TV Alert: Dawn Porter Gets Her Man

Tomorrow night, March 6th, Dawn porter's latest documentary, "Dawn Porter Gets Her Man," airs on BBC 3 at 9PM. As I participated in this project, I should be seen in the program. Don't miss it!

A Tale of Two Callers

This past Sunday morning, I had two people call in to my radio show. The first was my good friend, Mucky Sarah, also known as Miss Anjelika Jinx. Sarah writes a sex blog called "Naive London Girl." She also produces and co-presents a podcast by the same name. If you haven't checked out the blog and podcast, you should do so immediately. As a special bonus, you can sometimes hear me co-presenting with her, whenever her regular co-presenter, comedienne, Wanda, is unavailable. You can hear me on two recent episodes, "Cocaine and Hot Lesbian Sex," and "Menstruation and Oral Sex." The podcasts and blog are available at http://www.naivelondongirl.com/ . Sarah's regular co-presenter, Wanda, is very funny, even if she does refuse to go out with me.
At first, I was pleased that Sarah was listening to my show again. That pleasure quickly faded when she admitted she wasn't listening. She was on "kind of a date," but was calling me anyway, from a secret location. Well, it was nice of her to think to call in, even if she wasn't listening. I wish she would record her dates and then let me play them on the air. That could be interesting.
Some time later, another woman called in to my show. It was a new listener, Melinda, from Quincy, Illinois. She was listening to me over the internet. This was the first time I have had a caller from outside the UK. Usually, people listening to me from abroad just email. I asked her if Quincy was named after the medical examiner, from that TV show by the same name? She claimed that the town was named before the TV show. Well, that's her story. I was curious as to how she had come to listen to my "Night Waves" show. Melinda told me that Dave, from Northern Ireland, had told her about me. This is the same Dave who had traveled with me and the Station Manager, to York. I love that word of mouth publicity. Immediately, I wondered if there was some sort of romantic thing going on between them. I hinted around, trying to find out, but, whether accidentally or deliberately, Melinda didn't take the hint. Not being one to give up so easily, I asked expressly. Melinda has a very nice voice and I wondered if she was "available." Finally, she admitted that there was "something" between Dave and her.
Apparently, Melinda had flown over to Northern Ireland to visit Dave, twice, but he has, as yet, not visited her in America. What's that all about? They originally met in an internet chat room. That's the same way me and my evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, met. Within a month I had flown over to meet the Black Queen. Melinda seemed frustrated with Dave's seeming unwillingness to visit her in return. I don't blame her. Is there something about her that puts Dave off? If he isn't serious about her, he should let her know, instead of stringing her along, shouldn't he? Now, if only I could get Dave to phone in. Then he and Melinda could fight out their relationship problems on my show. That would be great, radio entertainment. Don't miss out on the fun. Listen to my weekly show, "Night Waves," on Seaside Radio, 105.3 FM, Withernsea, England. If you're not local, you can listen over the net at http://www.seasideradio.co.uk/ . If you want help with your relationship problems, email me on my show, or call in. I love to help.

Is Nando in Love?

As I was sitting in the lounge, tonight, eating dinner, Nando received a call on his mobile. It was the woman he's been seeing. Dare I say "his girlfriend?" So, of course, I listened to his side of the conversation. He was laying on the couch next to the one I was on, so it was almost impossible not to overhear. As I took fork fulls of beef and rice, I figured out that he was giving her directions to our house. He gave very detailed directions, mentioning almost every rock and tree between our street and the main road into town. Then it happened! Just before he hung up, he said, "love you." What????
That's something I'd never heard Nando say to a woman, before. I just had to say something about it, right? "So, it's 'love you,' now, is it?"
Nando grinned sheepishly. He excused it away as something he was saying in response to her saying it. So, was he just telling me that because he was embarrassed, or does he really not love this woman and is just telling her what she wants to hear? If he is just faking it, I feel bad for her. On the other hand, what if they get so serious that he moves in with her? What happens to me, then? I went through so much trouble to get Nando a place in this house. If he leaves, maybe I'll move to London. He seems so nonchalant about her, it's hard to imagine it's that serious.
To change the uncomfortable subject, I commented on what detailed instructions she seemed to require. Like many women, she's not strong in a directional sense. My evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, who was a sailor and a great helms woman, couldn't navigate her way out of a paper bag. Nando laughed at how unsure his girlfriend was over the directions. She would be driving over tomorrow. It will be her first time coming to our house. Sadly, I won't be here to meet her, as I will be in Withernsea for my weekly radio show.

Sexy Science

Even though the subjects of scientific research into what humans find attractive in a mate claim that they look for partners similar to themselves, the research doesn't back that up. Scientists are saying that a study of speed dating results shows that men are attracted to beautiful women. Women, on the other hand, are attracted to blokes with money. Go figure! It's interesting that what people do seems to differ from what they say. This supports a contention I have made for years, that if you want to understand people, watch what they do, rather than going by what they say. Now that these astounding results have been published in the "Proceedings of the National Academy of Science," I guess I shall continue my pursuit of wealth. I thought women liked men who make them laugh? I suppose the best strategy is to become a rich comedian.

I Wish Someone Had Told Me

This past Saturday, I went into London to film an interview for a TV show. I can't tell you the name of the show yet, because of the confidentiality agreements that were part of my release. It should air sometime in December, so I'll let you know when I know, exactly. I was able to travel in style, by train, because the production company paid for my transportation. No bus for me, for a change. Also uncharacteristically, I arrived quite early. I wandered around the block, looking for a pub to kill some time, but there were none in the area. There was an Indian restaurant, closed for refurbishment, though. Turning around, I just decided to go in early. It turned out to be a good thing I did.
When I entered the building, there were already several people waiting. If I had waited to arrive on time, I wouldn't have gotten a seat. The production crew were running late with an earlier group they were filming. After waiting a while, they informed us that our group wouldn't start filming until after lunch. It was suggested that we could go out and come back later, if we wanted to. What, and lose my seat? No way! Besides, we were fed and watered with delicious, free food and drink. Packages of crisps (potato chips) and fizzy drinks were on offer, as well as coffee and tea. I enjoyed a can of Sprite and a package of crisps.
The group of waiting people was almost evenly split between males and females. Every woman there, except one, was good looking. The majority were actresses and models. While the refreshments may not have exactly comprised a feast, there was certainly a feast for the eyes. Sitting around me were a Brazilian psychologist, a woman from Switzerland, and a Malaysian model. Across the room were two beautiful dark skinned women. As seats ran out, there was a gal with a very full head of gingerish hair, quite styled. Later, I spotted a blond, glamour model type, standing near the door. She seemed to be adjusting her breasts, or how they sat in the dress out of which they were practically spilling.
Malay started making eye contact and smiling at me. I wondered if I had some funny bit of fluff in my hair, or something. Eventually, she made some comment or other. I took the opportunity to talk with her. Soon, Swiss Miss and Brazil Psycho gal had joined in. Sadly, a British, bald actor did too and he talked and talked, and talked some more. He talked so much, it was minimizing the opportunity for me to get a word in. I may have a great personality, but I need talk time to display that. Overhearing Malay mentioning a daughter, I wrote her off as probably attached. Then filming restarted. Malay and Brazil Psych rushed towards the entrance of the studio, hoping to get in early. Bald actor dude went with them. I considered joining them, but it would mean standing and there was no guarantee how soon we would be filmed. Although a bunch of people started lining up behind them, I surmised that the producer had her own idea about what order she wanted to interview people, so standing in line wouldn't make much of a difference. I elected to remain in my seat.
Swiss Miss stayed sitting, next to me. This wasn't the good result it may sound like, at first. She was one of the plainest there, in the looks department. She had short hair and hard features which bordered on the butchy lesbianic. I talked with her some more, but noticed she wore a ring on her left hand. Probably taken, I figured. As seats became empty, I shuffled towards the front. Relocating to a chair right across from the two dark skinned girls, I began listening to their conversation. Although they weren't there together, they had fallen into conversation, as often happens when waiting for stuff like this. People willing to be on TV tend to be a bit more out-going and friendly. The prettiest of the two, who was also the shorter and the darker, was speaking quietly enough that I was having a hard time hearing everything. Short and Dark mentioned something about experiencing racism when she was on holiday in Wales, with her "white" boyfriend. My attention wandered from her toward Taller and Lighter. Still quite brown, Taller and Lighter had on a skin tight, mustard colored, mini dress. This dress showed off every curve, including her ample, bootiliscious posterior. Her height was accentuated by a pair of black, stiletto heeled, lace up boots. Heavily made up, she gave off the impression, visually, that she was trying too hard. One of the staff came by with more treats. I snagged a Mars bar, while she tucked into a chocolate muffin. She bemoaned the effect her sweet tooth has on her figure, vowing to hit the gym to try to undo it. I told her not to worry about it and just enjoy the chocolate, while following my own advice. That Mars bar sure tasted good.
The numbers of us waiting gradually diminished, as, one after another, people filmed their interviews. Even though she'd moved to the front of the line, Malay was still there. As I had suspected, all that standing hadn't made any difference. As they were running behind, the production staff said they didn't have time to finish everyone that day. They offered volunteers a chance to film a different segment, instead. I was willing, but then it was announced that they preferred younger people for that. At 26, Taller and Lighter took the opportunity. She removed her boots and put on comfortable, flat flip-flops. Somehow, this spoiled her whole look. She flip-flopped out the door. Some interesting information came to light at this time. The production assistant informed us that everyone there, that day, had been single. Couples were being filmed another day. What? Now they tell me! I had spent the day surrounded by loads of hot, single women, without knowing they were available.
Soon I was in the "green room," with a couple of the other men left and Malay. She was the last female there. She'd made eye contact with me earlier in the day, so I tried to engage her in conversation. After I enquired about her daughter, she showed me a picture of the girl. Cute kid. The hours of waiting seemed to have taken their toll. There just didn't seem to be any magic between us, anymore. Malay seemed only focusing on getting out of there and home to her daughter. Then she was gone. When my turn finally came, I went on and did my interview. The interviewer was sitting off camera, while I sat on a couch shaped like a pair of red lips. The short series of questions finished, the director yelled cut. He smiled broadly and said my segment had gone really well. Too bad none of the single women had been there to hear it. I walked out the door and into a warm London, with the sun about to set. I had a free pass to use any public transport within Zones 1 and 2. The night was young and I had nothing to do. Pulling out my mobile, I dialed Mucky Sarah's number. Perhaps she'd be up for doing something. Walking along towards Marylebone station, chatting on my mobile phone, I managed to feel good. There are fish in them waters.

