I've been in many different churches over the years. I've sat through many different sermons by many different preachers and I've concluded that there are two types of talk. First, there are times when you hear something said that just washes over you and makes absolutely no difference to your life whatsoever. And then there are times when something is said that, although not directed at you by the speaker, feels like God has addressed it to you personally and you cannot help but sit up and take notice. It's that feeling you get when you walk up to a group of people and know someone's talking about you. Like the words you hear echo in your chest and all you're sure about it is that you've got to do something about what you've heard.
The latter happened to me yesterday.
I was at church, nothing usual about that, it's a regular feature of my Sunday's most weeks. I was sat in the congregation, something slightly unusual seeing as it was the first time I wasn't involved in being up the front for about seven weeks. The subject of the sermon was...
Shopping.
The basic point of the sermon was not that shopping was bad or that God was opposed to shopping and anyone that shops more than once a month is not allowed into heaven. But it was more along the lines of being sensible in your shopping habits. Shopping to live rather than living to shop. We all need to shop to buy clothes and food and thats a good thing. Even shopping for gadgets and things to make our lives more enjoyable is ok. There is nothing fundamentally wrong with the act of shopping itself even.
It's our motives for shopping that were questioned. Why do we buy what we buy? What is it about designer stuff that is appealing? Why do we feel we have to upgrade to the next model of this phone or that gadget?
The answer lies within our desire as human beings to belong.
And consumerism plays on that desire. Consumerism tells us that products and things will complete us. That Nike football boots will make you the best player and admired by your team-mates, that Prada handbags will bring you a glamourous lifestyle and respect, that the top range phone will somehow gain you more friends to call. But these are all lies. The brand name, whether genuine or a genuine fake, will not bring you what you want. The buzz of having the new thing fades so quickly and is never satisfied.
But for some reason we spend money we don't have on things we don't need to impress people who don't care.
If not complete without the handbag, you'll never be complete with it.
If you can't kick a ball straight, no brand of football boot will ever help you.
Shopping in itself is a good thing, but it's our motives for buying things that is what we need to carefully examine and keep in check. And I say we because I am the worst person for this.
Confession Time: I am a shopaholic. I like shopping, I like clothes - there is nothing wrong with my appreciation for fashion (you may have other opinions on that).
But what struck me more worryingly yesterday was that I like that I am a shopaholic. For some reason I am proud to admit that I have too many clothes. And actually, I don't want to be like that. I have been through my wardrobe before and found clothes with the tags still in them that I've never worn. I often doubt my own ability to buy a pair of trainers without 'adidas' printed on them. It is this side of me that I have been challenged on and that I'm going to try and change. I haven't the slightest idea how yet but I will continue to think about it and work out a way to alter my shopaholic tendancies.
Too many times I've heard things and they've gone in one ear and out the other. This time, I want it to be different.
Monday, 22 September 2008
Monday, 15 September 2008
I'll be there for you...
Firstly, many apologies for the ridiculously large period of time between this blog and the last one. I have no excuses, I just haven't written 'til now. There is no deeply philosophical or theological reason for not writing it. I just haven't.
This rambling array of my ponderings has been stewing for some time though and has been fueled even more after the events of this 'summer' - a term I grudgingly use to describe the season just past in spite of the weather.
I have been lucky (or fortunate or whatever the 'Christian' alternative to lucky is) this summer in that I have been away a few times. I spent good times back in Geneva and had the privilege of returning to Le Pas Opton, the site of Spring Harvest Holidays. These were very different times - Geneva included among other things a weekend music festival, LPO was its usual unique blend of the sublime and the ridiculous.
However, it was not the location that made this summer memorable. It was the people. A combination of old friends and new friends. I've reminisced with people I've known for ages and share countless experiences with. I somehow slotted into a team of people I had known for a short time and some I'd never met before. I've had deep and meaningful conversations. I've had good meals with good people and endured the most hideous sausage casserole ever created. I've played football with lads as close to me as brothers and sang duets with beautiful girls I love dearly. I've had laughs, I've shared tears, I've hugged, I've nearly killed; it has been an awesome summer of people.
Which has led me to wonder - What is it that makes people just seem to click?
They* say opposites attract, and yet I'm now really close friends with someone who is so remarkably like me it's often quite freaky.
They* say that the strongest of friendships are forged in the toughest of intense environments.
They* say that wounds from a friend can be trusted.
I wish I had the answer to why some friendships last and why some dissolve before your very eyes; why someone you've known for a relatively short period of time can seem closer than one you've known for years.
