My friends always laugh with (or at) me when telling me how quickly my life changes.  Events occur in my life with such rapidity; I put the speed of light to shame.

And so it seems this is the case with the amount and frequency of relationship advice I seem to have received recently.  I don’t mind receiving the advice at all – heaven knows I clearly need it – but it is the origin of the advice that amuses me the most.

First of all we had Lenny the gate man, who not only asked me out on a date, but gave me huge pointers here and there, most of which, I have to admit were sound.  Yesterday I summoned my old faithful TV repair man to come and help at home for a big problem I currently have:  a willful six year old and an even more willful thirty nine year old who oddly enough don’t like watching the same television channel at “TV time” – from five to seven every evening.  I am so over Hannah Montana it is scary, even though I love her song “The Climb”, but even more of a problem is that my six year old has absolutely NO patience for my favourite soapy The Bold and the Beautiful and she is tired of seeing who Ridge will marry next – Taylor or Brooke – the same love triangle that has been going on since the very early 80’s.  To me, this is nothing short of fascinating, but not to my daughter.  Clearly two televisions are needed.

Anyhow, I digress.

Along comes Steve, the ever faithful TV man.  Of course I get the questions – “what the hell happened down there?” followed by a statement that I wasn’t sure was a compliment – “but HELL, you are such a BELTER, he was mad to let you go!”  Belter???  I have Googled this and I keep getting told to refine my search criteria.

The TV man did manage to help me in one way, with the actual TV issue I have – this is extremely good news; he also sat down with me over some tea (I am clearly kind to men in the trade and feel obliged to serve them tea) and said quite calmly, “Philippa, it is time to get back on the bike – you need to start dating again”.  My response “Steve I can’t, I am not ready”.  Steve’s response, very directly, “bloody nonsense, of course you are ready”.

I sent Steve on his way, but did spend the day thinking about what he had said.  Am I ready?  What am I afraid of?  In terms of getting “back on the bike” – it just doesn’t seem that easy to me – not only do I now know that a fall off the bike is not only likely, but most likely inevitable; I am also all too familiar with the bruises, scrapes and cuts that come with that fall, and I am just not sure I feel like that.

But the cherry on top was still to be had yesterday.  Returning from a dinner with my favourite taxi driver, Minute (yes, that is his name), I got the twenty questions again, “so Philly, no boyfriend yet?”  My reply, “no, Minute, no boyfriend yet”.  “But why not?” Minute asked.  “Because I am scared Minute”.  Minute then launched into a statement that I found profoundly amusing – “so you want to spend the rest of your life alone, like a dog?”  Suddenly this struck home – like a dog???  I am not sure that dogs are to be classified as beasts that are alone, but it made me somehow feel that perhaps being compared to a dog is not an analogy I am altogether happy with.

And so the moral of the story:  If one chooses to listen to men in the trade, most of which have known me well for a long time, and whom I am inherently honest with – does one follow their advice?  Is it finally time to get onto the bike and out of the kennel?