Thursday, 19 April 2007

Good Company

What does it for you , or does not do IT ? Lady Bracknell describes what does, and does not, for her and Charles Dawson followed, effectively creating a Meme.

Although this cannot strictly be a Meme, because many have already commented their What Does and What Does Not to Lady Bracknell, you may wish more time than a comments box to create your own Dream/Nightmare.

If this sets you thinking of yours, create your own and let us know.

To a single lady in her fifth decade, indulging in this pastime has the potential to create yearnings, but I have a strong constitution, so onwards ...

He (for it must be a He for Me) must be taller than me, except if he is shorter than me and has a rich deep voice.

Whatever his height, he must be capable of eye contact, continuous or unflinching at times, confident, co-conspiratorial, and never have brown irises. I discovered early on in my Soul Mate Career, that if I could not read a man's reactions to me, it was because his dark eyes prevented me from seeing his pupils dilate in passion or contract in peevishness.

Conversely bright blue eyes never appealed, perhaps because they accompanied pale skin and pale hair, which did not appeal to my blood lines. Green would match mine and hazel would be interesting, provided they did not accompany hobgoblin blood and a hairy back.

He would never be bald, except if he had a noble head, and he would never ever have facial hair. I have sensitive delicate skin, and do not wish my cheeks to advertise a night of passion or even an afternoon. Besides, have you not read Roald Dahl's The Twits !

A good head of hair was important to me, until I met a man with thinning grey hair (and a paunch) who bowled me over and straight up the stairs !

Names are important, yet as it is unusual for a babe in arms to choose his own name at his naming ceremony, how can that be? Because his mother chose it of course, and mothers can have dreadful influence on a growing lad. Albert. Cecil. Derek. Eric. Gerald. Kenneth. Norman. Nigel. Percy (forever remembered for the porcelain). Raymond. Stuart. Trevor. Vince. Walter. See what I mean. You can imagine what growing up with one of those would do to a boy's character. Who could resist an Xavier, I certainly did not resist an Alexander. His mother was intelligent and cultured.

The voice always does it for me. Maybe it is a reliable indicator of testosterone, through the vocal chords. The voice can be used to wonderful effect, and a loved familiar one would always turn one's knees to jelly. A hearty laugh and a quiet chuckle would come easily to my ideal. If the voice also sings competently, anything from bass to counter-tenor, that would be heaven.

For active music appreciation is a must. Participation preferable. My first boyfriend was a pianist and the combination of attractive hands (long bony spatula fingers) and emotional intensity was very effective. I have observed a young woman achieve the same effect on her beau. A 'cello or a contra-bassoon would be equally effective, whereas a trumpet or a trombone would always be trumped by a french horn. Cymbals would be silly unless accompanied by timpani.

Hands must be warm, enveloping, communicative and responsive. He would surpass me in his need for cuddles, kisses, fondlings, hand holding, arm hugging. He would be circumspect in public.

Clothes must be suitable to the occasion and if tails are called for they would be worn with panache. I once had a boss who wore a Fedora. It kept the rain off his cigar. Even a fleece would be acceptable if it was appropriate to the job in hand, even though I abhor their take-over of normal human kind, and flee from their ability to suck moisture out of the atmosphere. Anoraks have been discussed before, and Charles Dawson's protestation to Lady Bracknell that it was a reasonable adjustment for his disabilities does not wash with me. A well worn and well waxed jacket as used by country men and women would shrug off the worst of stinky mud, if hung in the boot room and given a good stiff brushing when dry. It would also have the added advantage of not scaring the horses, or the birds bees and hares out of the hedgerows.

He would know what a boot room is and would contrive to have one, however humble his abode.

He would probably have a bit of land. If he was a land owner that bit would be a working farm. Or he would enjoy his garden or have a wheelchair accessible allotment with no straight lines.

He would have acquired huge quantities of books, and consumed many more. He would be knowledgeable about the past and enquiring of the future. His knowledge would not be dry and dusty but accumulated through interested ferreting. He would be interested in sharing the knowledge and not be afraid of his lady knowing more than him, or proving his theory wrong.

He would look forward to talking with, not to, his lady. He would naturally read aloud a poem or a passage from the novel he was reading.

He would have good manners and treat the servants with kindness. He would not have servants, but would value those who provided a service, be it the mechanic or the butcher.

