Brickbats and bouquets....musings on a snowy Sunday

At the risk of over-egging an already very yolky omelette, it's Sunday, the snow is falling and I'm in "pensive and thankful" mode....no change there, then!

I had just penned the title of this posting when a good friend Skype'd me from Austria and we got into a discussion about the trials and tribulations of love, our associated neuroses and the resulting "euphoria-to-despair in 60 seconds flat" feeling that can result.

Some people are meant to come into our lives at certain times, I am certain of it. Ulrike is one such friend for me.

There is a slight language barrier, but I don't think I've bonded as quickly and closely with another girlfriend for a long, long time. We don't need the exact right words to communicate, we just know.

I convey generally what I'm feeling, she gets it and vice-versa. Absolutely perfect. And completely what the doctor ordered; friends like this restore your perspective much quicker than any self-help book could.

So Ulrike, I'm sending you a bouquet of the most gorgeous exotic flowers, because I know when you get it, you above all others, will appreciate it ;-)

A bouquet also to my beautiful boy Ben, who spent Friday night being horribly sick, something that happens very infrequently these days.

During the day he made a swift recovery in time to accompany his Grandma to the village fair taking place in the local hall. I duly gave him two pounds to spend on anything that took his fancy (save for loose women and hard liquor, naturally)

When I went to collect him yesterday evening he announced that there had been nothing there to spend his two pounds on for little boys, but went on to present me with some chocolate cakes and a jar of home-made marmalade that he said he thought I would like.

And that is how a four year old can quite innocently reduce a woman to tears. I can't even blame raging hormones this time....

Brickbat time.

This time I'm covering pomposity (and the necessary elimination thereof), why the need for honesty is paramount (not strictly a brickbat, but I can't shoe-horn in into the bouquet section....) and the pain that is a bikini wax.....(I will never, ever come to terms with it, much in the same way I never came to terms with Bernard Manning)

Many will know that I regularly frequent a business networking site.

Deep down I have to admit that I hate face-to-face networking, not because I struggle to strike up conversations but I frequently have found myself in a room full of people that are not interested in me nor I them; I've eaten a below-par meal and have parted with twenty-five pounds for the privilege.

Does that sound harsh? I don't mean it to be.

Let me say I have never attended any such event with the intention of initiating some big sales campaign; I take a more relaxed view to networking. I believe that if you aim to network with people with whom you have synergy, they will point business in your direction ultimately, and you will do the same for them. It's long lasting and ultimately more desirable than a hard-sell approach in my humble opinion.

So my online site cuts through all the unnecessaries and enables you to connect quickly with a vast number of people from around the globe (something you don't get at the local Beefeater).

And yet it appears there are a number of members of said site who feel the quickfire connection approach makes a "mockery of the networking process". They are at pains to declare that if you should so much as wish to even contemplate approaching them to connect, you should read their profile in fine detail (and they point out that they will check to see you have done this....) first and then approach them via personal message. They will then read through your details and decide whether they want to connect with you.

Utterly, utterly hilarious.

I posted a blog on the site yesterday voicing my opinion on this topic that was reasonably restrained, but the great thing is that on here, I can let rip. So here goes:

If your name is Alan Sugar or Richard Branson (or anyone of that ilk...), I would inwardly digest every detail of your profile to the point that I salivate and lick the screen. If yours isn't a name I have heard of, I will approach you in such a way that does not require me to bow and scrape.

If you see that as a mockery of the networking principle, then we don't need to connect anyway. Perhaps you should try and get a slot on the South Bank Show to voice your outrage.

Maybe this is what SO meant when he said "gobby"........hmmm.....

The need for honesty........ Crucial, and I suppose if you get this right then it translates as a bouquet.

This in essence formed part of my conversation with Ulrike.

It reminded me of an argument that broke out during my last marriage; he went on a business trip to Blackpool and swore blind he didn't visit any strip joints, lap dancing clubs, etc.

I think when you get to be a certain age as a woman, you accept that all men visit these places. It doesn't mean they are ripe for a one-night stand or an affair, they just have a curiosity that many women don't understand. If you accept our mutual differences in this regard, it makes it easier to deal with.

So why would a man not tell his partner? Why lie about it if it was "innocent curiosity"?

The seemingly white lie in this instance gives full force to the notion that there must be other more sinister things that have been kept from you. It is cancerous.

His defence was "I didn't want to hurt you".

When a seemingly insignificant thing is covered up because he "doesn't want to hurt" you, it leaves a nasty stain on the relationship. Such a nasty stain that no matter how many times you put it through the boil wash that is your reasoning, you will never truly shift it.

This type of occurrence is not confined to trips to strip clubs, of course. It exists wherever one partner feels that they have to keep details from the other, because they "wouldn't understand" or it's maybe perceived as "easier to not tell".

Coming clean may necessitate an uncomfortable conversation or two, but that's called communication which can never be a bad thing. In addition, it nurtures respect and understanding.

Unlike bikini waxing, which in my experience does not have a preferred angle for approach.

I should point out here that my natural colouring is very, very dark (my hair was jet black when I was born). This ultimately means waxing results in pain which is akin to the early stages of childbirth, and this time I pay fifteen pounds a time for the experience.

My lovely Lisa, who administers the aforementioned torture once a month, commented "there's no wonder it hurts, look at the roots on them!!" the first time she treated me... Oh, how I wished I hadn't looked. Now I feel my whimpering and squeals are justified.

Anyone who can suggest a less painful alternative, please get in touch. I'm not unreasonable about this, I know that pain will play a part at some point when it comes to this process.....I just want less of it, please.

And anyone that suggests not putting myself through it and giving up altogether.....well, that's funny. I do like a good belly laugh.

I feel I've mused enough; waxing lyrical has never been so much fun ;-)