Another Quid in the Bank

In which The Author plays his hand

Well, this morning, after chatting to Clare for a while on Facebook, I decided to grasp the nettle and send her the link to Strange Little Girl. I'd already told her that she was in my blog, but she thought this one, that gets linked to Facebook. I told her it was in my Secret Blog – the one people only come across if they're looking for something pretty specific. (This was before I imported this entry and the preceding two, obviously.)

And, about ten minutes later, I got the reply I'd been expecting all along. She just likes me as a friend, nothing more, and nothing will ever happen between us.

It just goes to prove that I should keep my feelings to yourself, doesn't it? It also proves that my friends are full of shit, and I should never listen to their advice either. Still, it saved me the embarrassment of being turned down in the pub when I asked her out this evening, as I was planning to. Swings and roundabouts …

You Don't Know What You've Got Till it's Gone

In which The Author wonders what to do next

In an unexpected sequel to the previous post, I can bring you an exclusive update to the Clare Situation.

In spite of Charlie the barbint's encouragement to me on Sunday night, in spite of Karen's well-intended advice to Clare on Monday night, in spite of all the time Clare and I have spent together over the past couple of months, in spite of all our ideas to have at least one fucking day away from Aberdare, in spite of my spending pretty much the whole day with her yesterday, and in spite of my chatting to her online every day since we first became Facebook friends, I have concluded – on the basis of overwhelming evidence – that we've got about as much chance of getting involved romantically and/or sexually as I have of being the first human to set foot on Mars.

There are three main obstacles in our way, so I'll deal with them in turn.

I haven't mentioned until now that Clare's brother Phillip has a learning disability. It's never bothered me. Twenty years ago, when Sam and I were engaged, she was working in that field. As a result, I met her clients a number of times. She was always impressed by the casual way I interacted with them (see Learning Disabilities in my main blog). Friends of mine who have children with 'special needs' have often remarked on the fact that I don't patronise them, or ignore them, or sideline them. It's possible that the job I do now demands a certain level of 'autistic spectrum disorder', after all, so perhaps I recognise a kindred spirit when I meet one.

On the other hand, a lot of the fuckwits in town don't know how to deal with people in that position. They either take the piss out of Phillip, bully him, or become downright aggressive. While he's perfectly happy to come to Aberdare and have a few pints, Clare's (understandably) very protective of him. This makes her pretty much his unpaid carer whenever they're out together.

However, after a little while, you can tell she'd love to break free and do her own thing. It generally isn't worth the hassle though, because it'll either lead to a temper tantrum, an argument, or the Incredible Sulk which lasts for hours on end.

Furthermore, Phillip becomes very jealous if Clare does something which he's not involved in – like (for example) going for lunch with a friend.

As a result, he's something of a third wheel whenever Clare and I discuss plans. The only reason we were able to go to Cardiff without him tagging along was because we arranged it late at night, and she sneaked out when he was on his way to do his voluntary work.

The trouble is, he knows about the Bristol trip, so he's already invited himself along. I'm happy for him to come, because the three of us get on well and we always have a laugh. But we'll need to be back in Aberdare before the karaoke evening gets under way. If we aren't, and they start without his getting the chance to do 'American Trilogy' for the nine hundredth time, Clare and I will never hear the last of it. That's fucked any possibility of our having a couple of extra pints in Cardiff before the last train.

When I whispered to Clare earlier that any little 'weekend break' in London – something we've talked about a couple of times – would be strictly for the two of us, Phillip's superhero hearing picked it up. I think that was why he dragged her up to the karaoke evening at least two hours before it all got started. How very dare I suggest taking his little sister out of the country for more than a couple of hours?

The second obstacle in our way is the very thing which allows you to read this: the fucking Internet.

