Connectionfest Tangle

Looking back I can see what a major connection junction it all was, so many people all so tangled and interconnected.  I didn’t know back then that my intent for this focus is exploring connections, if I had known then, it might have all been quite different in the way that I viewed those interconnecting entanglements.  At the time they were all very interesting, but full of social pitfalls and inappropriate behaviours, which all seemed perfectly right whilst under the influence, and seemed perfectly wrong and out of control afterwards. And then perfectly right again while under the influence the next time, but each time the afterwards cringing part got progressively worse, a bit like Bart Simpson when he said ‘I don’t know why I did it, and I don’t know why I’ll do it again”.  I started to see people with their other faces on, especially Darren and his sister, but I didn’t connect those faces as other lives, or see the connections of those other lives to the convoluted entanglements.  One of the issues that was enormous fun, if I’m honest, at the time, was Nici’s romantic involvements with several men, all freinds of Darrens ~ and all at the same time.  Plenty of drama and subterfuge, which was also a wonderful opportunity for lots of laughs.  If nothing ever happens, what is there to laugh about?
At the time, this one particular party seemed to be fraught with complications.  All the connecting links converged, but with most of the connections submerged, unrecognized.  When I wrote the following, we had been collating metaphors, if that’s the right word, because a freind was coming over who was a writer, and he hated them, so we were going to use as many as possible.  I started a list (we didn’t have a computer then, no rapid handy search facilities).  I would suddenly remember one while pegging out the laundry and run inside to write it on the list.  I obviously had my head full of them when I wrote about that party:
“”You could have knocked me down with a feather” said Nici when she spotted Des at the party.
“That’ll put the cat amongst the pigeons” said Tracy.
“Shiver me timbers!” exclaimed Darren.  You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.
They carried on dancing, as they were trying to warm up.  It was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.
Tracy, as usual, was talking the hind legs off a donkey, knitting with only one needle, and unravelling fast, although Darren looked as mad as a hatter.
Darren told Jim that freinds of Riz’s were there, killing two birds with one stone.  Nici reckoned a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush ~ or three birds in the bush and none in the hand ~ there’s food for thought.  Nici’s always skating on thin ice, but it keeps us on our toes. Never say die! We like burning the candle at both ends.
Tracy’s always the oldest one at parties, but Darren says the older the fiddle the finer the tune.  Better to have an old fowl than pullet.
Both Tracy and Darren had a word with Des, as many hands make light work. Tracy says she can’t remember much of what she said, she’s got a brain like a seive.  She kept trying to catch Richard’s eye to buck him up a bit, he looked like a bear with a sore head.
When Darren told a young man that Tracy was his other half, he said “We’ve all got our cross to bear”.  Fancy that!
Des looked happy as a pig in shit that night.  He has to keep his back to the wall because if Riz finds out he’ll sing like a canary.  As for Nici, she always thinks the grass is greener on the other side.  She thinks Des has a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ but no-one else can see it.  Maybe it’ll be worth the wait, or maybe a flash in the pan.  Let’s hope it’s the pot at the end of the rainbow, and then we’ll start to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  The search for the perfect man is like looking for a needle in a haystack, but we all know that god helps those who help themselves.
Jim was the perfect gentleman (gentlemen always rest on their elbows and knees) looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.  He’s a gnats dick shorter than most men, and he’ll need the patience of a saint where Nici is concerned, bless his cotton socks.
Nici starts with an alcoholic, then goes for an ex-alcoholic smuggler; decides she’s had enough of alcoholics and smugglers, and ends up wanting an alcoholic smuggler.  She’s always asking for the moon.  Well a little of what you fancy does you good.  A man you don’t fancy is about as much use as a chocolate fireguard.  The world is your oyster as long as you look before you leap.
We didn’t know if Richard was bent as a nine bob note, or AC-DC.  Maybe he hasn’t come out of the closet, or maybe he was never in it.  He looked a little down in the dumps at first, but it could have been sour grapes because he’d been at work.
“Let’s make tracks” suggested Darren “But before we go we’ll buy in bulk, and save some for tomorrow”.  It was black as the ace of spades outside, and cold as a witches tit, but at least the road was flat as a pancake, although everyone was nutty as fruitcakes, blind as bats, and deaf as posts, to boot.
