Christmas Day was lovely, the boys were co-operative and we all had nice presents and everyone behaved beautifully. Our neighbour came in in the midst of present opening which was a bit awkward, as the boys continued opening regardless, so I didn't get to read their excited little faces...Then we went to the beach for a drink and a chat, and mostly chatted with people who'd come around for drinks two nights before - but that was all right!
Then it was home for frantic cooking. I'd invited A for 2 but he didn't turn up, rather than repeat last year's pointless hanging around, waiting dinner for him, to be polite, I thought we'd have the meal as soon as the turkey was cooked. So we were sitting down, enjoying our first mouthful at about 2.50 when A arrived. He claimed he'd thought we were eating at 3. He had not been paying attention, but no harm there. So we ate, and enjoyed a reasonably sociable time and A was very smiley and pleasant. The boys were tolerant. The huge crackers contained exiguous items... we missed the Queen. A gave us some very nice pressies, and we gave him something similar back. He and I had a long talk about Wahabism and Islamophobia etc. very Christmassy! He insisted that he would take us out to dinner on 29th to compensate for the long-promised dinner he'd offered to compensate for not turning up at all last year.
On Boxing Day we trekked to Cardiff, getting stuck in terrible traffic only getting as far as Slough by lunch time. We went to the Palmers' Arms - and sat outside, under an awning. Unusual in December, but the place was heaving. When we returned to the car we discovered the wing mirror had been smashed and had flown into the road. M began a rage, I tried to calm him down. He was pleased because it was my fault. Fortunately I remembered there was a Halfords on the Bath Road and we bought the right mirror and all was well. We reached Cardiff at nightfall - missing the scenery as we crossed the Severn bridge.
The Campanile hotel had some "sketchy" characters according to Ned and Finn. The following day at breakfast I realised that the presence of so many, mostly young, men, speaking Arabic couldn't be a coincidence. Clearly this was also providing emergency housing for refugees. It was in all other respects a regular Campanile. Apart from a rabbit warren in the grounds.
We had a good time at Flora's, and went to Cardiff Bay - did a boat trip around the bay in the rain - I nearly died of diesel poisoning - then lunch at Carluccio's, then to Stella and a trip to Cardiff Castle, which was spectacular. Another nice meal at Flora's, then off to bed, and up again to head for my father's. Feeling sad and trying to make eye contact with the poor droopy refugees, who were suffering 4 days of public holidays with nothing much to do except use their mobiles.
At CP another huge meal, more presents, and total exhaustion. I would have liked to have a quiet, restful day to recover from all this, but A had insisted on 29th as the day - so we got our togs on and went out. Our lateness was commented on, but I didn't rise to this, he's been late for meals etc at our place so often, that I admit I didn't rush to be punctual on this occasion. Also, I was v. tired. All started affably, but after a delay in going to the restaurant, because he'd met a new chap who was clearly more interesting than us, we eventually got to sit down. He began to speak, he was slagging off various things dear to our hearts, eg "liberal teachers" and museums, subjects on which he is not well informed (although he's an absolute compendium on world news). Occasionally when his views consisted of massive generalisations, we tried to put a different case. He began to be irritable, and then accused of Mark being "aggressive" of "raising his voice" although he was in fact the only person doing that. Eventually he became extremely angry, and after paying the bill and treating us to a final tirade which concluded with the words "It's the white liberals who are the real racists!" he stormed out. We received sympathetic looks from other diners, I gave them a jokey wave and said "Hi, we're the white liberals!" They smiled, and order was restored. We sat there, drinking coffee, mystified by it all. The way the whole thing had erupted was quite irrational, we had been disagreeing with him, yes, and he'd picked on Mark, rather than me - I frequently disagree with him, but perhaps because I'm a woman my views don't count.
Strangely, the evening confirmed what I'd recently begun to suspect. i.e. that A is suffering from our favourite personality disorder., Of course reading about a personality disorder, one immediately begins to see it everywhere, but this one has some very classic symptoms, all of which he manifests to a high degree. It was remarkably similar to another spat with a friend, who has some similar traits (they affect one percent of the population).