Like most young people I know these days, Clare spends almost her entire time in a WiFi-enabled pub chatting to random people she's met online. The other night she asked me if she could log into Facebook on the Netbook, so that she could untag herself in a couple of photos she'd rather forget about. When she went to the ladies', I had a glance at her Timeline. I wasn't spying on her – she wanted to me to look at a picture she'd shared and which she said I'd enjoy.

As I'd suspected, it was full of posts by ropey-looking chavs from all over South Wales, ranging from their mid-teens to their mid-thirties. To a 'man' (and I use the word advisedly) they were boasting about their prison records, drug deals, fucks and/or fights, and trying to get Clare to meet them. Most of them were swearing their undying love for her, because they'd seen her profile picture and thought she was the best thing since sliced bread.

I'm not being nasty to Clare (she's a very pretty girl, remember), but she wasn't even the most attractive female in the bloody pub at the time – never mind in the whole of South Wales. Either these fuckwits have spent so much time in chokey that they've forgotten what women look like, or they need to learn to access decent online porn.

[A digresion: Actually, given Clare's especially unflattering profile picture at present, if that young lad from Pengam thought she actually was the best thing since sliced bread, he's given me a business idea. I'm going to open a little supermarket in the village, selling Vesta curries, Angel Delight, Goblin tinned hamburgers in gravy, Norscä shampoo, Slimcea diet bread, Texan chocolate bars, Tweed perfume, Brut aftershave, and all the other 1970s must-haves that were advertised on the TV when I was a kid. The natives have obviously missed out on so much of modern life that it'll be a roaring success from the moment Bernie Winters cuts the ribbon and the Dagenham Girl Pipers march down the central aisle.]

At any given time when her phone is connected, Clare'll be simultaneously sexting at least half a dozen kids called Kyle, or Josh, or Chet, or something else that sounds like it was made up out of left-over Scrabble letters. Nine times out of ten, if I try to engage her attention, I have to join the back of the queue. (And I'm the guy sitting opposite her and buying her drinks, remember.)

The biggest joke is that she's signed up for all manner of dating apps, in spite of protesting at length that she wants to concentrate on herself and isn't interested in men. This very afternoon, in fact, she wore a ring to town because it's karaoke in the Lighthouse tonight.

'If anyone asks, I'll say I'm engaged,' she laughed. 'Engaged to myself!'

That was at five o'clock, when the three of us (inevitably) were in Thereisnospoon. I'm willing to lay odds that by 10.00 p.m. the ring will be in her back pocket, and she'll be stuck to the face of her next ex-boyfriend.

On Monday night, in fact, literally within minutes of Karen telling Clare that she could do a lot worse than going out with me, she'd left with Gareth, the DJ from the Lighthouse. Even though nothing happened between them (she says), she thought that maybe she'd met someone who liked her. (Remember, she'd only just baled out on me.) Then she spent half an hour yesterday telling me how much she loved the single life. Go figure …

The third obstacle is Clare's personal history. From what she's told me, her parents' marriage was fairly violent. Her father currently has a partner whom Clare gets on with quite well; her mother has remarried, and Clare hates her stepfather. She's had a long string of boyfriends, widely spread in age, but mostly wasters, as far as I can tell – although at least one of them was man enough to give her a child. Finally, she got a result. A baby could give her unconditional love; exactly what she'd been looking for – until Social Services got involved, anyway.

Like many young girls I know from similar backgrounds, she seems to be on a relentless quest for 'love' with people who are equally dysfunctional. Needless to say, it's doomed to fail, because they're locked into the same cycle of self-destructive behaviour, abuse, violence, and ultimately kids in care, that their parents were.

Yes, sure, it's nice when you meet someone with whom you've got something in common. If it's a shared taste in films, or a band you both like, or a particular restaurant you can revisit many times, that's a good thing. If it's simply the fact that you could both be minor characters in an Irvine Welsh novel, that's not a good thing.

So, how do we reconcile all that with Clare's endless protestations that she's 'happy on her own', 'doesn't need a man', 'wants to focus on herself', 'stronger by being alone', and all the other life-affirming crap she posts on Facebook every day?

