My best male fwend who is also my best ‘ex of sorts’ came back into my life just a couple of nights ago…still as a fwend I mean – he’s married with way too many kiddlies for me to comprehend.  We have the occasional period of not being in contact and this has been the end of one of those periods (three or four months this time).  It was nice, him coming back.  I felt happy, it’s always good when he returns…I feel like my oldest friend has just arrived and there’s a ton of catching up to look forward to.  

Ours is actually the longest friendship I have with a person who has continued to be an active presence in my life…I know I can tell him anything and he’ll listen and he’ll tell me the TRUTH and then listen some more and when he’s at the end of his tether he’ll tell me to ‘fuckin’ get a grip’ – he is ‘TOUGH LOVE’ and ‘MORE’ and I platonic-ally love that about him!  Even when we’re not in contact…we could be in contact…if one of us needed the other.
Anyhow, I told him I’d been up to no good during his absence, writing this blog and a bit about what it was about and why it came about and he wanted a mention…not only a mention, but a whole blinkin’ post actually – well he did and he didn’t – his ego did; his conscience (maybe?) not so much.  So I got thinking about it and I’ve tackled this little ‘issue’ that might be affecting you all right now…whether it is possible to have an actual, genuine, healthy friendship with your ex?  Can it be done?  Should it be done?  Is it acceptable?  

You can all have a bit of a think and I suppose a bit of a judge if you so desire and let me know in the comments what you think.  I don’t usually think it’s possible.  Mates, eventually, maybe…but a genuine friendship I think is quite rare.  But I thought I’d give you all a bit of hope if it is actually a friendship with your ex you so desire…cause I found one.
Let me tell you a bit about this one.  I’m going to call him ‘Corgan’ after Billy Corgan from The Smashing Pumpkins, because that song ‘Disarm’ (linked ‘HERE‘) happened to be playing when we had our first smoochey.  He doesn’t remember that (I checked yesterday…he doesn’t) because…well, the zip on my trousers had just broken so he was a little preoccupied…we were in a nightclub and rather than giving me his coat because I was cold…he sacrificed his belt to keep my trousers up – he wasn’t wearing a coat perhaps he’d have given me that too had I needed it.  I don’t think any other girl he came into contact with back in the day, during his reign could honestly say ‘Corgan helped me keep my trousers up’…nope…they’d all unanimously say ‘…my trousers were always down when he was around’!
Because Corgan was a bit of an enigma. 
He was…YOU WERE CORGAN…and still could be if he hadn’t turned into such a miserable fucker!!!  The enigma is still there, it just needs a polish…
He sort of agrees that he was an enigma depending upon the mood he’s in…but mainly he replies, ‘nah…I was just Corgan…and now I’m a grumpy bastard’
Corgan was a leader…
I’m not a leader…I’m not a follower either…I’m a ‘I don’t want to lead you and I don’t want to be led; also I don’t want to follow you and I don’t want to be followed; so you do ‘you’ and I’ll do ‘me’type person.  But he had little sheep-followers and they followed him everywhere.
They’d walk hopefully into a pub or club, looking eagerly around for their shepherd and when they realised he was absent or they couldn’t find him, their demeanor would noticeably slouch in disappointment and their shoulders slump…it was the strangest thing ever, it was like The Pips had lost Gladys Knight…’Corgan and his Pips’ I’d call them.  Their little faces would light up the room when they found him.  Honestly, if they were lemmings there would have been carnage. 
I disliked Corgan…A LOT…I didn’t know him all that well in the beginning.  I knew he’d snogged one of my friends under a table in a bar and that his query ‘heterosexual Pips’ had thrown a couple of pints over their heads whilst they were in this act…the animals they were…truth be told they were probably a bit in denial and a bit jealous of my friend kissing their Gladys.  Well this ‘kissing-spilling pints’ incident was particularly irritating to me because my friend was wearing MY coat at the time.  She weren’t too happy either…her hair was fucked and she never spoke to him again if they actually ever even spoke at all – he doesn’t even remember her…doesn’t remember the occasion and so obviously doesn’t remember my coat getting ruined either…just another day in the life of the care free Corgan that he was…which reminds me…THAT dry cleaning bill you absolute tart…!
Then another of my mates (I’ll call her Bella, because she was beautiful) ended up drooling over him…they were dropping like flies my friends! 
Was I the only one that didn’t get it??? 
Bella was getting very strung along by him whilst he was in a ‘relationship?’ with somebody else; I’ll call her Kel.  And as a result of this little mange et trois I was forced by Bella to listen to the Cranberries classic ‘Linger’ more times than was healthy over a two to three month period…because of HIM…TEARING HER APART, RUINING EVERYTHING and all that shit…
And then Kel found out that he’d been snogging Bella and all hell broke loose. 
It started like this…him and Kel approached Bella and I in a club – he was clearly under duress – she was dragging him by his t-shirt…like LITERALLY DRAGGING HIM BY HIS T-SHIRT…it was almost like she had him in a hostage situation and he was desperately trying to develop a Stolkholm Syndrome-conversation with her, trying to negotiate her into releasing him as they approached…but this was Kel and this was Bella and it was going to get AWK.WARD – there was going to be an outright winner and an outright loser – this was gonna be a ‘fight to the death’…cause Kel had been struck with the psycho stick and Bella could do crazy-witch craft type things with your mind.  My money was on Bella to win but Kel was an each-way worth-a-punt.  
Crazy Kel stood before mind-fuck Bella and said ‘Corgan has got something to tell you…’  Dig in the ribs, gun to his head… ‘HAVEN’T YOU…go on Corgan…tell Bella so she KNOWSSSS’ she hisssssed through gritted teeth.  ‘Yeah Corgan…go on…what have you got to tell me?’ snarled Bella sharpening her claws…I want to excuse myself from this but it’s too bloody good…so I chimed in with a bit of lowest form of wit… ‘Well this would make an interesting dinner party guest list…’no one laughed…
Bella’s got ‘a look’ in her eye and a smirk on her face…so that’s dangerous and Kel is just wired, her head’s about to explode and her long pig-tail plaits are going to fly off and strangle us all …I’m a bit like ‘OH SHIT CORGAN…WHATEVER YOU SAY YOU ARE FUCKED MATE’…so Corgan is centre stage…crazy eyes upon him, claws drawn and he says with Kel’s knife digging ever so slightly into his spine and Bellas eyes burning right through his sole…and he mumbles…

