It's out with the old says, Sarah Cowen-Strong
Here's a riddle for you. I have just returned from a weekend away in a camper van, experiencing my first-ever weekend folk festival and I haven't made real gravy since Christmas. Who am I?
Answer – a divorcee enjoying the not-immediately obvious pleasures of love a second time around.
For, in addition to the indisputable romantic delights of a new relationship, there are the fringe benefits of living a life of new pursuits and adventures that were never even a dream previously.
Cobwebs are blown away, new influences come to bear and pre-conceptions are lost.
Take folk music. Now, thanks to my new man, I love it. If I'd opened my mind to the life-affirming joys of every reel, squeal, fiddle and flute 20 or 30 years ago, no doubt I would have loved it then too. But I didn't because I was treading a path with the husband I'd met at 19.
We amalgamated interests and hobbies – with compromise and four children arriving in five years shooing away many a worthy pastime.
Over 25 years our individual choices became blurred. I'm sure my ex would have dismissed the folk world as eye-diddly-eye nonsense and I would have absorbed his prejudices – like I did over his regard for tea made only with leaves served in a pot and the making of meat-juice gravy for even the lowliest scraggy chop.
Now every time I pour boiling water over a teabag in a mug or reach for the gravy granules I breathe a sigh of relief. I've broken free of the habits that were not of my making.
And I am not alone. One friend was married to someone who had no desire at all to travel abroad. She fell in with this, making herself believe she didn't mind missing out on sun-kissed sandy fortnights or fast-paced European city breaks. She did, and since she has been divorced she and her new beau have taken four hot island holidays in a year.
Conversely, another friend, divorced and with a new partner can visit the lakes and scenic villages he always wanted to and has found – by chance – he likes watching modern dance. He is as shocked as anyone.
Thankfully, the opening up of new doors is not all one-way. I have, apparently, brought poetry and theatre into my partner's life and shown him how to peel a hard-boiled egg under water. But not all he does has clout.
I'm yet to be persuaded to listen at any length to the early morning news on Radio 4 and I'm not going to cook potatoes for any longer than 20 minutes or keep a tidy car.
Likewise, my sway has its limitations. My new man is never going to drum up a genuine interest in watching the Eurovision Song Contest, but today I'm braver, more independent and filled with zest for what lies around the corner – so I'll watch it anyway.