He would be sensuous, and his sensuousness would permeate all his being. He would look at pictures and want me to wear silk. He would be a good cook, and a good shopper for and grower of, good food. He would be more covetous of a proper larder than of a mini fridge to stash his lager in.

He would be self aware, having survived some difficulty or tragedy, and grown deeper and stronger emotionally and psychologically, from it. Anyone who has arrived at the fifth decade single would have had some such experience.

He would not smoke anything, or drink to excess; which excess would be decided by me.

He would be demonstrative and would show his affection and appreciation daily. On high days and other special occasions he would always give his lady something she could wear, be it a flower or a jewel. If he could not afford the excessively expensive perfume or the designer handbag he would seek out the unusual from an auction, never a car boot sale. He would never present her with a kitchen gadget, knowing that things such as milk frothers and food mixers are essential household equipment, not presents.

He would be at ease with the necessary disability related equipment his lady's condition, and perhaps his own, necessitated.

More important than any of the above, he would be capable of overturning all this lady's preferences, if he was the right companion (live in or out) for her.

Except if he wore socks with his sandals.

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Blogger Sally's Life said...

Comments moderation is such a useful feature.

Friday, 20 April 2007 at 17:54:00 BST  
Blogger Charlesdawson said...

Sally, your ideal mate seems to have been designed by a combination of Barbara Cartland and Joanna Trollope, with cross-fertilization from Victorian People.

I hate to be irreverent, and if I had any self-control at all I would refrain from mentioning a discussion I overheard between two chaps on a bus once.

One guy was extolling his present girlfriend/wife to the skies for her appearance, personality and talents.

The other listened attentively to all this and then said, thoughtfully, "I'm a tit man, myself."

Silence (apart from me and my companion sniggering) until they both got off at the next stop.

Well, I told you I had no self-control.

Monday, 23 April 2007 at 14:40:00 BST  
Blogger Lily said...

lol, spoilsport! I am with you on the deep voice, especially if accompanied by a degree of burliness, a steady gaze, intelligence, a sense of humour, a sensual nature and an unpredictable playfulness. Now if only I hadn't confessed to my colleague at work exactly who had caused my blushes last Friday.....

Monday, 23 April 2007 at 18:01:00 BST  
Blogger Sally's Life said...

Oh Charles, Chuckle Chuckle Chuckle.
Truly, although I have enjoyed a quick romp through the AGA sagas, Miss Cartland has never been read so had no influence; hand on heart, it was based on the best bits (!) of those I have known, as friends or as lovers.
Which I guess is why I am single, having such high hopes for the future, but I am the great romantic and a realist, hence my disclaimer.
Loved the story 'two chaps on a bus' ... I once knew someone who was very susceptible to ankles.
I had high hopes of you, until you confessed that your manly photograph is not the real you, and that (if you remember) the noble pate, the virile moustache and the gentlemanly attired, do not reflect reality.
Nevermind, you are still, and will always be .... welcome for a cuppa !

Monday, 23 April 2007 at 20:44:00 BST  
Blogger Sally's Life said...

Lily, I am a bit thick today; spoilsport ?
You have it in a nutshelll ... see Charles, I am not the only one with such dreams.
Lily, again I am a bit dense today ... what caused your blushes last Friday ?

Monday, 23 April 2007 at 20:47:00 BST  
Blogger Lily said...

'Spoilsport' refers to the comments moderation - were they that naughty? As for blushes, the cause was he of the deep voice etc. who passed by the open office doorway moments before the rosy glow took hold. I know it's not seemly in a woman of my age and marital status, but I suspect that fleeting passions will still be causing havoc with my equilibrium when I'm in my dotage.

Tuesday, 24 April 2007 at 17:46:00 BST  
Blogger Sally's Life said...

Naughty - I wish ! Would have been jolly.
No, suffice to say I changed the word 'oiled' to 'waxed' country jacket. (Where do they come from and how do they get here ?)

Aahh ... I see ... bit of an office flirtation ? Let it rip - in your imagination only of course !

Tuesday, 24 April 2007 at 19:38:00 BST  
Blogger Lily said...

Of course! I'm a good girl, I am. Dammit.

Tuesday, 24 April 2007 at 21:38:00 BST  

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