OH TELL ME THE TRUTH ABOUT LOVE

Tuesday 3 January 2017

8 degrees cloudy with low cloud and light rain

To start with, a poem.....

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go round,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't even there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love. 

WH Auden

This is everything I love in a poem - it is witty and poignant and most of all, exposes the vulnerability which we all possess in our hearts when looking for a mate.

It has never been easy to find the right one.  Or even one who is half right and better than being alone.  In the 70's and 80's, when I was in the market for this sort of thing, the recognised routes to matching lay in the pubs and clubs.  I drank and danced my way through hundreds of licensed premises and emerged into steaming, fag end mornings with bags of chips on the bus home and phone numbers written on my arms and then was traumatised when I saw their authors in the cool and very sober light of another evening. My neighbour fixed me up with a sailor.  But it was never Letter to Brezhnev even though he was from Liverpool.  He was half right but not a big half.  My longest date, prior to OH, I met at work. He was lovely and kind and funny and bright and I did love him for a very long time. But I always wondered if there was better so when I left Uni, I left him behind too.  And when I came back to live with my parents, to pay off my debts and decide what to do next, OH came along via Mrs A who was back then Ms Noddi and a blind date.  And we were married 14 months to the day we met.  And we have changed a lot over the intervening thirty one years but we have changed together.  And stayed together.

I would have thought, given the existence of the ten zillion dating sites and apps and messenger and facebook and twitter, that meeting the 'one' should be easier.  But it is like buying houses, it is so easy to discount the ones with the dodgy facades.  How can you tell what the person is like unless you are sitting in front of them.  Is the glossy surface just filler and paintwork?  What is the substructure like?  In fact, I am coming around now to the idea that the internet is robbing people of their social skills.  It is certainly stopping them bonking in bus shelters as they sit, individually, in their bedrooms to indulge in petting and flirtation. The rate of teenage pregnancies in the UK has recently shown the first downward turn since the late 70's.

Our eldest has in fact, spent most of his 'dating' life with women who he has never physically met.  He has variously been very keen and utterly livid.  He has dumped and been dumped by these remote women.   Until recently, he found one who is just 100 metres down the road......  I entertained great hopes.  Perhaps she would dynamise him into saving money, they could run a restaurant together, he would be happy for once.  He showed me a picture and she looked almost normal.  She was in a hunched up pose.  She apparently has body issues.  She has opted to hide them with very large floral tattoos and a nose ring.

It seems it is not to be.  She refuses to come around and say hello, but sits in the car and waves at him like an angry sea anemone through the windscreen.  He says she is boring and wastes all of her money on impulse buys.  He says his virtual girlfriend, who lives in India, is a much more interesting, witty, going somewhere person.  She can give and take. She likes banter.

He then fell out also with the Indian girlfriend who was two timing him with someone in Surrey (whilst living in India). Its a modern world.  I think the only thing we have to do to control World population is just encourage young people to join 'social' networks.  Job done.

As Auden knew all too well, there is no truth about love.  That it does exist is irrefutable and in such a myriad of forms to encompass each heart and each person and each time in our lives; the first love which is consuming and magical, the school crushes, the uni affairs, the holiday flings, taking the plunge, the first touch of your baby's skin, the dry crispness of an aged parent's hand, a life's worth of sharing a bed and a sofa.

Matchmakers existed for so many years and in so many cultures.  I wonder how I can fix it for them to meet up with suitable girls.....

Song in my head (you may not be surprised at this one)