Well, that's obvious, of course. She's fallen back on the classic attention-seeking technique of 'Don't take any notice of me, I'm fine!' – to which everyone responds, 'Oh, what's up, babe? Mail me now', and so forth.

In fact, I'm becoming convinced that the lady doth protest too much. I suspect that all this 'single forever' crap is entirely for my benefit, because she knows I like her.

She doesn't want to take the risk of accepting my offer, because if she sees that it's possible to go out with someone who genuinely cares about her, it'll send her fucked-up little world spinning entirely off its axis.

As I said in a text to Karen earlier, I can't possibly compete with all these external factors. I dare say that I'll be a shoulder for Clare to cry on when her next little relationship goes tits-up, just as I was last time.

I hope I remain enough of a gentleman to say, 'Well, that's too bad, babe – fancy a pint?' instead of, 'We all told you so, didn't we, you silly bint? You need to learn how to recognise a good thing when it's under your nose. Now fuck off and leave me alone!'

Perhaps then she'll finally wake up and smell the coffee. After all, in the words of the song, you don't know what you've got till it's gone.

Strange Little Girl

In which The Author imports some content from his secret blog

About a year or so I was in a pub in Aberdare, chatting to Phillip, a mate of mine who's a regular at every karaoke bash. He's an Elvis tribute act, a fine singer and a very good bloke. Then a young girl named Clare came in, whom I also knew from the scene. She's short, a little bit chunky, rather attractive in a punky/goth sort of way, and about half my age. She was dressed from head to foot in black and sported a nice new spiky hairstyle, as well. The omens were propitious. She joined our little gang and we all chatted for a few minutes before she got the call to the mic. She was tearing a song from Grease 2 a new one when I leaned over to Phillip.

'Your friend's bloody good, mate.'

'My sister,' he replied.

'Your sister?' I said in amazement. I didn't even know he had a sister.

Anyway, when Clare came back over I complimented her on her performance, and we started chatting.

And that was where the whole thing started.

Since then we've sung together fairly regularly; we've been on a few drinking sessions (most recently on Monday); we've been to Cardiff to see a film; we've been to Pontypridd, Treorchy and Merthyr; we're planning a day in Bristol before Xmas, and a little excursion to London in the spring. We've also had a bloody nightmare trying to sort out ID for her, so that she can come to the pubs when we do go further afield. We've spent a fair bit of time together, and chat regularly on Facebook.

And I've found out quite a bit about her. Clare's family is fairly unconventional, to say the least. She's a bright kid, but she didn't have a good time in school. As a result, she suffers with anxiety and depression. Relateable statement, as we say on Facebook. She had children when she was quite young (as did a few friends of mine), but they're in foster care. She still lives with her father and Phillip, but she's got a string of ex-boyfriends – and, being a young person, a couple of ex-girlfriends – all over the Valleys.

[A digression: The most recent romance was less than a month ago. She met this young lad from Blackwood on a chat site, announced their engagement on Facebook a few days later, brought him to Aberdare for karaoke to meet her friends the following Friday, and kicked him into touch on the Sunday afternoon. On the Friday, her brother and I were joking that it would all be over by Xmas. In the event, it was over by Halloween. I mean, come on! Even Britney Spears has had longer relationships than that.]

A couple of months ago, we were chatting on karaoke night when Clare announced that she was moving 'back' to Ebbw Vale. (The home of another ex-boyfriend, naturally.) I said I thought it was a good plan. I know it's on its arse as a town, but my pals maintain a strong music scene. Clare would be right at home there.

When Jocelyn asked me what I wanted to sing, I had the perfect song straight away: 'We Gotta Get Out of This Place' by the Animals. Not only did the subject matter dovetail with our conversation; it also includes the words 'Now, girl, you're so young and pretty' ‐ the most subtle way of throwing her a compliment I could think of.

