ALL FRIENDS BETRAYED

Oops! I did it again! I had a relatively well-planned opportunity to meet up with a few of the old crowd for a pint or two at a pub in the big city over last weekend and, as I am prone to do, despite the relative fineness of the weather and the fact that it probably seemed like a pretty nice idea, ultimately, after much to-ing and fro-ing in my mind, I rejected the opportunity.

In the end there was a whole stack of factors that stood in the way of me actually turning up on that particular afternoon, not least my recent neglect of those closest to me whom I have been leaving on their own far too much lately because my mind had been on other things. Then there was my sudden transformation into a pedestrian out here in the wilderness. Ten years ago I would think nothing of yomping the few miles to the railway station, waiting for one of the rare trains and dragging myself towards the big city on a journey that usually took the best part of two hours, and then doing the reverse trip having knocked back a ‘skin-full’ and staggering home late at night through those dark semi-rural lanes. Ten years ago, however, I wasn’t pushing my half century with a daily dose of medication in my system and hadn’t spent three years alone in an attic building up the barriers in my mind and my visions of the horrific reality of urban life. Nowadays, making that walk and that journey to be in that sort of a place seems an awful lot of effort to make.

Then there was the fear. With me, there’s always the fear, of course, but sometimes it becomes more acute. There was the usual social fear of course, which I’ve  attempted to explain many times before. That’s perpetually with me, but this time there was also the more general fear that those of us creeping towards the twilight can get when facing the prospect of being surrounded by the brashness, brutality and noise of the young let off the leash. The big city. On a Saturday evening. I’ve seen the blurred out faces and the Panorama Special Investigations. I know how it can get, and being stuck on a late night train (or even attempting to get to one) whilst it’s all going on, especially when you’re square little old me and an obvious target for derision and open hostility, just isn’t my idea of a good time any more.

The final decider was, of course, switching on the tellybox in the dawn’s early light and discovering that Manchesterford Rovers were playing some kind of footballing grudge match against Manchesterford Town and the chances were that the clubs and bars and trains home would be full to overflowing with the human fallout of said event and the post-celebration/commiseration, in-the-mood-for-a-bloody-good-punch-up presence of same.

Judging by the strangeness I read merely on the internet in the aftermath of this bitter clash about a game, I am rather glad I didn’t have to witness any of it ‘in person’ as it were, though, and ultimately, of the ‘crowd’ that were due to turn up, only a few of them actually did and I only knew two of them, so it seems that my own awkwardness and discomfort would have probably had me escaping back to the hills at the first reasonably socially acceptable opportunity anyway.

In the end, it was just as well that I didn’t actually go, really, as a wave of fatigue overwhelmed me anyway around 4.00PM and I was half dozing on the sofa at a time when witty banter and matey chatterings would have been required of me, and, because (as it turned out) this ‘gathering of the clans’ was slightly less comprehensive than I expected and there were only those two people there who might have known who I was, it would have meant even more vast opportunities for social awkwardness as the others legitimately questioned who the heck I was and what I was doing there.

Possibly.

Meanwhile, I do suspect that over the years I have become something of a serial offender in the ‘failing to show up’ department, as I have let so many friendships fade away to nothing, slip from my grasp and fizzle away into the void. I’m never even quite sure why it happens. The telephone call not made, the Christmas card not reciprocated, or just the plain and simple old passing of time during which people, situations and my relationship relative to those people all change. I am, basically, just rubbish at such things. Such relationships are a two-way street and I tend to be very successful at failing to live up to my end of the deal. In the end, I just know I will always betray the trust put in me to deliver my part of the bargain.

Ultimately, I think I set the level and standard of expectation in relation to these things far too high, and just one slip-up, one ill-thought word or deed and I know, deep down (and quite near the surface too, in all honesty) I can turn that amiability and relaxation into bitterness and resentment, which means I’m probably really more comfortable feeling like a half-forgotten memory or someone who is slightly resented for not having continued to make any effort, rather than the awful reality and truth that continuing to tolerate my presence might actually require acceptance in the harsh, clear light of reality. Granted it is usually only me trying to convince myself of my awfulness, but if that makes things easier all round, then so be it.

The truth is, and I feel appalled at myself for saying this, but I genuinely think that most of  my friendships have scared me to death at one point or another. In the end it becomes easier to stay out of the way rather than risk being disappointing, not living up to expectations and generally letting everybody down, because, I know, that left to let things unfold as they inevitably should, that is what I do. I have become someone (although I suspect that I always was) who prefers (no, that isn’t the best word for it... chooses, no... I know...) finds it more convenient to just fall off the grid when it comes to people’s day-to-day lives.

Oh yes, there’ll be a certain amount of regret and remorse later on when I am told, in a manner that assumes that I would already know all about it, of course, that a person I once knew well has popped out a couple of sprogs, written a book or got married and moved to the other end of the country or begun a new life on the other side of the world. Then I will wonder in my darker moments as to just quite how we got so far out of touch and will feel pretty sad about it for rather longer than seems reasonable under the circumstances, but by then it is far, far too late to mend those broken fences and rebuild whatever it was we used to have.

I am, of course, the kind of person who overthinks these things and I’m genuinely surprised when, despite all the machinations, convolutions and scheming that is being imagined in my mind, when I actually do see the people again they are perfectly charming and even seem pleased to see me.

However, I do suspect that the law of diminishing returns always means that the invitations do tend to dry up, and I wouldn’t really blame anyone for that. But then you never can tell, because the ‘Elusive Shadow’ has been known to appear in person occasionally, and as long as the door remains even slightly ajar, you just never really know…