Today’s game was particularly frustrating.  I hate when I do everything right and they still score goals.  And it’s worse when your defence lets you down.  We were playing so hard in the first half.  We were in our offensive circle, taking tons of shots, had a few penalty corners and we ought to have scored.  But we just couldn’t convert any of the shots.  Then the second half arrived and our lack of fitness in comparison to the other team was glaring.  My defence seemed to just give up, and also began to yell at each other.  I tried to calm them down during a penalty corner but they wouldn’t stop.  And that was our demise.  While they were in our defence, one of my backs turned to yell at another girl and the player she was in charge of marking ended up getting the ball.  I dove to try to stop the shot, but it went over my head and there was no way for me to stop it.  I did the right thing.  Reacted the right way.  And yet we lost 1-0 because my team just couldn’t get it together.  After the game finished, the crew was quite sullen.  Each was blaming the other.  Luckily our coach stepped in and gave them all “a right bullocking” as he liked to call it (he yelled at them).

“The only player on this team who deserves to yell at anyone is Liane.  She is the only person who constantly was doing the right thing.  The rest of you need to look at your own play before you start screaming at another player.  So shut it.  We’re going to forget this game, head back to the club and I’m buying the first round.  After that, you lot better be buying ME the beers.”

While embarrassed to have been pointed out as the shining example (teacher’s pet, teacher’s pet), I was silently relieved that someone had said what I really wanted to say.  Not that I did perfectly, but that we had all had our bad moments.  This was a team loss and not just down to any one individual’s level of play or commitment.  Hockey is funny that way…it takes a team to lose and to win.  One person can’t do the entire job.

We all went back to the club and made a group decision to pull ourselves together.  And to have fun.  It was a good decision and made the rest of my Saturday a much nicer one.  I didn’t really want to go into my school trip in a bad mood.  It’s never good to be around teenagers, even ones who are not your own, in a funk.  We had a couple of drinks, I turned down a shot or two (I’ve learned my lesson years ago…shots are not for me!) and then I made my way back to my house so I could shower and relax.

I knew it had been a while since I had hung out with my flatmate, so we decided to go out to dinner.  I called Callum to tell him that I’d see him some time after that, since we didn’t really have any set plans for the evening.  He was actually thrilled as the guys all wanted to stay at the club, grab a pizza and watch football all night.  We then made the joint (and smart) decision that it’d be best for us to have the night apart.  We’d each get our girlie/guy night out and could enjoy each other’s company at dinner on Sunday.  Before we got off the phone, he told me that he was going to be bragging about how cool I was to all the guys.  I guess some of their girlfriends had a fit if they asked for guy time.  Personally I always thought that men became useless if they didn’t have time to spend with their gender.  And quite frankly, I was up for girls’ nights out regularly to recharge my girlie meter.  Any woman who flipped about a men’s’ night out clearly had some sort of issue (be it jealousy or otherwise).  If he always went out with the guys and never prioritized me, then that would be a different story, of course.

Amy and I decided to go to our favourite Indian place for dinner that night.  Taala was just around the corner from where we lived and had an amazing reputation for being inexpensive, authentic and having fantastic tasting food.  Neither of us was into supremely ‘hot’ food but we liked our Indian to be well spiced.  Taala never faltered in that respect and we usually went home completely stuffed to the gills.  Like many small Indian restaurants that appeal to the masses, Taala was very simple in design.  All it consisted of were a few rectangular tables built out of wood, red walls with a few interesting pictures from various regions hanging precariously and nothing more.  It was not a fancy restaurant where you would take a first date.  It was a place where you went to eat, and eat well.

My mom and dad had lived in India for a year when I was in my twenties.  It was one of the last things they did together before the divorce.  I had visited them for several weeks and had come to love the cuisine.  I had a few favourites, but attempted to try different dishes out each time I went to Taala.  I loved the customs of the Indian people and the varied beliefs and foods from the various areas.  It was just such a cool culture, and if I could only touch a small piece of it through the food I ate, then that made me happy.  I hoped one day to return to the country which had infected me with its spirit and wonder.

I decided to go with lamb dopiaza and Amy went with a fish curry.  My dish is one that is made with a lovely sauce.  Dopiaza is prepared with an extra large amount of onions which have been cooked for a while, getting all lovely and caramelized.    Amy’s fish curry was in a coconut sauce and sounded amazing.  We both decided against a starter because we knew we’d be full up just on the main dishes and we wanted to have room to go out for drinks afterwards.  We sat and talked shop; about the kids who we were worried about, about our trips in the upcoming week and about a few of the teachers who were being particularly bitchy for no apparent reason.  Amy was heading to Rome for her trip and was looking forward to the gelato more than anything else, as she had already seen Rome a few times.  Amy really wanted to begin her own trip, but hadn’t gotten her act together soon enough, so she had to join another trip instead.  I told her that she really couldn’t complain.  We both knew that these sorts of trips were something special that we got from living overseas and working in an international school.  The biggest trip I could remember taking when working in the States had been camping.  It just wasn’t quite the same.

After our dinner, we decided to walk into West Hampstead to get rid of our full feeling and to check out one of favourite pubs, The Traincar.  We knew we could usually find a seat and the clientele was quite delish.  Always had a few yummy Australians and a few Kiwis.  Even though I felt that I was taken, there was nothing wrong with lightly ogling some eye candy.  Plus Amy was single and I didn’t see any reason why I couldn’t be her wing-man for the night. Ah, the wing-man.  It was a position of friendship which involved having absolutely no problem with talking to random men.  I had done this many a time before with friends all over the world.  We would see a couple of guys drinking beers at a table.  We would notice them noticing us. The single amongst us would pick out which guys we were attracted to.  Usually at least one of them would come over and ask us if we’d be interested in joining their group.  And the wingmen would hone in on the guys who none of the single girls were interested in, so that the other guys could become suitably engaged in conversation with the appropriate singleton.  This was something that was done around the world and by men as well as women.  I had been wing-manned much time when hanging out with single girlfriends and you just had to accept it with grace if your friend was interested in the single guy.

We took up our ‘position’ at the bar, checked things out and saw that our favourite seats were being vacated at just that moment.  Score! We rushed over with our coats and plopped down, ready to do a bit of flirting.  The closest group of men were not our type at all.  Way too buttoned up business men flaunting their cash and speaking too loudly (to get attention).  While it would be nice to be treated to expensive drinks, we also knew that we were not going to be there type (not in short skirts and high heels, nor blond), so we turned our attentions elsewhere.

We moved away from the bar and went to find a place to sit or at least lean.  We lucked out and got a small table tucked away in a corner.  We wouldn’t be able to see the band but we’d still hear the music and at least we were sitting.  I was definitely past the age where I found standing for hours to listen to music an enjoyable thing.  We sat sipping our beers.  I was really enjoying my bitter while listening to the background noise and music.  I liked the fact that Callum and I could hang out and feel comfortable not having to talk constantly.  As a counsellor, I was trained to listen and it came so naturally that I wasn’t prone to constant chatter, even though I was able to do so if needed.

Eventually Callum and I started talking a bit about what music we listened to during our teenage years.  He already had heard about my punk rocker chick look and I think he expected me to have only listened to the hard core punk music.  I surprised him by also being into the basic ‘normal’ 80s stuff.  I told him that it was due to my love of dancing and while 80s music wasn’t really great to dance to, it was better than hard hitting punk.  I also enjoyed New Order, Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, Violent Femmes…well, he got the idea.  Not punk so much as alternative music.  Music you could only hear if you lived near a college town with a station that actually played this music.  Especially in the US.  In order to buy records by these acts, you’d have to go to a specialist store and buy the imports.  Which were more expensive.  So I didn’t buy any, but just tape recorded what was on the radio.  Yes, again, I’m that old and yes, we actually did that back in the day.

