What's in Goodbye?

Today marks my final day in Australia (for the time being, at least). I fly out at 10:25 this evening and should arrive in Manchester just before midday on Tuesday.

I had originally intended to fly back on the sixteenth but, being unemployed and having already shipped my stuff, I was getting bored and decided to bring the flight forward. It was cheaper to do that than sit about eating take-out for three weeks and staring at a blank wall.

In the sixteen years of living in Australia, I have made some amazing friends, seen some wonderful things, and had some terrific experiences. As I look back on all that now, I feel a pang of sadness as I bid a fond farewell to this chapter of my life.

This was me in Queensland near the beginning of my time here.

As my fingers hover over the keyboard, poised with an anticipation of some profound words to type to express my oscillating feelings - some tenebrous, some bracing, all slightly overwhelming - I struggle to articulate myself coherently. Where do I begin? What do I focus on? Whom do I thank? Where do I go? How do I say "goodbye"?

Those friends who know me well will be fully cognizant of my feelings towards them. I am supremely grateful to those who have touched my life here in the past decade and a half. Some friendships have been fleeting, others more permanent, but all have shaped me in various ways to create the man who is writing this now.

Out of all the great things in Australia - the landscape, the society, the cost of living, the culture, the flora and fauna... - it is the people that I am going to miss most. I part the country with an ache in my heart.

But what's in "goodbye"?

It's not an ending, just a new direction (gosh, I sound like Oprah!) and it's not like I am never going to see any of these amazing people again. With travel and the supremely incredible land of the Internet, I shall be able to keep permanent contact with everyone. I still keep in touch with the majority of my UK friends, so I am sure the trend will continue (I'm a hard man to get rid of!)

OK, OK, I shan't waffle on much longer now for it is in danger of becoming maudlin and tedious.

Let's not be like this...

...but more like this!

P.S. I never did get to meet Ryan Kwanten, damn it...

Hopes & Fears

A friend suggested I blog about some of the things that come up in my counselling sessions. I think he's right. I find writing very therapeutic...

I recently stumbled across on article on the Mamma Mia website that spoke of an app that is a place where people can admit to secrets and, in some cases, they confess to something hitherto made taboo. The great unspoken distaste for sex. It was something that touched my heart as I have often spoken about a fear of intimacy and it was oddly comforting to find that I was not alone. Some people say they hate the idea of people seeing their naked body (I can confess to having the same fear), some say they just find sex too painful and some simply say that they have no interest.

I do crave intimacy but I would be happy with hugs, cuddles and kisses. However, saying this out loud actually bemuses the majority of others. How often have I heard people say "If you don’t like sex, you’re obviously not doing it right" or "You haven’t met the right person"? Is it really that simple? I don’t think so.

This probably explains why I fall in love with straight men. I know deep down that there is no possibility of sexual interaction but I still get the joy of male company (although I cannot deny that I would love to snuggle up to them at times!)

A lot of things about sex actually repulses me. I gag at the thought of some of the acts. There is also a plausible argument to say that I am terrified of the loss of control one has during the orgasms. Words like ‘frigid’ are often bandied about when people have sexual issues. Those of us who aren’t as comfortable with our bodies or our prowess in the bedroom are often laughed at or dismissed as being freaks.

The truth is, I want to be loved, I want to be held, I want to have a deep connection with someone – and I probably could perform the more intimate acts with someone I felt that bond with – but instead it is a barrier against anyone getting close to me and, as one of the people on the site said, I guess I will be alone forever… but I certainly hope not.

Of course, I could always make an exception...

Just a hug will do...

Nobody's Perfect

So, when did I become such a miserable old bastard? As I approach 40, it occurs to me (and others) that I have become surly, selfish, self-absorbed and down right miserable. How did this happen? I certainly don't get it from my parents. Both are equally upbeat and positive about the world and its people. Certainly not from my brother who may, indeed, suffer the ignominy of the masses, but he does it with joviality and irony.

As a child, I was bright, spirited, eager-to-please and what one might call 'chipper'. My mother always said that I was "great with people"!

Oh, but times have changed.

Now I find people to be rude, ignorant, inconsiderate and the bane of my existence. I have turned into a grumpy old man 30 years too soon. I am a curmudgeon; a miser; a borderline hermit; a critical, self-righteous arsehole... I'm the depressingly unfunny version of Alan Partridge.

Maybe it's because I have lived alone for too long. Maybe it's because the social injustices of life make me bitter and angry. Maybe it's because I miss the simplicity of the halcyon days pre-iPhone.

A less angry Ben makes a happier Ben. Ah yes, I used to be happy...

