Tiocfaidh Ár Grá
There’s many a topic where I’m completely and unequivocally unqualified to speak about and relationships (of the romantic kind) and anything remotely associated with them just might be top of that list. I trudged through my twenties with an inconceivable & astonishing passion for sitting alone in the company of strangers swamping porter. Years pass, time flies, pints sink, pressure builds and then lockdown hits. March 2020, we found out that Declan Nerney wasn’t the only thing that could ‘stop the world’. Enter stage right; two years of deep isolation. The moment had arisen to lean into the wind and face the storm. Armed with nothing but a mirror, a ball point pen and a bottle of Powers whiskey, a manifesto as to how to achieve a romantic relationship was drafted (I could see how Ted Kaczynski got into the pickle he did).
So, when the Printworks smoking area archangels delivered from the heavens a willing test subject (unbeknownst to her) in what was set to be the most groundbreaking, unfathomable, and mystifying clinical trials of the 21st century my manifesto was manifesting, next was solving its fundamental and central hypothesis.
The hypothesis in question; to examine, evaluate and test the age-old proverb / adage:
“You know when you know.”
Hark now hear every doctrine & philosophy from Neptune to Mercury about this vague prophecy: many claim it’s ‘a moment’, some insist on it being ‘a feeling’, others postulate ‘a point in time’, and the remaining few ‘an action’. I was determined to do the scientific research, excavate the truth, and democratize the knowledge of ‘when’ one has found a compatible double act.
As the most eagerly anticipated & incomprehensible clinical trial commenced and the slew of what was overly enthusiastic (strange/weird/bizarre) alcohol induced dates followed. The weeks and months passed by without a red card being shown or final whistle sounding. I had bounced and flounced myself deep in to a ‘situationship’. The promised land of a happy loving and somewhat romantic relationship was in sight, but I was still awaiting a definite answer to my hypothesis and then it came, it arrived, it delivered.
Early-Afternoon Sunday 21st May 2023.
A balmy summer afternoon, a feeling comparable to life as a forgotten curly wurly in your left pocket going through a 40c wash at an aggressive 600rpm spin cycle perforated our cerebral cortexes. Emotionally we felt like a fridge on a Wednesday – nothing to give. Misery loves company and we were subject to each other’s close company for the day. We were inextricably intertwined in our shared anguish. At no point had the quest for the raiders of the lost hypothesis crossed my mind until I made my way to bin (to recycle where applicable) the various quaver packets, starburst & minstrel wrappers.
As the bin flung open under the monumental pressure of my size UK10.5 Airmax 90’s something in that moment made me pause. I stopped and swiveled my head back to the couch. Our eyes locked. My pupils dilated. Tunnel vision took over. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead and the irrational thought process of ‘take a chance, Christopher Columbus did’ ran through my mind. Suddenly, I was deafened with the ringing of white noise. Identical to Oppenheimer, a flash distorted my vision and the speed of sound then followed.
An absolute rip van winkle of an air biscuit came rattling out of me back passage with reverberations that would deafen a cat.
Five seconds of the most intense eye contact followed.
Everything was suspended in state not consistent with reality.
The magnitude of what I had released began to perforate my nostrils.
Still, only silence.
And then,
A howl of laughter echoed.
The past four months of post ten-pint self-induced stomach cramps all flashed before me. Each visit to handicap toilets of various cafes throughout London that felt the wrath of an intestinal build up on any given Sunday whizzed through my mind. Indigestion had been my hostage and now it was free.
Relief.
I had found at the depths of humanity that love is kind, love is blind and love certainly might have a blocked nasal passage. Johnny Cash, you weren’t wrong ‘Love is a burning thing, and it makes a fiery ring’.
So there you go and now you know.
You know.
And Beyonce,
This ain’t Texas and honey dear, I sure as fuck ain’t going to hold ‘em.