The Thinks We Do For Love…And Cake.

(Disclaimer: 1.These are my own opinions and I state them as fact purely for dramatic dialogue…and because I’m a loud mouthed Scottish Pixie who likes to speak in metaphors incredibly loudly and with disregard for others perspectives on matters of the heart…bringing me to point 2. If you are currently enduring heartbreak, my commiserations to you. It is tough and gruelling and the most hateful of experiences and I warn you to proceed with caution.)

I considered this blog following cake at The Tenth Hole with some very beautiful and very special ladies in my life (there you go…you’ve been mentioned). Side note: The Tenth Hole, Portsmouth, has servings of cake that could sink a ship and has never failed to impress us, especially Riley who, I am pretty sure, would probably turn vigilante if the world supply of cake was withheld from her. I would recommend the Carrot Cake, the Strawberry & Clotted Cream Sponge AND the Mac ‘n’ Cheese with Bacon….and a side of potato wedges (which are massive).

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Where was I? Oh yes!

Love changes people; if you’re thinking of an argument to that then I deduce that you have never truly been in love. Or you do not have full comprehension of the term “love”. I should have prefaced this by stressing that not all love is the relationship with whom you share the bed/sweaty-naughty times. I am talking about true, deep and unwavering love which exists in many forms between people and is a necessary consequence of the human condition.

Yes; love changes people. It is an invisible force which makes a poet of a mute, a warrior of a coward and an angel of a demon. And although it is, by and large, unseen; it is, by no uncertain measures, felt with the force of a double decker bus to the chest, or a flutter in the belly, or barbed wire in the throat.

Seriously, it has the impact of putting an ancient, fraying recliner chair in front of an artistic masterpiece in the National Gallery. Only it isn’t the National Gallery, it’s your heart. It isn’t a recliner chair, it’s another human being. And it isn’t a Monet painting, it’s your own sense of self. Confused yet? Let me explain. You make space for each person you love. You build rooms in your heart for them and you build rooms on top of them and around them and, slowly, love becomes so much a part of your heart that it is a part of you. So when someone shifts out of your heart (a.k.a. that mouldy recliner ejects itself through the ceiling), it can be similar to someone removing a main joist from your roof. By and large, the roof starts caving in and you’re pretty damn sure that if you don’t keep it together, you’re going to fall apart completely. It hurts…remarkably similar to being flattened by a house…or so I would imagine. This isn’t Oz after all.

But it sounds pretty serious, doesn’t it? And hearts are super fragile real-estate so let’s be glad that they aren’t insurable or mortgaged! It would be a pretty expensive business, insuring against heartbreak.

However, as when most precious things break, the dust will settle…and we can survey the damage. I can assure you of one thing, your heart is still standing. It probably has a leaky roof, broken windows and dilapidated walls. But it rests on a strong design ethos that was there before love got there. Yep, it’s the kitsch tiffany lamp that you really can’t stand the sight of, that you’re not even sure you like and you’re just as unsure if anyone else likes; You just can’t get rid of it! You invested so much in it in the first place.

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It’s you. You’re the kitsch Tiffany Lamp. You’re timeless, tried and tested, built on years of intuitive and revolutionary design experience, covetable and or exceptionable quality. And when you’re in the ruin of heartbreak…you’re certainly the most beautiful thing in the room. You probably forgot that your lampshade dipped like that from the time your brother told you that you were stupid, or that you’ve got a wee chip here from when the poop-head in primary school pulled your hair, or that you’re fuse needs replacing from the first argument you had with your mother and you thought that she’d never love you ever again. Your glass is dusty, your bulbs blown but…like your beat-up husk of a heart…you’re still in pretty good nick! Just one trip to the hardware store at a time…and soon, you’ll be a functioning Tiffany lamp, again. Still little chipped, still a little crooked…but beautiful and working.

Switched on, you light up the room and slowly you can see where things went wrong. You kick yourself for putting that love there because it blocked your view of the ocean. You’ll be frustrated at the time you shoved that love in a corner because it was in the way of the wardrobe extension. You’ll laugh at the time that love flooded the bathroom floor because it disagreed with the amount of make-up wipes you used on Halloween. Thing is…you see this from the perspective of being the last thing standing. You’re still a Tiffany Lamp. No matter where you’re put or how much you forget your worth to your heart; you are still the Tiffany Lamp. If you weren’t there, people would look around wondering where the Tiffany Lamp has gone because things would be a damn sight gloomier and less colourful. You make the heart what it is.
Looking on the more positive side; love, as destructive or ill-fitting as it can be…can also be the accent to our hearts. When we’ve recovered the vestiges of the plasterboard and glued the sodding table leg back on (albeit with a slight wobble so you are always worried about your meatballs rolling off your plate) we can see places that could do with a something extra or we notice things we didn’t see before.

Real talk now; it could be a new friend, a new hobby, a new sodding lipstick (that you buy several of in case they discontinue it), an old book you forgot you had, a type of music you never thought you would like (Eminem; seriously…how could have missed your genius? Possibly because I had my head buried up Marilyn Manson’s ass with alongside my new rocks and blind love for anything but my own perspective). But whatever it is, it’s illuminated and enhanced by you; the beautiful Tiffany Lamp.

You get me?

I shall see you anon.

P.

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