In a bout of ‘you really can’t make this stuff up’, it seems that Sports Nut wasn’t the only person within a week to have a ‘discussion’ with an ex .
It’s a given now that on any trip to the ‘Burgh, I’ll grab a quick catch-up with Minor Celeb, and my recent jaunt was no different.
Dinner plans were eschewed in favour of the party happening at his; leaving a few friends drinking the on-tap prosecco at the Hotel Missoni, I stepped out into the blizzard and hopped into a cab. With the recession apparently yet to affect the millionaires amongst us, I got out at a house I’d not previously seen to be greeted at a side door.
“Blonde!” Kisses and bubbles were thrust upon me as I made my way into the kitchen where, as at all parties in large houses, there were people leaning against the Aga.
“This is Blonde,” MC said, introducing me to friends I’d not met previously. “Be nice to her - she’s stuck around despite the fact I’ve not always treated her as well as I should have done.” Slightly taken aback at the first instance I’ve heard of MC admitting to anything other than ideal conduct, I settled into my glass of champagne.
The party went as parties do: there were people, music and laughter. Then, in the medium hours (they definitely weren’t so small by that point), people began to peel back home, and MC and I curled up on the sofa to have a proper chat.
We caught up on life, his current projects and imminent trip to LA, recent daft doings by my clients and various other things in between. And then, as if from nowhere, we suddenly found ourselves deep in the middle of a discussion about “what went wrong in our relationship”.
Tempted to suggest that it might have been his incessant coke-taking, instead I listened as I was told that I’d spent the months we were together being “emotionally distant”. My attempts to explain that I was never really sure where I stood went unheard as we had an hour’s totally circuitous discussion, in which I still feel I was being wilfully misunderstood.
And then, in a surprising conversational leap, he suddenly started telling me how fabulous I was.
“Blonde, you’re… You’ve always been there for me and supported me, and you’re just really… kind, and…” He reeled off a long and complimentary list of characteristics, not all of which I recognised as being mine. “You’re everything I want in a woman. Look, as far as I’m concerned, our situation’s not changed. We’ve still got this… connection, we get on, the attraction’s still there…”
“Celeb, what are you saying?”
“I think we should get back together.”
If I hadn’t been curled into the corner of the sofa, I’d have reeled in shock.
Here was the man who put me through the most explosive end to a relationship that I’ve ever experienced; who apparently felt genuinely rejected that I slept on the other side of the bed as opposed to curled into his chest (I thought that was just a daft whine; I had no idea he was being serious); and who happens to be in an entirely different place in his life - both metaphorically and geographically. But that didn’t stop us having yet further hours of conversation about why being together isn’t a good idea.
Exhausted, with the situation spinning in my head, I left MC, and crawled into bed at Gin Operated’s flat some time after 6am.
By 10.30am, there was a message waiting for me on the phone:
Blonde, baby… Sorry if I was over vocal in my frustration - it’s just I feel we only ever scratched the surface of what we could have had. Where do we go from here - your choice.x
Some vague understanding of men would be my first choice. Too much to ask?
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