Tag Archives: breakups

A Date with Fate

I like the idea of fate, the notion that things are what they are, and turn out how they should not because of your choices, but because they were meant to happen. Being at the right place at the right time, or a ‘crazy coincidence’ just seems too… simple! There must be something that makes things happen as they do. Perhaps it is the element of relief in thinking there’s a ‘grand plan’ that makes it so appealing. As if fate were a cosmic policeman keeping everything in check; if you go down a wrong path, it throws something at you that knocks you back onto course.  Only the biggest sceptic won’t harbour some hope that there’s something watching over them; god, fate, spirit guide, a fairy godmother (all as ridiculous as each other really).

Anyway, enough hippy talk and back the point. An incident with Lift Boy last week reaffirmed my belief in fate.

Yes there was in incident. With lift boy. But before I go into detail, I need to tell you about another boy. Let’s call him; The one with the Porsche.

I met One With Porsche (I won’t lie it was quite hot) at my old work. Incidentally the same place I met Golf Boy. He had this scraggly long hair and a weird pointy face but there was something about the way he looked and spoke that I found utterly irresistible. He would flirt with anything which meant that half the office fancied him, but that didn’t stop me getting a little exited every time his highness condescended to speak to me. True to form I would respond with a torrent of utter drivel “oh look a kamikaze pigeon” was a classic I will never forget. Nothing ever happened with Porsche, I ended up with his good friend Golf Boy and Porsche…or my craziest work crush ever was forgotten.

Until Lift Boy.

I’ve been enjoying awkward hello’s with lift boy for a good six months now, which never materialised into actual conversation and as my relationship with my Number 6 progressed into something I really never expected, lift boy was forgotten. I turned my head away when he walked down the corridor, no longer interested in his tiresome ‘hello’. But as I walked towards the lift last week for my  3pm cigarette,  I looked up to see him walking directly towards me.  There was no getting away from it.

“Hi” I waved.

“Hi, how are you?” He responded.

“Great. Thanks”

This was as far as it usually ever went. We stood in the lift awkwardly as the numbers counted down.

“Oh cr*p” I said suddenly as I checked my pocket to find no pack of cigarettes and no lighter. “I forgot my ciggies.”

Very cliché, but I HAD actually forgotten them. Lift boy offered to roll me one of his disgusting tobacco things, which I didn’t really want but by now we were speaking, actually speaking and with Number Six pushed to the back of my mind, I was curious what my crush was actually like.

Well he was sweet, funny, and awkward. I love awkward men. He was scrawny in a way that reminded me of someone I couldn’t quite put my finger on and god could he flirt for England.

Having done a formal introduction I ran back to my desk and immediately Sherlock holmed our company Outlook. Only three with his name  in our office. One of which,  I gasped,  had a surname I recognised, then the scrawny look, the cute dimples and the oversize wooly jacket all made sense… but it couldn’t be. It would be too impossible.

It only took a minute on facebook to unearth the truth.

Lift boy and Porsche were BROTHERS!!!!!! I have no qualms over posting the following. Mostly because they have mutated themselves beyond recognition. But there you have it. Porsche…or Lift Boy ‘The Elder’ on the left and Lift Boy The Younger on the right. Brothers, at the Polo (how very laa dee da)

Being a loser that believes in fate and such things, my mind was reeling with the possible ramifications. Was I destined to be with Lift Boy The Elder? Was I destined to be with Lift Boy The Younger? Is there a significance to me being in a relationship when I finally ended up speaking to LBTY? What if I hadn’t forgotten my cigarettes that day? What if I hadn’t been in a relationship? Is it fate that we spoke or fate that we didn’t speak sooner?

Most of all, this.was.all.just too weird for it not to be significant in some way, right?

I pondered this last night as I cuddled up to my Number Six. He has these amazing big arms that make me feel so safe. We were watching show about a dwarf and laughing at a private joke we had. The rain was going crazy on the skylight, but inside the attic there was just the smell of my vanilla scented candle and my boyfriend who…. I love. I looked up at him.

“Don’t you think It’s odd how we got together?” I said.

“Um,” he thought for a moment. “Yeah I guess so.”

“I mean…” I continued. “I wasn’t even going out that night. I was going to stay home. It was a total fluke Claude called me up and convinced me to go out. What If I had stayed in? Would this have even happened?”

There was more to it than that, and it’s probably about time I shared the tale of how me and Six got together. It’s was a web spun by fate and implemented by a need to get totally wrecked.

There was a big part of me that went out that night because Prince Charming would be there (when he sees me he will remember how AMAZING I am! Thought I, timidly)

And had I not seen PC surrounded by a harem of eautiful blondes, had I not been totally slapped in the face with the reality of the guy i’d thought was perfect, I may have never set out to get totally wrecked, and I may have never drunkenly called number Six who I (refused to admit) I kinda had a little thing for to come and join us. Had his plans not fallen through that night, he may have never answered me in the first place and had my friends not gone to bed early leaving me and him alone in the living room and high on half a pill, we might never had ended up kissing.