Is it time?
Is it communication?
Is it personality?
Is it intimacy?
Who knows?!
All I do know is this; that dotted around the world right now are people who I have had the pleasure of knowing in a whole range of different circumstance and now gladly call friends.
A good friend of mine once said "put your life on the line for your friends." There is a group of people who I would, without hesitation, put my life on the line for them.
Friends come and friends go, but a true friend sticks by you closer than family. (Proverbs 18:24)
That's the kind of friends I want to have,
and more to the point...
That's the kind of friend I want to be.
*Sidenote: I'd love to meet whoever They are!
This rambling array of my ponderings has been stewing for some time though and has been fueled even more after the events of this 'summer' - a term I grudgingly use to describe the season just past in spite of the weather.
I have been lucky (or fortunate or whatever the 'Christian' alternative to lucky is) this summer in that I have been away a few times. I spent good times back in Geneva and had the privilege of returning to Le Pas Opton, the site of Spring Harvest Holidays. These were very different times - Geneva included among other things a weekend music festival, LPO was its usual unique blend of the sublime and the ridiculous.
However, it was not the location that made this summer memorable. It was the people. A combination of old friends and new friends. I've reminisced with people I've known for ages and share countless experiences with. I somehow slotted into a team of people I had known for a short time and some I'd never met before. I've had deep and meaningful conversations. I've had good meals with good people and endured the most hideous sausage casserole ever created. I've played football with lads as close to me as brothers and sang duets with beautiful girls I love dearly. I've had laughs, I've shared tears, I've hugged, I've nearly killed; it has been an awesome summer of people.
Which has led me to wonder - What is it that makes people just seem to click?
They* say opposites attract, and yet I'm now really close friends with someone who is so remarkably like me it's often quite freaky.
They* say that the strongest of friendships are forged in the toughest of intense environments.
They* say that wounds from a friend can be trusted.
I wish I had the answer to why some friendships last and why some dissolve before your very eyes; why someone you've known for a relatively short period of time can seem closer than one you've known for years.
Is it time?
Is it communication?
Is it personality?
Is it intimacy?
Who knows?!
All I do know is this; that dotted around the world right now are people who I have had the pleasure of knowing in a whole range of different circumstance and now gladly call friends.
A good friend of mine once said "put your life on the line for your friends." There is a group of people who I would, without hesitation, put my life on the line for them.
Friends come and friends go, but a true friend sticks by you closer than family. (Proverbs 18:24)
That's the kind of friends I want to have,
and more to the point...
That's the kind of friend I want to be.
*Sidenote: I'd love to meet whoever They are!
Friday, 23 May 2008
Who are you?
I've been recently challenged on how I form my opinions of other people. It's not a challenge that has come out of an encounter with a living person but rather hearing a story about a woman I've never actually met.
There's a story* in the gospels where Jesus is having dinner out at someone's house and a 'sinful' woman comes in and begins washing his feet - sounds a bizarre series of events but stick with me. A couple of weeks back in one of my college lectures we were encouraged to imagine this scene unfolding; put ourselves in the picture, as this story was read out aloud.
Now, my imagination is somewhat vivid. It operates as if I'm watching a movie. And so hearing these words read out my cinematic brain began imagining the location the atmosphere. And when this woman was introduced to the plot-line I had instantly cast her in my mind as this provocatively dressed hooker with far too much dramatic makeup walking seductively down the street. This was my first impression of this 'sinful woman'. And no doubt this is the impression of the rest of Jesus' eating companions, the upper class members of society. Religious leaders, town officials and the like. Everyone knew who she was, some probably knew her too well. And all eyes are on this woman as she enters the room.
But then the story continues, as she enters the room she is crying, heartbroken. She walks over to Jesus and she sits down next to him and begins washes his feet with her tears, taking her hair down to dry them, and pouring her own perfume and pouring it all out, all over Jesus' feet. Suddenly this confident seductress has changed. In my minds eye she's no longer dressed provocatively, she's got more of a natural, girl-next-door look about her. Suddenly I don't see her for what she's done, but I see her for who she is.
All eyes are still firmly fixed on her. This is just not social acceptable. Until Jesus breaks the stunned awkward silence and explains this beautiful act. He says to the host of the dinner;
"Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair. You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn't quit kissing my feet. You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume. Impressive, isn't it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal."
Picture the girl now. Jesus is talking about her to someone else but her ears are hearing that everything she's ever done wrong has been forgiven; that this Jesus guy actually understands why she's crying and why she's doing this and not only does he understand but he accepts it. The relief in her heart must've been enormous.