While Callum had listened to some of the music that I did, he was more of an early 90s teen/young adult, and so listened to a few different bands.  His favourite artist back then was U2, which I had to give props for.  And of course he also listened to Kylie, Madonna, Queen and Wet Wet Wet.  From what I could tell, it was a standard mixed up list of music from that time which many Brits had enjoyed.

Slowly the lights dimmed and we knew the music was coming on.  I had no idea what sort of music this was going to be, but I figured it would still be enjoyable.  How wrong I was.  All of a sudden I heard these lyrics floating through the bar:

Girl, come on over here
Let me hold you for a little while
And remember I’ll always love you
Forever
Everything changes but you

We’ve said goodbye, the taxi cab is waiting
Now don’t you cry, just one more kiss
Before I have to go
Hey girl I know the situation changed
And so much is new but something in my life
Remains the same cos

Everything changes but you
We’re a thousand miles apart
But you know I love you
Everything changes but you
You know every single day
I’ll be thinking about you…

The band playing ended up doing cover hits with their favourite band clearly being Take That.  I was not up for cheese that night (sorry to all those who enjoy Take That…I’ve enjoyed it in my day, but cover bands doing it…ick) and they just weren’t that good.  I guess it explained the large number of late teen and early 20-something girls who seemed to get into this music.  We decided after just a few songs and having finished our beers that we would depart.

We walked up a bit to the North Tavern where we knew we could have a good beer and find a few friends.  Millie and her contingent were there in full force, already a bit tipsy from a few hours session at the bar.  We sauntered up to the bar, ordered our drinks and then went and talked to the rest of the crowd.  While I would have enjoyed spending alone time with Callum, I still thought it was going to be a good night with the crowd.  I really was going to have to keep an eye on my drinking though because playing field hockey goalie while hungover is never a good idea.  Imagine a typical hangover, with the resultant headache and tummy issues.  Now put yourself in big bulky equipment…strapped into large padded trousers and a large metal helmet.  Then imagine balls flying at you and you have to throw yourself around.  You don’t get the benefit of sweating it out by running around, so the symptoms just remain and get worse and worse.  You sweat a bit, but can never ask to be taken off the pitch.  Throwing up or pooping are not an option.  So, yeah, I was NOT going to drink too much.

At around eleven, the bar rang its final call bell, and Callum and I decided it was time to leave.  We said our goodbyes to the group who seemed bent on going to the Underground Bar that night.  Better them than me, I thought.  I had a weird sort of respect for my friends’ ability to drink and stay up late.  I hadn’t done enough of that when I was in my early 20s and somewhat regretted it.  While I knew my liver would thank me for years to come, I still felt like I had cheated myself out of the craziness that you can have as a 20-something, which feels a bit pathetic as a mid-30 something.  And because I had those inner feelings about my age and how I should act, I knew that I would always have a small barrier between myself and a lot of the players in my club.  They were in that prime crazy time in their lives when they could be spontaneous, not know what they were doing and be a bit out of control.  Yes, it felt bad at times I’m sure to not know what was going to come next, but at the same time, there was a freedom to it.  My thirties had been wonderful so far and I loved being my age, but I felt a bit ‘old’ at times around the other players and just in a different place.  Perhaps this would change after a bit of time around people.  The barriers would break down.

Callum and I took a bus down to Maida Vale and got ready for bed.  It was oddly becoming a routine for us.  He would put toothpaste on both of our brushes (he had purchased one for me) and I would get us glasses of water for the bedside tables.  It almost, but not quite, made me a little bit nervous about that moving too fast thing.

Sleep was getting easier night by night.  Despite being a light sleeper, I felt very comfortable in Callum’s bed.  Perhaps the fact that we had a ton of room on either side of us (thank you bed manufacturers for making super king sized beds!) or perhaps it was because he radiated the perfect amount of heat which kept me comfy.  Some of it was probably just due to being more and more okay with each other.  And tonight, instead of doing anything sexual, we just collapsed into the bed, had a quick cuddle and fell asleep.

Snort, snort, snort.  What the heck?  I looked at the clock and saw that it was 3 am.  And Callum was snoring away.  How had I slept through this before?  It was seriously loud.  I gave him a little nudge and he stopped for a bit.  Ah, sweet silence.  And then even the white noise of his fan was cut through with another snort.  No, no, no.  I want to sleep.  But I knew it would be futile.  So I shoved the guy.

“Wah, wah? Liane, what the hell?  Why are you pushing me?”

“You’re snoring.  It woke me up. And it’d 3 am.  Stop it.”

“Sorry, can’t help it.  Drink.  I’ll try.  All righ….” and he fell promptly back to sleep.  This time without the snoring.

After about thirty minutes, I was able to fall asleep again, and stayed in bed until the alarm went off at 9am.  Callum had an earlier game than I did, and had to meet at the clubhouse at around 10-ish.  I didn’t have to be at the club until 11am so I was just going to head home to grab my kit and to change, then head on over.  We toasted a couple of bagels, added garlic and chive cream cheese, and made cups of tea.  We sat and watched a cooking show while eating, and then Callum and I walked out of his door.  We went to the bus stop to catch two different buses, and when his approached first, I grabbed him and gave him a lusty kiss.

“Until tonight.”

“Good luck, my pretty girl.  I’ll see you later.”

My bus took some more time to arrive, and I noticed that there were a few young women waiting along with me.  Ahhh, the walk of shame.  I was not alone.  I had to laugh to myself as we were all in varying states of ‘un-doneness.  I was still in my nice clothing from the night before as I forgot to bring a bag with me, though my hair was still looking rather nice (which happened on occasion, thanks to good mousse and my curls).  A few had very apparent bed-head hair, and one of them seemed to be wearing a guys shirt partially un-buttoned.  Early Saturday mornings were definitely going to give me some amusement.

I rang Callum about five minutes from his flat to let him know I’d be there shortly.  I was riding the 98 bus and sitting on top.  I loved, loved, loved sitting on top of the double decker bus, especially if I was in the front seat.  You could see everything that was passing by.  It was almost as if you were a secret agent and spying on people’s lives.  I would get a glimpse of a bedroom with a young man only half dressed.  Or I could see into someone’s back garden and see them barbequing.  The world would pass by quickly with little snippets of individual lives.

Callum was at the front door when I arrived, looking a lot more refreshed than he had earlier.  Of course, he had his smile on and the crinkle of those eyes.  I felt like I was just being sucked further in by the depth of them.  Breathe Liane, breathe.  I walked up the stairs and planted a big old smacker on his lips.  Figured I’d keep him on his toes.  He chuckled and then grabbed me a bit more tightly and continued the kiss beyond that initial moment.

“I can play the same game Liane.  I give back as good as I get.”

“Bring it.”

We went inside (I’m sure to the delight of his neighbours who were probably gagging with the sight of us) and he handed me a Chinese menu.

“So what do you want?  I’m a big fan of their Sizzling Beef with Spring Onions.  And I definitely want a few spring rolls.”

“Give me a sec and I’ll let you know.”

I perused the menu.  I loved deep fried squid, but thought better of it.  Prawns in mango sauce sounded kinda yummy, but I just wasn’t in the mood for sweet right now. Mmmm…kung po chicken.  Now that definitely would appeal.  Spicy, chicken, peanuts.  Yup, I had made my decision.  But I didn’t want to start with spring rolls, so I went with sesame prawn toast instead.  Chinese food was one of those other things I had to get used to in London.  No, not the fact that they had Chinese food, because it did exist in the places I had lived.  It was more the differences between the two nations’ choices.  I didn’t have access to my favourite sesame chicken.  And they didn’t have the same general tso’s chicken.  For those of you who are not in the know, it is a deep fried chicken dish with a spicy red sauce.  Lush, and has nothing to do with real Chinese food.  It’s totally an American thing.  But I still miss it at times.

