When meeting people I try to avoid the whole hug and kiss pantomime, nine times out of ten it’s not the appropriate greeting (I’m talking about women here - I can’t even contemplate the Euroman-on-man-embrace thing, it fits slap bang in the middle of what my grimacing uncle Norman would call shenanigans). The most recent, and I hope final, act of this depravity happened on a crowded London street when I met up with my sister-in-law this week to visit an elderly relative and then have lunch.
It’s the open arms, upraised chin and puckered lips that tell you there’s no way you’re going to get away with a firm handshake. She had adopted the position and it merely remained for me to get in there and get it over and done with. It was probably nerves, a severe lack of coordination and the sun was in my eyes, but my approach was far too hurried. I firmly grasped her shoulders, lost all sense of distance and found myself too close, simultaneously tilting and turning my head towards her right cheek, lining up for the final thrust, but unfortunately trod really heavily on her left foot. I immediately lowered my head to look at the foot I’d just squashed but momentum carried me forward so I ended up burying my lips against her neck three inches below her right ear and actually inside the collar of her blouse (oh dear).
As in a reflex action, I instantly jumped backwards and stumbled with one foot caught behind the other, to regain balance my knees had to bend and for a split-second I found myself motionless on one knee with my arms out to each side in the middle of the pavement as if I’d just landed after a pretty good ski-jump; before leaping adroitly to the upright human posture and saying: “Hiya, sorry about that.” Tragically, it’s not uncommon for me to lose balance when meeting people; I may have a gene or two from the fainting-goat side of the family.
Considering that she’d been literally violated by someone now crouched before her like Quasimodo‘s less good-looking cousin, other than a barely audible whimper (the toes), she didn’t even let a look of mild surprise show on her face. There may have been just a hint of detached amusement playing briefly across her full and slightly parted lips, but I didn’t really notice; because, as we started to walk beside each other she slipped her arm through mine, now if there’s one thing I try to avoid its walking arm in arm, nine times out of ten it’s not the……
Lunch was very pleasant, over-priced and over cooked but also slightly disconcerting, I’ve known her for years but there was a period when we rarely saw each other as she lived in Australia, she returned with her husband Pete-mate about six months ago. I’ve seen her quite often since then as she is Mrs Stimp’s younger sister, but never alone, and she grabbed the chance to touch on some rather personal issues. By the end of that meal I couldn’t have managed one more intimate revelation, not even a wafer thin one.
I was slightly apprehensive about the closing ceremony, as the time approached I was preparing for the cheek-kissing and was determined to not only get it right but also add a long “mmmmwuaaah” at the same time as a sort of social flourish. Which has to be better than falling over. I thought later I could have cried ‘dedaaaaaah’ triumphantly while I was kneeling with out-stretched arms and told her I was trying out an archaic greeting that is now only used by the few remaining herdsmen living in the foothills of Mount Basildon. Just another lost opportunity to look a bit Essex-centric I suppose.
As we said goodbye she didn’t risk another go at the kissing and just gently squeezed my hand instead; which somehow, for all the wrong reasons, seemed the right thing to do.
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4 comments:
have just found your blog why dont you stick to woodwork wich isnt to bad and leave the other stuff out.
Daniel, thanks for your insightful comments, all feedback gives a blogist a misguided sense of justification, the thing is Dan, do you mind if I call you Dan? Good, the thing is Dan, the internet is full of words about woodwork tools far more authoritative than my frankly limp ramblings, but where can you find the other ‘stuff‘? Nowhere, because it’s sort of unique in an uncomfortable way, I realise that doesn’t excuse it in any way and I will certainly think long and hard about what you’ve said and maybe I will leave out the more personal content in future. And Dan, if you continue to read this blog, please let me know if it’s still not everything you hoped for.
I to have known only too clearly the embarrassment and nerves of meeting someone again who you love -but know you can’t- because of the hell breaking loose if you do. I think you should forget about all of it. The pain of what happens is not worth it- do you live in London -I hate London. When you realise about your feelings you will see the truth- that it can’t happen.
Benoit, if you don’t mind me saying, you sound like me, someone who really doesn’t hate anything, so why London? And no, I don’t live there, I’ve spent most of my life face-to-face with the sultry and lascivious, but so pitifully flawed, countenance of Essex.
Thanks for your well-meaning and hardly-at-all bludgeoning advice on the self-restraint imperative, it’s a wonderful thing to have. As wonderful as the deeply thoughtful and beautiful brown eyes that let me dare to hope when they met mine, that we were sharing the same impossible thought that we both knew we‘d never be able to express; namely, that this veal is over-done, can it really be that difficult to get right?
I’m getting the impression that you’ve read far too much into this whole having lunch with my sister-in-law thing, was it from between the lines? There’s really nothing there Benoit, just emptiness.
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