Boyfriend troubles – that just about summed up the first part of 2005 for me, or perhaps I could more accurately describe it as ex-boyfriend troubles. I had discovered that my boyfriend of two years had been cheating on me on New Year’s Day – it’s a long, long story so I won’t bore you with it here. I spent the next six months or so in a zombified state, replete with the necessary voodoo dolls and pins that every girl needs just after she has dumped the man she thought she was going to marry.
My friends had tried to help, get me out and about again but (without sounding too pathetic, I hope) the only thing I could think about was Peter, my ex. I never knew I could be so angry and horribly sad at the same time. Although I did venture out once or twice, a bottle and a half of chardonnay only seemed to amplify those emotions for some peculiar reason. I always imagined myself as more Grace Jones than Bridget Jones but there you are, sometimes you just aren’t in control anymore.
Anyway – there came a point when I realized that if I didn’t at least try and go out with my friends then there would come a point when they would stop asking. So, one Saturday evening I went on the London underground in to the West End with my fifteen best friends. OK, it was a hen party but I knew at least half of them.
Modern hen parties aren’t quite as sophisticated or genteel as the home-bound tupperware extravaganzas of yesteryear and it wasn’t long before we found ourselves fairly inebriated and in a night club. By that time I was tired of trailing around after 15 other screaming women and decided to attempt to prop up the bar, despite the fact that my elbows didn’t seem to want to collaborate with the rest of my body.
Then Eddie popped his face directly in to mine. What could I say? To start off with nothing much as he had the gift of conversation (couldn’t really hear much over the music to be honest but he did convincing hand movements). Anyway, he and I did start a proper night club conversation (signing and shouting, truth be told) and eventually he asked me to dance by pointing at the dance-floor and gyrating his hips wildly.
How could a girl refuse? Easily, but I didn’t. Eddie was tall, tanned and Australian – a fatal three way combination for me (and a new one, too). This is the song we danced to – and I will remember it forever. They played it to death that night.
I wish I could tell you that Goldfrapp’s Ooh La La brought Eddie and myself together, that now we have a small cottage in the Cotswolds, two and a half perfect children and a labrador named Sally but that wasn’t to be. In fact, Eddie was returning to Australia the very next evening.
Nevertheless he treated me like a real lady (OK, he gave me the time of my life), restored my faith in the species known as man and taught me that a twenty four hour love affair can sometimes be better than those that last years.
I had been stumbling around for months, blinded and blinkered. Goldfrapp (and Eddie) restored my vision.
By Caroline Cloony
Caroline lives in a cottage in the Cotswolds with a labrador named Sally.