I need to change. I need to get a new perspective on life. I need to regain my faith in humanity.

Or maybe I just need to get laid.

Who can say?

Where is Ryan Kwanten when you need him?

Sanctuary

For the past 30 months I have been living within the city limits. I have enjoyed being close to work, minutes away from public transport and literally down the road from one of my best friends in Australia. However, the cost of such a convenient location has slowly been crippling me financially.

Prior to moving into the Docklands apartment, I was briefly living in a rather undesirable area of which the denizens often perturbed me with their cantankerous conduct and nefarious antics. Being a rather sensitive soul, these surroundings were not conducive to a happy lifestyle, so I decided that, no matter what the cost, I would move to somewhere more secure.

When I moved into the Lacrosse building by Etihad Stadium, I was deliriously happy. I even recall dancing around like an uncoordinated bunny with myxomatosis. I was throwing caution to the wind and I deliberately ignored the fact that I am not exactly wise and thrifty, but I was happy.

This year, I decided to make some changes in my life and the move had to be one of them. Admittedly, there are some other reasons other than financial to get away – the building itself suffered a damaging fire four months ago and it still isn’t up to scratch; there is perpetual noise from next door as another tower is being constructed mere feet away from my bedroom wall; the constant noise from the trams and train station has kept me awake most nights… the list goes on.

So, I began the laborious chore of house-hunting…

Firstly, let me say how much harder it is for renters. I came across a number of obstacles during my search. Estate agents only seem to pander to home-buyers. Renters seem to be a nuisance to them. I went to many estate agent offices and I was confronted by a lot of unhelpful receptionists who gave me looks of derision when I asked for help. The most they could achieve was to pass me a print out of places for lease. Yeah, thanks.

I had spent a lot of time on websites but they are quite poor to judge places, especially when they a) don’t provide the information one needs and b) lie through their teeth! I think we should supply every estate agent with a dictionary to replace their optimistic thesaurus which seems to be their holy bible. ‘Spacious’, ‘exciting’, ‘fantastic’ ‘cosy’??? As I have said for a long time now, ‘Sales is about bullshitting; Marketing is about bullshitting and believing it!’ Utterly deluded.

And what is the thrill about “communal Laundry”?? This isn’t 1985!! Unless I get to shag Daniel Day-Lewis in the back room, I certainly am not interested in sharing my de-soiling of garments with an audience.

Please don’t get me started on the ‘no pets’ rule!! It is one of the most infuriating things about renting. She’s a cat for God’s sake, not a Tasmanian Devil! People make more mess then Fizzgig. They let people rent with demon babies, for fuck’s sake! (I said ‘don’t get me started’!)

My baby girl!

A lot of the one-bedroom places available to rent in Melbourne and surrounding suburbs are so incredibly tiny that, unless you’re a foreign student with only a laptop and a mattress in your possession, you are going to find it incredibly difficult to be comfortable. I am 39, for crying out loud! I have a life in tow – furniture, belongings etc. I don’t want to live my life like a battery chicken. I looked at some flats and could see myself attempting to bite my own legs off through the sheer insanity of the cell-like abodes.

There is an inescapable problem in our society and that is, simply, life does not avail itself easily to the single person. Modern life caters toward the couple and, unless Ryan Kwanten wakes up to realise that he really should marry me and live happily ever after, I am going to struggle. I work in publishing and, fair’s fair, it’s not the best paying industry (I confess I am not the brightest or best educated person in the world, so I can’t complain too much about failing to climb the career ladder) but I still want to be able to afford pleasures like buying friends gifts at Christmas, paying for a holiday once a year, the occasional pizza. Sadly, landlords are shockingly greedy and that’s never going to change. (I have a theory that if all landlords across the globe stopped upping their rents for one year, the world could catch up with itself and the economic crisis would smooth over – see? Not that educated, but I have nice and simplistic ideas!)

Sigh...

During my jaunts around the suburbs, I came across some annoyances such as estate agents not turning up for appointments, disgusting lightless hovels, preposterous lies and dismal excuses for dwellings.

The lighter side of it is I have met some rather handsome estate agents and, quite often, wanted to take the property on that notion alone. ”Ooh, hello Hottie McHothot, I’ll take it!”

Anyway, my rant is drawing to a close. I have (hopefully) found and secured a place that is a two-bedroom place, top floor with balcony and in a pleasant area with a decent pizza restaurant down the road (important!)

My new home?

All I hope is that the next time I move, it will be as a home-owner, not a renter… now, what numbers should I choose for the lottery??

Somewhere That's Green

I have been single for close to a decade now.

