The merry-go-round
I wish, I really, really wish, that I could end my tale on a more positive note.
Alas, that is not going to happen.
I guess it's one of those things when you start off on a project without knowing how it will finish, that the ending may well not be to one's liking.
Obviously me finding Robbie and having a picture of us as we now are, 35 years old, balding, standing together with Edinburgh castle (or York minster or the Eiffel tower) as the backdrop would have been the icing on the cake, the bubbles in the beer and the fairy tale ending to my search.
Alas, true Disney-esque endings are as sparse as honest politicians. So there will be no shaking of hands to close my story, no tears of friendship lost and then found to trickle down our cheeks and no soppy chick-flick ending to make us want to hug in relief.
No.
That's not how life really is. It would be nice, but it just ain't gonna happen!
I've scoured telephone books, I've had the electoral role searched, I've contacted my old school, I've looked on Friendsreunited.com, I've phoned and I've written.
Even the man in the grey overcoat with the Tom Waits like voice phoned up and said: "Unfindable."
And that's it. The options have run dry. The search is stranded in the Sahara of information.
Perhaps Robbie is dead, perhaps he lives in a different country altogether or maybe he just doesn't want to be found. It's not for me to judge and it's certainly out of my financial capabilities to continue.
And that's the truth and the end of it.
Okay, I didn't find Robbie, but did I find anything else?
Well, I don't know if "find" is the appropriate term to use, but I have a skanky foot left over from India, an increased balance disorder from Thailand and fleas from England. It seems that every country I visit feels a horrid desire to rub something off on me.
I'm working again, I'm living in a house again, I'm getting laid again.
Well, two of the three are true anyways...
I'm back where I started. Except all my friends and family now live in a different country, I'm working longer hours for less wages and I don't have a flashy sports car.
Sometimes it just makes me wonder what the hell it's all about.
Alas, that is not going to happen.
I guess it's one of those things when you start off on a project without knowing how it will finish, that the ending may well not be to one's liking.
Obviously me finding Robbie and having a picture of us as we now are, 35 years old, balding, standing together with Edinburgh castle (or York minster or the Eiffel tower) as the backdrop would have been the icing on the cake, the bubbles in the beer and the fairy tale ending to my search.
Alas, true Disney-esque endings are as sparse as honest politicians. So there will be no shaking of hands to close my story, no tears of friendship lost and then found to trickle down our cheeks and no soppy chick-flick ending to make us want to hug in relief.
No.
That's not how life really is. It would be nice, but it just ain't gonna happen!
I've scoured telephone books, I've had the electoral role searched, I've contacted my old school, I've looked on Friendsreunited.com, I've phoned and I've written.
Even the man in the grey overcoat with the Tom Waits like voice phoned up and said: "Unfindable."
And that's it. The options have run dry. The search is stranded in the Sahara of information.
Perhaps Robbie is dead, perhaps he lives in a different country altogether or maybe he just doesn't want to be found. It's not for me to judge and it's certainly out of my financial capabilities to continue.
And that's the truth and the end of it.
Okay, I didn't find Robbie, but did I find anything else?
Well, I don't know if "find" is the appropriate term to use, but I have a skanky foot left over from India, an increased balance disorder from Thailand and fleas from England. It seems that every country I visit feels a horrid desire to rub something off on me.
I'm working again, I'm living in a house again, I'm getting laid again.
Well, two of the three are true anyways...
I'm back where I started. Except all my friends and family now live in a different country, I'm working longer hours for less wages and I don't have a flashy sports car.
Sometimes it just makes me wonder what the hell it's all about.
posted by Mark at 12:15 PM
8 Comments:
I actually wrote a whole reply but decided to delete it all again as it could come across way too harsh, just hope that the end of your search doesn't mean the end of this blog dammit.
You never had a flashy sports car, so that aspect of life remains unchanged.
I wonder how much a private investigator would charge.
Even worse, your Warhammer armies are at my place!
Very well written.
But no Robbie? Come off it. There must be some other way to find one wee measly person?!
Maybe he got all grown up and called himself Roberto Pasqualo and buggered off to Mexico?
That's what your whole trip was about ..just to find out that you can not escape yourself. So try and make the best of it. If you stumble across Robbie fine if you don't, fine and if you're ever feeling that you've failed..just remember...Even flashy sports cars break down once in a while. That was me at my most uplifting ...now get on and start writing about some new adventure or office life or sex in Manchester or Blairs Britain or ...whatever ..just keep me reading !!! It's yer job !!!
what Profoundo said!
what Su said and yes you do look ridiculous with a tie.
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