We put in our order for delivery and Callum gave me three movie choices:  Before Sunset (ala Ethan Hawke), King Arthur (with Keira Knightly) and I Robot (with Will Smith).  I hadn’t seen I Robot before though I wanted to, so chose that.  Sappy movies weren’t really the thing I wanted to watch with a guy I was just starting to date.  I cried way too easily and he didn’t have to know that quite yet.  I figured I’d do a lot less crying to a robot movie.

We decided to wait for our food to arrive (somewhere between 30-40 minutes) and watch a bit of cooking television instead.  Callum had my same passion for food and loved cooking.  He cooked for his parents almost every week when he went to visit them.  We debated the use of a roux versus corn starch in thickening sauces, and enjoyed seeing Nigella’s take on deserts.  Her bread pudding looked fabulous.

Before the show came to an end, our food had arrived.  This time as Callum paid the driver, I let him know that the next time we ate together, it’d be on my tab or at the least, I would cook for him.

“Great, you can help me christen my flat in two weeks after you return from your trip to Italy.”

The joy of Chinese food is one that can’t really be described too much in my opinion.  There’s something about the spices that are used that just make my tongue cry out in joy.  I always wished that I knew how to cook it a lot better or at least do more variety than the basic stir fry.  I didn’t think there was a cooking show on that focused on Chinese, but perhaps I could get a book from the library and try it out.

I Robot is a film that is based on a short story by Isaac Asimov.  I used to love reading his work, so I hoped that I’d enjoy the movie.  Plus, well, Will Smith was just a bit of fun in most of his movies.  I couldn’t help but think of The Fresh Prince every single time I saw him.  The movies basic plot, which revealed itself as we watched, is that a detective, Spooner,  has been saved by a robot.  This robot saved him instead of a little girl because it computed survival rates.  The detective has the normal survivor’s guilt and that gets transferred to a hatred of all things robotic.  It’s the year 2035 and robots are being used more and more.  In checking out the possible murder of the founder of these robots, Spooner believes that robots have begun to break the Three Laws and so are now very dangerous.  Of course, they have, and all hell breaks loose.  Spooner is involved in a robotic chase scene (somewhat cool) and with the help of a ‘good’ robot, saves the world (though you never know…there could be a sequel).  We laughed a lot, had a few smooches in the middle when it got a touch boring, and felt okay about having rented the movie instead of having gone to the theatre to watch it.

By the end of the movie, it was about 10pm, and I was getting tired after my lack of sleep from the night before.  I knew it would be a struggle to sleep again that night, but I definitely wanted to do this.  I let Callum know what time I woke up, which was a bit of a shock to his system, but he rallied and came to bed with me a few minutes later.

No, I’m not changing my policy of letting anyone know what went on between the sheets, so quit asking.  But I’ll let you know one thing.  His kissing is getting even nicer.

School the next morning was a bit of a challenge, particularly as I had to teach.  How do you talk about physical health, particularly sexual education with kids, after having stayed the night before at your new boyfriend’s house (yes, I said the word) and not giggle?  But I survived it.  Actually the kids kinda get into this topic (for obvious reasons) and had written a few good questions on our 3×5 cards.  For example, one child asked if you could get pregnant if you had your period.  The answer, yes, you can get pregnant at any point during your period especially if you don’t know your ovulatory cycle.  Next question, can you get pregnant even if you don’t have penetrative sex?  Yes, sperm are amazing little buggers and if they get close enough to the opening, well, they can do the job they are meant to do.  I asked all the kids to try to put a condom on our model and the ones who thought they knew what they were doing (and were cocky about it) definitely needed a bit of remediation.  We talked about the exact way to do it and what could go wrong with condoms (like tears and the like).  Most of the kids had explored the topics of sexually transmitted diseases in the past through other health programs, but they definitely felt like they learned even more that day.  The pictures I used were a bit graphic, but it’s always good to use both education and fear with teens.  Sounds sadistic, but it’s really not.  Fear is a good motivator, or in this case, a good bit of birth control.  I probably ought to show these to a few of my friends!

After class had ended, I walked back to my office.  I love my office.  It’s huge.  And I actually have chairs that kids want to sit in.  My goal for next year is to buy a futon or couch so that I have something so comfortable that kids are drawn to my office.  If you can’t be cook (and I’m not) then you have to have a great office and good candy as a counsellor.  One of my students walked in behind me and asked if she could ask me another question about what we were talking about in class.  Of course!  She went on to ask where she could tell a friend of hers (a friend, eh?) to go to get tested for sexually transmitted diseases.  I loved the easy ones, and gave her the number and name of two local places.  I talked about the fact that it would be free and confidential.  I also encouraged her to tell her friend to start using condoms and to have them on her.  That if a boy said he didn’t like them that she should say, well too bad.  Yes, it’s a hard conversation to have, one which a lot of adults won’t even partake in, but it was the kid’s responsibility to take care of herself.  I then gave her a candy and told her to get in touch with her friend soon.

As the week progressed, Callum and I tried to connect via the phone at least a few times.  I called him after my field hockey training on the Monday, knowing that he’d be awake (night owl).  He called me on Wednesday knowing that calling after his training on Tuesday would be a bad idea (not a night owl).  We made plans to get together again on Friday and go listen to some music at a local club.

Now you have to know something about me.  Even back in my youthful days, I enjoyed music, but they weren’t a driving force.  Some of my friends would spend all their money on albums (yes, I am that old that we had records), while I would be more focused on food and clothing.  I loved to listen to the music they bought, but I wouldn’t plan on going to the concert with the.  Now, as an adult, I’m one of the few of my friends who doesn’t worry about having the latest music available to them.  I may listen to the radio every so often and I do listen to my 80s compact disks that I’ve purchased or have gotten as a gift (more likely), but that’s about it.  I enjoyed smaller concerts and while going to graduate school had spent quite a bit of time in a small jazz bar in Wilkes-Barre, Pa.  Music was a way of expression for many people, but it wasn’t so much for me.  So going to a show with Callum was going to be fun, but it wouldn’t rock my world in any way.  Plus neither of us really wanted to be out too late due to early morning field hockey games.  Yes, we were both that dedicated.

I met Callum at the pub at around 7pm on Friday.  We were early enough that there wasn’t really much of a line and entered within ten minutes or so.  We quickly went to the bar to grab a drink after dropping off our coats on two chairs.  I decided to try out a new bitter that I saw on tap while Callum went for his standard lager.  One of the many things I enjoyed about living in London was trying out new beers.  I definitely was never going to be able to drink the bland beers of old that I had drunk in the States (you know, the ones that rhyme with ‘tours’ or ‘killer’); I was hooked on tasty bitters, stouts and other sorts of beers available here.

I walked home from Callum’s enjoying the unseasonably warm weather.  When I arrived in London, it felt so hot.  I had heard that English summers tended to be wet and cold, but it was definitely in the 90s Fahrenheit (over 30 Centigrade).  And because it doesn’t tend to get too warm, no one has air conditioning, so the places I stayed in were also quite warm.  The autumn was shaping up to be similar, with warmer temps and sunny weather.  In a way I was disappointed as I kinda wanted to experience all that gloomy rain.  I supposed I would get to experience it eventually.  The funny thing about living in London (and possibly England, I suppose) is that weather is a huge topic of conversation.  Whereas in the US, you might talk about your job or your house during a conversation with a stranger, in London, small talk turns to the weather.  My hockey teammates keep telling me that sometimes you can get several seasons of weather in one day.  It can start off all grey, rain a bit, then hail, and then suddenly go warm and sunny.  And then rain again.  All within five hours.  So it becomes one of those things you talk about.  The talk at this point was about how hot it had gotten and how sunny it still was.  That we ought not get used to it.  That it was way to warm for hockey.  Another thing I’ve found is that most people like to complain about the weather.  Funnily enough, it’s really not as changeable over the seasons as it is in Pennsylvania.  The temperatures tend to stick between fifty and seventy-five degrees for a large part of the year.  And in the winter it rarely gets below freezing.  There were years in Pa when I’d experience a 100+ degrees in the summer and -20 degrees in the winter.  Now that’s changeable!

