Wednesday, 22 February 2006

Hobson's choice...

...is defined as a choice without an alternative, i.e. option 1 or nothing. The term is possibly derived from the name of Thomas Hobson (1544-1631), who kept a livery stable in Cambridge and required every customer to take either the horse nearest the stable door or none at all. All very interesting, I'm sure you'll agree.

So what has prompted me to write about such a choice? Unsurprisingly, facing one of my own. Which is best, I wonder: to stay in a relationship that makes you unhappy (but at least have some companionship) or to separate and be totally alone? Okay, strictly this isn't Hobson's choice as there are two options, but since neither is desirable... what's a boy to do? And no, before you reach for the email, I'm not actually looking to you for an answer, okay, I just ask the question here rhetorically and to provoke a little thought. But really though, miserable alone or miserable together? Maybe it could be argued that separation is the best choice, since it leaves the door open for meeting someone else that perhaps will make you happy... but it's a brave man who dives into the icy waters of loneliness with no concerns about meeting someone new. Brave or arrogant, perhaps. Add into the equation the fact that once, like me, you get to a certain age all the best alternatives are taken, or have baggage, or are on their second or third time round the track... like I say, it's a brave man...

And to close the loop on the earlier Valentine's day post... well, I'm not going to go into what I did and didn't do myself, other than to say it involved ordering flowers, cancelling flowers and then making a last minute dash to the florist, all to offer affection to someone who, suffice to say, doesn't actually want it. Beyond that, let's just say I didn't get any cards at all...

Friday, 10 February 2006

The other Valentine's Day massacre...

It's almost that time of the year again - you know, the day when whatever you buy for your other half is, in some way, not right, or not thoughtful enough, or not as romantic as whatever her friend's other half bought her for Valentine's Day. This is also known traditionally as the day on which people can declare strong feelings for someone, perhaps accompanied with a week's salary worth of flowers, only to discover that the other person just likes them as a friend. Coincidentally, it's also the day on which some people eagerly check their mailbox (the one in the front door or the email variety, these days) in the hope of receiving an unexpected message of love only to find none there, as the rest of the western world swoons in a point-making carpet of hearts and flowers...

As you can see I am the tiniest bit cynical about Valentine's Day. Sure, I'd like an card from a secret admirer as much as the next man, and I may well have sent one or two in my time. I've even been known to do the whole flowers/chocolates/jewellery/lingerie thing. It just seems a bit much sometimes. Maybe I've just been listening to too much Morrissey lately, but it seems to me that, inevitably, the person who likes you is often someone whose feelings you just can't return, and equally that the person you like doesn't return your feelings... of course, you don't find this out until after you shell out on flowers and choc's, until after you've spent all day writing an awful, mawkish piece of cod-poetry in a tacky card that comes in a lurid red envelope, until after you've laid your heart on the line...

What will this Valentine's bring? I don't know, to be honest, other than a hatful of our consumerist cash for the companies that churn out the aforementioned cards, inflatable message balloons, chocolates, flowers, and all the rest. Why I get a card? Will I send one? It's only four days away and I don't even know the answer to that myself just yet. Maybe I'll feel moved to write more here next week on the subject... and if I'm waxing lyrical about romance and the joys of Cupid's arrow you know I'm a happy bunny... but if I'm further slagging the whole exploitative, commercial nature of the event you know that there were no envelopes on my door-mat that morning...