Our relationship has changed over the last few years, when I first met him I thought he was interesting and a bit lonely, and he asked me to introduce him to nice people. I did my best to supply nice people, but that didn't seem to take. He came to endless events at our house, usually late, and often virtually insisted that I visit him. If we went out to a public event, a concert or a play, he would disappear for a fag and never come back. I found his friendship increasingly oppressive. While I was occasionally allowed to give advice on some matters, the whole conversation was always about him and his experiences. I doubt whether the phrases "What have you been up to? Or how is your work/writing going?" have ever been uttered by him in the last 5 years. I am a polite product of the bourgeoisie, and as a woman I still know what people like A think my place should be... however, I had become tired of it in the last year or so, of having to play a role that has never fitted me. Why should all our conversations consist of me drawing him out? I once actually insisted on telling him what I'd been doing... he didn't take the hint. He used to call me "The most intelligent woman in Ramsgate" - deeply irritating and untrue... one of a group of bright people, although in my case somewhat fogging up at times. I certainly didn't let him steamroller me, I would query his statements and get him to revise his generalisations, but somehow, the reality of M and I both doing it was too much for him. I would like to make it clear that I've never felt any sexual interest in him, and I am quite clear that he only likes young women with "beautiful bosoms" so I would be languishing in vain if I had.. I don't think sexual jealousy is involved, he just didn't like his opinions being questioned, and when he began a rant about Nicholas Serota, I was painfully reminded of the other rant, which focused on another well known public character. Is jealousy of public figures another symptom? I need a good book on the subject.
Why did I use the word impotence in the title? I suppose it's because for some years I thought I could cheer this guy up (he is often depressed and unwell, and this elicited some sympathy) and help him towards the more sociable time he claimed to want. I realise now in the face of his condition, that nothing can be done. Sitting and attempting to converse with him has resulted in mounting frustration, and now, perhaps with some relief, dissolution. I am angry with myself for not having used the time more constructively. However, I can certainly sublimate him into a book, so all is not lost! I almost know where he will fit in, there is definitely something Balzacian about him!
Then it was home for frantic cooking. I'd invited A for 2 but he didn't turn up, rather than repeat last year's pointless hanging around, waiting dinner for him, to be polite, I thought we'd have the meal as soon as the turkey was cooked. So we were sitting down, enjoying our first mouthful at about 2.50 when A arrived. He claimed he'd thought we were eating at 3. He had not been paying attention, but no harm there. So we ate, and enjoyed a reasonably sociable time and A was very smiley and pleasant. The boys were tolerant. The huge crackers contained exiguous items... we missed the Queen. A gave us some very nice pressies, and we gave him something similar back. He and I had a long talk about Wahabism and Islamophobia etc. very Christmassy! He insisted that he would take us out to dinner on 29th to compensate for the long-promised dinner he'd offered to compensate for not turning up at all last year.
On Boxing Day we trekked to Cardiff, getting stuck in terrible traffic only getting as far as Slough by lunch time. We went to the Palmers' Arms - and sat outside, under an awning. Unusual in December, but the place was heaving. When we returned to the car we discovered the wing mirror had been smashed and had flown into the road. M began a rage, I tried to calm him down. He was pleased because it was my fault. Fortunately I remembered there was a Halfords on the Bath Road and we bought the right mirror and all was well. We reached Cardiff at nightfall - missing the scenery as we crossed the Severn bridge.
The Campanile hotel had some "sketchy" characters according to Ned and Finn. The following day at breakfast I realised that the presence of so many, mostly young, men, speaking Arabic couldn't be a coincidence. Clearly this was also providing emergency housing for refugees. It was in all other respects a regular Campanile. Apart from a rabbit warren in the grounds.