But it gets weirder. Having decided nothing would happen with him he ended up back at my house (naturally) but I  went to bed alone.

Only by a twist of fate did my alarm for work not go off, only by fluke did my work think I had booked the day off and god only knows why Six was hadn’t himself left for work in the morning. But when I calmed down from my panic of waking up at midday on a Monday still drunk form the night before, I was quite glad I’d woken up only moments before he was about to leave, and that he took the day off too. It was obvious that the only logical thing to do as it was midday and we were on the verge of sobering up, was go to the pub.

The rest was a haze of bloody Marys and drunken scrabble. There were the four random people we befriended and the incident with the guy that tried to gargle his beer and ended up vomiting all over himself (that’s the thing about meeting randoms in a pub, it’s all fun and games until someone vomcanos).

It was a perfect day and in the midst of my rose coloured vodka & tomato coloured glasses, it seemed like the perfect time to invite him up.

Turns out it worked out OK.

Any number of things could have stopped us getting together.

Had lift boy introduced himself two months earlier, Had I stayed in that night, Had prince charming not been surrounded by tarts, had  Six’s plans not fallen through, had my friend not gone to bed early and had my alarm worked, we could still be only just friends.

I gave my Number Six a peck on the cheek. I love how soft his face is and he has this smell…. it’s so weird. How had I never noticed it before, when we were friends? I was happy. It was one of those rare moments when everything is totally perfect.

Maybe it was fate, maybe it was chance. Maybe it was two people finding each other that happen to be perfectly suited. Does it really matter in the end anyway? All that matters is that right now, I’m exactly where I should be.

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Amelia Unedited

I was writing in my diary today – I need to do this before I set about ACTUALLY writing, to clear the layer of mental grime that collects routinely and needs to be scooped out. I sometimes feel a touch of…guilt? That my diary is such a collection of superficial ridiculous thoughts, when so many great thinkers use their journals to document all things profound and witty. I’m sure the content of my diary aged 8 is the same as aged 28, my mother doesn’t annoy me as much but that’s about it.

Anyway, I was just documenting last night’s adventures at some warehouse in Dalston, when I decided to flick back to the part of the diary I never look at, the Golf-Boy section.  I’ve thought of him a lot over the last week, even writing to a friend yesterday that I miss him like crazy and would do anything to go back to this time last year.  Well, thanks to my diary, I could. It really wasn’t what I was expecting.

Sunday 28th 2010

On Wednesday had an argument with him because he invited me to his friend’s birthday but insinuated I’d be going home alone. It worked out fine in the end, but ended up at THE most boring party with his BORING friends, was literally falling asleep and then there was Monday night when I was so bored I went downstairs to write on my own. What is this saying to me? Am I holding onto something that really doesn’t mean that much to me? I’m going to note down every time I leave him feeling happy and every time I leave him feeling sad starting with this morning


Why? Because he rushed off to his friend’s house instead of wanting to spend the day with me

Because he made a joke about Claude being dead when I was genuinely worried about her not calling all weekend – he’s immature and insensitive!

He left me to walk home on my own

He’s so damned prissy!!!!

Because he has no interest in the homeless shelter, and won’t donate a PENNY!!!! (less to spend on what? Golfclubs? His stupid cooking spices? That god-damned Le Creuset frying pan?!  He’s STINGY!)

Because he doesn’t know me at all. And now I think I don’t want him to.

He doesn’t think about anything

He questions NOTHING

He exists in this little world, this little blinkered world




Sport!!!!!!!!! Nothing matters!

What it comes down to, in 10 years, will I look back and see him as the love of my life?


It’s funny, the things you remember, and the things you forget. Last night Claude told me about a random memory she had of being six years old and naming each newt in her friend’s pond. There were eighty five newts in total that she remembers fishing out of the pond and putting into a bucket before proceeding to ‘christen’ each one with a name and plopping it back in the pond. The memory forms part of her story of childhood, I’m sure she can’t remember what she had for dinner that day, but the newt naming ceremony will remain with her always.

Perhaps we all write a kind of mental autobiography of our life, where we pick the best bits, how we want to remember things.

When I was thinking of this time last year, I wasn’t thinking of Nov 28th 2010, because I’d already forgotten it. The memory I had was actually November 14th 2010, a day I remember clearly… not so much the details but just the way I’d felt. I’m glad, that of all the memories, I chose to keep this one.

So…it was all in my head, and I need to remember this moment and make sure I NEVER act like such a tit again.

Had a really nice time with him over dinner tonight , we shared a pizza and I had a glass of rose, we talked about all kinds of random things…

What would it be like if we woke up tomorrow and men wore women’s clothes while women wore men’s…what if women used urinals?

He walked me home pointing out a dog with a really fluffy bum. We laughed.

Outside my front door, we hid under cover from the rain and he bent down and kissed me. I could hear the sound of the rain on the road

It was magical

Whenever he kisses me it’s magical

I want to always remember that I once felt this way about him no matter what happens

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