Then off he was pulled by Kel again…like a fierce as fuck lion dragging a little bunny rabbit into the forest to ravage that little bunny rabbit all alone, all to herself. 

Bella’s turned to me, even I’m scared and I’ve done nothing…‘…I’ve got unfinished business tonight…hold my drink…’  She turned on her stiletto booted heel and on queue dry ice circulated the room forming a coconutty aura of death, hell, fury around her just to punctuate her wrath…and she disappeared into the foggy ice and out of view like the ice queen she was.    
Twenty minutes later I watch on as seven stone Kel is being carried out the club by three burley bouncers, legs kicking, arms flailing, words I can’t quite make out all starting with the letter ‘B’, so I can hypothesise that there’s a Bella or/bitch and/or bastard involved…and in my periphery I see Bella and Corgan snogging in the direction from where Kel is being carried.  I filled in the blanks for myself and never asked either for clarification as to what the fuck went on in those lost 20 minutes. 
But I was getting mighty sick of this dude wreaking drama on my nights out…and Bella was turning into a bloody Pip too for that matter even though Kel appeared to be back on the scene – he’d clearly cast a love spell on these pair cause he was playing them like a fiddle and flute.  He was just doing him but I was getting irritated…he’ll probably read this and say… ‘ahhh, nahhh, you were falling in love with me right from the start…’  I wasn’t Corgan…I wanted to slap your way too popular for your own good muggy face.
He was never interested in my friend or Kel or most of the others I saw him with.  I knew that, he knew that, they knew that.  Bella eventually got with one of his close friends which I thought hysterical and sensed my actual time had come to rub it in his face.  By chance I was standing at a bar.  He approached the bar and again by chance stood next to me. 
We exchanged ‘pleasantries…’  well we kind of grunted an acknowledgement at each other actually…I said all smirky like…’Bella moved on quick didn’t she…?  Yeah…she said…your mate’s a better kisser than you and more of a man than…’  I didn’t get time to finish what I wanted to say, because, he was holding a full bottle of lager in his hand and he whipped it forward and back and much of the content of the bottle all frothed up and hit me bulls-eye…square in the eye.  NOT THE BOTTLE, let me stress – his intention was not to permanently blind me…just momentarily would do him…it was just the force of the frothed up lager that almost took my eye out…not the bottle…
Ouch Corgan…hit a nerve?…  So that was a conversation killer. 
I gave him daggers (with the one eye I could actually still see out of) and flounced off a bit smug that I’d got such a reaction out of him until I got to the ladies and realised the state of my hair and makeup.  Some half an hour later he came over to say he was sowwwwy.  He got on his knees and spent 20 or so minutes apologising and asking if I accepted his apology…to which I eventually growled ‘NEVER’.  Well…guys and gals…NEVER say ‘NEVER’. 
He faded into the background for a bit thereafter.  Still with a different girl each time I saw him, still leading the Pips, but not really bothering me. 
I actually saved his life on one of the last occasions I saw him before there was a long break in our paths re-crossing.  We were at The Isle of White music festival…pure coincidence that he, the Pips and general hanger-on-ers erected their tent next to ours.  Bella and I came back from a walk around to find them there…he looked as euphoric about this as I looked disappointed because I knew tricks were going to get played and I was going to be in the crossfire.  Like the night the dickhead took all the tent pins out of our tent and it collapsed on ME…unbeknownst to Corgan, Bella (who this bloody well directed at) had found somewhere else to rest her head for the night so she was OK.  I on the other hand was fucking livid and had to sleep on top of our deflated tent for the rest of the night. 
The following day he was very sunburnt and a lot drunkie.  He was lying outside his tent in the midday sun which was a thick idea and I wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive.  The Pips weren’t about.  I hesitated, but decided to go over.  I gave him two sharp kicks to the right kidney…in retaliation for being momentarily blinded during the lager incident and for him being a prick the night before… ‘Corgan…are you dead?’  He mumbled something incoherent… ‘Hmmm, alive then are you…do you want a medic?’  I think he said ‘Whatever’…but looking back he might have said ‘Water’; well I didn’t have enough water on me for us both.  Those two, two litre bottles in my hand were mine.  I told a medic there was a boiled lobster clashing in his pink t-shirt over there (I pointed in his general direction) that might need assistance and off I trotted.  Good deed for the long weekend done.