This next bit isn't actually written in the Bible, it's my imagination taking over but I don't think it's far fetched to say this girl hugged Jesus on hearing this news. And I'm pretty certain Jesus would've hugged back. And for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, this girl experiences the embrace of a man who doesn't want anything from her - he just wants to let her know she's loved and accepted. This pure but passionate moment is sealed with the words "You're forgiven". The rest of the room is in uproar over this whole encounter but Jesus ignores them. His sole focus is on her. "Your faith has saved you. Go in peace". A totally different girl walks out of the room; smiling, laughing, giggling, dancing, skipping, her whole attitude to life is different. She feels truly valued not paid by the hour. She is a totally new person with whole new fresh outlook on life.
I'd love to be able to see people how Jesus sees them. To glimpse through the outer shell and see the person inside. Past the designer suits and breifcases. Past the wragged shirts and boxes. Past the low cut tops and short skirts. Past the religious attire and symbols on chains. Into the hearts of ordinary human beings who need to be loved for who they are, but loved too much to leave them that way.
[*if you want to read the whole story click here]
There's a story* in the gospels where Jesus is having dinner out at someone's house and a 'sinful' woman comes in and begins washing his feet - sounds a bizarre series of events but stick with me. A couple of weeks back in one of my college lectures we were encouraged to imagine this scene unfolding; put ourselves in the picture, as this story was read out aloud.
Now, my imagination is somewhat vivid. It operates as if I'm watching a movie. And so hearing these words read out my cinematic brain began imagining the location the atmosphere. And when this woman was introduced to the plot-line I had instantly cast her in my mind as this provocatively dressed hooker with far too much dramatic makeup walking seductively down the street. This was my first impression of this 'sinful woman'. And no doubt this is the impression of the rest of Jesus' eating companions, the upper class members of society. Religious leaders, town officials and the like. Everyone knew who she was, some probably knew her too well. And all eyes are on this woman as she enters the room.
But then the story continues, as she enters the room she is crying, heartbroken. She walks over to Jesus and she sits down next to him and begins washes his feet with her tears, taking her hair down to dry them, and pouring her own perfume and pouring it all out, all over Jesus' feet. Suddenly this confident seductress has changed. In my minds eye she's no longer dressed provocatively, she's got more of a natural, girl-next-door look about her. Suddenly I don't see her for what she's done, but I see her for who she is.
All eyes are still firmly fixed on her. This is just not social acceptable. Until Jesus breaks the stunned awkward silence and explains this beautiful act. He says to the host of the dinner;
"Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair. You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn't quit kissing my feet. You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume. Impressive, isn't it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal."
Picture the girl now. Jesus is talking about her to someone else but her ears are hearing that everything she's ever done wrong has been forgiven; that this Jesus guy actually understands why she's crying and why she's doing this and not only does he understand but he accepts it. The relief in her heart must've been enormous.
This next bit isn't actually written in the Bible, it's my imagination taking over but I don't think it's far fetched to say this girl hugged Jesus on hearing this news. And I'm pretty certain Jesus would've hugged back. And for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, this girl experiences the embrace of a man who doesn't want anything from her - he just wants to let her know she's loved and accepted. This pure but passionate moment is sealed with the words "You're forgiven". The rest of the room is in uproar over this whole encounter but Jesus ignores them. His sole focus is on her. "Your faith has saved you. Go in peace". A totally different girl walks out of the room; smiling, laughing, giggling, dancing, skipping, her whole attitude to life is different. She feels truly valued not paid by the hour. She is a totally new person with whole new fresh outlook on life.
I'd love to be able to see people how Jesus sees them. To glimpse through the outer shell and see the person inside. Past the designer suits and breifcases. Past the wragged shirts and boxes. Past the low cut tops and short skirts. Past the religious attire and symbols on chains. Into the hearts of ordinary human beings who need to be loved for who they are, but loved too much to leave them that way.
[*if you want to read the whole story click here]
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Born 55 years too late...
I'm quite the daydreamer. And so yesterday -14th May 2008, which marked the 10 year anniversary of the death of Frank Sinatra- in one of my daydreaming moments, I wondered what my life would've been like if I hadn't been born in England in 1983. I decided I would love to have been born in New York in the late 1920's.
