What is love?

It occurs to me that love means different things depending on what age you are. In particular what it means to a youngster is not what it means to an oldie.

A youngster may never have been in love, and may not even know what it feels like. They may confuse love with all sorts of other feelings. Have they fallen in love or is it something more prosaic? Is it just a crush, an obsession, fondness, friendship, or simply lust? Asking other people may not help because it's such a personal experience and impossible to explain.

There are plenty of examples of youngsters who thought they were in love, rushed into marriage, and then a short time later realised it wasn't love at all and had to divorce.

An oldie like me however knows exactly what love is because I've been in love with Jenny for 43 years and the feeling is well established. I have no problem telling love from other similar feelings. When I fell for Jenny it was the first time I had been in love so it only gradually dawned on me that that's what it was (I didn't really love my parents, I appreciated everything they did for me but that was it).

Is it love if the feeling isn't reciprocated? That's something I'm not sure of even at my advanced age. I thought I was in love with a bookshop workmate but she never reciprocated so was that love or just a one-sided crush? And what about all those people who say they "love" a public figure - a show-biz celebrity or one of the Royals - even if they've never even met the person? How can that be any more than devotion or admiration?

What is love? It's complicated....

Love actually

I think it's about time this entry from February 2012 was reposted....

It's funny how when you start a relationship with someone, you've no idea how long it's going to last. It could be 30 days or 30 years. Or 30 minutes. Which is one reason why making out with someone new is so exciting.

When I first met Jenny at a central London bookshop and nervously fixed a date, I hadn't a clue what would happen.

We might have had a violent argument 10 minutes later and both walked off in a huff. We might have tried our best to get on with each other and decided it was a case of Mr Chalk and Ms Cheese. One of us might have had some personal passion the other totally detested.

If anyone had predicted we'd still be seriously in love over three decades later, I'd have scoffed and told them to catch themselves on*. I'd have said, how likely is that when relationships come and go like taxis. Surely sooner or later we'll get bored with each other, get itchy feet, and start looking for an upgrade.

But the months and years rolled on and in some mysterious way we found ourselves still together, still enamoured, despite all the predictable squabbles, misunderstandings, grievances and stand-offs. They were never severe enough to break the deep bond that had somehow established itself.

That we've reached the present day in such enduring harmony never ceases to amaze me. It's as if we've been on a long journey through unfamiliar territory with a thousand opportunities to get lost, get eaten by wolves, fall into a ravine or be crushed by a landslide, and by some miracle we've avoided all the dangers and reached our destination.

I can only give thanks to whatever guardian angel is looking after us and keeping this old banger** on the road.

* come down to earth. A common Northern Irish expression.

** the relationship that is. Not Jenny or me.

(I've changed the image again. Jenny and I have slipped back into anonymity. Well, you've all seen the real us now....)

Cupid's arrow

Holy haddock! Jenny and I have been together for nearly 33 years. How did that happen? How come we're still so besotted, so enamoured, so captivated? How come we never derailed, how come the train never left the tracks and plunged down a cliff? How come Cupid's still cheering us on?

It's extraordinary really. Jenny's never left me for another man (or woman). I've never left her for another woman (or man). We haven't got bored with each other. We haven't had the mother and father of all blazing rows and split up the next morning. We haven't disappointed each other (much). We haven't decided the other is a waste of space. Neither of us have drunk ourselves to death or gone nuts or taken an overdose. We're still the best of pals, giggling behind the bike shed.

How come the usual pitfalls that other couples succumb to seem to have passed us by? What's the magic ingredient? What's our special formula for continued romantic bliss? Er, dunno really, I'll get back to you on that. I just have to consult my astrologer, my therapist, my relationship adviser and my feng-shui analyst. And then I'll feed all the results into my super-powered, algorhythmic, multi-permutational software app and get the definitive route map. Or possibly the perfect recipe for kidney bean chili if something screws up.

But wow, we've been round the block a few times. We've weathered so many crises together. Using the wrong toothbrush. Leaving the toilet seat up (or down). Running out of knickers. Finding a giant spider in the bath. Not finding the giant spider and hoping it's not hiding under the duvet. Wondering if that strange noise is a deranged burglar with a freshly-sharpened machete or a creaking floorboard. Telling the Jehovah's Witness we're both Druids. Somehow we've dealt with them all and lived to tell the tale.

