#10 TO THE POWER OF TEN

TO THE POWER OF TEN

This is the tentenary, the tenth post on the blog and we celebrate this magnificent numeral. Where would we be without it? Still doing pounds, shillings and pence, for one thing. Decimal, decade, No.10 Downing St (Tony's Den at bingo, perhaps Blair's only lasting legacy - how tawdry and appropriate), the Top Ten, ten to the dozen, a perfect ten, ten a penny, five'll get you ten, ten fingers and toes, and of course, the Ten Commandments, to name but ten.

        

DATING IN THE LATE AUTUMN

Truth, the whole truth and nothing like the truth

Dating in the late autumn years is different from dating at 17. You present differently: less spots but more coronary grafts. It's a different kind of marketing exercise, something like having a market stall of second-hand clothes right in front of a very cool designer outlet shop. Yes, there will be people who want antique, retro style - charity shop scourers and boot sale vultures. But not as many as flock into the shop behind you, and a different age-group.

A few years ago I decided that it might be nice to be in a couple again; that once Daughter#2 had gone to University, and the dog had yapped her last yap, it was going to be fairly solitary around here, and that although I managed my separated status well, that could change. And that by then my ageing might mean that I hadn’t got the front to go dating (at 70+!). So with many reservations, I signed up for MatchAffinity.com and Guardian Soulmates. I filled out my profiles, truthfully, on the grounds that they’d find out everything in the long run, so if there was anything they really didn’t like, best get it, and them, out of the way early on. For example, I confessed to my Tottenham season ticket, thus clearing away many football-hating women and thousands of female Arsenal fans immediately, killing flocks and flocks of birds with one stone.

Unfortunately, very few people follow this policy. Dating sites exist in a different reality, one in which the truth has been the frequent casualty in the scrap between what is, and what people would like it to be. Age, for example: a woman’s real age on a dating site is calculated by adding 6-7 years to the figure given in her profile. Very correct feminists have assured me that this statement is neither prejudicial nor sexist, It’s just how it is. Probably men are the same, though I didn’t get to see their profiles so I really don’t know. I expect so. I didn’t misrepresent my age, because that makes me feel uncomfortable and insecure. It’s expediency as much as morality: one would be constantly in danger of getting found out, and I just didn’t want hide my passport every time a woman came round.

This is not an essay on the cult of youth in our society, so I won't labour the point that people prefer to be thought of as younger. Or do they? Is it not the opposite side of the coin, that they don’t want to be seen as old. So people lie about their age and post photographs of their much younger selves. Understandable, and very sad, but stupid: unless they intend the relationship to remain a virtual one for ever, they are going to be found out when they finally meet. Their prospective partner will feel disappointed, deceived and resentful, possibly not the best platform of emotion for a first date – and almost certainly the last one. Where would the trust be? How likely is it that the man (in this case) will feel the same attraction for this woman who is 10 or more years older than the one he saw in the website thumbnail. Likewise for a woman. Maybe they should, to be correct, but these new norms really don’t influence the basic laws of attraction: chemistry, magnetism, aesthetics, intellectual compatibility, sense of humour etc. They are either there, to some degree, or they are not and no amount of self-persuasion that you ‘should’ be attracted to this person (even though you are not) will make one iota of difference.

I found myself in exactly this situation early on in my web-dating career. I walked round the bars of a large pub several times before I realised I had walked past my date several times, because she was far older than I was expecting. She didn’t hail me because she didn’t want to wear her spectacles. I was not indelicate enough to ask her age, but from her appearance, clothes, voice, and attitudes, I would guess she was 72, to be charitable, which is not the same as 53, her profile listing. Her photograph had been found through archaeology. We had a more or less pleasant hour and a half (in which her age and old-fashionedness dictated that I should buy all the drinks; I terminated the evening before she got hungry as well); surprise to say that we concluded it was not a match made in heaven, nor even Wembley (where we were – the closest terrestrial approximation to Heaven), and parted without bad feeling. Except for my feeling that I had been conned, unnecessarily; not a tragedy, but quite irritating. Later, I met another, much younger woman, who was living off meals provided by older male website daters, several times a week. Men can be exploited, too, particularly older men.  It’s a jungle out there, for single Seniors…

QUOTE/UNQUOTE   

from the incomparable Robin Williams:

'You're only given a little spark of madness, you mustn't lose it'         

'Cocaine is God’s way of saying you’re making too much money'

'Ah, yes, divorce . . . from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet'

'In the midst of all this ranting, you can’t forget that in New York harbour, there is a statue that says, “Give me your tired, your poor…” And that doesn’t mean, “…for two weeks, to do light housework”

'If it's the Psychic Network why do they need a phone number?'