As I walked up Kilburn High Road, I looked within the shops.  On my right was a butcher, which was closed on this Sunday.  I had seen some of the yummy steaks they had in their window before and thought to myself that I needed to try them out.  On the left was a fishmonger, who I had tried.  Had some amazing monkfish which I had never experienced in the States.  It was all lovely and chunking and held its shape; perfect for a Thai fish curry!  I passed by a bunch of dollar stores and thought about stopping in to see if anything was interesting.  Maybe a candle or two would be a nice addition to my bedroom.  But I worried that the smell wouldn’t really be all that great or lasting.  Hmmm…a clothing store that actually looks like it might have one or two items that I would buy.  Need to go in there.  Sweet!  I really needed a basic black belt and they had one on sale.  Yay!  And I remembered to bring my debit card with me last night.  Sold.  Oooohhhh, a lovely green top.  I don’t own any green tops.  And it would go so nicely with my black trousers.  But I don’t really have a ton of money.  I think I ought to wait.  Wah.  I don’t want to wait.  I do love shopping, and even more so when I have money to shop with.  Can’t do it.  Just can’t do it.  I’d have to give up food for the week, and as I love food, it just can’t happen.  Leave the store with the belt and walk away.

I finished my walk back home up near a lovely coffee shop.  The pastries were calling out my name, but I knew that I definitely did not want to eat them.  My dad’s wedding was coming up in another month or so and I wanted to fit in my bridesmaid’s dress.  Oh, I hadn’t mentioned this yet?  My dad was getting remarried.  The ‘rents had gotten a divorce a few years earlier, after all sorts of craziness (I try to forget it so I can get on with them).  Dad met a cool lady through church, became friends and realized last year that they actually had tons in common and he found her attractive.  So he asked her out and badabingbaddaboom, they got engaged shortly after.  My future step-mom was lovely and they were clearly in love, so I was happy for them both.  I had already lost about ten pounds in the first month of living here (less food and lots of walking), so figured I’d look quite hot in the pictures.  I loved the deep red of the dress.  I was also looking forward to heading back to Pa and seeing some friends and my family during Thanksgiving (when the wedding was being held), so it was going to be a winner of a situation overall.

I entered the house, saying ‘hello’ to our neighbours along the way, and was greeted by the sound of my flatmate clapping.

“Bravo.  Pulled a bloke within the first few months of being in London.  Not bad work.”

I had to laugh.  She wasn’t really off.  This was so unlike me.  Yes, I rushed into relationships once they presented themselves, but usually I waited a few month to even start thinking about dating after moving to a new place.

“So, how was it?”

Oh, the tone, the tone. I knew exactly what she was asking about.

“Actually, he’s a great kisser.  And he does cuddling very well.  Other than that, can’t really tell you much cause I don’t know.  But they do say a good kisser tends to be a good…well, you know.”

“All right, you don’t kiss and tell.  I get it.  But don’t expect any details when my boyfriend comes to visit.”

“Hah…I won’t have to ask for details…the walls are too thin!” And with that I winked and then walked upstairs so I could have a shower.

I turned on the radio we kept in the shower, hoping that my favourite station would play a few good ’80s songs for me.  And I wasn’t disappointed.  I got to sing a great couple, such as “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”, “Crazy for You” and “Total Eclipse of the Heart” (prom song for my year I think).  But my favourite was this one (see if you remember…) as it felt like it fit with my current situation:

There’s something I want to tell you
There’s something I think that you should know
It’s not that I shouldn’t really love you
Let’s take it slow
When we get to know each other
and we’re both feeling much stronger
Then let’s try to talk it over
Let’s wait awhile longer
Remember that special night?
When all of the stars were shining bright
We made our first endeavor to stay together
We made our very first promise
To love, to share and be real honest
But on that very first night
It wasn’t quite right
Let’s wait awhile before it’s too late
Let’s wait awhile, our love will be great
Let’s wait awhile before we go too far
I didn’t really know not to let all my feelings show
to save some for later so our love will be greater
You said you would always love me
Remember I said the same thing too
You don’t have to be frightened with my love
Because I’ll never give up on you
Let’s wait awhile, before it’s too late
You know, you can’t rush love
Let’s just take our time
Love’s so good – sure I’ll love will be there
Slow it down
I promise, I’ll be worth the wait.

Can you guess?  Does it ring a bell?  Yes, it is “Let’s Wait Awhile” by Janet Jackson.  As I ended my shower, so did my singing, and I heard my flatmate remark, “Thank god that’s over.”  Bitch.  (Not really, she knew I could hear her and said it on purpose just to try to get a rise out of me. She’s funny that way.)

I then went and called my mom because it was my week to do so.  We chatted a bit about the upcoming wedding, which she was fine about (or at least she said so).  I talked a bit about hockey and school.  She then told me about her classes, and we chatted about what we were both teaching in Psychology.  Amazingly enough, we were on the same topic, Biological Psychology, so we conferred about experiences that we could give the kids during these lessons.  Finally, because I knew it would be better if I said something now rather than wait a few more weeks, I told her about Callum.  She too had to comment about rushing into things, being a mom and all.  I told her that I wasn’t rushing into anything (kinda lie in a way) and that we were taking things slowly (kinda true, sort of) and that he was a really, really nice guy (entirely true so far as I could tell in these early days).  She felt a bit appeased, but being her, I knew I’d get some sort of piece of mail telling me to be careful.  She just did that sort of thing.

It brought back memories of being nineteen and home for the summer.  I had done the hooking up thing in college like most of my friends and felt a lot more mature than I was. (Got I was so not mature in any way…just a touch less sexually naive).  Mom noticed that I had gotten a call from a guy and wrote me a long note about how to handle dating or something like that.  The memories are a touch hazy, but I know I read this note and just was flummoxed.  My mom trying to give me advice.  Ugh.

We finished off our phone conversation by making plans to get together for lunch some time during the week I was in Pa.  We were both looking forward to it.

I looked at the clock and realized that it would be six o’clock shortly, so I went to my wardrobe to choose my outfit for tonight and another for tomorrow at work.  I decided to go the black route for both events.  Jeans and a black sweater for tonight.  A black skirt and a black and white top for tomorrow.  Same shoes would work with both, which would save room in my backpack.

One big difference I noticed in living in London versus the States was in the clothing storage arena.  In the States, I almost always had a relatively large closet built into the room.  The only exception was when I was living in my parents’ house which was over 100 years old.  I had a teeny closet then.  In London, there weren’t a lot of places with closets built in.  Most people purchased wardrobes or cupboards.  Mine was from IKEA and very cheap, and it was quite small as I didn’t have much space to put it in the room.  So it restricted the amount of clothing options I had.  Luckily, it seemed as though people weren’t quite as consumer based as Americans, and so didn’t have to own masses and masses of things.  I used this idea to pare down my clothing to a bunch of options which could be used interchangeably.  Black was the main component.  And I think I looked very put together despite my lack of skirts and tops.

I grabbed my stuff from the bathroom, put my wallet and other things in the backpack and told my flatmate that I’d see her the next day.  She rolled her eyes and said, “See ya!”  I tripped over the lip of the doorway (and heard her laugh), and made my way to the bus stop…it was a bit dark to walk comfortably through Kilburn and Maida Vale.