Nando Has a Second Date

After my racist, Italian housemate, Nando's blind date, on Tuesday, I asked him what the woman was like. He showed me a picture of her. I think she looks nice and very sweet. He and I talked about her and I got the impression he wasn't thrilled with her. He doesn't think she's good looking enough. Although they had agreed to a second date, I'm not holding out a lot of hope that they will last as a couple. I feel sorry for her, as Nando is a very closed person and somewhat of an emotional desert.
Their second date was Saturday evening. Nando didn't get home until almost midnight. I was still up when he came in, so I asked him how it went. He said she looked much better, this time. Okay, that's a positive step. They went out to dinner and to a pub. During dinner, she was telling Nando about the other men she has been introduced to, by the dating agency. Apparently, one of them was "black." She said something like, "I'm not a racist, but I don't know why they are introducing me to a black man. I stated in my profile that I am looking for white." A smiling Nando told her it's alright to be racist. Is it just me, or does it sound like he's not exactly going to bring out the best in this woman?

Older Men

Scientific research has now shown that women have more kids if their men are older. A study of 10,000 couples has showed that the number of kids goes up as the age gap widens. Researchers at the University of Austria think there is an evolutionary reason for this. Hopefully, this news will spread far and wide. It can only benefit me, as I get older each year. If Jodie Marsh knew this, maybe she wouldn't have settled for a guy four years younger than her, when she could have had me. Jodie wants to have four children. Anyway, I will brace myself for the rush of offers soon to come.

Nando's Blind Date

Two nights ago, Nando, my racist, Italian housemate, asked me how easy is it to drive to Guildford? "Pretty easy, if you have a car," I replied. If you ask me a question, you have a 90 percent chance of getting a quip, joke, pun, or sarcastic answer. Nando elaborated, saying that he needed to go somewhere near Guildford, but not exactly in Guildford. He then asked if I knew where some place was. With his accent, it sounded like he said, "Cran Lake." It doesn't ring any bells, but I offer to look it up on the internet for him.
Curious, I asked him why he needed to go there. Nando then tells me he has a date and is supposed to meet the woman there. Recently, Nando had been seeing this married woman who works at the golf complex where he's a chef. I asked him if it was that same, married woman he's been seeing. He surprised me by shaking his head, "no." "So, who's this woman you're meeting?" I asked. His reply shocked me. Nando explained that he has registered with a matchmaking agency and they have introduced him to this woman.
This seems totally unlike Nando. I've known Nando for over four years, now. I have known him to date before, but for the past two years, he's seemed to be in a bit of a slump. He usually can't be bothered to go out, or even to move from the sofa he lays on, watching TV each night. The fling with the married woman is the only action he's had, lately. As he met her at work, he didn't have to go out of his way and to hear him tell it, she practically threw herself at him, so not much effort was required. Nando is so cynical, I would have thought he'd say something like, "dating agencies are for loser's," or something like that, if someone suggested he use one. He's been registered with the agency for a month and this is his first date. A little further enquiry revealed that he's never met this woman before. It's a blind date. He's seen a picture of her, but she hasn't seen a picture of him. Personally, I am surprised she's willing to meet him, sight unseen. How desperate can this bird be?
As I was on my way upstairs, I asked Nando the name of the place he's going to, again. This time, he spells it and I realize that he's been saying, "Cranleigh" all along. That does sound familiar and I fully intended to look up directions for him, on the internet. Nando doesn't have a computer of his own. Once I got upstairs, I got totally involved in blogging for you lot and forgot about the directions.

Yesterday, when I arrived home from my commercial shoot, I realized that I had gone to bed with getting Nando the directions to Cranleigh. I knew his date was supposed to be yesterday, but I presumed it was at night. I appologized to Nando and offered to get him the directions immediately. I had come home from the shoot fairly early, so I figured Nando hadn't gone yet, as he was home and casually dressed. "I've already been," he informed me. After I apologized again, for not remembering to get him the directions, he tells me it was no problem. His date had sent him the directions, by text.
Immediately, I wanted to know how things went. Nando told me he was off work yesterday, so they met during the day. He's not very talkative at the best of times, so I keep asking questions as he gives me brief answers. "What's she like?" I asked.
"She's okay," Nando replies, focusing on watching TV.
"Is she good looking?"
"She's okay," he said, again.
Did you two agree to see each other again?"
"Yeah," Nando says, matter-of-factly. I was dying for more detail, but grew tired if the effort it was taking to get tiny bits of information. Nando did tell me that he's getting older and he thinks it's time he got involved with someone of the opposite sex. I am fascinated about the kind of woman who'd be satisfied with Nando's minimalist attitude toward relationships. He comes across as very flat, emotionally, and not as passionate about women as I am. I wonder if I will get to meet this mystery woman, one day?

Marital Bliss

Mike Moore, a Nevada Sheriff's Deputy, stopped his wife, Charlotte, who is also a Sheriff's Deputy, for driving under the influence of alcohol. Mrs. Moore then fled, so hubby called for "back-up." Charlotte was eventually arrested. The first thing I thought when I heard this story was, "I wonder what the dinner table conversation is like at their house?" There must be something odd going on in this relationship. Somehow, I suspect Mike won't be getting any from his Mrs. anytime soon. Ladies, this just goes to show you that you should never marry a cop.