Later on that day, whilst I was watching The Prodigy play…there he was…crowd surfing.  He reached the barriers at the front of the stage and then the slippery bastard rushed through a gap in the wall of bouncers and managed to get three quarters of his body onto the stage…he was retrieved and dragged back down by his ankles before being dragged away, waving crazily at the now even more ecstatic crowd – this was actually televised BTW.  Half of me was rolling my eyes thinking ‘give me a break’ whilst the other half was slightly in awe thinking ‘…you were close to death two hours ago you lobster, now look at you – where DO you get that attention seeking energy from…and the love that’s being adorned on you by total strangers to boot is bloody wasted…you asshole’. 
I’ve asked him what he’d have done had he managed to anchor his whole body up there…he said he hadn’t thought that far ahead.  I think it’s more heroic that he ‘ALMOST’ got on stage than if he actually ‘HAD’ got on stage.  If had got on up and tried to dance he’d have looked really stooopid…he was never going to pull off a ‘Bez’; if he’d run round the stage he’d have looked like a knob and I can’t really think what else there would be for him to do up there other than those two things…then wasn’t the most appropriate time for him to strike up a conversation with the late great Keith Flint or any other member of the band halfway through their set …so he would have been a bit redundant up there really…
Fast forward three (ish) years.  I’d moved temporarily to Wales for work and hadn’t seen Corgan for probably four years.  My secretary puts a call through to me saying ‘someone called Corgan is on the phone for you…’.  I’m like ‘Eh?  Who did you say? How the hell did HE find me…and what does HE want?  Errrr, OK…?’ 
So he sounds a bit panicked on the phone; apparently fearing for my life.  My ex is on a rampage he tells me…they’ve been flatmates which is an arrangement that had most definitely broken down…and our mutual ex (my ex-bf who is now his ex too in the form of an ex-flatmate) is allegedly wanted by the police.  Corgan and my ex’s girlfriend have ‘evidence’ to suggest that he’s found out my whereabouts and was last seen/known to be getting on a train Newport/Cardiff bound.  So now I’m also fearing for my life!  A bit extreme perhaps…but this was the ex who…erm…dropped his towel…you can read about that car crash in the link I’ve left HERE
As it happened I was about to leave work for 4 weeks annual leave that very afternoon…so if that ex was ever en route to me our tracks probably crossed somewhere around Bristol.  Thank God.
So Corgan had gone mightily out of his way to do me a favour.  I was a bit shocked and bemused. Had Corgan realised that a world without me in it would be a sadder one?!  Or was he was returning my half-arsed attempt to save his life on the Isle of White?  Or why Corgan…actually…DID you make that call?
I got back home and wanted to know from Corgan what the hell was going on…Well THERE WAS A LOT going on…a long history of stuff that appeared to concern me that I hadn’t known about…so a meet up was on the cards for Corgan and I.  And for the first time, at his place, we conversed without me wanting to kick his shins and chop his toes off and him not wanting to douse me and/or my belongings in beer. 
So things were going BETTER than I thought.  And throughout that day and those hours we sat talking, I got what everyone else seemed to get – he had ‘something’.  He’s a personality I’ve not really experienced before.  He’s a lot of things to a lot of people.  He tunes into what you need off him and becomes that thing.  On this day he was actually a lovely, polite (dare I say it), caring bloke.  Explaining everything I needed to know about the shitty stuff that had been going on and expressing concern for me.  No Saint…he definitely was NOT a Saint…but with the Pips not around and just me and him without music blaring and without my friends around for him to take advantage of he was interesting, hilarious and engaging. 
URGGGHHHH…I was soooo annoyed with myself cause dare I admit…Corgan was actually ‘alright’.  He was a person able to give everybody around him the best part of him that THEY needed to make THEIR life better for THEM.  I can’t express it any other way…I don’t understand it myself!
We decided that we’d go out that night; drinks, club, maybe move on up town…I invited Bella, he invited his mate who Bella had previously enjoyed liaisons with.  This way we all knew each other and the Pips were none the wiser; the Pipping-lemmings could take a night off.  Bella was slightly delayed…she’d managed to set her oven on fire so had to deal with the fire brigade and y’know her house, dogs and possessions first!  There was a bit of ugly banter between her and Corgan when she finally arrived, mainly recounting how he’d strung her along and him giving her the ‘well you let me’ come back.  She was ok really though, cause Corgan had fixed her up for the night with his mate.  Drinks down our necks and we’re all buds for the first time EVER.  It was a good feeling and I can’t even explain why. 
