Maintenance

To the university to see Maelstrom Dance, in the company of two beautifully dressed women. Karen, PhDer and former lodger, who has decided never to buy any new clothes again, and who has the figure to fit tightly but sexily into her repertoire of beautiful old dresses; and Marianna, my former pupil, now also a PhDer. I had two jobs at Lancaster Girls' Grammar School: teaching music and controlling my eyes.

Marianna wears quiet blacks, greys and whites, colours with which an attractive middle aged woman can hardly go wrong. On the bus with her, I say "Have I told you about this woman in Leicester I'm seeing?" "Well, sort of, yes - you keep sending me texts meant for her."

They sat either side of me in the theatre's frigid bar. I like being seen out with them both. This is the kind of woman I know. Over-sexualised female undergraduates held handbags on the crook of their arm. Too-short acrylic miniskirts required constant tugging at the back.

Marianna and I went down Grad Bar afterwards. Beautiful well-kept beer from a bar that has achieved ten straight years in the Good Beer Guide. A cheerful but predictable band played the Led Zeppeling and Mötorhead covers for which the English have an endless appetite.

Marianna was talking about the Megaupload prosecution and the SOPA bill in the US. She was more informed about the arguments that I am. I just think the owner of Megaupload is ugly. I met a old uni pal who is doing a fascinating sounding PhD about the ethics of public surveillance, starting from Kierkegaard and Levinas. I like how, when drunk, he always forgets that he's told me several times to read Either/Or. "You must read Either/Or," he said. A little bit tipsy now myself, I smiled broadly, conveying the wrong meaning.

She doesn't like me being quiet for even a day or two. I sent her a brief email this morning with the subject "Silence Worry Avoidance Email" to reassure her about not reacting quickly enough to her email. An email that is so sexual and articulate, that I'll read it over and over again. But sometimes she makes me feel pressured into a quick reply. She wrote back saying that she hopes she's not starting to "feel a bit high maintenence."

"You are, a bit", I didn't say. "To the extent of having to remember to contact you at night and in the morning." When I'm turned on, I like it. It's more direct then. Sometimes though, I do it out of form, which is a shame because like all relationships, you start off by thinking "this is the one in which I will be honest."