A Few Of My Favourite Things

I hate those games that people play around the supper table when all one wants to do is eat and drink something pleasant in the company of friendly others after a long, hard week. You know the ones: guess who I am in 20 questions or consequences or my aunt’s cat is an amiable, boastful, curious - and so on and so on - cat. And, the worst type of all, in my opinion, is: name the three or five or eight foods / books / tracks / films that you can’t live without or would absolutely, definitely, take to a desert island should you get the chance to grab them before the ship wrecks / plane crashes. Or identify the three or five etc. etc. people you admire who you would most like to have dinner with. Some of these revelations are, again it seems to me, potentially dangerous given that at least some guests are likely to choose edibles other than that which their hosts are providing, music that is totally different from that on the sound system, and, probably, companions other than those they are currently sharing food and time with.

Yesterday evening I was with a group of newish friends who I thought were above such triviality. But, no, we get to the pudding course and off they go. It’s not that I have no political opinions, no interests or passions. I do. I do. But, as far as I’m concerned they are mine and mine alone. I never tell anyone who I vote for and I never intend to do so. The pleasures and fantasies that I indulge in, I do alone in happy solitude and not with family, friends, or strangers. My very best book I hold close to my heart and I read and re-read it for its pace, structure, character construction and tone, not to mention the amazing ending. Similarly, my most played music is a private, precious thing that sooths and lifts me at the same time; the magic of which I feel sure I’d lose if I had to publically explain and dissect my love for and of it. Not for me the fifteen minutes of fame that everyone seems to want now. I can’t imagine any worse horrors than publically sharing the experience of my first date; inviting someone into my home to help me to eat better for less; subjecting myself to a make-over for all to see and comment on.

Walking home alone after my disappointing night out I pause to give some change to a homeless man I’ve seen a few times recently. I’m not a heartless person. I care about the welfare of others. I’m just not at all interested in their interests and devotions and I don’t want them to know about mine. This predilection for keeping my own counsel means I don’t keep friends for long; I’m 'aloof', 'rude', 'hard work', some say. Others patiently persist with me a little longer thinking that I’m 'just shy', 'enigmatic' even. But everyone gives up eventually which suits me fine.

I wasn’t always this way and was once as open and convivial as the next man. But things changed, something happened, a few things happened, and over time I learnt the hard way to keep myself, and my concerns, to myself. I’m guessing I’ve sparked your interest now.

‘What was it?' 

'Who upset you?' 

'What would it take to make you share?’ I hear you say.

Well. . .

Wouldn’t you like to know?