Hot summer, pubbing, drinking, dancing, clubbing, music, GREAT music, the feeling of coming home after months of hard work away, the beginning of a long holiday, everything was hazy but clear and fun and exciting it was just a night like no other; there was electricity in the air.  I was on Corgan’s radar for this particular evening – I was going to be a Pip for the Summer.  Bella was enjoying herself getting reacquainted with Corgan’s mate…but a tiny smidgen of Girl Code was seeping in…off to the loos we trotted for a girly chat which ended in Bella saying ‘I’m over Corgan… just don’t let him treat you the way he treated me cause I’ve had enough of Linger to last me a lifetime’.
So more chatting, bit of bantering, bit of flirting and the next thing I know my trouser zip had broken, hilarity, he’s taken his belt off and buckled it around my waist, Disarm is playing and he’s disarmed me…
With town ruled out on a technicality…my trousers secured with his belt (which was on trend btw) but his now in danger of falling down…all four of us make it back to his.  All I can remember is more laughter and more fun and more bonding and more euphoria and Summer and our trousers…and PIZZA…
Our respective mates are off to beddie-byes…I’m asked to kindly wait in the lounge, and off he disappeared…he’s back 10 minutes later with a big smile…he’s got his hands over my eyes and he’s guiding me somewhere and he takes his hands from my eyes and his whole bedroom is lit with candles.  Just candles EVERYWHERE.  I mean…obviously he already had the candles in there, the opportunist-slag that he was.  He hadn’t bought and planned them specifically for me…which takes a certain degree of romance out of the equation I realise…but even so…it was the thought and the gesture.  A very important gesture in my mind and one I knew was not made ALL THE TIME and for everyone…[as confirmed when Bella stumbled in the following morning…and through the hangover managed ‘Fucking candles Corgan?  I didn’t get any fucking candles…’] and we talked and talked and laughed and things into the early hours until the candles burnt down to the wick and went out of their own accord.
Now…I’m not going to lie…Corgan had the absolute potential to cause me a lot of pain.  I caught a connection, I’m 50 percent certain he did…but maybe for him it didn’t come that quickly…these things are very different for men and women…but what set Corgan apart from the mind fuckery that other exes have caused is that he was completely HONEST with me from the start. 
He told me where he was in his life.  He told me of his ‘plans’.  He told me everything I wanted to know and NOT WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR.  These men that fuck women around or don’t care about the feelings/welfare of the woman they are leading on…they LIE.  And that’s because if they told women the truth from the outset of their intentions they would never get laid. 
Corgan was better than that.  Corgan could tell the truth and still get laid! 
But there were no illusions, no doubt, no grey area in terms of his intentions. 
These were the bizarre but very honest, truthful facts of how and why this was a Summer romance that was going to be coming to an end just as soon as Autumn came…
·           He was going to Magaluf on the first day of Autumn…nuff’ said…but I’ll go on…
·           The holiday was booked.
·           My ex [his ex-flatmate remember] had caused him financial loss.
·           This ex’s mother was going to be paying for said loss…with interest.
·           My ex’s mother was funding my Summer romance’s holiday to Magaluf.
·           Gladys was taking his Pips.
·           We all know what goes on in Magaluf.
·           Corgan was going to Magaluf for one reason and one reason alone.
·           Gladys and his Pips were taking ‘it’ on tour!
When I left his place for the last time – the day before Shagaluf – his parting words as we hugged for the last time were ‘You’re amazing; the timing’s just wrong’ and I agreed ‘It’s OK.  We’re just not meant to be’.   Today, all these years later he has recalled ‘Our Summer’ as being ‘Exciting’, ‘Sexy’ and ‘Fun’…so yeah…it all ended with a good feeling.
No games.  No name calling.  No nastiness.  No hard feelings…the Summer had come to an end that’s all.  His honesty and transparency had eliminated the mind fuckery. 
He’d told me how it was and I had no problem in telling him to stick what was on offer which was essentially ‘when I’ve shagged my way around Spain and I’ve unpacked my suitcase and you’ve washed and ironed my best pulling shorts, we’ll maybe give things a go – if that’s what I still want when I get back’!  I don’t know whether this would have been on the cards or not.  But anyway he’d made his choice without even seeing what was going to be on offer in that dirty-ass-resort.  Enjoy Spain and thanks for a straight-up FUN Summer.  Safe Flight – adios amigo!
I didn’t really expect to hear from him again, not now our lives no longer needed to cross.  Summer was gone, back to Wales I went.  And then about four months later he emailed me.  Two or so days into his two week intended shagathon he’d met a woman…yeah…that was going to happen…but I mean…he’d met ‘his woman’.  HIS ONE.  HIS EVERYTHING. 
The woman he said he knew from the first conversation they had that he would marry her.  