So miraculously, incredibly, thrillingly, we're still together after all these years. How many more, I wonder?

Happy Valentine's Day to all my lovely blog buddies.

Love on the cheap

I do object to the way the word "love" is trivialised and misused and cheapened. I object to the way it's thrown about so casually, and used to glamourise more mundane emotions.

To my mind, love is a two-way thing, an active give and take between two people, something growing and developing, something fed by affection, empathy, understanding.

When people say they "love" Lady Gaga, or Ed Miliband, or J K Rowling, surely that's a misuse of the word? There's no two-way relationship, no give and take. They've probably not even met the person they "love". There's no giving, only taking, only consumption.

What they really mean is that they "admire" Lady Gaga, they're impressed by her, they take a close interest in her. That's something entirely different.

Or people say they "love" Italy or New York. Meaning for a week or two they consume Italy and New York. They don't give anything back except money and a few casual compliments to the locals. And I doubt if they love the mafia or the pan-handlers. The word love is a mere romantic flourish.

Love is a very serious emotion, a very serious connection between two people. It's something rich and deep and resonant. It's a communion of souls. To equate it with showbiz loyalty or tourist fads is to mock its true meaning. It's the cut-price imitation, the discount knock-off.

Okay, it shows we're passionate about something. It shows we're emotionally healthy. But passion isn't love. Passion isn't intimacy. Let's not confuse the two.

Thirty love

It's funny how when you start a relationship with someone, you've no idea how long it's going to last. It could be 30 days or 30 years. Or 30 minutes. Which is one reason why making out with someone new is so exciting.

When I first met Jenny at a central London bookshop and nervously fixed a date, I hadn't a clue what would happen.

We might have had a violent argument 10 minutes later and both walked off in a huff. We might have tried our best to get on with each other and decided it was a case of Mr Chalk and Ms Cheese. One of us might have had some personal passion the other totally detested.

If anyone had predicted we'll still be seriously in love three decades later, I'd have scoffed and told them to catch themselves on*. I'd have said, how likely is that when relationships come and go like taxis. Surely sooner or later we'll get bored with each other, get itchy feet, and start looking for an upgrade.

But the months and years rolled on and in some mysterious way we found ourselves still together, still enamoured, despite all the predictable squabbles, misunderstandings, grievances and stand-offs. They were never severe enough to break the deep bond that had somehow established itself.

That we've reached the present day in such enduring harmony never ceases to amaze me. It's as if we've been on a long journey through unfamilar territory with a thousand opportunities to get lost, get eaten by wolves, fall into a ravine, or be crushed by a landslide, and by some miracle we've avoided all the dangers and reached our destination.

I can only give thanks to whatever guardian angel is looking after us and keeping this old banger on the road.

* come down to earth. A common Northern Irish expression.

Pic: Not us, just another happy couple.

Love lies bleeding

Which is worse, I wonder, having never fallen in love or having fallen in love but been rebuffed? Not having had either experience, I can only conjecture, but I imagine the second would be much more painful.

I find it hard to believe someone could never have fallen in love, but such people do exist. Do they just not have the inclination, or have they never met the particular person who gets their mojo working?

Whatever the reason, if you've never known love, I guess you don't know what you're missing so it's no big deal. On the other hand, if you've fallen for someone but they feel nothing at all for you, that must be very distressing.

But then again, do people who've never fallen in love not know what they're missing? Everywhere they look there are besotted lovers who can't get enough of each other and seem totally blissed out. Don't they think they're being deprived of some vital pleasure in life? Or do they simply think these starstruck lovers are suffering from some psychic delusion? Just seeing a very flawed and ordinary person through rose-tinted glasses?

And is unreciprocated love necessarily distressing? Okay, so the other person doesn't feel the same way, but isn't it fun fancying someone and imagining a red-hot night of passion, even if it never happens? How can what is merely a personal fantasy be distressing if there's not the slightest chance of it turning into reality? Even if there's an element of masochism, an unreal substitute for something more attainable, that's hardly an emotional knifing.

I would have thought love that has actually been reciprocated, even for a short time, would cause a lot more pain than love that's never reciprocated at all. For a while there is that heady prospect that you both feel the same way, that there is that magical symbiosis of affection and understanding that connects your two identities and creates something bigger and better than your individual existence. And then your growing hopes are cruelly dashed as the other person makes it clear they don't feel that subtle communion after all.