Totally Jodie Marsh: Episode 3

On last night's episode of "Totally Jodie Marsh: Who'll Take Her Up the Aisle?" Jodie spends time with Matt, a male model who attended her final audition, in Sheffield. He's been in contact with Jodie before and some people suggest he's a ringer. Matt previously dated Katie Price (AKA Jordan). He's four years younger than Jodie and seems just like the type of guy she's previously dated (in other words, the same old thing in a different package). I told friends that I didn't think Matt and her would last the distance. Even I didn't expect things to go wrong so quickly. Fairly early in this third episode, we see them bickering. Matt keeps pressuring her to end her search early and choose him. A teary-eyed Jodie sticks to her guns, however, and it looks like their relationship is coming to an end. Well done, Jodie! Watch the next episode, Sunday, on MTV1 at 10PM. This "warts and all" view of Jodie's husband search is very entertaining viewing. Will she ever twig that she should be with me? Stay tuned and find out.

The Jodie Marsh Show

Last night, I watched the first two episodes of "Totally Jodie Marsh: Who'll Take Her Up the Aisle?" as it was repeated. Obviously, I missed them on Sunday night, as I was stuck in London, at the hospital. I was disappointed that they didn't show the segment I filmed, but maybe I shouldn't be. They showed three guys from the Bournemouth auditions I attended, but only briefly. The way the show was edited, the impression was given that no one who auditioned was very good. Maybe they left me out because I was better than most and wouldn't have fit the theme. I will continue watching the series, with interest. It airs Sunday nights at 10PM, on MTV1.
What struck me most watching the show was how much Jodie's brother, Jordan, and I agree on things. We both wear glasses and ride motorcycles. His analysis of Jodie's dating behavior almost exactly matches mine. He's known her his whole life, so I think that's a great testament to my analytical skills that I was able to draw the same conclusions, simply from reading her biography. The problem is that Jodie keeps going for the same type of guy...mostly young and good looking, but ends up not being satisfied. I am even more convinced than ever that I am the best man for her. She needs to realize that if she wants to find a different result, she needs to look in a different direction to what she usually looks at. Jodie, if you always do what you've always done, you always get what you always got. Call me.

Totally Jodie Marsh

Tomorrow, "Totally Jodie Marsh: Who Will Take Her Up the Aisle?" premiers on MTV. It all begins with a two hour special, starting at 10:30PM. Four half-hour episodes will be shown, back to back. In the series, Jodie searches for a husband to wed at a pre-planned ceremony, due this September. Anyone able to should tune in, because there's a chance some footage of me will be shown in one of the episodes. I attended the last audition for the reality show, in Bournemouth, on June 3rd (see "Meeting Jodie Marsh," 4 June, 2007). Although, so far, Miss Marsh hasn't seen fit to ring my telephone, I remain convinced that I am the best potential husband for her.
After reading her autobiography, "Keeping It Real," I figured out the problem that has plagued her romantic life. In the past, she has tended to date the same type of men, over and over. Often young, good looking blokes, they have always had a certain level of insecurity, which has caused them to have difficulty tolerating Jodie's professional life. They usually tried to control her, or enjoyed a sexual attractiveness, without deeply valuing and loving her. Now that she's decided to settle down and have children, she says she wants something more than she's found in the past. After consulting her ideal wish list in her book, I found that I met almost every attribute she would like in her ideal man. I posses a bulletproof self-esteem and have no problem with her professional career. I have flown airplanes and helicopters, dived in submarines, ride motorcycles, and have traveled the world. She would like a guy who can teach her stuff and because I am a bit older than her, I would be in a position to do just that. I love teaching someone I care for. She wants to have four children and I'd love at least four. I would bring some good genetic material to the breeding, being tall, with an above average IQ, and a life of historically good health. In addition, I am an unusually loving man and I don't think she'll ever meet another like me.
While I may not be the best looking man around, looks aren't everything. I had hoped to make the final six. This would give Jodie the opportunity to get to know me better and I've found to know me is to love me. I tend to grow on people, like a tumor. I've already lost 15 pounds in weight, since the audition, getting into fighting shape in order to see off my competitors. Besides a kiss on the cheek, she didn't experience my touch. I find that women tend to love the way I touch them. I am sure she'd love it if I massaged her feet. On the eve of the beginning of the series, the odds that I will hear from her seem slim, indeed. However, if she finds it all going pear shaped, I hope she will get in touch, before it's too late. Someone else may snap me up at any moment. She who hesitates is lost. Totally.

Attack of the Black Queen!: the Black Queen Story Part 7 (Final Part)

Eventually, I began to suspect that my marriage was in trouble. I'm not sure when the watershed event was, but I remember taking D---a and her two children to Hawaii, in December, 2001. During that trip, I spoke to my mother on the phone and she was warning me that my marriage was in trouble. Also during that trip, D---a refused to sleep in the same bed as me, claiming that my snoring was bothering her. The problem was that I had no idea what was wrong, nor how to fix it. In early 2002, D---a and I took a long weekend trip to Brussels. We travelled via the Eurostar, virtually repeating the trip that we went on when we got engaged. The only difference was that this time, we stayed in the five star, Le Meridien hotel. Both of us were earning more money. D---a later admitted that she hopped this trip would rekindle the magic that she felt during our first visit to Brussels, back in 1998. The trip went well and we didn't argue.
By Valentine's Day, 2002, things had slipped again. I remember giving her a Valentine's card, that morning, as we were getting ready to leave for work. She just tossed the envelope aside, without opening it. I told her I spent 45 minutes picking the card out, the least she could do was read it. In response, she tossed an envelope of her own at me, saying, "I figured you'd get me a card, so I got you one. I spent five seconds picking it out." I picked up the envelope she had tossed toward me and went away. Her son, Harry, noticed the exchange.
Harry called me into his room and when I was there, he asked, quietly, "why's mummy being so horrible to you?" This was a particularly poignant experience, as Harry was pretty inconsiderate of other people, generally. If he had noticed something was wrong, it had to be pretty bad. Ever loyal to my wife, I made excuses for her. I explained things away, telling him that even when people love each other, they can feel angry toward their loved one, at times. He asked me if D---a loved me and I had to admit that I didn't know. I told him that was something only she could say, but not to worry, everything would be fine.
In the months that followed, I suggested to D---a that we try marriage counseling. She countered by saying that I must think something was wrong with her, to suggest that. I explained that I thought a neutral party could help us. It didn't mean that anything was wrong with her. Maybe there was something wrong with me, but we should try and get help. She dismissed the idea, saying that she'd tried marriage counseling with her first husband and it hadn't helped. Bitterly, she told me that the counselor had taken her husband's side, so she wasn't interested in counselors.
One Sunday, while at her mother's for dinner, I went to cuddle D---a in the kitchen. I often did this, as I am a cuddly type of person. D---a shrugged me off and said, "don't touch me!" very sharply. She'd never done that before. In the spring of 2002, she'd begun withholding sex entirely. Now, it seemed that even a hug was off limits. Still, I pressed on with day to day life. I hoped that whatever anger she felt towards me would subside, eventually. In May, I heard that several jazz artists who I like were playing a concert in London. I told my wife about it and, when she seemed to agree to go along, I bought two tickets. D---a arranged for her ex-husband to have the kids for the night, so we could go to the concert. I had never before been to a concert with my wife and I was very excited. To me, it felt like a date. In the days before the date of the show, D---a suggested that I go with someone else. I was shocked. "there is no one else," I replied. "You're my wife and I want to go with you." She suggested taking a friend, but I was adamant that I had bought the tickets for us to go, together, and that is what I wanted. I would accept no substitute. She dropped her suggestion in the face of my resoluteness.
When the day of the concert arrived, I was back to my happy, excited state. As it was a weekday, I had arranged to be off work that evening. I worked as a travel agent and could have been assigned to work that night till 10PM, in our call centre. I left work at 4PM and drove home. At some point, I bought my wife a bouquet of flowers. D---a was very fussy about flowers. I was under strict instructions to never buy her roses and that I must never give her flowers as a way of apologizing, nor for any birthday or anniversary. They must only be given spontaneously. That day felt like a spontaneous occasion. When I arrived home, D---a's ex -husband was at the front door. He'd come to pick up the children. I parked my car and walked up to greet my wife. I handed her the flowers, in front of her ex. I felt particularly good about that, as she used to complain to me that he never bought her flowers, except to apologize for some wrong doing. That was why she instructed me never to do that. D---a looked at the flowers with a puzzled expression. "What are these for?" she asked.
"They aren't for anything," I said, "I just felt like giving you flowers." I entered the house and waited for D---a to finish getting ready. With the kids away, that didn't take long. Soon, we were on our way to London.
The night seemed enjoyable. The venue was the Hammersmith Apollo and we had good seats. The line up included Bob James, who's album, "Three," was the first jazz album I had ever bought. The headliners were the Rippingtons, a California band who were highly recommended by my good friend in Orange County, Richard Boddie. D---a seemed like she enjoyed herself. On our way out of the hall, she picked up some pamphlets advertising future shows at the venue. She spotted some show she said she'd like to take the kids to and I agreed. My wife went on to book the tickets in the days following, securing four, so that all of us could go.
A few weeks after our date, things came to a head. It was early June, 2002. The first round came when D---a announced to me, one day, that she didn't want me going with her and the kids to the show she'd bought tickets for. When I pointed out that she'd bought four tickets and that one would be wasted, she said her step-father was going in my place. While I was trying to come to grips with this, she fired off the next round. D---a told me that on the next Sunday, when we were supposed to be going to dinner at her parent's house, I wasn't welcome in her parent's home anymore. She and the kids would be going to dinner without me. I went off to work, feeling numb and puzzled. What had brought this all on? After a few days, I realized that I only had heard this from her. Maybe she'd made it up, I reasoned. I decided to email my father-in-law and verify it with him. To my horror, he emailed me back, confirming what D---a had said. I was no longer welcome in their house. No explanation for this move was given.
Not realizing the extent of things, I managed to get through about another week, when the big bombshell exploded. On June 13th, 2002, a letter arrived, addressed to me. It was from a firm of solicitors (lawyers). I tore open the envelope and read the letter. It informed me that my wife was filing for divorce and advised me to seek legal advice of my own. It was as if a formal declaration of war had been issued. With my wife's usual considerate timing, the letter arrived one week to the day before our wedding anniversary. I sat down, stunned, with the letter in one hand, tears streaming from my eyes. With hindsight, I now realized why D---a had been so hesitant about going to the concert with me and why she'd acted so guilty about receiving the flowers. She'd been planning this all along. In time, I gathered my wits about me and picked up the telephone directory. War had been declared and my defenses needed organizing. I looked through the ads for solicitors and picked out one who specialized in family law, and divorce. I called the office and made an appointment for an initial consultation.
There's something especially horrible about having a spouse turn on you. It's worse than having a loved one die. If he or she dies, it's not deliberate. When your spouse divorces you, he or she is overtly rejecting you. I had taken my marriage very seriously. All my adult life, I had wanted to be married and never divorced. This was because my parents had split up after weeks of marriage, and eventually divorced. I always wanted to show my mother how marriage should be done. D---a was taking away my life-long dream...forever. I remember the vows we took, to stay together until death parted us. To me, it seemed that D---a was violating her vow and that felt like a betrayal. During the months that followed, I never stopped trying to persuade her to reconcile. To me, our marriage was fixable. I didn't hit her or abuse her and there had been no infidelity. Years later I read "Mars and Venus: Perfect Together," by John Gray, author of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus." Gray, a psychologist, confirmed my suspicions that our marriage was savable. He advises couples considering divorce to try counseling first. I wish I had read the book before I was divorced. Better still, I wish my wife had read it. I wore my wedding ring, right up to the day I received notice that our divorce was final. From that day, I vowed never to speak her name again. That's why, to this day, I refer to her only as "my evil ex-wife" and "the Black Queen." I feel that her betrayal of our marriage was an evil act and that her heart was black. For convenience, I have adopted the protocol of referring to her as "D---a," during this written chronicle, because I didn't think of her as evil, nor as the Black Queen, until she divorced me.
This is the final part in the Black Queen story, and the final in the series of blogs about the wonderful women who have broken my heart. I started the series in response to a request from my favorite, female, radio DJ, Opal Bonfante, a regular reader of my blog. I hope the rest of you also got something out of reading these tales of romance gone wrong. I apologize for them not being funny, as most of my work usually is, but even I can't be funny all of the time.