And I was genuinely sooooo pleased for him.  I honestly was.  I knew he’d make THE ONE…’HIS’ ONE an amazing partner in crime.  He needed someone strong and resilient.  Someone who would take no shit.  And he found her.  WTF she was doing in Magaluf I don’t know…perhaps her plane got hijacked and diverted to this shithole?  But anyway – fate found its way to Magaluf of all places!
So he did marry her…and I remain very happy for them and the life they’ve created together.  I might have lost out on a potential boyfriend for a year or two but he gained his soul mate…which I think is what we are all striving to find in a world of people we mainly just find ordinary…and I gained a Corgan shaped friend…the best platonic male friend a girl could wish for, cause that email was the start of our long, strong and amazing friendship.
Chin Chin Corgan…I hope that was OK for you!  

Anyone else here managed to salvage an actual, genuine ‘friendship’ with an ex?  Or do you all want to comment on my ‘lack of Girl Code’…which I’m probably going to have coming to me now!  

It’s OK, I can take it, and no Bellas were hurt (by me) in the making of this friendship…but I love comments in any form…so you can do that below, if you like…!



  1. You're an amazing story-teller! I can never get myself to write such long but still entertaining posts. Oh and I also feel that its not possible to have a genuine friendship with an ex. Being friendly and being friends are two different things 🙂


  2. Aaahhhh, thank you for your comment!!!It’s fine that you disagreed with me…i’d rather you do that than call me out on the part where I lacked a bit of girl code! 🤭


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