Born in 1928, [55 years earlier] growing up in a working class family but dreaming of a life in the golden age of showbusiness; working my way through the smoky saloons and bars singing the, now classic, jazz standards. Moving to the bright lights of Vegas and on to LA to make my name as the youngest member of the Rat Pack, performing huge big band numbers with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jnr.
Spend my career singing 'Mack the Knife', 'Mr Bojangles' or 'My Way' and starring alongside the rest of the Rat Pack fellas in the original Ocean's 11 movie. And whilst filming, maybe, just maybe, catch the eye of a beautiful, classy, darling young actress named Audrey - who was in town filming her new movie Breakfast at Tiffany's - and live happily ever after in Hollywood's Hall of Fame...
Of course, all those great stars are gone now, and if I had lived then I'd be nothing more than a name and a legacy now - which would be a shame, cos I would never have had the chance to meet the amazing people I've met along my life so far.
Daydreaming aside, I'd choose 1983 over 1928 any day.
Born in 1928, [55 years earlier] growing up in a working class family but dreaming of a life in the golden age of showbusiness; working my way through the smoky saloons and bars singing the, now classic, jazz standards. Moving to the bright lights of Vegas and on to LA to make my name as the youngest member of the Rat Pack, performing huge big band numbers with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jnr.
Spend my career singing 'Mack the Knife', 'Mr Bojangles' or 'My Way' and starring alongside the rest of the Rat Pack fellas in the original Ocean's 11 movie. And whilst filming, maybe, just maybe, catch the eye of a beautiful, classy, darling young actress named Audrey - who was in town filming her new movie Breakfast at Tiffany's - and live happily ever after in Hollywood's Hall of Fame...Of course, all those great stars are gone now, and if I had lived then I'd be nothing more than a name and a legacy now - which would be a shame, cos I would never have had the chance to meet the amazing people I've met along my life so far.
Daydreaming aside, I'd choose 1983 over 1928 any day.
Saturday, 26 April 2008
"...give us a sign"
I encountered a most bizarre situation the other day that has left me troubled at the state of this country's sanity.
It all began whilst I was walking along Oxford Street in London. I made my way out of Oxford Circus tube station and turned left towards Marble Arch. As I walked along I noticed a sign on the near side of the road informing buses and other traffic of the left-lane's closure and that there was a diversion system in place. As I walked further up the road I approached the reason why that one lane of traffic had been stopped; a rather large crane doing engineering work on one of the shop buildings being totally refitted.
I walked past the crane and the workmen and continued along a half closed Oxford Street, towards Marble Arch; the far side bustling with traffic, the near side quiet due to the closure of the lane because of the crane.
As I walked, something struck me as weird.
There were no taxis going past. Because the near side lane of traffic was closed.
There were no buses going past. Because the near side lane of traffic was closed.
Yet there were people at the bus stops all along the street.
I looked around, for a split-second doubting my memory of the road's closure but a glance down the road towards the crane and the signs in the road proved my own sanity. I looked at the bus stop and noticed huge yellow signs that read "Bus-Stop not in use". Walking into the empty lane I glanced one more time at the blockage in the road to make perfectly sure that the road was in fact closed before approaching one of the hopeful bus-stop inhabitants and saying
"You do know there are no buses coming down this side of the street right?"
Confusion descended on all those who heard my shocking revelation! A general sense of "pardon?" eminated from the would-be passengers. I explained about the signs and the crane and the lack of traffic and the whole re-routing of public transport thing and gestured in the general direction of bus stops that were actually in use.
Eventually they dispersed and I continued my stroll along the road.
I approached another bus stop... once again crowded with people... waiting. One of the wait-ers was a finely dressed gentleman with whom I shared my knowledge of the road closure and the lack of buses to which he replied "well, what are all these other people waiting for then?"
"Exactly the same thing you are Sir. Nothing." came my ever-so-slightly sarcastic reply.
As I moved on from delivering my good news to those people three thoughts entered my mind. The first was that some people actually remained at the bus stop; just sitting, waiting... for a bus service that didn't exist.
The second was that I had been walking for about twenty mintues by this point, and the road had clearly been closed for some considerable time before my arrival, and so no traffic at all had been past any of those bus stops for at least half an hour. Surely someone would've guessed that 'perhaps the usual bus service was not operational at that point in time'.
Thirdly, the London Bus Company had left huge great yellow signs informing the public that the bus stops were not in use and the whacking great crane in the middle of the road hindering any buses using the street would only have underlined that message.
"A person can be smart, but People are stupid."
