven months:

Art reflects society

Anyone who’s struggled through On Popular Music by Theodore Adorno will know this principle. He argues that in order to sell music as commodity it must be culturally relevant. Therefore the most successful music – commercially – is that which is most culturally relevant. We sometimes forget that Bach’s music, in its day, was ‘pop’; Bach was the Simon Cowell of the 18th century.

This still holds true: no-one buys music they don’t understand or relate to, unless they’re rather pretentious, and modern art (I’m talking abstract, cubism, post-modernism) only survives because it can be understood and appreciated by a majority of decision makers in the world, and who is a more influential decision maker today than the masses?

Art, therefore, cannot affect society as it is only a reflection of it, no? Wrong, because art is specific to a local society, not a global one. There are ‘uninfluenced’ people across the globe who would be inspired by this art. Even art within the same sphere can affect its kin: African music still inspires western musicians and has affected composition for years.

You’d have to be deaf to ignore the fusion styles that have emerged over the last 50 years. HMV seems to add a new genre of music every time I visit (not that often I must add) and specialist styles litter the internet, the greatest melting pot of creativity today.
As this world gets smaller due to improved communication and transport links the melting pot also gets smaller and art in general will become more homogenous. The crossover in music between the ability to write a symphony and compose a pop song is becoming more broadband: This year at the BBC Proms Goldie premiered his first orchestral composition and Michael Nyman has recently collaborated with soul singer David McAlmont.

I recently reviewed Alan Ayckbourn’s play Absurd Person Singular. In the press release was this quote from the playwrite:

As a nation we show a marked preference for comedy when it comes to play-going, as any theatre manager will tell you. At the same time, over a large area of the stalls one can detect a faint sense of guilt that there is something called enjoyment going on. Should we, people seem to be asked, be sitting here laughing like this? It’s to do with the mistaken belief that because it’s funny, it can’t be serious – which of course isn’t true at all. Heavy, no; serious, yes. In other words, it can be funny, but let’s make it truthful.

It’s this last part that I feel seals the deal for me. Art will not succeed if it’s not recognisably relevant to its audience.

Different societies, however, can and will continue to be affected by the art of other cultures in an ironic bid to become more 'cultured'.

Autumn Rocks!

I've been saving the sentiment of this blog for the perfect occasion. This morning provided such an occasion.

I love autumn. Winter's to cold; summer's too hot; spring's to optimistic. Autumn is, for me, the perfect combination of warm sun, cool air, occasional rain and nostalgia.

The colours in autumn are so much more vivid to me than at any other time of year. This cartoon (from xkcd) sums it up for me:



Autumn is a time when you make the effort to drive to somewhere you've already seen, just to see it at this time of year.

From past experience I always associate autumn with a new start. Almost invariably a new academic year, having worked in the education sector since I left my student role in it.

It is the perfect time to sit down and think about where you're at, what the next step is and how to make it happen. In winter all I'm thinking about is how to make the money last until after Christmas, and spring and summer are too jolly and action packed with holidays to really reflect.

I've always been convinced that the only way to enjoy autumn at it's best was to go for a long walk in the country, far away from traffic and urbanisation. But this morning I was equally happy just to drive from London to Brighton (not the most scenic route, I know) and enjoy the free flowing traffic and the blazing sun that destroys my retinas if I catch even a glimpse of it.

Today will be a good day...