131109 – 21. One is the loneliest number
You There,
Me here, in my room listening to some Bob Dylan on a cold and very rainy Friday evening in November and about to do whatever it is that I do when I’m here and for the 21st time. Not much of a landmark I know but believe me when I say that it’s the only thing that I’ve ever set out to do and reached 21 separate attempts at in my 25, and a bit, years. Guitar lessons spring to mind, driving lessons also, as do Karate and boxing. I didn’t even make it to the fucking gym for the boxing but then I did wet myself at Karate and so that probably had quite a lot to do with me not continuing with that particular hobby. Wetting myself at 24 years old, I should be ashamed.
If there was one certainty of the last week it was that once the dust had settled from the weekend just gone that I would feel like a crappy version of my good feeling self. 21st Birthday parties will do that to you and particularly the 21st Birthday of your little brother, in your own house, where it is safe to act like a bit of a twat for several hours and only have a few stumbling steps and a quick crawl to end the madness and go to bed. The fact that I don’t actually remember acting like a twat at any point in the evening counts for little anymore as video and photographic evidence will eventually appear and out me as the swine that I am. If you happen to stumble across any of these pictures or videos please remember that camera adds pounds and pounds of soft flesh particularly under my chin, around my torso, and neck and back, and head, I have a big fat head, in photos, but in real life I’m like a racing snake.
Who races snakes? Which total fucking madman races snakes? Do they race of their own accord or does someone have to ride them? How the fuck can you ride a snake without annoying it into a death strike to the eyes or face? Jesus, imagine if you can, anaconda racing, with a human attached to a track being taken, at speed and against his will, around and around until he is caught and eaten whole. Bastards, the fucking bastards. I digress and shall return to the story promptly and without a moments delay, not another moment shall I waste talking about racing snakes. Seriously, where does that shit even come from, racing snakes?
As I was saying, once the dust had settled I was feeling a tad worse for wear which is to be expected as on the odd occasion and given the right set of circumstances, and an easterly breeze, I have been known to drink to excess, but what I wasn’t expecting to feel this week, not even a little bit, was lonely. “What does he have to be lonely about?” they exclaimed in unison, “He has his film star looks. He has his youth. He has his youthful film star looks. Surely he, Andrew Beattie, cannot possibly be lonely!” Well there is no need to be patronising is there now.
It’s not that I have a shortage of people to talk to and I have a super set of friendly friends, fantastical family and don’t get me started on my colleagues, erm, because I’d be here, for hours? What I think I’m really missing is a little companionship, someone to fall back to and an ever present ally who is also a sexual partner, a dirty, dirty sexual partner. I didn’t actually mean that last bit, honestly I didn’t. Take my brother for instance, let me finish, and his girlfriend Siobhan, see I told you to let me finish. They were reading one of my ramblings a couple of weeks ago on the couch in the living room, sharing a bottle of wine, locked in a loving embrace, and laughing in unison. Laughing in unison, I shall repeat that for effect, laughing in unison. They share hangovers, they occasionally fall out, and then make back up, they go for meals, they go to the pictures, they eat in, they occasionally eat halfway out and in, and I very much envy it. Ok, the laughing in unison is a little creepy but I envy everything else. Who am I trying to kid here, I love the laughing in unison, it’s the best part.
At the moment what I need is companionship, I know I do. Hookers serve a purpose but most of the ones I’ve met can’t read and so don’t share my love of books and writing and as for that Pretty Woman film and the whole “I’ll pay you to stay with me but we can’t have sex please” nonsense. Have you ever met a hooker? No, of course you haven’t, but try to imagine one anyway. Got it? Now picture Julia Roberts. Polar fucking opposites aren’t they? Yes they are, yes they are. How did I get onto hookers? Ah yes, my brother and his girlfriend Siobhan.
Right, its going on the bloody list, I’ll have to stick to it then. No more of this lonely nonsense for me, companionship from here on in. Not constant companionship you understand, this isn’t a documentary and I’m certainly no penguin, but just someone to share things with, things except for my chips and other food items from my plate and quite possibly my toothbrush but everything else.
15. Find a companion, that isn’t a hooker. Julia Roberts is, however, most certainly allowed.
On a much brighter note guys and girls, I did go to the theatre on Monday evening with my good friend and incredibly talented writer, Robin, to see Spike Milligan’s Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall. I hadn’t been to the theatre for a long time before this week and it may have just been the fact that the play was incredibly well put together and very amusing but I enjoyed myself a great deal. By the time this is live on the internet the play will of course have finished and so my recommending it may be a tad late in the day but if not, it’s well worth a watch and I can’t recommend it enough. I’d also like to take this opportunity to say how incredibly good looking Robin is just on the off chance he gets more tickets for future plays or events and has a spare.
Now I’ve wasted just about enough of your time for one sitting and so I’ll be off now do drink the can of Guinness that is staring at me from across the desk and continue to read A Confederacy of Dunces which was recommended to me and has so far proven to be one of the best books I have ever read even if the similarities with my life are a tad frightening. Until next time friends,
Keep away from the pervy looking guy with the beard.
Cheers,
Andrew
P.S. I don’t really pay for sex