OMG…the joy of the English fry up.  It’s something that almost makes up for the loss of the diners I used to frequent back in the States.  Almost.  The fry up, or Full English breakfast, is not something you want to eat every day if you’d like to remain a normal size or if you aren’t doing massive amounts of heavy labour in your job.  But it’s an amazing treat which is loved by many, including myself.  A fry up consists of several, if not all of the following: eggs (I like mine fried but sometimes I get scrambled), bacon (and usually it’s back bacon and not streaky which I prefer), fried bread (you don’t want to know), mushrooms, baked beans, baked tomato slice, sausage and black pudding (I don’t really eat this as the thought of fried blood makes me feeling like yakking up my guts).  Some places add things like chips (French fries), hash browns or white pudding, as well as a variety of many other odd and unique items.  I was looking forward to this disgustingly greasy bit of yum.

We walked into the little corner shop just in time to get a seat for two.  The waitress asked us if we wanted coffee or tea, and I selected coffee (so American of me) while Callum asked for tea (what the Brit!).  What I really enjoyed so far about this budding relationship is that we rarely had any problem finding things to talk about.  Yes, I know, early days, but in other relationships I just found that I didn’t know what more to say at times.  As a counsellor, I was taught to listen, and quite honestly it’s something that comes quite naturally.  It’s actually not a huge wonder that I became a counsellor just because of my listening skills, honed by the non-stop chatter that my friends sent my way.  I actually didn’t learn how to make small talk until after I got to college and wasn’t surrounded by people who were always blah, blah, blah-ing around me.  So when we finished ordering and then sat there and just looked at each other, I actually burst out laughing.  Callum looked at me quizzically.

“I was just thinking about the fact that we’ve done nothing but talk most of the time we’ve been together, other than well, when we were doing other things, and right now I can’t think of a thing to say.  But I also feel like that’s okay as well.”

Callum chuckled a bit and agreed with me.  “Actually, I’m a bit tired and I’m pretty sure my brain has completely shut down.  I think I have lots to say to you but it’s just not accessible at this moment.  Maybe after I have some tea and eat a bite, I’ll be more ‘on’ than right now.”

“Agreed.”

Tea was sipped and coffee slurped (it was a bit on the hot side).  And another cup was ordered.  As the food showed up in front of me, I began to feel so much more human.  Despite only getting a few hours of sleep, I was actually feeling a bit jazzed.  I’m sure the evening with Callum had a lot to do with it.

“Have I ever told you how much I love an English breakfast?  It’s just such a great thing to have when you’re completely wrung out.  The grease, the salt, the protein and carbs.  Only a pancake breakfast in a deli in the States could compare.”

“Mmmmm…I used to go to one that had the most amazing grilled cheese sandwich.  I could never get them to tell me what they put in it that made it so different.  And the french fries.  So perfectly done.  Americans know how to do bad for you food so well.”

After starting the conversation, there was no going back.  We just nattered on for about an hour as we ate our food and drank our beverages.  Cool.

We walked back to his flat after breakfast so I could pick up my bags.  I had left my goalie kit at the club and figured I could leave them there until my training session on Monday.  I’d just pick it up after work.  We continued a bit with the small talk, both wondering how this day was going to end.

“So what are you going to do for the rest of this Sunday?” asked Callum.

“I think I’m going to take a nap, do a bit of work, than relax.  And you?”

“Not sure.  Probably watch a bit of footie, order in some Chinese.  That sort of thing.  Do you have a lot of work to do?”

“No, just a bit of laundry, maybe look over a few notes.  Not much.”

“I know it’s a bit early, but knowing that you’re busy tomorrow night and I’m busy the next night, I was wondering if you want to come over for Chinese?  And maybe just go to work from here?”

“Oh.  Um.  Sure.  I’m just going to head home, take a quick nap, shower and then I’ll grab my stuff and come on back.  Six-thirty-ish sound okay?”

“Yeah.  See you then.”

I was a bit shocked.  I mean, I liked how he was thinking and all, but never expected such a quick invite to return.  I thought he’d ask me out for the weekend or something like that.  Wow.  He really liked me. Stop.  Wait.  What do you think of him? (Remember those rules?)  And in thinking about it, I realized that I liked him too.  He did make me feel good.  And I enjoyed his company.  We seemed to have plenty in common.  Not bad for early days.  Yeah, this would do.  My flatmate would probably give me utter shit, but I didn’t really care.  And yes, he would be exposed early on to my lovely morning ritual of many hair products, but I figured he could handle it.  I wasn’t so sure about my early mornings though, they tended to be a killer.  I was up around 6:15am so that I could have a good hour to get ready and then get to work before school hours began.  Of course, this time I’d have to actually walk to work, so I might have to leave a touch earlier.  I guess I could rush a bit more.  Plus I wouldn’t have to think about what to wear.  That would seriously shave off ten minutes or so.  And as he didn’t have anything in his fridge, I’d probably have to get breakfast at work, so that too would lower the amount of time I’d need.  Maybe I could, gasp, get up at 6:30 instead!  With my luck, he had the kind of job where he didn’t have to be at work until 10am, and so slept until 9 or so.  Eh.  He’d get used to it.  What choice did he have?

He was the kind of guy who actually puts his hands on either side of your face, looks into your eyes and then kisses you.  After that, there are so many things which could go wrong.  I’ve kissed guys who had what I like to refer to as lizard tongue, with an in-out-in-out movement of their tongue, never stopping, never taking their time.  I’ve had the full on open mouth clashing of teeth kisses.  The slobbery wet kind of kisses.  And my personal favourite (not), the tongue swisher kiss with his tongue going all over the place.  While not as romantic, I prefer the small kiss, where the guy doesn’t really open his mouth or use his tongue.  Or the tongue sucking kiss, which you don’t need an explanation of.  But Callum did none of these.  He used the perfect ratio of tongue, lips, hot breath and sighs.  I still get hot just thinking about it.  And clearly I wasn’t half bad at kissing cause he didn’t stop for a good hour, with a bit of appropriately roaming hands in between.  Yeah, this was exactly what I needed.  Oh, baby.

After a while, we slowed down a bit, the passion which had taken over dampening a touch.  Not that I wasn’t still on fire, but I think we both felt a need to see how the other person was doing.  Kissing like that was very self-involved in a lot of ways.  A bit more about taking than giving, but giving nonetheless.  We pulled back and looked at each other.  I already knew that I was fully flushed with the excitement of the session and saw that Callum was in a similar predicament.

“Wow.”

It took me a moment to reply cause I felt like I had lost all my words.

“Yeah.  Wow is a good word for that.  Actually, no ‘wow’ doesn’t even give enough.  I don’t know of a word that would do it. Okay, I’m going to stop now.  I’m just blabbering on and on.”

“You’re cute when you blabber on and on.  I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do.  Less talk, more kissing.”

“I like a girl who is direct.”

And I looked at him with a serious (slightly jokingly harrumphing) look and pointed at my lips.  And so commenced part two of our make-out session.  After about a half hour, Callum grabbed my hand and asked me if I was ready to go to the bedroom.  I’m quite certain my eyes got big and I turned bright red, but I definitely was ready for the next move.  He led me from his box strewn living room into his lovely large master bedroom.  I wasn’t noticing too much about it because we kept just looking shyly at each other and then looking away.  We sat down on the bed and…

Now, I’m willing to kiss and tell, but I won’t talk about anything further than that, because I think it’s just something that is very private.  I’ll just let you know that we didn’t do anything that we weren’t ready to do.  I’ll leave it up to your own imagination (dirty minds the lot of ya!).