We had a good time at Flora's, and went to Cardiff Bay - did a boat trip around the bay in the rain - I nearly died of diesel poisoning - then lunch at Carluccio's, then to Stella and a trip to Cardiff Castle, which was spectacular. Another nice meal at Flora's, then off to bed, and up again to head for my father's. Feeling sad and trying to make eye contact with the poor droopy refugees, who were suffering 4 days of public holidays with nothing much to do except use their mobiles.
At CP another huge meal, more presents, and total exhaustion. I would have liked to have a quiet, restful day to recover from all this, but A had insisted on 29th as the day - so we got our togs on and went out. Our lateness was commented on, but I didn't rise to this, he's been late for meals etc at our place so often, that I admit I didn't rush to be punctual on this occasion. Also, I was v. tired. All started affably, but after a delay in going to the restaurant, because he'd met a new chap who was clearly more interesting than us, we eventually got to sit down. He began to speak, he was slagging off various things dear to our hearts, eg "liberal teachers" and museums, subjects on which he is not well informed (although he's an absolute compendium on world news). Occasionally when his views consisted of massive generalisations, we tried to put a different case. He began to be irritable, and then accused of Mark being "aggressive" of "raising his voice" although he was in fact the only person doing that. Eventually he became extremely angry, and after paying the bill and treating us to a final tirade which concluded with the words "It's the white liberals who are the real racists!" he stormed out. We received sympathetic looks from other diners, I gave them a jokey wave and said "Hi, we're the white liberals!" They smiled, and order was restored. We sat there, drinking coffee, mystified by it all. The way the whole thing had erupted was quite irrational, we had been disagreeing with him, yes, and he'd picked on Mark, rather than me - I frequently disagree with him, but perhaps because I'm a woman my views don't count.
Strangely, the evening confirmed what I'd recently begun to suspect. i.e. that A is suffering from our favourite personality disorder., Of course reading about a personality disorder, one immediately begins to see it everywhere, but this one has some very classic symptoms, all of which he manifests to a high degree. It was remarkably similar to another spat with a friend, who has some similar traits (they affect one percent of the population).
Our relationship has changed over the last few years, when I first met him I thought he was interesting and a bit lonely, and he asked me to introduce him to nice people. I did my best to supply nice people, but that didn't seem to take. He came to endless events at our house, usually late, and often virtually insisted that I visit him. If we went out to a public event, a concert or a play, he would disappear for a fag and never come back. I found his friendship increasingly oppressive. While I was occasionally allowed to give advice on some matters, the whole conversation was always about him and his experiences. I doubt whether the phrases "What have you been up to? Or how is your work/writing going?" have ever been uttered by him in the last 5 years. I am a polite product of the bourgeoisie, and as a woman I still know what people like A think my place should be... however, I had become tired of it in the last year or so, of having to play a role that has never fitted me. Why should all our conversations consist of me drawing him out? I once actually insisted on telling him what I'd been doing... he didn't take the hint. He used to call me "The most intelligent woman in Ramsgate" - deeply irritating and untrue... one of a group of bright people, although in my case somewhat fogging up at times. I certainly didn't let him steamroller me, I would query his statements and get him to revise his generalisations, but somehow, the reality of M and I both doing it was too much for him. I would like to make it clear that I've never felt any sexual interest in him, and I am quite clear that he only likes young women with "beautiful bosoms" so I would be languishing in vain if I had.. I don't think sexual jealousy is involved, he just didn't like his opinions being questioned, and when he began a rant about Nicholas Serota, I was painfully reminded of the other rant, which focused on another well known public character. Is jealousy of public figures another symptom? I need a good book on the subject.
Why did I use the word impotence in the title? I suppose it's because for some years I thought I could cheer this guy up (he is often depressed and unwell, and this elicited some sympathy) and help him towards the more sociable time he claimed to want. I realise now in the face of his condition, that nothing can be done. Sitting and attempting to converse with him has resulted in mounting frustration, and now, perhaps with some relief, dissolution. I am angry with myself for not having used the time more constructively. However, I can certainly sublimate him into a book, so all is not lost! I almost know where he will fit in, there is definitely something Balzacian about him!
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