Anyway, the Ebbw Vale plan seems to have run into the sand for the time being, so she's still on the local scene.

But there's more …

When we were in Cardiff, I took her over to Rebel Rebel. It's a modern head shop run by two gay pals of mine named Rick and Tim. Clare was fancying the studded leather accessories while I chatted to Rick and topped up my phone. I told her that I had a nice collar she could have, which was cheaper than buying one. She bought a little wristband in the meantime. She'll love Camden Market when we get there in the spring.

But there's more …

I've met Clare's father in the past couple of weeks. I'd made an appointment to give blood, and advertised the session on Facebook. Clare persuaded her father to go down as well, and the three of us chatted over squash and biscuits afterwards. You can see why I thought maybe she was just making an excuse to be in the same building as me at the same time.

On Sunday morning, I rang Clare and asked her if she was going to the Remembrance service in Hirwaun. We'd talked about it the day before, but I said I'd check out the weather before I committed myself to walking up. In the event it was dry and bright. I met Clare on the edge of the village, and walked with her to the church and thence to the war memorial, where Phillip's St John Ambulance group were laying a wreath. Then we repaired to the Glancynon for soft drinks before the buses started running, and ended up in the pub.

In the evening we had a singer and guitarist in the pub. We were sitting at the opposite end, and our ex-army mates were in the middle, extremely pissed and rowdy. Before our guest started his set, I went over to chat to him, leaving Clare in the half-pissed hands of the Two Helens. In the meantime, Phillip parked himself at the end of the bar so he could take photos. When I looked back, Clare was talking to Charlie (Charlotte), one of the part-time barbints.

Their father picked them up towards the end of the evening, and Charlie and I ended up chatting by the bar. Charlie knows Clare, and she dropped a very heavy hint that I might have a chance of taking things to the next level. I didn't press her on it, but Charlie seemed to think that Clare was keen on me, too.

Anyway, this was going through my mind when Clare strolled into the library on Monday and asked me if I fancied some lunch.

As I told you last time, chokers are back in fashion in Aberdare, but Clare definitely pushed the envelope by wearing her wide studded collar into town. I was wearing a collar, too, just by coincidence. We were both dressed in black when we went to the pub. She mentioned that we were getting some attention from the other customers. I took a photo of her and posted it on Facebook, adding something like, 'We're sure the guys on the next table think we're on our way to a fetish night.' She thought that was hilarious.

(Talking of Facebook, I posted this lovely meme on her Timeline a couple of weeks ago. It's often quite difficult to get a smile from Clare unless there's food involved. I just wanted to give her another little compliment. I had no idea at the time that her nickname in school was 'Wednesday' – but luckily she saw the funny side. )

From there, we headed over the road for afternoon karaoke (or Performance and Cock-ups, as I call it). Phillip came in after work and the three of us had a good laugh, as always. Karen came in later on, and a splendid time was had by all. When the karaoke wound down, Phillip went to meet his father as arranged.

However, Clare decided that she'd rather join Karen and me for a late drink. We strolled down to the Prince and found a nice spot by the fireplace. While Clare was phoning to arrange a lift for the end of the night, Karen came to the same conclusion that Charlie had the previous evening.

In fact, she went a stage further and told Clare outright that she'd be far better off dating me than she would be hooking up with yet another very young and good-looking no-hoper.

Interesting suggestion, isn't it? Let's look at it in detail.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time I've had a significantly younger significant other. It wouldn't be the first time Clare has had a boyfriend who's years older than her, either. It wouldn't be the first time I've gone out with a girl who isn't conventionally attractive; it's the personalities that do it for me, not the looks. We get on well, we make each other laugh, we enjoy each other's company, and people are used to seeing us together. And I think she'd be sexually adventurous enough to tick my boxes.

But how do I go about broaching the subject directly? After all, if I had a quid for every time a girl 'just liked me as a friend', I'd be a very wealthy man by now.

Answers on a postcard, please …