addictive personalities

There comes a time in life when you should face the fact that you have certain, deeply-engrained personality traits, usually ones you'd prefer not to be saddled with. One of mine is addiction. Many times I've blogged about my passion for chocolate. That's a common addiction.











Less common, perhaps, is a passion for perfume, whether it be men or women's. There was a time when I had little hesitation in accosting a passing man to ask what his aftershave was, usually prefixing the question with a firm declaration that this was not a 'come on'. As I grow older, such behaviour becomes less easy. The second last time was in Brunnen, Switzerland, where I was spending a few days toute seule researching for a novel. The man in question was hanging out in the grounds of the most magnificent hotel, mentioned, I might add as justification, in the novel I'm currently rewriting. I eventually plucked up enough courage to ask him what the smell was, adding that I wanted to buy the perfume for my husband - true. He gave me the name and I scuttled off, feeling embarrassed, as well I might.


My arguably shameful behaviour attained new depths at the weekend. The venue, a swimming pool, the target, a man swimming up and down in the lane next to me. The trigger - the most gorgeous smell I've encountered for some time. So I waited for him to reach the end of the pool, and embarked on my usual preamble 'This isn't a pick up but...' To my increasing awkwardness, it turned out he was Spanish, with limited English. And, to cut a tedious story short, the conversation got nowhere.

Mid-sentence, I suddenly realised that the smell was coming from another direction, and turned to see one of the gym staff striding along the side of the pool - not to arrest me for harassment, I hasten to add -followed by 'the smell'. I made my apologies to the poor Spaniard who only wanted to swim in peace. I waited, once more, until the gym attendant passed me, and began with 'I have an unusual question for you'. His eyes narrowed, his skin bristled, like an animal sensing danger. I followed this with ' Please don't misunderstand, but are you wearing a lovely smell?' His response was 'Yes.' And a moment later, I was clutching the name of the aftershave to be stored in my memory box until I got home. I hoped the Spaniard hadn't noticed and think I was some sad middle-aged frump desperate to meet a man, any man...




Yesterday, en route to the Melting Pot, to actually write, not procrastinate, I popped into my local grocer's shop for my daily 'fix'. Fry's cream chocolate. To my dismay as I reached for my purse I found I didn't have it on me. To my further dismay, when I asked the shopkeeper - who knows me - if I could pay later, he hummed and hawed for a stressful 10 seconds then stared at his knees until I accepted his non-verbals as a 'no' and left the shop as bravely as I could. I felt bereft. How could I write exquisite prose that afternoon with low blood cocoa levels?
























So, chocolate, perfumes. Whatever next? Well, there is the computer game - Weasley kitchen game. No money exchanged, only an ongoing internal dialogue 'Just one more game, if I don't get my million score, I'll leave it. Come on, you always say that, and the one more game becomes another ten, when you could be doing something USEFUL.' This addiction is most definitely under control. Or to be accurate, it's not taking me to the dangerous situation a couple ended up in when they were found guilty of neglecting their children because of their dependence on computer games.














But what about online auctions? I blogged recently about the woollen tea cosy I wanted to buy for an elderly relative and my sickened reaction when someone outbid me at the last minute. As I write, I am bidding on Ebay for a second hand copy of season 6 of 24, a US tv series. There's one other bidder and some tactical stuff going on here. Any minute now, I will check the site and see if it's time to increase my bid by another 25 p. Closing time for bids, circa 30 minutes. The tension grows...


So, yes, I 'out' myself as having an addictive personality.

20 mins to go and I'm still the highest bidder but I'm now competing against five others. Perhaps I should embrace recklessness and increase my bid by 50p?

30 mins later, I can report that in the end I was the highest bidder, due to an emboldened increase of 50p, then a panic as my internet access disappeared, sending me spinning into paranoid state, convinced this was deliberate sabotage by another bidder, like me sitting at her computer having a late lunch from the remains of last night's pork stir fry, and debating her tactics. Happily when I realised the problem was affecting the other internet users at home, I knew what to do and my internet access returned after switching off the modem for 30 seconds.




Triumphantly yours

Jane




P.S. Ironically, having finished writing this post, I went off to play tennis with my son, stopping at another grocer's shop for my daily fix. The person in front of me in the queue smelled heavenly. I followed her out of the shop, and asked her what the perfume-to-die-for was and joked about having just finished blogging about my perfume obsession. It was easier asking a woman for such information, but one still has to be careful. Her demeanour was tolerant, her answer was that she was wearing the original Agent Provocateur - what a wonderful name for a smell. I trundled off to the courts, making a note to add this to my list of most acceptable presents.