Weekend spent with friends visited. We travelled through the Cotswolds and to the Master Will’s town of Stratford, my favourite route. Enjoyed it as always though the pollen did its best to level the pleasure down a bit. Oh the joys of a hay nature! Day here, day there would’ve been manageable, but for a second week it has become somewhat irritating. There is a reason why I don’t like summers and she is itching my eyes right now.
Watched yet another silly romantic movie, almost fairy tale, and it suddenly occurred to me that most of such stories are about love happened to the young. Young, beautiful, energetic, careless. There must be a reason for the lack of romantics in mature life. Something to do with the chemical balance affecting mind’s abilities to be emotional or just the way of nature’s control over multiplication of the species. It dawned at me that I might’ve have had my last chance of romantic involvement already decades ago and there is nothing of a sort to expect in the leftovers of my life. At certain age you find yourself overgrown the role of romantic hero. And just want to spend this time snuggling on a sofa, abolishing make up, getting miserable, fat and old. I wonder what Cinderella does when she is retired from the balls and riding pumpkins…
Loneliness is when you are surrounded by wonderful people who love you and understand you, but each has got someone else who is closer to them then you are.