All I know is that one way or another love can cause deep anguish as well as profound joy. It's an emotion not to be trifled with, not to be taken lightly.

Love in a mist

Have I ever been infatuated with anyone? Depends what you mean by infatuation, doesn't it? The dictionary says "an intense, short-lived passion", but I wouldn't describe it that way at all.

I think the point about infatuation is that (a) it involves a completely false, rose-tinted picture of the person concerned and (b) far from being short-lived it can go on for quite a while, long enough in fact for you to cohabit or marry before you realise how deluded you've been.

I guess on the whole I'm too level-headed a person to have been infatuated with anyone for long, but I was absurdly besotted with one particular woman for a year or two, despite all the evidence that she wasn't nearly as special (or compatible, or even available) as I thought.

Fortunately for me it was an entirely unreciprocated besotting, so it never got to the stage of living together or tying any legal knots, and I never faced the humiliating final stage of seeing my perfect partner turn into a mere mortal who just got on my nerves rather than inspiring me.

Even if I'm not prone to infatuation, I've often idealised someone to the extent that infatuation wasn't far away. I've exaggerated their virtues and overlooked their faults to a ridiculous degree, I suppose for the usual pathetic reason that I'm beguiled by their beauty and assume they must have a beautiful brain to match. Which of course absolutely doesn't follow.

I'm also easily taken in by confidence and poise, which I carelessly equate with exceptional wisdom. While in reality it may only mean they've always had it easy.

But at my advanced age I've met enough people with bird brains and feet of clay to make me look long and hard at anyone who comes trailing a saintly aura. The saintly aura might just be a cloud of cobwebs.

Passion killers

It's strange that some people still find public displays of affection beyond the pale and would rather "that sort of thing" was confined to somewhere more private. What's so offensive about kissing or hugging someone in the street?

Of course exceptionally besotted individuals can go a bit too far in their intimate fondling and caressing, to the extent that I have to tactfully avert my gaze and pretend to be engrossed in the niceties of paving-stone design, but that's a rare occurrence. Most couples are sensible enough to keep their embraces within decent limits.

In fact I find the sight of passionately entwined couples rather touching and heart-warming, a visible reminder that love still blossoms in a world where many people feel lonely or unloved. I always hope their passion will last and not wither away.

But there are still some who maintain that such public smooching "just isn't necessary", that it's frightfully vulgar and inconsiderate, that it's "rubbing our noses in it." Rubbing our noses in what? That we can enjoy each other's company?

Same-sex embraces are especially distasteful in some quarters, goodness knows why. Religion's usually involved. But what harm is it doing anyone? It amuses me that heterosexual men are still averse to kissing or hugging each other when they meet and limit themselves to a chaste handshake. Heaven forbid anyone might get the wrong impression and think they're "that way inclined".

Personally I've not only kissed hundreds of men but enjoyed it. Kissing is always fun, whoever it's with. But I still find myself exchanging those familiar jokey remarks to other men that "We'd better not kiss, ha ha ha." Most frustrating when it's someone utterly gorgeous....

This same-sex coolness seems to be very much a British thing, a relic of the widespread sexual repression of earlier decades. Men in other countries happily kiss and hug when they meet without thinking twice about it.

There's nothing to be scared of, guys. It won't drop off.

Unrequited love

Unrequited love is a painful business. You pine away secretly (or not so secretly) while the desired person shows no interest in you whatever.

I didn't meet Jenny till I was 34, so I had had plenty of time to yearn in vain. Fortunately the yearning usually fizzled out harmlessly, but it did become obsessive once or twice - notably with G.

It was worse when I was working with someone, and every day they were churning up waves of desire. Just a friendly greeting or a passing remark would get me so steamed up it was all I could do to concentrate on my work.

I would keep on hoping that sooner or later this dazzling woman would be equally smitten with me, but I was constantly disappointed. I would ask myself what she didn't like about me. Were my clothes unfashionable? Was I too gloomy? Was I boring? Was I a noisy eater? I never found out of course. It could have been anything.

What I was always afraid of was that some mischief-maker would divulge my private passion to the person concerned, who would be convulsed with hilarity at the idea she could possibly fancy ME. "Nick? You must be joking? He's so eccentric."