I Forgot My Anniversary

The anniversary of my wedding to my evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, was two days ago and I forgot to write a blog about it. It's not like I totally forgot, as I did think about it a few days in advance. My life is so busy these days, especially during the week, sometimes days slip by without me realizing it. Anyway, it was the 9th anniversary of me getting married. When she divorced me, she provided no wedding photos, nor a copy of our wedding video. So, I don't have much in the way of mementos of the day. Ironically, I now live a block away from the hotel where we sent our wedding night. Thinking back, I realize that I saw the double for my first fiancee on the anniversary of my wedding to my third fiancee. Do you suppose that means something? Cue scary music. I don't. Coincidences are just that, coincidences. You can turn the scary music off now, please.

Look Alike

When I went to work yesterday, I found that the Sou Chef was off for the day. a temp chef was booked from an agency. When I saw the temp chef, I was shocked (the British have a colorful term for it...gobsmacked). The temp was a woman. Although unusual, that fact alone was not unprecedented. What shocked me was that she looked so much like my first fiancee, Kelly Lucas. This girl was obviously too young to be Kelly. When Kelly and I got engaged, back in 1986, this girl was only four years old. Still, the resemblance was uncanny.
The temp chef was called Charley (or Charlie? How the heck should I know how she spells it? Ironically, my mother used to use a perfume called, "Charlie"). Looking at Charley was strange. Talking with her was strange. It was like I was back in time, 21 years ago. I felt odd. I am still in love with Kelly, although I haven't seen her since 1987. Every time I saw Charley, I felt oddly uncomfortable. When I told Charley that she looked like my ex-fiancee (of course I told her...you know me, I tell everything), she laughed. In fact, she seemed to laugh at almost everything I said. Then, of course, I do try to be a bit comic during the course of my day. Charley had her hair tucked up under a chef's hat, throughout the day. When she changed out of her chef's uniform, she revealed a head full of long, brown hair. It suddenly felt very warm in the kitchen. After she had her time sheet signed by management, she strode out of the door and back out of my life, just as suddenly as she plopped into it. What a strange experience.

Up the Asile With Jodie Marsh

Tomorrow is apparently the last audition for Jodie Marsh's new reality TV project. Miss Marsh has been auditioning for a husband, for a couple of weeks now. That's right, the glamour model has decided that she wants to get married, as she is approaching thirty. Her wedding, as well as her husband search, is supposedly going to be shown on MTV. Yes, you guessed it, I will be attending, tomorrow. Several news reports I have come across have said that the turnout at the earlier auditions has been poor. That can only benefit me. Less competition and all that.
The timing couldn't be better. I would like to get married again and I want to have children. Jodie desires a man willing to father kids. I don't know why members of the media are ridiculing the idea. Jodie's rival, Katie Price (AKA Jordan), met her husband, Peter Andre, on the set of a reality TV series, "I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here." I am talking this audition very seriously. Earlier tonight, I filled out the application form, which includes a number of questions. I read Jodie's autobiography, earlier this week. Tomorrow, I will be wearing my best suit and best cologne. I don't think she will find a better prospective husband than me. Let's hope Miss Marsh is able to recognize that. Wish me success.

