Olives

On Monday I had some olives.

“Big fucking WOW!” I hear you say. Big fucking wow you middle class upstart. Who do you think you are? From council flat to olives on a Monday night in 40 years. Well done, you must be so proud. You’ve come a long way baby!

Well. Hear me out. This is why they’re worth a mention.

I like olives. Now, I realise I like olives.

In a previous life my ex-wife and I would sit in the garden on a sunny evening, drinking wine and chatting about our day. Occasionally we’d play a board game she has which is pretty addictive. Supermind. It’s good.

We’d do this while eating a bowl of olives. Mondays and Fridays if memory serves. Olives and wine or a G&T. Or on holiday we’d sit having a beer, a few glasses of wine or a G&T in a bar, olives in front of us and chatting and having a fun time.

I’d forgotten about all this because, for a long, long time, I’ve not had any olives. I’d associated them with these times, which are all great memories but definitely part of my past now. I think back sometimes and a bit of sad hits me.

To be honest I’d forgotten that I liked olives. Or perhaps I wasn’t sure if I ever really liked them but instead loved what they represented. I thought it was my ex who loved them and I merely had a few and just let her scoff the rest. But I loved the talking, the time we spent together and the closeness.

On Monday I was in a supermarket, and when I got home I realised that I’d bought a pot of manzanilla and kalamata olives in salt and some oil.

Why did I buy them? Did I forget that I was alone? Did I buy them for someone else as I used to do? The Olive Queen as I used to call her. I looked at them on the kitchen counter and thought about giving them to her when I saw her next. I know how much she loves olives and I just didn’t feel up for it really.

But, for old times sake I thought I’d have one.

I sat down and had one.

And then another.

And then four more.

Fuck, they were delicious.

I had some more, and some more and, within a few minutes the pot was empty.

I’d eaten the whole damn lot of them and, quite simply, they were fantastic. Utterly sublime. Salty, moorish, with a herby oil which I liked from my fingers as I scoffed the whole darn lot of them.

I’d forgotten that I could do things like this. So much of my recent life has been connected with a significant other. So significant in fact that we decided to marry and have a family. Of course she is still significant but then so am I. And I’d forgotten that.

This was just me doing something I actually enjoyed.

Yes. It was. Me. I enjoyed it.

No-one else. Just me.

On Monday I had some olives. But something else happened too. I made a step in the right direction and the olives were a sign of knowing that I can be me and, actually, I quite like that.

Yes, I was married. I was a stay at home dad. Now I’m divorced but I’m still a dad. And, very importantly, I’m a me.

Sometimes it’s the small things that make you realise that, actually, you have come a long way. Baby.

A small pot of olives scoffed while sitting cross-legged on the living room floor. Nothing earth-shattering.

But it was something. It was quite a big thing actually.

And they were all mine.

Roll on next Monday.

Thanks for reading.

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23 responses to “Olives

  1. I don’t like olives. I feel I should but I don’t. But I do like this blog. And I like that you like olives & that you had a little moment that was all yours. Happy munching.

  2. I love olives. I love spicy ones. Lemony ones. Greek ones. Shrivelled black ones. Huge green ones. In fact, I haven’t yet met an olive I didn’t love. Your olives. Your Monday night olives, I think, sound like the best ones yet. ‘Me’ olives. Perfect. Keep on eating ’em. xx

    • Thanks. Spicy ones sound very me. Sadly I’m limited by the shizzle the supermarket has as we don’t have a dedicated olive merchant in our town. Damn this town!!!
      Thanks for reading and for your comment. 🙂

  3. I love olives, too. And I’m lucky because my husband doesn’t, so he happily hands his over willingly. I wonder whether my lil’ one will be on my side of the olive fence–or his–when it comes to these little gems.

    • Because of bloomin’ Waybuloo my son thinks olives are ‘bongleberries’ but still won’t try one. I’m sure he will though. One day.
      Glad you get the lions share, and thanks for reading and taking the time to comment.

  4. Glad you’ve rediscovered your love of olives matey. I would say I don’t like them either but, you know what, I’ve never really tried them! Coleslaw has never appealed to me (it just doesn’t look very nice, does it?!) but I tried some the other day for the first time (I’m 37!) and ate it all up and now I’m hooked! So maybe I should just give Olives a chance, yes?

      • Hi,

        I never used to like olives but love them now. OH doesn’t like them but my eldest who is nine already has the taste for them . He ‘steals’ olives (and jalopenos and pickled onions!) out of the fridge! Not necessarily at the same time.

        That sounds like a lovely happy memory sitting out in the garden etc. You have reminded me that I need to do that again as we haven’t for a while.

        It’s normally a roudy bbq with the kids!

        Well done for coming a long way. It’s amazing how much the little stuff actually means to us.

        take care.

        love

        Claire x

  5. Lovely, lovely post, yet again Sir… We all love olives in this house, even the 11 month old but I have never had what you had, “Him in doors” & I don’t sit & talk. Shame really but he doesn’t do things like that. You are a wonderful man & a very rare… Well done for this huge step. You are getting there, wherever “there” is. I LOVE reading your posts… Thank you for sharing. Xxxx

    • Thanks for your lovely comment and thanks for reading. Wish my son and daughter would embrace the olive but they’ve got time. Don’t think I had my first until I was 25. 🙂

  6. I too forgot I was significant (post separation/divorce) For quite a while. I’m happy to hear you’re finding the new version of the old you 🙂 (and treating him to olives).

  7. Pingback: Memory | Theplumbum's Blog·

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