Although Jim usually sticks to Nici like shit to a blanket, they went their separate ways.  She never promised him a rose garden, after all.  Jim’s view is never look a gift horse in the mouth, just go with the flow.
A mans home is his castle, so everyone was pleased to be home.  They were soon warm as toast and out of their faces.  Nici was an olive short of a pizza, Tracy a sandwich short of a picnic, and Darren was definitely not a full bag of shopping.
Despite being away with the fairies, they had a good chinwag, believing that a problem shared was a problem halved.  They all enjoyed chewing the cud, and quite possibly making mountains out of molehills, or vice versa, and seeing things through rose coloured spectacles.  Sometimes you can’t see the wood for the trees, which makes it hard to stay on the straight and narrow.  Still, variety is the spice of life, which is probably why Jim’s still in the picture, and Riz is gone but not forgotten.  Maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder, but he’ll still have to pull his socks up.  Nici takes no prisoners now, she’ll shoot him down in flames if he tries to be top dog, or thinks he’s the leader of the pack.  But where there’s a will, there’s a way, no-one knows what’s around the corner, and every cloud has a silver lining.  If things don’t go according to plan it might be the eternal triangle, two’s company and three’s a crowd.  Sooner or later we’ll know if any of them were worth their salt.  If not, there are plenty more fish in the sea.  I’m sure she won’t end up on the shelf.  She may be spoilt for choice, but beggars can’t be choosers.  All’s fair in love and war, and as they used to say, make love not war.  Chance would be a fine thing, but she has to keep her options open.  So far none of them have been as thick as two short planks, although one was as stubborn as a mule.  At least she doesn’t cry over spilled milk, she soldiers on with her head in the clouds and keeps her nose to the grindstone.  But a bit on the side while the cat’s away is a must! Oh what a tangled web we weave!  You can’t be straight as a die when you’re lying through your teeth.
Darren was bald as a coot but looked strong as an ox while he was dancing up a storm.  Nici had stars in her eyes and was walking on air.  She ended up with a stiff neck from looking at the ceiling while she danced, as she didn’t want to catch Des’s eye.  I bet her eyes came out on stalks when she first spotted him.  You’d have thought he was the light of her life.  He could move mountains, but a man who makes love on a hill is not on the level, and he who fights and runs away will live to fight another day.  May the best man win!  Someone’s bound to tread on someones toes, but a new broom sweeps clean. Although some things have to be swept under the carpet, at the end of the day.  Everyone has skeletons in the cupboard, but not everyone has seen something nasty in the woodshed.  You can’t let the grass grow under your feet; when you’re too long in the tooth, you can’t really play the field because your face looks like an elephants scrotum.  Time marches on and it marches all over your face.  But you’re as old as you feel, and when you feel you need a few nips and tucks, you know that you’re as old as the hills, and have been here donkeys years.  There’s life in the old dog yet, however, and in a nutshell, to make a long story short, it’s all part of lifes rich tapestry.  Sadly alot of people are stuck in a rut.  They need to branch out, try life in the fast lane, walk on the wild side, throw caution to the wind.  You can be a night owl as well as a couch potato, but you won’t always look fresh as a daisy.  You’ll most likely feel like a sack of potatoes, with dog breath, sweating like a pig with your head up your own arse.  But no-one could call them brown nose arse lickers, if they do I’ll eat my hat!  They do say never to trust a person wearing a hat, but it’s easy to let your imagination run away with you.  One is always on the look-out for the men in white coats.  Some things must remain behind closed doors, or else suffer the consequences!
Some people are nosy parkers, but most have their heart in the right place.  Or have I got shit in my eyes?  You can be walking a tightrope if you’re trusting as a baby, better to err on the side of caution, because things could snowball.
Changing the subject, last night right out of the blue, Darren said Golden Cornfields.  Maybe he was thinking of making hay while the sun shines.  He also said Vitamins in the Cinema.  Your guess is as good as mine on that score.  I think he was barking up the wrong tree, definitely listening to the beat of a different drum.  They say we’re joined at the hip, but I was in the dark on that one.
Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs.  I was just about to go up the apples and pears to Bedfordshire when Des phoned.  There are no flies on him! No smoke without fire, either.  He may not have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he certainly feathered his own nest.  Let’s hope he doesn’t pull any punches.
Sometimes you have to strike while the iron’s hot, or you end up in shit creek without a paddle.”