Married Life: the Black Queen Story Part 6

The honeymoon was over, literally. On the day we returned to the UK, I had a job interview. If was for a job in a call centre, as a travel agent, selling travel products over the phone. The interview went well enough, because I got the job. My wife said they were probably taking anyone with a pulse. My first day on the job was 13th July, 1998. I took the train, like a real commuter. I had to change trains twice, in a round about route from Hook, the village we lived in, to Bracknell, where the call centre was located. When I came home, my wife was waiting for me at the train station, with the kids. How thoughtful she was, then. My new job paid commission only and it quickly dawned on me that I couldn't afford the train fare. My wife was working in Datchet, on the other side of Windsor from Bracknell, so she and I started riding to work together. She would drop me off in Bracknell, then continue on to Datchet.
After about a month of car pooling, my wife started to complain about the arrangement. We decided that I should buy a motorcycle, which would give me transport of my own. Once I had my bike, my wife was happier. For a while, life was good. I had an instant family; a wife, two stepchildren, and a dog. For Christmas, my wife bought me a pay-as-you-go mobile phone. Every night, before I left work, I would phone her and let her know I was on my way. She used to have dinner ready just as I got home. The dog used to follow me around the house and lay at my feet. We used to go for Sunday dinners at my in-laws, which would be barbecues during the summer months. Every other weekend, the children's father would have them for the weekend, so my wife and I would have time alone.
After a year, my wife suggested that we buy a house. If we were only staying in the UK temporarily, I asked her, "why buy?" It soon became apparent that we weren't going anywhere. We ended up buying the house we were renting, so we got our house without moving. Life was good...for a while. We went on several vacations, including: Majorca, Tunisia, Venice, Orlando, and New York. D---a went from working as a bookkeeper to studying accounting. An early strain appeared, which took the form of my wife being jealous of the time I spent on the internet. This might have been because I met her, originally, over the internet. D---a began to nag a bit, trying to get me to do ever increasing amounts of DIY as well as household chores. I started to volunteer for overtime, at work. We needed the money and it got me out of DIY. Gradually, sex became less and less frequent. When I asked D---a why we were having sex less frequently than we had when we were dating, she said that during out dating period, it had felt like she was on holiday. Now was everyday married life. Yes, the honeymoon was definitely over.
Over the years, my wife became more and more testy. I used to tell her I loved her, regularly. Her response was to say that I said it too easily, so I must not mean it. More and more, she found fault with me. I started to feel that no matter how much I earned, it was never enough. I never thought about leaving her, though, as I was committed to our marriage. Then she said she thought I was too lazy to make a good father, so she wasn't going to have a child by me. That was a serious problem, as having children was the main reason for getting married. The following year, she said she'd decided I was good enough to have a baby with, just not yet. Where would it all end?

Honeymooners: the Black Queen Story Part 5

I wasn't able to go on a honeymoon immediately after getting married, because I had to get a document stuck in my passport, granting me leave to remain in the UK. I had to acquire this document before I left the country. There was another impediment to our honeymoon: my wife's ex-husband. When she asked him to have the kids so we could go away, he refused. D---a was upset that he was being so spiteful. I decided to turn it around on him. I asked her if the kids had ever been to America. She confirmed they had not. So, I suggested that we take them with us. That way they'd remember their first trip to America as being with us. My wife agreed, so that's what we did.
After I sorted out the bureaucratic details, D---a got the boyfriend of a friend of hers, who worked for British Airways, to book us some discounted tickets, through their staff travel office. I wanted to take my bride and her two bairns to New York City and Washington, D.C. There was no discounted space available to New York, or to Washington, so I suggested trying Philadelphia, which is halfway between. Sure enough, there was space available to Philly. The four of us flew from London's Heathrow airport, about a week after our wedding.
At Philadelphia International Airport, I picked up a rental car. I selected a big, Pontiac, Grand Prix. I like a car with power and it had room for the four of us and our luggage. I headed south, towards D.C. I drove till we felt like stopping. I wanted to get us out of the Philly area, because I knew from experience that motels would be cheaper once we were out of the big city area. Somewhere in Delaware, along Interstate 95, my new family informed me they were all hungry. I saw a sign for a Holiday Inn with reasonable rates, advertised as being off the next exit. I stopped there as Holiday Inns are known to be "family friendly." The kids could stay free, sharing a room with us. A room was available, so we checked in and put our bags in the room. After that, we made a beeline to the hotel restaurant. Once the family were fed and watered, we went back to our room. The kids wanted to go swimming, but we were feeling tired. My wife and I advised them that we should have an early night. After all, it was five hours later back home.
In the morning, we had breakfast, then I indulged the children in a dip in the pool. The pool area was deserted, other than the four of us, but the kids didn't seem to mind. By lunch time, we were back on the road. Once we reached the suburbs of D. C., I looked for an inexpensive place to say. Spotting a Days Inn just outside the District, in Maryland, I stopped there. I knew prices would be cheaper there than they would be actually within D.C. After settling into our room, the kids began a familiar refrain. They wanted to go swimming again. We all got into our swimming costumes and headed for the pool. When we got there, I had a strange experience.
Another family came to use the pool. They had a boy who was about 12-14 years old. He took one look at my beautiful, eight-year-old stepdaughter and shot straight for her. If it had been a cartoon, he would have left a smoke trail. My wife found the resultant look on my face hilarious. I was not happy. I scowled at the boy, who seemed to take no notice. To make matters worse, he looked and sounded like a particularly low class type of American. His sleazy appearance and accent only added to a trailer-trash image. Without any idea where it had come from, I was suddenly flush with a feeling of, "he's not good enough for my little girl." The only problem was, she's not actually my little girl. I was just her newly crowned stepfather. I spent the rest of our poolside afternoon smouldering, much to the continued amusement of my bride. When we finally made our move to go to our room, the sleazy boy actually had the nerve to ask MY stepdaughter for our room number. The innocent little lass walked up to me and gently asked what our room number was. Thank goodness she didn't remember it! "We don't give our room number to strangers," I advised her. I felt some slight relief that we wouldn't be disturbed by horny fourteen-year-old boys calling our room in the middle of the night. As we walked into the building, I gave the boy one last, withering glance, as if to say, "she's only 8, for Pete's sake!"
Part of my trip itinerary was that we would visit Washington while the Libertarian Party National Convention was on. Formerly, I had been a member of the Party's National Committee (LNC). My political career included two terms as Vice-Chair of the Libertarian Party of New York State, 1993 Libertarian candidate for Mayor of New York City, Official Liaison from the Party to the Howard Stern Campaign, and candidate for the nomination for Governor of New York. I was quite well known amongst convention delegates and I wanted to take the opportunity of introducing my new family. As a former member of the LNC, I had received an invitation to attend a show on the first evening of the convention, performed by the Capital Steps. The opportunity of taking my family to a free show was too good to resist. It was a thrilling night out for the kids, who weren't used to being taken to such things. I was also proud of my new family and wanted to show them off.
Altogether, we spent three days in the D.C area. I took my family sightseeing, just as I had been taken sightseeing on my first ever trip, which was to Washington, when I was 10 years old. On our last night in the D.C. area, which also happened to be July 3rd, my birthday, we went to Baltimore's Inner Harbor, for dinner. On the 4th of July, we checked out of the Days Inn and began the drive to New York. We stopped in Philadelphia, halfway, around lunch time. I took the family to see Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence was signed, back in 1776. We watched some ceremony commemorating the event, which was part of Philly's 4th of July celebrations. After a bite to eat, we got back on the road north. It was to be the children's first time seeing New York.
Speaking of firsts, I had arranged for us to stay at my family's home, on Long Island. It would be my grandmother's first time meeting the children, but my mother's first time meeting them and their mother. My mother's a bit eccentric and she has a history of avoiding meeting my girlfriends. After I got engaged, D---a pleaded with me that she wanted to meet my mother, who was to be her future mother-in-law. I told her I would try my best and passed on her request to my mother. With a stubbornness that is my mother's trademark, she refused D---a's quite reasonable request. I implored her to change her mind, for my sake, but all she would agree to is that she would speak to D---a over the phone. It was arranged for the last trip D---a made to visit me in America, before we got married. My mother left the house and then called. When I answered, she stated she was ready to speak to my fiancee. After I handed the phone to D---a, my mother proceeded to tell her that she shouldn't marry me. Gee, thanks mom! Fortunately, or unfortunately, D---a didn't heed my mother's advice. Now that we'd been married, my mother was prepared to meet my wife, face to face. In a strange about face, once my mother had met D---a, she acted very friendly. She acted like she liked D---a more than she liked me. My grandmother and mother admired the children as they played in our back garden. So far, this was the closest they had come to having great-grandchildren and grandchildren, respectively. They were quite beautiful children, so it was easy to admire them. My folks also saw me in a different light. This was their first time seeing me taking responsibility for a family of my own. They were both quite surprised at how well I took to the role. Neither of them had been aware that for all of my adult life, I had longed to be a family man.
Staying at my family's home saved us the cost of a hotel. Using it as a base of operations, we took the children to see the sights of New York, which I had previously shown their mother. This included a trip to the top of the then still standing, World Trade Center, as well as a visit to Liberty Island. On our first night, we started off by going to see the 4th of July fireworks display, over the East River. Most children love fireworks and the New York City display, sponsored by Macy's, is one of the largest in the world. I tried to expose the children to as many delightful experiences as possible. Among these were ice cream parlours, hot buttered movie popcorn, sidewalk vended pretzels and hot dogs, and F.A.O. Schwartz toy store. This was more their honeymoon than my wife's. We even managed to squeeze in a trip to Six Flags Great Adventure theme and safari park. After three nights, it was time to return to the UK. We said goodbye to my surviving biological family and the house I grew up in. I drove us back to Philadelphia, to catch our flight back to my new home.

