Friday, 12 June 2015

Eleanor Rigby Syndrome

"All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?"
The Beatles

I'd just like to change that last line if I may to:
"Why must they bother me?"

I mooch around on my own a lot these days.
It's just the way things are and the point in life where
I happen to be.  Things may change, they may not,
but it's no big deal and, if I'm honest,
it's really rather nice.

However there is just one teensy, weensy little fly in my
virtually perfect ointment - the effect I appear
to have on other people, particularly strangers.

I've never actually seen what my face looks like in
thoughtful report but it never fails to prompt comments
such as "Cheer up it might never happen." or
"Penny for them."   Aaaargh!

I think I must be going wrong somewhere.

Whenever I pause to plant my bum on a bench in order to
admire the view the signal seems to go out to every nutter
in the vacinity to rock up and sit down uncomfortably close.

More often than not they will attempt to engage me in
conversation on a bizarre range of topics or, worse still,
indulge in (albeit silent) unnerving behaviour.
Time for a swift exit Julia.

This didn't do the trick.

I did at one stage try carrying a sketch book and pencil
in order to give the appearance that I was actually "doing"
something but this only seemed to worsen the problem
as then the curious also seemed to get irresistably drawn into
the equation.

Keep walking, don't make eye contact whatever you do.

I've yet to try putting on a nervous twitch, muttering to 
myself or totally abandoning regular personal hygiene
as a deterrent.  I'll let you know should any of these
contingency measures prove to be effective.

Perhaps this look might work.  It's worth a try.

The worst case of all so far occurred just recently when
"the incredible speed-dating man" latched onto me whilst
out for a walk and within the space of a few minutes he had
regailed me with his entire family history (including pictures
of his grandchildren which seemed to pack out his entire
wallet - no money, I peeked), ditto medical history,
the in's and out's of his three failed marriages and just as
we got to how lonely he was I discovered that I still had
a secret reserve of energy and powered off as fast as my
tired little legs would carry me.

Testimonials from previous employers would have been a
liberty too far I'm sure you'll agree.

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