brian cant

I wish he’d Play Away with me.

[play away part one]

I think that I’ve finally discovered why I had a crush on Brian Cant when I was just a wee nipper.  So yes, I’m a few days late with the news that he has been voted the ‘best children’s tv voice’, but then that’s just like me to be ten steps behind everybody else. 

You can hear his voice on the following video, and also marvel at how wonderful the programmes made for kids used to be.  It’s no wonder that children are growing up all wrong these days, raised on a diet of The Tweenies, Lazy Town and The Tellytubbies

Ah, it makes me all nostalgic for other things.  Things like Ivor the Engine.

Once upon a time little children were given the opportunity to watch programmes that had big words, programmes that didn’t patronise them, nor condescend them.  Those were the days when smacking wasn’t tantamount to physical abuse and adults were allowed to entertain tots without having to resort to dressing up in silly costumes that made them look like odd alienistic creatures from somebody’s LSD trip.  Yep, they were the good ol’ days.

Bring back Ivor. 

And Pootle. 

pootle

[play away part two]

This trip down Nostalgia Lane is partly brought to you from the teenager within me, the one who didn’t actually watch Ivor or The Flumps, Button Moon or Bagpuss anymore.  But the teenager within me does remember those long intoxicating nights when staying up and talking about this, that and everything [including dated Seventies programmes aimed at kids] in between was the norm … and finding someone special with whom to talk about this, that and everything in between was pretty damn groovy.  And then things happen, and Irish boys come along, and an odd stolen kiss, phone calls on Christmas day, specially-made earrings, long deep meaningful letters, laughing together at Jesus [not the Jesus, but some poor lonely student we should have befriended and never did] … they all become a thing of the past, something which I can quite happily remember in later years.

And then I can get all gooey and reminiscent when I swap randomly sarcastic messages with the person who I could talk to about this, that and everything in between and he agrees to be my friend.  And I think, why on earth did I ever let you get away [but I don’t mean in the romantic sense, because we were never really like that, although maybe just a tad, but not really], why did I let you stop being my sarcastic friend

*sigh*

Thank you MySpace. 

please God bless the folk I used to know long ago and will probably never know again xxx Elsabeth

My Funny Bloody Valentine.

I never understood Love. 

I knew that Love existed because I Loved my Mumsy, and my siblings, and my grandparents, and other family members, and to some extent my friends, who were always there for me and who Loved me too.  Unconditional Love, where it doesn’t matter what you do, what you say, what you wear …

Other Love was a minefield for my head. 

I had my first crush when I was four.  Brian Cant, Play School Sex God. 

I had my first kiss [sans tongues] when I was twelve. 

I had my first kiss [avec tongues] when I was almost fourteen, with a French boy.

I had my first serious boyfriend [who liked leather, a lot] when I was seventeen.   

I fell in Love for the first time when I was eighteen.  For six weeks I lived in bliss, sharing myself with a full-bloodied, red-haired hunk of an Irishman [who wasn’t keen on the English, wtf?].  He had perfect fingers and he knew what to do with them.  I don’t think of him often, but when I do I quiver a little and hope that some woman, somewhere, is making the most of those Irish fingers.

He broke my heart.  Left me sobbing in my hall of residence bedroom after telling me that he still fancied me but he fancied someone else too.  In my determination to win him back I went out and pulled another chap.  When he remained impervious to my affections I went and pulled another one. 

And I remained with this other one for two years and twelve days.  I didn’t just sleep with this one, I slept with him.  Thus, I lost my virginity at the grand old age of eighteen, to a lad who I’d only just met, whilst still remaining in Love with Irish Fingers.  And I gradually fell out of Love with Irish Fingers and in Love with Ginger Nuts.

Who broke my heart when he cheated on me.  Left me sobbing on the stairs leading up to my flat in the scariest street in Sunnyland. 

Following a bleak few months of chasing every man with a pulse I finally met The BullyBoy, when I was twenty-one.  And despite the verbal, mental and physical abuse I recieved from him, I gradually found myself falling in Love again.  There’s a song there, somewhere. 

He was my last relationship before The Blokey.  He lasted four years and four months and I was in Love with him regardless of his faults and his issues.

I broke his heart after the bruises and the apologies got boring, left him sobbing on a train going back up North. 

There were a few near-misses betwixt him and The Blokey, but The Blokey finally found me in the spring of 2002 and I fell in Love with him before we even met [emails are a godsend for shy folk like me].

It took me a long time to realise that it’s ok to say that I was in Love before I met The Blokey.  I always believed that Love was exclusive, that you could only ever Love one person in your life.  I couldn’t comprehend how I could feel so much Love for someone and then not feel Love for that same person.  Surely that simply meant that I hadn’t Loved them in the first place?  How can feelings change so much?  Why had I invested so much time and energy into them if I didn’t Love them? 

I obviously did Love them, but other things got in the way of Love and our lives stopped following the same path.  I’m comfortable now.  I like comfortable Love.  It’s Love that is almost totally unconditional.  It’s Love that enjoys smudged make-up as much as dressing up; where hugs are just as precious as gymnastic antics; where not flushing the toilet in the middle of the night is fine; where you can be yourself and not have to worry about creating the wrong impression because he knows you inside out and back to front and better than you ever knew yourself. 

And comfortable Love lets you have been in Love before, and it doesn’t detract from the relationship. 

And now I understand Love.  And Love is good, in all its shapes.

Share the Love and send me a Valentine …

My Valentinr - katiefinger
Get your own valentinr

You can be as dirty/witty/sarcastic/miserable [*delete as appropriate] as you so desire. 

please God bless the miserable single people as Valentine’s Day approaches xxx Elsabeth