White Wedding: the Black Queen Story Part 4

When I got engaged to D---a, in early 1998, my presumption was that she would move to America and we'd live there. So many Brits I meet say they would love to live in America, that it never occurred to me that it would be otherwise. America is great, so who wouldn't want to live there? I especially love New York and Long Island, where I grew up. Because we didn't have much money, my initial plan was for us to live in my family home, on Long Island. I already owned two-thirds of that property, with no mortgage. D---a hated that idea.
D---a stated, emphatically, that she didn't want to live in the same house as my mother and grandmother. She wanted us to buy a house together. We debated the pros and cons, back and forth, but I ended up agreeing to go along with her desires. In the meantime, we were anxious to get her divorce finalized. She was still married to her first husband and until the divorce was final, there could be no wedding. D---a was devoted to her two children and she worried that her husband might try to gain custody, just to spite her. I tried to comfort her and banish those worries, telling her that most divorced men really don't want to be saddled with two young children to raise. Besides, courts don't usually take children away from their mothers, unless the mothers have been involved in some extreme behavior. D---a was anything but extreme. I didn't think she had anything to worry about. The children would become the basis for a radical change in plans.
D---a first expressed doubts about moving to America by questioning how it would affect her children. She said they'd have to leave the school they attended. I pointed out that we have schools in America. Also, with the money we could save by living in my family home, we could afford to send them to private school, giving them a much better education than they were getting in a British, government schools. Then she said they would miss their friends. I responded by saying that they would make new friends. Her next objection was that they wouldn't get to see their father. I pointed out that airplanes flew to New York, from London, several times per day. He had his own business and could surely afford to come see them whenever he wanted. Finally, she said their father wouldn't approve. She started to panic that if she tried to move the kids to America, their father would seek custody of them. I tried suggesting that we could talk to him and point out the great advantages the children would have by living in America, but the more she thought about it, the more steadfastly she concluded that her husband would never go for it. That was when she first began suggesting that I move to England. At first, I resisted, strongly. I loved visiting the UK, but I had no desire to live there. D---a argued that it would be easier for me to move there. I had no children and she already rented a house we could live in. It would mean that the children could continue attending the school they were already attending and they could keep all their friends. She suggested that I move there for a couple of years, until we were "established" as a family, then we could move to America. Gradually, she began to wear me down. I loved D---a intensely and if being with her meant moving to England, then so be it. After all, it was just for a couple of years.
The next issue was the actual wedding. I had always been of the opinion that it should be held in England. D---a had a much larger circle of friends and family than I did, so it made sense to have the ceremony there. The few people I would be inviting could fly over, which would make much more sense than expecting all of D---a's friends and family to fly to America. I informally invited the people from America who I wanted on the guest list, in order to give them several months notice, so they would have time to budget. Immediately, my mother said no. My grandmother was hesitant, but I hoped she would come around, eventually. Surely someone from my family would attend my wedding.
Then there came the issue of the type of wedding we were going to have. D---a had been married before, so she wasn't that bothered about having a fancy wedding. She'd seen it all before. She didn't even want to wear white. I countered by pointing out that although she'd been married before, I hadn't and I wanted to experience a full, proper wedding, complete with white dress. She yielded to me on that point. Who would pay for it? Even though it's still the tradition, in England, that the bride's family pay for the wedding, D---a's mother was onto her second husband and D---a thought her step-father would not be interested in paying for her wedding. Great! She concluded that we would have to pay for it ourselves. Neither of us had any savings, which presented a bit of an obstacle. I was unemployed again, having finished a temporary contract with British Airways, in New York. I had hoped they'd offer me a permanent contract, but they hadn't. How would I find a job quickly, when I was due to move out of the country in a few months?
I contacted Peter Giordano, owner of Carizma Limousines, based in Valley Stream, Long Island. I had worked for Pete five years earlier, while I was attending grad school, as a chauffeur. I explained to Pete that I needed temporary work until I moved to England and that I was trying to save as much money as possible to pay for my wedding. He was great. he agreed to hire me immediately and very quickly, started funneling as much work as he could to me. I worked seven days a week and every hour I could get. D---a started working, as well, at friend's business. With money starting to come in, I came up with another plan to help the cause along. I told my mother and grandmother that D---a's folks were offering to pay half the cost of the wedding. I suggested that they expected my family to match that. It worked and my folks came up with £1,000 toward the wedding. Phase two of my plan was for D---a to then tell her folks that my family were contributing £1,000 toward the wedding and they expected her family to match it. Her folks weren't quite as generous, as I recall, but I think we managed to get £500 out of them. D---a and I each kicked in £500 of our own, so we ended up with a working budget of £2,500 (around $5,000 at today's exchange rates).
We needed to set a venue. As neither of us was religious, we quickly decided on a registry office wedding. It's similar to getting married at a town hall, in America. That led to the choosing of a date. I wanted a June wedding, preferably on a Saturday, so my guests from America could travel without having to take time off work. The registry office had two Saturday dates in June available. We opted for June 20th. For the reception, I persuaded D---a to ask her mother to let us use her back garden. What mother is going to refuse her daughter such a simple request for her wedding? Her mother agreed. That saved us a lot of money that we would have had to spend hiring a venue. I suggested that D---a ask her mother to cook the food, as her Chinese mother was a fantastic cook. She routinely prepared dinners for us with numerous Chinese dishes. Stubbornly, D---a refused to ask. That meant hiring a caterer. We tried a number of caterers, but in the end, we selected one that worked an Australian barbecue theme. They weren't the cheapest, nor the most expensive, but had a lovely menu and sometimes, you get what you pay for. In the end, the catering was our most expensive budget item.
For entertainment, we opted for a DJ rather than a band, as being more cost effective. The couple who D---a worked for had a grown son who was a DJ. D---a negotiated a cheap rate for him. One of D---a's friends was a professional seamstress and she offered to make the dress for free, if we paid for the material. The style of the dress became the subject of debate, as D---a refused to wear a traditional wedding dress, but I wanted something that looked very wedding-like. In the end, D---a kept the final choice of deign a secret, but kept giving me the idea that it would be something not very exciting. I wanted to have a stretch limousine for our wedding car, as has become traditional in America. After all, I was working for a limousine company and had driven numerous brides and grooms for their weddings. This time, it was my turn. D---a resisted, claiming it was too expensive. Around this time, she started to complain that she was having to do all the planning work, as I was in America. She was feeling overwhelmed. I suggested she ask her mother to help. Doesn't every mom want to help plan her daughter's wedding? Apparently, my future mother-in-law wasn't that keen to help. I reassured D---a that she only needed to gather information, then we could discuss things over the phone and make our decisions. I told her how marvelously she was doing and that we'd almost finished. I compromised on the car and we hired a chauffeur driven, white Jaguar. It wasn't a stretch, but it did say "England" in a big way and was one of the lowest priced cars we could find.
We arranged a photographer, a tuxedo rental for me, flowers, and had invitations printed. We hammered out a guest list, trying to keep the numbers as low as possible, without excluding anyone important. Some who didn't make the final cut were invited to attend the wedding itself, at the registry office, even if they couldn't come to the reception. Our final guest list was about 40. One final detail remained: the wedding cake. The cake ended up being one of the biggest problems of the whole wedding plan. In England, the tradition is for the wedding cake to be a frosted fruitcake. I hate fruitcake. I wanted a simple cake, like you find in American weddings. Yellow cake with a butter cream frosting. The only problem was, it seems that British bakeries don't know how to make cakes like the bakers in America do. The closest thing D---a could come up with was something called a "marzipan" cake. She argued that marzipan would be dry, while a fruitcake would be moist. I pointed out that she didn't like the taste of fruitcake any more than I did. What would be the point of buying a wedding cake that neither of us could eat? The cake became a massive argument. I thought D---a was going nutty as a fruitcake over this bloody wedding cake. I came up with a deal to prevent the cake from sinking the whole wedding. Since neither of us would give in, I suggested we get a two tiered cake. One tier would be the fruitcake that D---a wanted, while the other would be the marzipan I was settling for. In the end, that's what we did. I bet D---a that my tier would be eaten more than hers. I won that bet.
Finally, all the plans seemed to be in place. D---'s divorce became final, in time. I had to apply for a fiance's visa, in order to enter the UK to get married. I filed the paperwork with the British embassy in New York and paid the exorbitant fee, which I think was $400. I just wanted to move to Britain, not buy the place. It only took the embassy about six hours to process my visa. As the date approached, my folks flatly refused to come. While I wasn't that surprised at my mother, I was surprised that my grandmother would miss it. My friend Todd had been the first to accept and buy a plane ticket to London. I wanted my ex-girlfriend, Paula, to come. D---a was a little hesitant. Although she had met Paula and we'd all gone out together a few times, D---a still couldn't understand why I wanted Paula at our wedding. Paula and I had remained good friends since our break up. She loved visiting England and I wanted her part of the festivities. That wouldn't persuade D---a, so, I told her that I wanted Paula to attend as an act of revenge. Paula had dumped me, so I wanted her to see me getting married to someone else. Reluctantly, D---a accepted that excuse, although revenge wasn't really part of my plan at all. After D---a agreed, Paula started to waver. I told her she could bring the guy she was dating, but in the end, she decided to attend alone. Once Paula had bought her ticket,that left one more guest of mine, from America, who hadn't purchased a plane ticket to England yet. My best man.
