Pretty obvious what this is about, this song has been run here before:
The theme also appears in the two other songs. If you find the post unduly harsh, even to the point of affectation, that’s because I’ve always castigated myself more harshly than I have others, with the exception of Them.
One of the most curious things ever said to me was by WN2 who might have been just crossing that hilltop of beauty and age at the time but was still ravishing.
She told me she was ‘more beautiful’ than I was and it’s always puzzled me, that comment, as it was so bleedin’ obvious. At the time, I just thought she was off her brain.
It was only later the penny dropped she was referring to relative drawing power but again – bleedin’ obvious. I’d say two thirds of women, when they walk into a room, have men falling over themselves to accommodate them. There’d be few men who could walk into a room and suddenly have all the women eating out of their hands.
On a scale with Adonises at one end and Quasimodos at the other, most men fall somewhere along that line, with a few closer to the Quasimodo end. To name a few – Rowan Atkinson perhaps, Chris Farlow, Crispian St Peters, Jerry Lewis, Pee Wee Herman, the list goes on.
So clearly, there has to be something else going for them – maybe a skill, a nice voice, more than half a brain, oratory, money, kindness, respecting and listening to a woman, the ability to find a way through, a sense of humour and so on and so on.
That’s fine and it buys men female attention for a time … but without that vital innate magnetism, that factor which has all those women forgiving the Ryan Giggses or even Donald Trumps, those other things slowly drop away, and then there’s not a lot still holding her to him.
What I’m driving at here is that it’s not all that difficult to interest a woman initially – even confidence itself does that – but it’s vastly more difficult to hold on to her, to keep it going.
So I have great respect for men and women who have stayed together, stuck it out, as each obviously has something of value inside for the other.
Which is why I say that meeting a woman at the dark end of a street is nowhere, it’s a nothing thing, seriously. Anyone can intrigue a woman enough to be mysterious, illicit, to do something exciting, minus baggage, but when that involves making her cheat, betray her own partner, and him – his for that matter, then something is missing in both their brains. The thrill of the moment has overridden all else.
Going back to that ‘wimmin on bikes’ post yesterday, I saw an interview with the one mentioned in comments as the worst of the five – but obviosly not worst to look at, quite the opposite. She looks as if butter wouldn’t melt. Yet she was quite happy to cheat if the regular partner wasn’t giving her the full range of experiences she felt was her due. Poor sod who’d fallen for that clean, gorgeous face and body, the radiated ‘goodness’.
That track by Linda Ronstadt, herself inconstant in RL, is one I’m quite uneasy about, hence I keep coming back to it because that’s exactly what I did in Russia a few times, in one case, meeting a young woman after dark in the middle of a housing estate, far away from anyone either of us knew, hiding in the shadows.
She was pretty enticing, otherwise what would have been the point – that thrill, the idea she’d even bother with li’l ole me, was enough to cloud my judgment, which should have concluded, a la Groucho Marx and the club he wanted to join, that if she was willing to do that with me, then what did that say about her? Or about me for that matter?
But we never think of those things at the time, do we? The promise of having that package of loveliness in your arms expels all thoughts of nobility. I remember walking those last few paces along that street, beyond the last lamps, onto the rough, uneven ground and her materializing from the end of the building, sheepishly.
You can look at that with film noir eyes and see a smashing film in it or you can see it as tawdry, no matter how beautiful she was, no matter how nice it was to hold her. Don’t think it even mattered that it followed a row where my own partner and I had broken up, rebound is almost never good. As for what she was playing at – well that only came out much later.
I met her next in a hotel foyer:
They met one evening in the foyer of Gostinit’sa Regi’na and she drank mineral water. The obvious questions were why he’d suggested this meeting but more importantly, why she’d even bothered to appear. The venue was logical – the hotel was close to her house, which itself was a bit further on from his mate’s.
The complication was that Viktor now saw them together near the far corner of his house. He’d been out shopping at the high-end store Bahatlye, where all the discerning went to buy salads and smoked salmon and saw them under the weak street lamp, saw her give him a peck, take his forearms and look into his eyes, before departing.
Viktor counted to ten, then called out.
‘How old is she?’ was his first question over coffee.
‘So what are you doing with her?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘None really. Company.’
‘Company?’ His eyes looked at the ceiling.
That text was from my long book but it’s essentially how it went. I think it has a lot to do with a woman having to satisfy her curiosity and not wishing to let opportunities pass. Or perhaps it was just the thrill of the illicit and nothing else. It might just be enjoying the company of someone else and it gets a bit out of hand, particularly if one or both are used to doing such things.
There’s another factor and I’ve left it to the end – it seems peculiar to women – and that is the need – nay, almost the necessity – to be ‘torn between two lovers’.
She has as good a partner as she could reasonably expect but after some time, day to day life palls, an unencumbered man appears on the scene, saying all the right things, no visible baggage and there she is – she has her two lovers, with no collateral.
That also supplies the conversation with her girlfriends, doubling as some sort of self-affirmation – oh gosh, they all want me, I must decide – that she adores wallowing in.
Men don’t get a free pass here. I knew many who talked the locker room talk but were essentially good hubbies but on the other hand, too often there were those for whom it was all about ‘son-of-a-gun’ notches on the bedpost. In Russia, women call it ‘количество, не качество‘ or ‘quantity, not quality’.
When men boast about their conquests, they don’t seem to realize that that is a negative, not a positive. I’d like to hear a guy in that locker room say: ‘I’ve only ever had the one lover, she’s now my wife, has been for 32 years,’ or something similar. Now that guy has something going.
So even though these three songs are musically lovely and dripping with pathos, the ideas embodied in them, to be brutally honest, are a bit tawdry and sad. I’m in no position to judge, as you see, but I know what I’d do now and not do.
However, I’m not in that position any more and so it’s all academic.