Trinity

Tuesday's "Nobody mention the goddamn b-word!" party went off very well.   There was a certain inevitability to the pattern of the evening - moving between my three favourite bars: 12 Square Metres, Amilal, and the Pool Bar.  A good night out for me almost invariably includes at least one of these, and very often (rather too often!) all three.   Tuesday's perambulation should perhaps be represented as a pentangle, since The Choirboy and Dr Manhattan joined me for a swift preliminary drink (or two or three) in quaint little Aussie bar, Ned's, and, after the "assembly of the News Team" in 12 Sq, we dined at Hot Bean, the neighbourhood's celebrated barbecue joint - making five stops in all.     There seems to be a rule of threes at work in my so-called love life as well.  My attention during the evening was unduly preoccupied by the three women who've made the biggest dent in my heart in recent years (not that they were necessarily present, but booze and anniversaries seem to bring romantic memories bubbling forth): The Great Lost Love, The Crush Who Doesn't Know I Exist, and The So-Near-And-Yet-So-Far Lustful Frisson.   Then again, maybe it's a rule of fives.  Another ex-girflfriend of mine contrived a stalker-ish ambush at one point.  And then the next night (or the night after) I ran into another almost-ex, the girl who should have been my Great Rebound From The Great Lost Love but turned out instead to be Ms I-Have-No-Time-For-A-Life.   It seems like it's not safe to set foot outside the door just at the moment.  I think I should hunker down at home with my DVD collection for a few months - until all this wistfulness and frustrated longing has dissipated....