I had asked my friend Tim, from Queens, New York, to be my best man. He and I had been friends for fifteen years, ever since we had worked together at New York Helicopter. He said he considered me his best friend. I thought of Paula as my best friend, but I couldn't very well have Paula as my "best man." Tim was my best male friend, over the past decade, so he seemed the natural choice. I originally invited him and his wife, Barbara, but he said only he would come, to save the cost of a second plane fare. I asked Tim to be my best man about three months before the wedding, to give him time to save up the airfare and take advantage of any advance purchase discounts. I kept checking with him and at the beginning of June, with my wedding less than a month away, he'd still not bought a ticket. I started to worry. I asked him if he was really going to come and he reassured me that he'd be there. I ended up flying over a week before, to make the final preparations. Tim drove me to JFK airport for my one-way flight on Virgin Atlantic Airways, to London. It was a night departure on the 11th of June, 1998. I would fly overnight and arrive at London Gatwick on the morning of the 12th, 8 days before my wedding day. I remember standing at the curbside, saying goodbye to Tim. He'd still not purchased a ticket and I asked him if he was going to show up. He promised me he would.
On the 12th of June, I moved into the house D---a was renting, in a little village called Hook. Hook only had two traffic lights, no cinema, no McDonald's, nor a Burger King. It is a little commuter village in the county of Hampshire, England, about an hour's drive from London. It was certainly different from what I was used to in the suburbs of New York. She'd arranged for me to spend the night before our wedding at her parent's house, in Windsor, so I wouldn't see her in her wedding dress before the ceremony. Her bride's maids would spend the night with her, doing her hair and all that girly stuff women do the night before a wedding. D---a was even magnanimous enough to let Paula spend the night there, saving Paula the expense of a hotel room.
On the wedding morning, I was feeling a little nervous. Would everything work out alright? I still hadn't heard from Tim. Would he show up? I put on my tuxedo. The trousers felt loose and I wished I had braces to hold them up. Here it was, my wedding day. I had wanted to get married since I was 16, now it was finally going to happen, 22 years later. My soon to be in-laws drove me to the registry office. They sat me in the back seat of their Volkswagen Golf, next to my soon to be mother-in-law's good Chinese friend, Mrs. Lamb. I had heard so much about Mrs. Lamb previously, but this was my first time meeting her. I tried making small talk with her, but all she would do is smile in response. Oh well, maybe she wasn't the talkative type. Later, I found out why Mrs. Lamb had so little to say to me. She didn't speak English, only Cantonese. I arrived at the registry office ahead of D---a, as is proper. We had arranged for the white Jaguar to pick D---a up at the house and drive her to the office. Outside the registry office, guests started to congregate. I spotted my friend Todd, from New York with a friend of his, but no Tim. It was almost time for the ceremony and no best man. I'd not heard from him and I didn't even know if he'd made it to England. What to do? After some hesitation, I approached Todd, explained what had happened, and asked him if he would stand in as best man. Todd was willing, but pointed out that he'd accidentally left his suit in New York, so he didn't even have a tie and jacket on. I assured him that would be okay. There was no other male guest of mine, so I didn't really have any other choice. Being best man at a British wedding involves making a big speech at the reception. Todd had no time to prepare a speech, but still he stepped into the breach.
D---a was estranged from her father, and didn't particularly want her step-father giving her away. Instead, she asked her brother, Ray to escort her down the aisle. At least Ray showed up. I guess I worried for a bit over whether D---a would show up, but soon the white Jaguar appeared, majestically gliding up toward the entrance. I went inside and took my place. What else would go wrong? D---a had stressed that she wanted me to look into her eyes when I said my wedding vows, as she complained that in so many British weddings, the groom looks at the registrar, instead of at the bride. We'd modified the vows that the registrar provided, as was our option. We personalized them a bit, to make them our own. I kept reminding myself to remember to look into her eyes.
The modest sized wedding chapel seemed full. Suddenly, the music started and the procession of the bridal party began. D---a's son, Harry, who was only 5, led the way, with the rings strapped to a white cushion. He wore a tiny jacket and tie, to fit his small body. His big eyes seemed filled with awe at being the center of attention for such a large crowd of people. Next came the bride's maids, led by D---a's 8 year old daughter, Ellen. Ellen was already a very pretty girl, but dressed up in a formal dress, she looked like a magical princess. She looked less frightened than Harry and seemed to be enjoying all the ceremony. Following Ellen was the dressmaker, then D---a's maid of honor, her good friend, Alice. Finally, came Ray, with D---a on his arm. Ray wore a smart suit and executed his duties with proper circumspection. D---a looked the vision of loveliness. As soon as I saw her, I realized that she'd been teasing me about the dress she intended to wear. Collaborating with the seamstress, the two of them has designed a perfect dress. It was both modern, avoiding the excessive overflowing look of a lot of traditional bridal gowns, yet still it captured the wedding look I desired. It was made of smooth silky, white fabric. Sleeveless,it hung from gentle straps, wrapped closely around D---a's body, almost in the style of a kimono. A single row of small, white buttons, one after the other, made a line down the back, providing a perfectly subtle accent. The gown ended in a moderate train and the effect of the whole design was to suggest a subtle oriental flavor, as was fitting of the bride's mixed heritage. Eschewing a veil, D---a had gone with a traditional, British tiara. In it, she marched gracefully down the ailse, looking like royalty. The last of my Princess Class girlfriends, she looked the part to become my Queen. Her rich, dark hair was immaculately coifed, up off her shoulders. It gleamed in the lights. As she took her place at my side, I didn't forget to look into her eyes when we said our vows. I couldn't take my eyes off her. We donned our rings and soon were pronounced husband and wife.
D---a and I rode to the reception in the white Jaguar, sipping champagne. I was now a married man. Once we reached her mother's back garden, there was a line of guests to greet. My wife led me around to meet loads of friends and distant relatives of hers, whom I had never met before. A friend of mine from London, Pam Jones, had come and brought her almost grown, teenage children. Paula sat with Pam, as they knew each other. It took me a long time to get over to the table where Paula and Pam were sitting. Pam accused me of ignoring them. I explained that I was being dragged here and there, and that there were loads of new people for me to meet. I already knew these two women. Paula seemed a little annoyed, but she had been invited to stay at the same hotel with us, that night, and to attend an exclusive wedding breakfast the next morning, one of only two guests to be so honored. I figured Paula was just tired and continued to circulate. The food was great and I was quite happy with the caterer. Tim had not showed up, so when it was time for the speeches, Todd continued to fil in.
Todd did a fantastic job giving a wedding speech with so little notice. The only problem with it was that it contained what could have been construed as a slight insult toward Paula. Todd said something along the lines that I had finally found a woman worthy of marrying. The problem was I had previouly been dating Paula, so this made it sound like she hadn't been worthy. I cringed to myself when I heard that line and hoped that Paula hadn't noticed. Unfortunately, I think she did. The rest of the day, Paula acted a bit odd. The reception wound down and we headed to the hotel where we would spend our wedding night, the Hilton in Bracknell. Ironically, it's only half a block from where I sit at this very moment. We were joined in the hotel lobby by a few select guests, for cocktails. This group included Todd, his friend, Paula, and a couple of friends of my wife. Paula and one of my wife's guests, each had a room in the same hotel, for the night, The two of them would be the only guests to join us for breakfast, in the morning. Had Tim come, he would have been inluded, but he hadn't shown up. Paula made excuses and went to her room, early. I kept thinking she was just tired. Eventually, D---a and I retired to our bridal suite for our first night as a married couple.
In the morning, we all met for breakfast. There seemed to be a tension in the air, based around Paula. She ended up snapping at me, while the rest looked away and tried to ignore it. After breakfast, we checked out of the hotel and D---a's friend made her way home. She had work Monday morning. The plan was for Puala to spend a couple of days visiting with us, then she was going to spend a few days in London, before heading back to America. That afternoon, we were suposed to attend a family barbacue at my in-laws. Paula was the only non-family member to be invited. Despite that honor, Paula became increasingly testy as the day wore on. Her hostility seemed to be soley directed at me. Suddenly, she announced that she wanted to go to London. I reminded her that she was supposed to spend a few days with us, but she insisted she wanted tl leave immediately. I pleaded with her to just wait till after the barbacue, then I would drive her to London, if that's what she wanted. She flatley refused and insisted on leaving there and then. The problem was that her luggage was back at our house, so we had to leave the barbacue, before eating, drive her back to Hook, then to the train station, then take ourselves back to my in-laws, in Windsor. This was a great inconvenience. No amount of reasoning would budge Paula and so we took her back. At our hose, she hurriedly grabbed her things and said she couldn't be friends with me anymore. Paula would only agree to my wife driving her to the station, while I waited at home. My wife dropped off a tearful Paula at our local train station, where she could catch a train to London. I still don't know what my crime was. It was almost as if she was jealous, but it was her who broke up with me. During the five and a half years I was dating Paula, I suggested, numerous times, that she and I get married, but she refused. If it bothered her seeing me marry someone else, she had only herself to blame. When she walked out that door, it was the last time I would ever see Paula again. It seemed that I had gained a wife, but lost a friend.

