Well it’s that time of the year when you sometimes
sit down with a nice glass of port and start brooding over
recollections of the past. Once I saw in a newspaper (Grauniad) that
Christmas time is the most depressing time of the year for those of
us who are lonely. Well kidz, let’s fix that up by discussing some
good girls who have crossed my path throughout the years. Surely this
ought to warm things up bit, innit? When I say good girl, I go for
the rather literal interpretation - not in the same sense as that
film with Jennifer Aniston in the lead, OK.
A ha, this is what you could call an optimistic
enterprise coz merely three lines into it I just found out that I’d
rather be writing a book the size of the universe than a humble blog
on the subject. So we’d make a compromise on this by cutting it
down to a mere three (Girls) and hey, since when did jumping for joy
on your own escapades become cool… Guess its totally sooo uncool
and narcissistic, so I will write about two of us - The Man Who
Smoked Pot with the Famous and Not So Famous, and myself. Just like
in Me, Myself, & Irene!
He first saw Elena at the infamous reception of the
institute at the cradle of Industrial Revolution. For the The Man Who
Smoked Pot with the Famous and Not So Famous, many a night has passed
at that place when they were all engulfed in general merriment and
what not (use your imagination here). In one cold starry night,
Elena, the beautiful goddess she was, just walked into the reception
to get something. Now she sure is eye candy, had Mr Shakespeare met
her, he would surely have penned some long eulogy in praise of her
beauty. Someone behind the desk asked her what she would consider a
good girl. Now, that is one tough question to be asked from a girl at
a night, given the other connotations. Elena, being herself, wore her
withers too high to be perturbed by small talk like that. Gracefully,
she took it in her stride and replied, “she has to have a good
heart, a brain to match, and looks that that would put Venus to
shame”. She put her hand on her face, heart, and then swept it
along her killer body while gesticulating the answer – and poor Man
Who Smoked Pot with the Famous and Not So Famous was finding hard to
keep his composure. Out of nowhere Elena had struck a chord with him,
bringing back the memories of someone else who said the same, on a
starry cold night, at the other end of the universe. Although the
conversation was brief, it was generally agreed that every man
present there would then onwards apply Elena's Law of Beauty when
measuring up women. Of all the girls you could meet on a cold, starry
night, this was someone who could surely be the full moon brightening
up entire heavens with her gentle warmth. Elena doesn't count herself
in as a good girl because she had been hell bent on helping out
others or for whatever. She counts in merely because she was born
that way. Each time she graced the halls, there was always this magic
about the air, and anyone who met her even briefly is certain that
many a princesses could lay not a claim to that accolade even in
their full regalia. Looking at her, you just know that she needs not
do nothing extra to make the world a better place, here mere presence
was more than adequate.
Leaving The Man Who Smoked Pot with the Famous and
Not So Famous, here is who you know at another reception, this time
it was the place where the sky blackened with soot of the Industrial
Revolution, and there she was, tall, slender, shoulder length shiny
blond hair falling in a cascade over her perfectly symmetrical head,
talking to the girl behind the counter of something. I have to
confess that to date I have only seen two really actually beautiful
girls and she is one of them. Shame that I never got around to find
out her name, or that of the other one for that matter. She was
standing there, one leg slightly backwards, in a semi pirouette, and
hugging her folders on her bosom, silken hair forming effortless
waves each time she moved her head. The conversation amongst the men
ground to a halt as each started noticing her at the reception, and
boy she was killing me. If there ever was a beauty contest among our
group, she'd win hands down, not even JAT could have been a match for
her in that department. I have to confess that her astounding beauty
has put fear of God into me (of approaching her) and we were never
pals. Yet she was the most outgoing girl there, holding her own when
push came to shove, yet so humble and princess like in countenance
and conduct.
I write about her not for that she had been pally
with me, but because on a day when I needed the strength to stand up,
she gave it to me. Stuck between Scylla and Charybdis, turning around
I saw her staring at me with a line of slight approval on her face.
They say Helen of Troy was the face that launched a thousand ships,
and I there I had that magic moment. Fu%#@ it, for a face like that I
could die for, a sudden rush of adrenalin engulfed me and I turned
around and said “f&*k you, this is in the wrong and I
oppose”. Had it not been for her, I'd never have done that –
and would have regretted it forever. Thank you, who ever you are.
Talking about girls, this treatise would be
incomplete without a mention of TM, the Girl Next Door. Well I know
there are a couple of films with that name, but this story has
nothing to do with them. In case you are interested, one (of the
films) has a tragic heroine and is based on a true story, while the
other is everyman's fantasy. The latter has Elisha Cutberth in one of
the most -use your imagination- roles in recent film history. I could
only think of incomparable Lauren Bacall and Lee Remick in Anatomy
of a Murder to have bettered Elisha in a similar role. Anyways, our
Girl Next Door is someone playing a different league. Good for her.
Since my secretary left, running that small outfit had become
somewhat problematic – mainly because I have never been known to be
an early riser. Post gets lost, customers come and stare at locked
doors and turn around in dismay (while muttering to God to be so kind
enough to bestow seven strikes of lightning upon me), pretty girls
walk on the street and I can't find a legit excuse to ogle them from
balcony, and most of all there is simply no one to talk to for me to
unwind after having to deal with Visa Bastards or those customers who
are on the mistaken belief that I run a counseling service.
Sometimes things get so out of hand that I could picture myself
slowly descending into madness....
In comes The Girl Next Door, who
had been so kind enough to collect post on my behalf, ring me up when
a customer arrives, who would be so kind enough to take over the task
of safely disposing documents of sensitive nature (for I hath not a shredder), and most of all who would sympathetically lend her ears to
my rantings. Life there would have been intolerable had it not been
for her. She too is one of those rare girls with a magnetic
personality and a sense of warmth about her who could brighten up a
day, matched with formidable intellectual capabilities allowing her
to discuss any topic at length. Mind you, she is no plain Jane
either, at least on this side of the Indian puddle.
As with all things, it's time for her to spread her
wings and fly up the roaring skies. Luckily she has already set her
sights on heights that rather be more homely for someone with her
capabilities than resigning to the fate of perishing her marvellous
self in this accursed building which caused a minor national
sensation when its stupid roof gave way (or rather a fraction of its
roof, to be more precise). Sometimes I wonder if she could be
actually better than me in every department – an accolade I am
mighty reluctant to bestow (mostly out of hollow pride than
perspicacity) – especially since I saw her Christmas card design
for this year. Hers was an original design while mine had that 20
pints a day plonker William Hague on it (no offence intended as I do
respect the guy). It might sound too much of a favouritism to mention
someone who had been personally beneficial on a list of good girls,
but then again if that does not qualify one on to a list what does?
For all you doubters of my selection, I invite you to
read the Bible, besides it's Christmas:
Matthew 25:35-40
(King James version)
For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was
thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in
prison, and ye came unto me. 37 Then shall the righteous answer
him.....