One of the toughest things for me to do is sleep outside my own bed and if another person is added to that equation, well, it tends to be a sleepless night.  I’m a light sleeper by nature.  A bit too much light or a few random noises and I’m up.  I figure that in terms of evolution, I would have been quite the hit.  I wouldn’t have gotten mauled by lions or other beasties because I would have heard the rustling in the high grasses.  No marauders would have been able to sneak up on a sentry like me.  But in our modern times when you really need to be able to sleep almost anywhere at any time, I was the loser.  As you can imagine, I wasn’t fully looking forward to the night.

Callum and I were in the midst of a serious cuddling session (gotta love them) and he then asked me how I liked to sleep.  I figured that he had already expressed to like my own brand of honesty, so I told him that I had trouble sleeping while tangled up in someone’s arms; though I loved the idea of it, it just didn’t work for me.

“Whew.  I can’t do it either.  It’s why I own a super-king sized bed.  I need my space.  I know it’s not so romantic and all, but I’ve been known to throw people off my body while I sleep, so I figure it’s better if I have more bed and less potential for bodily harm.”

This was the first guy who had ever stated this to me.  I’m sure there are plenty of poor guys out there who feel the same way and probably many who had ended up in bed with me thinking that they had to do the all night cuddle thing but hated it as much as I did.  There was a distinct possibility that I might actually get an hour or two of sleep.  Not that this was my focus at all, Callum was, but I figured if we were both going to try to sleep next to each other, we might as well do it right.

“I’ve installed blackout curtains so we don’t have to worry about light and I keep my fan going most nights cause I like having the white noise.”

The man is a god.  Seriously.  I think I might have to marry him just because of this.

I then took a look at the clock and realized that it was already 5am!  Holy cow.  A few hours would be a good idea.

Sleep was still a bit fitful despite all the positive aspects that surrounded me. Probably because I was over-tired and this was all new.  But at least I actually slept for the first time with a guy on a first night.  Many firsts.  I liked it.

I woke up around 11am to an empty bed.  While normally that would worry me, for some reason it didn’t.  I got up, put on my jeans and top, and wandered into his ensuite bathroom.  Nice room.  It was a good size with both a tub and separate shower.  The sink was resting in a cabinet and had old fashioned looking silver taps.  The tiles were white and black and ran up most of the walls.  On the painted portion, Callum had hung up a clock and a small picture of a seaside scene.  The floors felt oddly warm, so I assumed it had under floor heating.  I took a look into the mirror to find my face and hair not looking too worse for the wear.  All my makeup had worn off though I had a bit of black smudged under my eyes.  My hair was a bit messy, but at least it wasn’t totally in knots, the curse of the curly-haired.  I sprinkled a little bit of water on my face and ran my hands through my hair hoping to tidy it up a bit.  I didn’t think I needed the hair tie which I had brought with me.

I turned back into the room and got a chance to actually look around.  His walls were the normal rented flat beige.  He had put a few black and white pictures up, showing scenes of nature.  Nice and kinda Ansel Adams-like.  I wondered if they were something he took or something he had purchased.  His bed definitely did dominate the room, being quite huge.  It was a room I could imagine spending more time in, if I got the chance.

I then decided that I ought to find Callum and let him know I was awake.  I turned off his fan and walked into the living room.  Callum was lounging on the couch in a pair of track pants and a tee-shirt.  He was adorable all crumpled up that way.

“Hi.  Did you sleep okay?  I did better than I thought, though it was still somewhat in and out.”

“Me too.”

“So, you want to go somewhere for breakfast cause I don’t have a thing in my fridge?  I know of a great little place in Queens Park that does a wonderful fry-up.”

A pause

“Though it’d be fine if you have to go home or something too.”

Another pause as I smile at him.

“I’d LOVE to go out to breakfast with you.  Whenever you’re ready.” And I walked over and gave him a quick peck on the lips to let him know that I was really happy about what had happened that night.

“Hey there.” And with a kiss on the cheek, I knew that Callum had finally arrived. He was a bit stinky in that boy sweat sort of way; a manly smell which did have its good points. He dropped off his kit next to my seat and told me he’d join me after showering. I turned back to the game and noticed many eyes pointed in my direction. “What?”…”What?” I figured I’d wait for Callum to come back and HE could deal with all the questions that were sure to come our way. Today was definitely our official coming out of the dating closet. The rest of the evening was a fun one. A bunch of us ordered pizzas from the local place and they found another match to watch. More and more of the players, both male and female, came in and out of the club, stopping by to say ‘hi’ or to stay for a while. Many people had other events to go to, but it was always a great place to meet and start off the evening. Cheap alcohol and crazy friends will always that sort of draw. As the game drew to a close, I knew I was going to have to make a decision. It’s that one that most women are always a bit worried about, particularly if they really like a guy. Should I or should I not go home with my new man? On one side you have the argument that holding off for a while will make the guy want you more and show that you aren’t ‘easy’. Not being particularly religious, I’m not swayed by any moral argument. But I did want this relationship to continue, so I thought about how long to wait. I knew I liked him, was attracted to him and would love to wake up next to him in the morning. Hormones were definitely in the driver’s seat at this moment and it was taking some effort to get my brain engaged. In the past, I had gotten both positive and negative results from both waiting and rushing in. I guess I’d have to go with my heart and hope for the best. Callum asked me if I wanted to go to the Underground bar for another drink. And I told him that I wasn’t really in the mood, but would still like to spend more time with him. Perhaps alone? I was always a decent flirt but trying to be all sexy or alluring was NOT my strong point. I am way to “New England” for that. I think he quite got what I was saying and drew me along to the street. I have to admit that I was pretty much shaking on the way there; so nervous about what was going to happen. But, I also knew that I had prepared for such an event in some ways. The day before I had gone to my new waxer. She had tried to convince me that I needed a brazillian, which was the latest craze on its way. After telling me what it was all about, I said, “No way in hell.” and got a normal bikini wax. I had perfumed, worn matching underwear (thank you Marks & Spencers) and had brought a hair tie just in case. I had even cleaned in the event that we went back to mine (and warned my flatmate what could be taking place this weekend). The plight of women that they had to think about these things ahead of time, while guys just worried (I hoped they did worry a bit) about being showered and having no underwear in the wrong place in their flat. Callum wasn’t into his West Hampstead flat quite yet, which would have been very handy. He was living not too far away in Maida Vale so we walked down to the local cabbies shop and ordered a taxi. It only took a few minutes before we were on the road. Callum looked a bit nervous as well, which actually made me feel better. I hadn’t really ever thought about how nerve wracking this could be for a guy. At least not in the moment. I think women tend to forget that men do have emotions somewhere in there and do stress about things. As we walked up the stairs to his top floor flat, he turned to me and said, “Please know that everything is in boxes so the place looks like a tip. It’s clean, but as I’m moving in two weeks, it’s not so tidy.” As I was a clean but not tidy kinda of person, I let him know that this was not a problem at all. While not being totally low maintenance, I was certainly not a high maintenance kind of gal and didn’t have expectations of perfection ever. I decided that I needed to help out the situation. Being a counsellor does have its advantages, with one being that I’m not afraid to say what I’m thinking or talk about what I’m feeling to people. I knew that just putting what you feel at the moment can sometimes make a situation work better. “Callum, I have to tell you that I’m a bit nervous. Excited, too, but nervous. I’m not sure what your expectations are. Actually, I’m not sure what MY expectations are.” Callum blushed a bit, but pulled himself together and laughed. “You keep coming out with some unexpected stuff Liane. Seriously. Who says those sorts of things? You are so honest and I love it. And yes, I’m excited and nervous too. Let’s just see where this takes us without any expectations. I’m just happy to be spending the night with you in my arms and to wake up beside you in the morning.” Died and gone to heaven. Yup, I was a lucky, lucky girl, to have a guy who would say such things. Now we had to see if there was action behind the words. We went and sat on the couch and Callum turned on the TV. He turned it to a music channel that was playing 80s and early 90s songs and videos. It was the best choice he could have made. In no time, we were talking about memories we had about these songs, from first dances, first kisses as well as total relationship mishaps. There were a few videos that I hadn’t seen in ages and they had us both laughing. Who could forget videos such as “Walk like an Egyptian” by the Bangles or “Beat it” by Michael Jackson? The video, “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak came on. “God, Helena is so totally stunning in this video. I always wanted to look like her.” “Yeah, she’s pretty hot. But I have to tell you that I think you are so much more beautiful. Not only are you attractive, but you are also such a good person from what I’ve seen so far. Plus, I like a woman to have a bit more on her body than Helena.” That was it. I had to kiss him. And what a song to do it too. “No one could save me but you Strange what desire will make foolish people do I never dreamed that I’d love somebody like you” Damn. He’s a good kisser.