Written instructions and messages and signs and obvious, huge, powerful works didn't help people waste their lives that Saturday. It took a person to step out and tell them of their mistake and inform them of the truth (and even then some people didn't believe the truth when they heard it).
If the public don't 'get it' about waiting for a bus, how on earth do we expect them to know any better about anything with more significance?!
It all began whilst I was walking along Oxford Street in London. I made my way out of Oxford Circus tube station and turned left towards Marble Arch. As I walked along I noticed a sign on the near side of the road informing buses and other traffic of the left-lane's closure and that there was a diversion system in place. As I walked further up the road I approached the reason why that one lane of traffic had been stopped; a rather large crane doing engineering work on one of the shop buildings being totally refitted.
I walked past the crane and the workmen and continued along a half closed Oxford Street, towards Marble Arch; the far side bustling with traffic, the near side quiet due to the closure of the lane because of the crane.
As I walked, something struck me as weird.
There were no taxis going past. Because the near side lane of traffic was closed.
There were no buses going past. Because the near side lane of traffic was closed.
Yet there were people at the bus stops all along the street.
I looked around, for a split-second doubting my memory of the road's closure but a glance down the road towards the crane and the signs in the road proved my own sanity. I looked at the bus stop and noticed huge yellow signs that read "Bus-Stop not in use". Walking into the empty lane I glanced one more time at the blockage in the road to make perfectly sure that the road was in fact closed before approaching one of the hopeful bus-stop inhabitants and saying
"You do know there are no buses coming down this side of the street right?"
Confusion descended on all those who heard my shocking revelation! A general sense of "pardon?" eminated from the would-be passengers. I explained about the signs and the crane and the lack of traffic and the whole re-routing of public transport thing and gestured in the general direction of bus stops that were actually in use.
Eventually they dispersed and I continued my stroll along the road.
I approached another bus stop... once again crowded with people... waiting. One of the wait-ers was a finely dressed gentleman with whom I shared my knowledge of the road closure and the lack of buses to which he replied "well, what are all these other people waiting for then?"
"Exactly the same thing you are Sir. Nothing." came my ever-so-slightly sarcastic reply.
As I moved on from delivering my good news to those people three thoughts entered my mind. The first was that some people actually remained at the bus stop; just sitting, waiting... for a bus service that didn't exist.
The second was that I had been walking for about twenty mintues by this point, and the road had clearly been closed for some considerable time before my arrival, and so no traffic at all had been past any of those bus stops for at least half an hour. Surely someone would've guessed that 'perhaps the usual bus service was not operational at that point in time'.
Thirdly, the London Bus Company had left huge great yellow signs informing the public that the bus stops were not in use and the whacking great crane in the middle of the road hindering any buses using the street would only have underlined that message.
"A person can be smart, but People are stupid."
Written instructions and messages and signs and obvious, huge, powerful works didn't help people waste their lives that Saturday. It took a person to step out and tell them of their mistake and inform them of the truth (and even then some people didn't believe the truth when they heard it).
If the public don't 'get it' about waiting for a bus, how on earth do we expect them to know any better about anything with more significance?!
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
A Most Musical Weekend
WOW!
I haven't had such an intense weekend for a while.
It began in SwitzerFrance (also known as the greater Geneva area which crosses the Swiss/French border) on Thursday night when I flew in under cover of night for a suprise visit. I was to perform and sing swing songs as light entertainment at the Crossroads Church 'Guys/Girls Weekend Dinner'.
The plan was to meet up with the guys on Friday night, in the woods, in the dark, running around like lunatics and eating insane amounts of toasted marshmallows before the main event of the Saturday night dinner. The majority of the girls, or so I'm told, had no idea I was there and in order to maintain the element of surprise I was hidden upstairs in the church for over an hour.
The time came for my 'grand entrance'. Thankfully, to my great relief, the reception was fantastic (granted, I milked it for all it was worth!) but my imagination, whilst sat in the upstairs room alone for most of the hour beforehand, was playing images of "and here's our special guest, Jimmy Orr..." cue tumbleweed and mass dissappointment.
The night went really well, and all the performers did a great job. The girls seemed to enjoy the evening and so mission accomplished for the guys.
The following morning was a baptism service at Crossroads, which I had the pleasure of leading worship for. Reunited with my old band of brothers (and sister!) and in the presence of good friends we raised the roof of the church that morning. A good time in the house of God!
This was follwed by several episodes of CSI (good times D and Sarah!) and my education in the phenomenon that is... High School Musical. I admit I hadn't seen it til that moment, and I now confess, I maybe ever so slightly hooked. It's cheesy, it's catchy, it's good (mostly) wholesome Disney fun: What's not to like?!
