With the court case well and truely over and the settlements being arranged, it seemed time to maybe try again and tentatively date. Unlike the popular opinion of victim blaming civil servants and some people in communities, surviving serious sexual violence is not a precursor of gender hatred, mistrust and refusing to trust anyone. Reactions of that type are individual and every survivors story is unique. Yet the age old stories of human survivors of war abuse and sexual violence, is survivors talk together, just like any group of women or males about day to day life, relationships, new relationships, dating and building a normality to move out of the horrors and memories. Creating new memories.
With this in mind I feel able to try again at the dating scene to find a partner. After the bittersweet stories and experiences some of which have made the greatest stories for the blog, I am ready to try again!
This time things have changed somewhat. Dating in the county where the rapist although identified and found to have committed serious sexual and violent crimes that were covered for by assosciates, I have to consider and plan dating differently. I describe this to friends as due diligence. Finding out who they are, sharing enough about myself without meeting, Giving each of us time to consider and perhaps d some basic research. Then after some phone calls, time to meet and cue the tree house date. An hour or two talking, we have similar interests, his career in retail services is an area of interest to me and he is ernthusiastic about my blogging and writing, we both have adult children. He grandchildren and both with funny anecdotes. Living outside of the county but not ridiculously far it seems promising to meet and see how we get on.
He is staying away with work for a few days each week in air bnbs. He describes a treehouse and says I am very welcome to visit him and perhaps have dinner. So to avoid the issues of privacy, I decide to take a sunny drive to the West Country and accept the invitation. Upon arrival I park Moggs in Starbucks and whilst sipping tea I message ‘Hi I hope it was genuine I am taking you up on the offer of a date I am in Bristol !!
Nothing for a while then, brilliant I am finishing at 6pm. See you there and directions. I have researched Tree house air bnbs and the amazing picture of the outside balcony shower and viewing area look amazing. I type in the post code and it is not the tree house. It looks like a garden shed that has landed like a UFO into a tree… The pictures suggest a rather interesting arrangement not I unlike my grandfathers shed where he used to paint as I grew up. However the setting looks pretty, with ponds and trees and views of the lake.
In for a penny I decide to purchase a picnic to take instead of dinner out as the grounds look pretty. I drive the country lanes with hedge borders so high that you cannot see over or around corners. I get to the Village to find that the road by the church, that is the one to the treehouse is shut… Barriers in blue with red and white trim block the road. No sign of road works…
I turn around and drive back down the hill and there I find the tree house in the grounds of what can only be described as a mish mash of vintage cars all in varying amounts of disrepair and moss coverings. Huge polly tunnels and a couple of barking sheep dogs. The tree house is visible from the main gates. It is slightly more rustic than even the pictures suggest… A male appears from nowhere, His button front cotton short is open to the navel with a shock of greying chest hair exposed. He has a face that’s difficult to age. Weathered with the outdoors and lack of facial routines or preening. I figure he must be somewhere between 50 and 60 years of age He shows me to the tree house. I literally try not to sigh, cry or run away !!!!… There is a black plastic cylindrical container, it has an oval hole cut into the side for a doorway. Likely repurposed from a storage container it is about six feet tall and at the base of the tree with some wooden fencing surrounding it, like a strange Amazonian hideout in the rural idyll of England. This is the base of the tree an English oak probably 100 years old no more. A ladder strapped to the trunk. A hatch in the floor. The house itself is more england garden shed landed on a tree with a balcony. It’s sturdy enough, one room with a kitchen area and corner bed ( the bedding of 1970 hippy styling) a couple of wing chairs and a picnic chairs and tables on balcony overlooking the water meadow and parking where I see moggs shining in the sunshine…..
Tour is short and sweet.