NO, YOU WEREN’T EVER LIKELY TO SEE ME

I did have an invitation to go out last Saturday night but, as ever, I didn’t take it up. I suspect that I was never really likely to, if I’m being honest, but for those of you that did turn up and probably didn’t wonder at all where I was, I really should take just a few moments to reassure you (if t’were necessary) that it was not a decision taken lightly.

It’s not that I don’t like you, you understand? It’s just that I’m not exactly sure that your evening’s entertainments and enjoyments would have been enhanced in any way by having me added into the mix. Heck, I’m not even sure that you like me all that much. After all, I don’t, so why on Earth should you? I suspect that your event was perfectly successful and perfectly enjoyable enough, in fact I will go as far as to suggest that it was probably the “Best night ever!” because of the simple fact that I was not there. I always got the impression that the best parties were, according to the reports of those who were there,  always the ones that I didn’t go to, because I always found the ones that I did go to such an awful experience, even though everyone else, especially those who didn’t have me inflicted upon any part of their evening, seemed happy enough. Perhaps things were always just better without this human black hole turning up and sucking all the life out of the room, or, worse still, at least from my point of view, having all those strangers looking at me in a way (if at all) and wondering just who the hell I am…

Actually, I’m pretty sure that nobody actually noticed that I failed to manifest myself anyway, although I did actually get an email reminding me about the thing on the afternoon of the event, so I guess that I did finally cross someone’s mind which was rather unexpected. I sometimes see all this banter going on, all those tales of lunches and lives being lived and I want to join in, in fact I’ve even been known to in a slightly inept kind of a way, but somehow my finger always takes a moment to hesitate as it hovers over the “send” button and instead chooses to hit “delete” when the something that I feel I have to say suddenly sounds ridiculous and pathetic in my head and I dismiss it as being fatuous and nonsensical, unsolicited and unwanted, and from a source nobody either knows or cares about all that much (if at all).

Strangely enough, all that doubt seems less troublesome in this world of rampant bloggerage rather than those more transparent ones. After all, if my thoughts being “fatuous” or “nonsensical” or “ridiculous” or “pathetic” were an issue, there would be no postings at all from Lesser Blogfordshire, but somehow the lack of wide readership reassures me on that score, and I feel safe enough here not to worry as much, although there is the occasional wobble.

To be honest, I really didn’t think anybody would notice the void where I was likely to have stood, and I’m sure that it was soon filled by more delightful and amusing company. After all, in most of those lives I’m now the equivalent of the bit you find in the box after you’ve put the wardrobe together; Something to wonder about for a moment before casting it into the skip and moving on with your life, now with the additional bonus of having a stout and sturdy wardrobe which shows no real sign of collapsing anytime soon because of a lack of that mysterious widget.

“Mysterious widget…” yes, I like that.

I may yet make that my new nickname.

Not that I’ve ever been interesting enough to actually have a nickname, you understand, at least not one that was usable in polite society, or, for that matter, within earshot of me at any rate. Thinking about it, over the years I may very well have had hundreds, none of which I ever knew about, and many, I suspect, aimed at me by my fellow motorists, or shop assistants, or barkeeps.

Perhaps you gave me too long to think about it, but I doubt it. I think that the invite itself popped up in the whole sort of general mish-mash a good three months ago, which was ample time for the great and the good to plan ahead for it but not me. I went through the usual mental hoops and then simply chose to forget about it for a while and let the march of time tramp it’s inevitable way towards the date in question and, as it approached the aptly named deadline, I could dither and ponder and question the wisdom of attendance before taking the safer, wiser option and staying away.

Perhaps I believe that it’s all a bit more enigmatic that way, although there’s a world of difference between an enigmatic man and one who is simply forgotten. “Have you heard, amongst this clan, I am called the forgotten man…?”

“The forgotten man…” Yes, I still like that. I think I once thought about using it as a username for a while…

There was, after all that angst, of course, a more rational argument, and the one which I used at the time to make me feel that I was right in my choices. To be honest I didn't really see it as being “my gig” if you see what I mean? Last year I had thought that it was appropriate to turn up at the big party that was held as it was kind of a “celebration” of everything that the company I once worked for had achieved in all its various incarnations, as it finally closed its doors, but I got the feeling that this year was more about those who were actually there to the bitter end, many of whom I really don't know and who certainly don't know me, an opportunity for them to get together, compare war stories of the intervening year and to lick each other's wounds (as it were...). Somehow, I thought it would be wrong of me to show up, and so I didn’t.

The truth is, as always, far more simple. Apart from the general fear that most social situations put me through, there’s also the nagging doubt that I am actually a necessary component. Instead I just know that I am surplus to requirements, a “spare part”, a superfluous afterthought who nobody ever really misses when I’m not around, an orbiting satellite which nobody can get to and which influences precious little but remains resolutely there, out there, somewhere, waiting in the darkness.

Coo! Ironically there’s evidence of someone obsessed with a manifestly undeserved sense of his own self-importance… Or am I? It’s complicated… I’d explain it to you if I didn’t think your eyes would start glazing over…

“Pish! Rot and Tosh!” you might very well cry, or indeed, you might not, but I can only examine the evidence and defy you to disprove my inevitable conclusions, as if you could really be bothered to.

“Not wanted on voyage”, now that’s more like it!