I would keep telling myself that such fruitless longing was absurd and I should be looking for other, more responsive women. But I would still be drawn inexorably to the woman who ignored me, the one with that indefinable attraction.

It was a great relief when eventually my love was reciprocated and I could put those frustrating cravings behind me. And I could stop making a fool of myself.

Lovers apart

It must be really hard maintaining a long-distance relationship, where a couple are separated by hundreds or thousands of miles and only meet up at long intervals.

Their passion for each other must have to be pretty strong to overcome the obstacle of being so physically divided, not to mention sexually deprived.

When I lived in London, I once had a girlfriend in Birmingham, and we would only see each other at weekends. It was so frustrating and agonising not meeting more regularly that she eventually moved down to London.

Ironically the increased proximity led to less passion rather than more and we split up six months later. It really was a case of absence making the heart grow fonder.

But how people cope when they're in London and New York, or for that matter one partner is working away from home for months on end, I just don't know. At times they must be desperate for physical contact and the emotional warmth that goes with it.

You have to be very trusting too, not to suspect your loved one of having other relationships behind your back. Anyone liable to paranoia would soon be in trouble. You have to be confident your partner is honest and loyal and not a compulsive flirt.

When you do manage to meet, you're anxiously looking for any sign that your partner's enthusiasm has dimmed, that while you've been apart they've noticed all your bad habits and disillusion has set in.

That so many long-distance relationships not only survive but thrive is a tribute to the doggedness of the human heart.

Looking for love

I like Valentine's Day. I always ruminate on love and what makes it blossom - or wither on the vine. It's one of life's eternal mysteries.

I didn't fall in love myself until I met Jenny at the age of 34. I had wanted to fall in love many times but somehow it never quite happened.

I dated plenty of women. I kissed them, cuddled them, sometimes went to bed with them. We swopped our life stories, shared our enthusiasms, laughed at each other's quirks.

Each time I wondered if it was love. But each time it would gradually peter out. As hard as I tried, that vital spark was missing.

What was I doing wrong, I asked myself? Everyone around me was falling in love, finding their soulmate, getting married even. It seemed to come to them so easily. Was I being too fussy? Was I emotionally stunted? Was I afraid of intimacy? Was I really gay? Was I just not the falling-in-love type? I found a hundred reasons for love's elusiveness, but still it failed to find me.

The clock kept on ticking. Birthdays came and went. Likely women entered my life and disappeared from it again. I began to think falling in love must be an illusion.

All these besotted couples aren't really besotted, they're just clinging to each other because it's expected, because they're lonely, because they're desperate. This thing I'm chasing after is a mirage, a dream, a novelist's invention. But it was no good, I still believed in it and I still pursued it.

And then of course I met Jenny. Quite out of the blue, when I was least expecting it, our paths crossed and suddenly something ignited. And the rest, as they say, is history. A surprisingly long and satisfying history. A relationship that just gets deeper and deeper. What was the magic formula? I didn't know then and I don't know now. It's just one of those extraordinary miracles that leaves you gasping.

Cupid's whims

The approach of Valentine's Day always gets me thinking about love and what a mystery it is. Why do we fall in love? Why with X rather than Y? Why do some relationships fail so quickly while others last a lifetime?

Therapists and scientists and writers are constantly looking for the secret of love and its seeming unpredictability but they're still as baffled as ever. Cupid is a capricious little thing and her arrows land in the oddest places.

Who would have guessed, when Jenny and I locked eyes almost 27 years ago, that our tentative hugs and kisses would ignite such an enduring passion? Certainly not us.

We've had plenty of quarrels over the years. In moments of boiling anger or frustration or resentment we've talked of splitting up and calling it a day. Who hasn't? But every time our fundamental love for each other comes bubbling up and miraculously heals the wounds.

In a heated moment, Jenny may accuse me of a multitude of sins. I may accuse her of a multitude more. Is any of it true? Who knows? What matters is that sooner or later we can't help making up and then it's all just water under the bridge.

Above all, we've never found each other boring. We both have quirky, original minds forever going off in unexpected and fascinating directions. Every day we unfailingly amuse and delight and surprise each other.

An astonishing number of couples split up for no other reason than boredom - they've just got nothing to say to each other any more. That's one thing we're never in danger of.

So Happy Valentine's Day to all you lovely couples! And to everyone who's looking for love!