It’s always fun watching boys watching sports.  They love to act like they are so cool most of the time, but when it comes time to cheer on their team, they become like little boys again.  A gleam of excitement enters their eyes.  Some lean forward, hands on their legs, ready to yell at the television.  They may use obscenities, cry or even throw a minor temper tantrum.  Things may be thrown.  And it doesn’t matter if they are twelve, twenty or fifty-eight, you’ll see the same response each time.  I guess that since I grew up in a sports supporting family, I came to understand just how this happens, and even appreciate the response.  Many of my friends hated sports watching days (like Saturday, Sunday or even Monday night), because it just had never been the norm for them.  I even enjoy watching sport for a while myself, though perhaps not to the same extent as most males.

As the hour progressed, I ended up chatting with a few of the women in the clubhouse.  While some were interested in the rugby match, they still were up for a bit of gossip.  We talked about the games we had played, how we wished the teas served at the club were a bit nicer and about the guys hanging out all around us.  There were a few decently looking men in the room, but no one was quite as cute as Callum.  The conversation then took an interesting turn; what level of hockey should the guy you are dating play?  One of the members of the ladies’ 1st team was dating a guy who played for the men’s 5th team, and this was looked upon as a bit mad.  Why date someone who wasn’t as talented as you?  Would it not hurt the male ego that their partner was superior to them?  How far down the ladder could a woman date?  Or how high ought a man?

I was quite lucky as Callum played on the men’s 1st team so I was never going to be higher than him.  According to the girly rules that we were discussing, it was best if you never went more than two levels below.  That meant I could date someone on the men’s 4s, but never the 5s or 6s.  Okay, fair enough.  Hah!  Such constraints had never meant a thing to me.  I had dated men of various colors, guys ten years younger and fifteen years older, as well as people with disabilities and a man or two who were shorter by quite a lot.  Really.  It would never be an issue to me.  What I hoped for was a guy who I could just have as a best friend.

One of the things I had talked about with Callum on the phone was the fact that I had been pretty close to engagement during my mid-twenties.  Saul was a guy who I had been set up with at the end of my senior year at college for a big event.  And I thought he was quite cute, interesting and I knew he was smart as he was at my Ivy League school and going to medical school in the autumn.  We ended up dating after that.  In the beginning, it was exciting, as we were dating long distance.  We could talk on the phone, I’d come and visit him once in a while, and there was a kind of romance to it all.  After one year, I found a job working in marketing quite close to him in New Jersey, and we ended up seeing each other a lot more. One year later, I wasn’t sure this was the guy for me.  Yes, he had a lot going for him.  Yes, he seemed to be a good guy.  But there were issues: he was very Catholic and I was Protestant, he wanted me to make all the compromises as he was in medical school and busy, and finally, but worse of all in my mind, he wanted to live in New Jersey near his family for the rest of his life.  He didn’t have the heart of the explorer.  And while I could understand wanting to stay in a big city for life, living in suburban New Jersey was just not my cup of tea.

I stuck it out for another year because he felt that “we were worth the effort”.  And I was afraid of the dating world after college.  How would I meet people?  It finally came to the point that I realized that I didn’t see him as my best friend.  We didn’t share enough.  And quite honestly, I thought that he was potentially cheating on me like his two roommates.  I couldn’t do it.  After going to a friend’s wedding and talking about doing it ourselves after he graduated and found a job, I felt ill.  I knew it had to finish as my fear of the unknown was less than my fear of ending up in an unhappy marriage.

I learned a lot from that relationship as well as the many others that I entered along the way.  Firstly, you should question more whether you like the guy than whether or not the guy likes you.  Secondly, does the guy make you feel better about yourself and feel like you are the best thing since sliced bread?  Thirdly, does the guy encourage you to go for your passions?  And finally, can you talk to the guy about anything, and I mean, anything?  These four things are really important and add up to a guy who is your best friend.  Of course, there has to be a lot of attraction.  But attraction is never enough.  And I had plenty of short term relationships to prove that I followed what I preached…if they didn’t fit the criteria then they didn’t date me.  It didn’t always save me from heartache, but it at least kept me honest.

We ended up winning the game.  Hurray!  And so everyone decided to come back to the club to celebrate.  We had teas available for the other team, but they declined to return to our clubhouse, so we were going to get fed too.  Teas at clubs varied from bread, cheese and other small snacks, to jacket potatoes and fillings.  We had beans, sausages and chips (french fries).  The team tucked in and ordered a bunch of beers and soft drinks, then plopped down in front of the television to watch a bit of rugby.  Having played the sport for a short while myself, I could happily understand the game though I didn’t have any ties to the final result.

I was planning on sticking around as our game had been a late afternoon one, so brought all my shower stuff with me.  We all decided to head down to the changing room and turn on the sauna, thus sharing in a team ritual that had happened for year.  We showered, wrapped ourselves in towels and with beers in hand braved the hot air.  Gossip was the main topic of conversation and eventually someone brought up my date with Callum.  All the girls clamoured to hear about our night out, after a few saw me at the Tavern.  I gave them the basic rundown of the evening, leaving out the money bit, and told them that the kissing aspect was divine.  Lots of squeals and “awwww” ensued.  I took the ribbing with the attitude it deserved and left the sauna feeling the camaraderie that had built up over the prior month or two.

As per usual I wore my favourite outfit: bootleg jeans in dark blue, a fitted red thin cotton sweater, a pair of mid-heeled black stretch boots under the jeans and black dangly earrings.  I didn’t do too much with my hair other than adding a bit of product and allowing the curls to air dry.  I was sparing with my makeup, using only mascara and a bit of tinted moisturizer plus lip balm.  I didn’t go all crazy or try to look like anything other than myself.  This time I didn’t buy a new outfit nor did I go out of my way to look like I put in too much effort.  As I said, I was trying to be calm about this all…and clothing added or subtracted to my madness I think.

I walked up the stairs to the clubhouse hoping to see Callum, but he wasn’t there quite yet.  I certainly wasn’t going to call him to see where he was or to ask if anyone had seen him.  God forbid!  A couple of his new guy friends were lounging around and threw a little nod my way.  Obviously we were now known as a couple.  I had seen that nod given to other women before and it always had the same meaning.  Then one of them put me out of my misery.

“Hey Liane, Callum was just looking for you.  I think he had to run to talk to his estate agent about the flat he’s trying to buy.  He said if I saw you to tell you that he’d be back in about an hour.”

Okay, an hour or so, I could handle that.  So I grabbed a beer at the bar and got comfy next to my center midfielder who was cheering on Ireland to beat New Zealand, but really didn’t have any hope.