'Some people say Jesus wasn't Jewish. Of course he was Jewish! Thirty years old, single, lives with his parents, come on. He works in his father's business, his mom thought he was God's gift, he's Jewish. Give it up'

'Never fight with an ugly person, they’ve got nothing to lose

'Do you think God gets stoned? I think so ... look at the platypus'

'Cricket is basically baseball on valium'

'A woman would never make a nuclear bomb. They would never make a weapon that kills. They’d make a weapon that makes you feel bad for a while'

A WEEK IN POSTS

DEAR ZAC,

Thanks so much for your letter. I hadn’t realised we were on first-name terms but it’s obvious that we should be friends, we have so much in common. You live in Barnes, by the Thames, I live in Willesden, by the North Circular (both in London, see). You are unbelievably wealthy, I am unbelievably unwealthy. My small fortune was accumulated through 50 years of hard labour in study and public service, yours was acquired by inheritance from your dad, billionaire Sir James – he of the very questionable friends – like Lord Lucan), marriage to a Rothschild (I’ve often thought of screwing my bank, but like Cameron, you’ve gone the whole hog) and some token work to pass the time, along with backgammon and poker. Your wealth amounts to about £300million, mine a bit less than that. The similarities and coincidences just go on and on: you’re a pretty young guy, I’m pretty old. It’s like we were identical twins separated at birth!

Now I don’t know whether the letter was your idea or one of your advisors’. If the latter, sack them. It is a transparent attempt at scaremongering: smear Sadiq Khan, with his association with Jeremy Corbyn. As Corbyn is doing better than Cameron in the polls at the moment, you should be more worried that you’ll be smeared by association with the PM – or Boris – you seem to be flirting with both of them, you naughty boy. Anyway whatever his politics, Corbyn is an honest, decent man. And as the Conservative Party unravels to its dishonest core at the moment, backstabbing coming to its leadership as naturally as breathing, the electorate will appreciate the straightforward, honest, socially responsible, policies of Corbyn and Labour. You lot are making us look really good right now. Smear techniques like your letter are scraping the barrel of political activity: they are usually employed by people and parties who fear defeat and will go to the depths to avoid it. I’d heard you were better than that. I suppose the chaps would give you a bit of a joshing if, with all your wealth and contacts, you were beaten by a bus-driver’s son! (“I say, Tarquin, bit of a rum do: the lunatics are taking over the asylum, what!”)

I guess you got my name from the electoral roll. God put me on it to vote against you and your party.It is His way of saying 'watch your back,they can always get rid of you'. I have tried to do that at every election since 1964. So you won't be getting my vote unless you put a couple of million through my letterbox.

Zac, think positive: if you don’t get to run London, you can always buy it.

Venceremos, buddy

David

                                            No Mr Crabb, homosexuality is not a sickness,

                                                              but bigotry certainly is.




GALLERY

Researching a piece on Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the only major British Art Nouveau figure, I came across the work of his wife, Margaret MacDonald Mackintosh. Art historians may correct me, but over many years of looking at the work of Mackintosh (male) I had never come across the work of Mackintosh (female). Surely it cannot be the case that her work was in any way downgraded or overlooked because she was merely a woman? Heaven forfend!

Which is which?       (answer at the end)

POETRY CORNER

The beauty of the Mackintoshes' work moved me to poetry. I posted this yesterday on Facebook and it largely escaped people's notice or approval, one or the other. So I'm giving it another airing in case you appreciate the surpassing beauty of language, but missed it.

There's a gaping hole in my literary portfolio: novel (under revision) play (under review by assorted luvvies) auto-bio (selling like hot cowpats)....where's the poetry? Let's have a go:

LITTLE-KNOWN FACTS ABOUT
THE DIETS OF NATIONAL LEADERS

Ronald Reagan
was a vegan.
Margaret Thatcher
liked gazpacho
George Bush: he
liked sushi.
Tony Blair
adored a pear.
But Alex Salmond
dined on ham and
eggs. Exclusively.

I think you’ll agree that my candidacy for Poet Laureate is a shoo-in after this seminal contribution to English literature.

You know what? If you've read this far in the blog/post, it would be really nice if you could put your name or initials in the comments section at the end. I would like to get some idea about who I am reaching. Thank you, I don't care what they say about you, you're a good person. Don't be shy, I won't out you...

                                                                                                                                      DM

Mackintosh answer:   

CRM left   MMM right