As with many elements of my life, I am rather contradictory; sometimes I enjoy my lonely lifestyle and react with puzzlement when others insist that life can only be experienced to the full with another person by one's side; sometimes I yearn for companionship and, to be sickeningly romantic, someone to love me unconditionally (other than family, obviously).

Modern life is not propitious to the single person, certainly not financially. To live alone one has to earn close to double the amount of others just to enjoy the benefits of socialising - as all the money tends to go on rent and bills. A life shared is an expenditure halved. I cannot deny that part of my eagerness for partnership actually lies in the desire to get out of debt once and for all.

Whenever I even contemplate venturing out to seek a potential date or partner, the sheer terror that pervades my mind can be somewhat crippling.

One of my biggest issues about the prospect of dating is that I honestly believe that it would be cruel to inflict this neurotic mess upon some poor soul eager for fun times and shenanigans.

When I do the introspective dance of negativity, I only see flaws, foibles and irritations which would surely drive another to despair. I know there are good things about me, though. I am clean; I can (sort of) cook; I am caring; and I know how to stack a dishwasher properly. These things don't exactly make me "a catch" but it's a start to a reasonably attractive C.V.

Sex is one of the largest barriers preventing me from achieving full marks in the relationship exam. I have never been perfectly content with carnal intrigue and experimentation. I am one of those bizarre little freaks who find it all a bit unpleasant and dirty. I often look around at others and realise that humans have been sticking protuberances into orifices for millennia, sometimes even without resistance or regret. This knowledge does not stop me from feeling slightly appalled and uncomfortable about it all. Believe me when I say that I don't mind a bit of a hug and snuggle. I don't even mind a bit of a snog, but the full-on rampant anarchy of intercourse panics me as would an overflowing lavatory.

Everyone I know seems to take to mutual physical admiration and subsequent climaxes as easily as they might eat, drink or breathe. It's just another function of their bodies. Couples frequently follow up a date by retreating to either one's abode and partaking in a game of "hide the sausage" or equivalent ("stuffing the taco"?), whereas I would much rather stay in the living room and have a game of Cluedo. The only problem is, that particular entertaining pastime requires at least three people, so most nights I'll submit to a lengthy game of Solitaire.

In addition to this, I also have the monstrous burden of slight body dysmorphic disorder. I absolutely despise my body and feel deeply ashamed of the colour of my pasty flesh, the sagginess of my buttocks, the lack of tone and definition… the list goes on. I even have issue with my face, but I'm not so bad that I feel the need to resort to putting a balaclava on backwards just to pop to the local butchers.

My self-consciousness creates an unintentional vibe that others perceive and it warns them off like a skunk's anal secretions. No wonder I don't feel like anyone has ever "checked me out"; they're far too busy pinching their noses and running a mile.

It doesn't stop me from eyeing-up the various aesthetic beauties who pass me by as I perambulate around the city. As each beauteous Adonis falls into my range of vision, I straighten up, my eyes widen and a drop of saliva escapes down my hairy chin. I often wonder if my reaction is as obvious as a Tex Avery cartoon spying a buxom young caricature. Admittedly, the game is given away when I point like a body-snatching alien and expel an inappropriately loud (yet inadvertent) "Oh, hello! Yes, you'll do, matey!" As soon as these awkward slips-of-the-tongue issue from my uncontrollable mouth, I automatically crumple back into the impenetrable shell of self-loathing with the undeniable knowledge that these models of perfection are way out of my league and, of course, they would never even consider allowing me to buff their shoes, let alone nibble on their bottom lip. Thus, I stomp forth trying to work out how to simultaneously kick myself up the backside and turn invisible without breaking my stride.

This is why I have "straight dates". I have a number of heterosexual male friends with whom I can enjoy all the pleasantries of an evening out with none of the undesirable fears or sweat-inducing panics of inadequacy that usually accompany the malarkey of husband-hunting. Sure, my straight boyfriends and I are not exclusive; they always return to the bosom of their lovers or solitary lives, but at least I know that we have both been treated decently; without disrespect; without irrational judgment; nor do our moods plummet afterward with feelings of self-pity and woe.

In a perfect world, I would live with a handsome, fit and lovable guy (like Ryan Kwanten, perhaps) who brings home good cash (ooh, like Ryan Kwanten) and who isn't aggressive or arrogant (Ry-ry McKwanten!) and I can stay at home, keep things clean, cook the meals and, upon his (Ryan's) return home from work each day, we can snuggle up on the settee, chat and watch an old movie together before retiring to the boudoir for 1950s TV style sleeping arrangements… somewhere that's green.

Bliss.