When I got to university, I was very interested in studying a variety of areas in psychology.  I took the requisite core courses, but then went on to explore.  I tried out developmental psychology, which was fascinating and helped me understand that I really didn’t want to work with little children, as I enjoy the talking through things aspect of psychology.  I did some biological and cognitive psychology, but found that it was a bit too “sciencey” for me.  Then I started looking at motivation.  And THAT was a huge hit.  I ended up finding a mentor who was interested in marketing and advertising as well as women’s issues.  I wrote two long papers, about 30 pages or so for my junior year, and focused on how we influence and motivate people.  I began to explore the world of advertising a lot more and discovered a new love.  In the year following my sophomore one, I had done an internship at a local newspaper in the advertising department.  I found it to be a lot of fun.  I suppose part of it was that it was my first non-physical job (cocktail waitressing and painting in the years prior).  So my senior year I spent time focusing on how advertisements influenced young children’s attitudes toward play and toys.  And it clicked.  Here was a job I could do without having to go back to school again, which was appealing after an Ivy League education.

So I spent the early 1990s attempting to find a job in advertising and marketing.  It wasn’t the easiest task considering that the financial climate wasn’t so hot.  I ended up working in retail to start with, which was great experience, and turned to temping.  This brought me to my first job in a marketing firm, with a focus on point of purchase couponing.  Have you ever gone shopping and they hand you a coupon along with your receipt?  Well, you may have gotten one that was made and researched by me.

I discovered after a year and a half at this job that it wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to do.  Possibly I could have landed a job doing something much more interesting, because at one point I had an interview with Conde Nast, but in the end, I decided that it was time to go back to school and get a further degree.

I applied to a few school, including one near my old prep school.  My high school told me that if I was accepted at the local university, that they would let me coach, teach and do my internship there.  After hearing that this university would be very flexible about the program and would allow me to take primarily night courses, my decision was made.  And the three years I spent working at the school (for free but getting great experience) were the best I had in my life so far.  I found my calling, to be a high school counsellor.  I didn’t want to go into public schools, because the folks who were doing that said that they were doing more paperwork and college or career counselling than helping kids with mental and emotional health issues.  But in private schools there was a separation of counsellors; some did the college thing, some did the social and emotional thing.  I was excited.

After talking to Callum about my experiences, I figured that he had enough and began to ask him more questions about his life.  I found out that he was an only child, and yet, had a very large family in London.  He had something close to twenty cousins!  I would have thought that he would have wanted many children himself, but he thought that one or two would be perfect.  He had loved his life as an only child, even though he felt his parents focused a bit too much on him.  I felt a slight twinge when he talked about children.  I knew, at age 35, that it was possible I might not be able to have kids.  This would eventually have to be a conversation we’d have in the future, but for now, it wasn’t worth getting into.  Who knew if we’d last that long.

The evening was coming to a close, which was a good idea for me as I had such an early start the next day.  If it had been the weekend, I’m not sure I would have been so restrained about my time with Callum.  The more we talked, the hotter I thought he was.  He just got my hormones racing.  Callum walked me to my house where we had a serious make out session.  I can’t even tell you how amazing his lips felt on mine.  I think I almost swooned!!!

Callum and I left each other definitely wanting more.  And we planned to meet up on Saturday night at the hockey club as a friend was having a birthday party there.  There was an addictive quality to this relationship, which slightly frightened me.  I had always been someone who fell hard and fast, ignoring the signs and signals that guys tended to give, but which I didn’t want to hear.  I knew I’d have to take this slowly and harden my heart a touch.  I realized that this was the ‘baggage’ that everyone talked about, the messages and worries that you bring from past experience.  So I decided to work very hard not to fall for Callum.  I could enjoy my time, but not plan too far ahead.  I had so few things going for me so far in London and I didn’t need a broken heart on top of the mess at school.

On Friday morning I was a bit exhausted, but also excited, as we were talking to the kids about the school trips we were taking in two weeks.  I was thrilled as I was going to be going on the Florence and Tuscany.  We were going to spend two days in Florence, one day in Sienna and then one day at a winery-olive oil farm just outside a Tuscan village.  This was going to be my first European trip since I moved to London and the fact that it was free and already planned made me even happier.  I couldn’t wait.  The other two chaperones had done this trip a few times and assured me that it was an easy trip which allowed for shopping and good food.  Oh, yeah!  As this was my first year at the school, I didn’t really know very many of the kids on my trip, though one of the Mentors was going.  I knew I could count on him to keep things stable.  Taking charge of twenty students was never going to be easy, especially when alcohol and drugs were so available to them.  Perhaps me being the school counsellor would help them make better decisions (at least out of fear of me catching them).

Playing field hockey is one of my biggest joys.  It’s also a huge frustration.  When you are the goalie, you can’t afford to make mistakes, and as I’m human I do.  This weekend we were going to be playing one of the top teams in the league, Southgate, so I knew that I’d get some pressure.  I always began the warm-up with my teammates.  I think it makes them feel like I’m truly part of the team and it gets me all psyched up for the game as well.  I then go and change into my kit while the field players hit the ball back and forth.  The kit is an amazing thing.  It’s made out of dense foam which protects your feet, legs and hands.  In the game, a goalie is the only one who can use his or her body to touch the ball and get rid of it.  In addition to the foam armour, I also have a pair of padded pants (similar to American football or ice hockey pants) and a padded chest & shoulder protector.  On top of it all, I have a whole head face mask.  When one of the students saw a picture of me in my kit, they said I look like I’m a warrior in a space fight.  Being a goalie, it’s kind of a weird thing.  Most people think that you are mental because you don’t mind throwing your body in front of quickly hit hard plastic balls.  But honestly, I’ve gotten less injuries than most of the field players I know.  I’m well protected plus I know what I’m doing.

The pre-game warm-up continues as a few players hit a ball to me for me to kick back in their direction.  It gets the eye-foot connection going.  I need to be able to direct a ball where I want it to go instead of just reacting.  Then the team does a few hitting drills, pounding it at the goal.  I guess I can see why someone might question my sanity, but the reality is, you have to be very mentally healthy and have good ego strength to be the best goalie you can be.

When I was playing in university, I ended up getting a coach who wasn’t my biggest fan.  I don’t know why, but she could have worked with me to make me even better.  In my sophomore year, her first year of coaching, I ended up winning a record with my goals against average.  And I was written up in very complimentary terms by other school’s papers.  So why she decided the following year to knock me down, I’m not sure.  I didn’t have the best mental strength and so it didn’t take much, but it was really hurtful.  I ended up having some issue with my body, issues playing hockey and just issues with myself after that year.  But I kept playing cause I’m stubborn and I love the sport.  It was so refreshing to be playing with people who truly appreciated you and to get coached by someone who only wanted to see you get better.  I was actually playing at a higher level now and playing much better than I ever did in university, despite being a ‘mature’ player.  I hadn’t lost anything but only gained it.  The only good outcome to the abuse I had received as a player was that it ended up making me stronger, and at 35 I now felt very good about myself and my abilities.

As the game began, I felt my nerves act up.  It happens every time.  And I did my normal ritual of deep breathing and pulling my focus to the game.  I would shout out direction to the field players so that I would stay in the game and I made sure to keep moving so I wouldn’t get stiff.  As the ball began to head toward my end of the pitch, I started my own internal monologue.  Keep your eyes on the ball, make sure everyone is marked, weight forward, head up, arms held high, attack the ball.  Every second slowed down as they got closer and closer.

The ball entered our defensive circle and I started yelling out directions to my players. “Mark the player.  You get on the ball.  I got the cross.  Watch the top of the circle!!!”  A shot was taken and saved, my rebound heading toward the sideline.  A pass across and I dove, hoping to get the ball before the player got their stick on it.  Another save.  And it began to move toward our offensive goal.   Come on girls, let’s score!