A Train Going Into a Tunnel: the Black Queen Story Part 3

For the previous part of this story, see "A Long Distance Relationship: the Black Queen Story Part 2," 14 April, 2007.

Upon my return to America, from Christmas with D---a, in 1997, I was committed to marrying her. I started thinking about where I might propose. I wanted to do something different than I did when I proposed to my first fiancee, Kelly Lucas. If D---a found out, one day, that I had recycled my proposal from a previous girlfriend, I was sure she'd hit the roof. I wracked my brain, trying to come up with an idea. My inspiration came from watching the film, "Mission Impossible." The climax of the film takes place on a TGV train, between London and Paris. As far as I know, the TGV didn't run between London and Paris, but the Eurostar does! The proverbial light bulb went off in my head. I decided to propose to D---a on the Eurostar, while it travelled under the English Channel. To me, this signified our living in two different countries, so I would propose in this "international" space.
Next, I turned toward buying a ring. I wanted to get a bigger diamond than I had bought for my first fiancee. Visiting a well known jeweller in America, I picked out a stone and a setting. Once I had the ring, I set about organizing things. I suggested to D---a that we go on a trip, via Eurostar. The Eurostar only went to Brussels and Paris. Both of us had visited Paris before, so we agreed that Brussels would be the destination of choice. D---a is good at organizing things, so once I got the ball rolling, she grabbed the bit between her teeth and brought my idea to fruition (the bit between her teeth metaphor was not meant to imply that she looked like a horse...she was a beauty!). She visited her local travel agent and called me with a proposed itinerary. I let her pick the hotel, but I insisted that we should opt for "First Class" on the Eurostar. She tried to dissuade me, but I was paying for it, so I got my way.
When I flew over to London in advance of our Eurostar trip, my future father-in-law, D---a's step-father, picked me up at the airport. I was so excited about my impending proposal that I showed him the ring and took him into my confidence. For once, he did the right thing and kept my secret. On the next Friday, D---a and I took the local train from her village to London's Waterloo Station, the departure point for Eurostar. For anyone who doesn't know, Eurostar is a high-speed train, which runs between London and Continental Europe, through the Channel Tunnel. There are two classes of service, "standard" and "first." We had a Friday evening train and when we boarded, we found that our first class seats were in a virtually empty train carriage. The only other occupant was a ginger haired man, travelling on his own. The majority of Eurostar travellers go standard class. Ironically, even though there was only one other person in our carriage, he was seated in the row right in front of us. Why couldn't he be seated at the opposite end of the carriage? Despite my desire to be engaged to D---a, the nervousness set in. Even though I was an experienced proposer, I found myself hesitating, just as I had 12 years earlier, during my first proposal. I wanted to time it to occur while we were actually under the English Channel. We were moved to a seat at the end of the carriage, for our meal service. That would have been a good time to propose, away from our fellow traveler's ears, but the tables for our food were in the way and I wanted to do the whole one knee bit. After dinner, we moved back to our original seats. I kept fingering the box with the ring, in my pocket. If I didn't get on with it, we'd be out of the Channel Tunnel and the moment would be lost. I made a clumsy move to one knee, in the space between our seats and the ones in front of us. Dragging the ring box from my pocket, I asked D---a to marry me. Thankfully, she said, "yes."
The man in front of us heard everything. After I re-seated myself, he stood up abruptly and rushed off toward the other end of the train carriage. He disappeared through the door at the end and I presumed he had an urgent need to visit the toilet. I shared my theory with D---a and we both laughed out loud. After a short time, the man returned and sat down again. About five minutes later, the hostess came into the carriage and approached us. She had a bottle of champagne and informed us that the man in front of us had arranged the champagne for us. He spoke up and said he couldn't help but overhear, then offered his congratulations. We thanked him and were both over the moon about getting free champagne. We both liked our bargains. I asked the hostess to give a glass to the man. At first he graciously declined, but I insisted and he accepted. He said he planned on telling his wife about our getting engaged on the train and that she would love the story. A little while later, the hostess returned with another, unopened bottle of champagne. She presented it to us and said it was with the compliments of the train crew. Wow! Free stuff! Getting engaged has its benefits after all. We saved the second bottle to take home with us.
After our train arrived at Brussels' Midi Station, we had to take a local train to Brussels' Central station, to get to our hotel. We missed our stop at Central station, then got off at the following stop. D---a and I ran from the platform and down the stairs, then back up to another platform, to catch a train going back the other way. We were both giddy and giggling. Oh to be young and in love, in Brussels. At Central Station, we went outside and approached a taxi rank. When we gave the driver of the lead cab the address of our hotel, he said we could walk there. We were tired and it was late, in a strange city. Also, we didn't know the way, so we asked him to take us anyway. He was right. The hotel was embarrassingly close, so I gave him a generous tip. Our hotel was moderately priced, with a small, cosy, yet modern room. The location was great. Right in the old, central city of Brussels. We had a nice, quiet, relaxing weekend there. The alleys of the old city come alive at night, with dozens of restaurants putting out sidewalk tables. They even had outdoor, gas heaters, to render the temperature comfortable, even though it was the dead of winter.
On Sunday, we checked out of our hotel and caught the train back to Britain. We tried telling the train crew that we'd just gotten engaged, hoping to get another free bottle of champagne to take home. The hostess brought us free glasses of champagne, but didn't give us a bottle. The Friday night crew was definitely more generous. It didn't matter, we were engaged to be married. It was my third engagement and D---a's second, but this time, I was going through with it.