Then came the part I really had thought through... buckle ya seat belt!
Monday Morning
3am woke up
4am at airport
6am was meant to fly home
7am actually flew home after they fixed the door on the aircraft?!
8:30am actually arrived at gatwick
9:40am arrived at college
10 - 5:15pm Lectures [including a Greek test]
5:15 - 7pm break to rehearse songs...
7:30 went to recording studio
Tuesday Morning...
2am left studio
3:30am eventually made in back to bed
7am had to get up for more lectures!!!
memo to self: that was fun, but NEVER do that bit again!
Puppy-Love?
I've come to the conclusion that grown up life is over-rated. It is unecessarily complicated, far to stressful and needs to be rethought entirely. Particualrly in the whole area of relationships.
I propose, so to speak, that we should resort back to the simple relationship antics of the school playground. No pre-nups, no mind games, no playing hard to get, no 'will they/won't they' dilemmas. Just blissful (but brief) togetherness.
It all begins with the boys are running around playing football, convinced in their own mind that they are not, in fact, at school on the playground but at Wembley Stadium in the most important of cup final matches. The girls stand away in the distance discussing which boy each girl likes best*.
Two girls (always two. never a solo mission), one spokeswoman and one backup, usually a quiet coy looking one, are then sent from the group to the middle of the game (something that under no circumstances would normally be allowed but due to the unwritten laws of the playground is permitted) to speak with the boy of choice.
His best friend, wingman, teammate, brother from another mother, notices the girls' approach and takes up his position as spokesman for his mate. Both parties meet face to face, the boys with their shirts untucked and panting like two unfit bulldogs; the girls mercilessly twiddling their hair and swaying;
"My friend fancies your friend"
"well, my friend likes your friend too"
"will your friend go out with my friend?"
The wingman turns to double-check with his mate, a galant but casual wipe of his nose on his sleeve and a shrug of his shoulders somehow communicates a positive response.
"Yeah alright".
The giggles ensue and the girls depart from the boys. the boys return to the thick of the battle before the bell rings for end of play.
For the next few hours, the 'happy couple' are inseperable (well, they sit next to each other) and news of their togetherness is announced to the world, traditionally by some kind of rhyme about tree's and k-i-s-s-i-n-g. They hold hands for the next lesson and then it's home time. They live across town from each other so there's no seeing the other until school the following day.
By which time, they get bored. By morning break the couple have split in the most heartwrenching of moments.
By lunchtime, they're best friends in the whole wide world.
On the third day, it begins all over again... Simple eh?
*for the female perspective check Gemma's Blog!
I propose, so to speak, that we should resort back to the simple relationship antics of the school playground. No pre-nups, no mind games, no playing hard to get, no 'will they/won't they' dilemmas. Just blissful (but brief) togetherness.
It all begins with the boys are running around playing football, convinced in their own mind that they are not, in fact, at school on the playground but at Wembley Stadium in the most important of cup final matches. The girls stand away in the distance discussing which boy each girl likes best*.
Two girls (always two. never a solo mission), one spokeswoman and one backup, usually a quiet coy looking one, are then sent from the group to the middle of the game (something that under no circumstances would normally be allowed but due to the unwritten laws of the playground is permitted) to speak with the boy of choice.
His best friend, wingman, teammate, brother from another mother, notices the girls' approach and takes up his position as spokesman for his mate. Both parties meet face to face, the boys with their shirts untucked and panting like two unfit bulldogs; the girls mercilessly twiddling their hair and swaying;
"My friend fancies your friend"
"well, my friend likes your friend too"
"will your friend go out with my friend?"
The wingman turns to double-check with his mate, a galant but casual wipe of his nose on his sleeve and a shrug of his shoulders somehow communicates a positive response.
"Yeah alright".
The giggles ensue and the girls depart from the boys. the boys return to the thick of the battle before the bell rings for end of play.
For the next few hours, the 'happy couple' are inseperable (well, they sit next to each other) and news of their togetherness is announced to the world, traditionally by some kind of rhyme about tree's and k-i-s-s-i-n-g. They hold hands for the next lesson and then it's home time. They live across town from each other so there's no seeing the other until school the following day.
By which time, they get bored. By morning break the couple have split in the most heartwrenching of moments.
By lunchtime, they're best friends in the whole wide world.
On the third day, it begins all over again... Simple eh?
*for the female perspective check Gemma's Blog!
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