It’s Not Me, It’s You
‘I loved Jon’s book. It’s even better than the real thing because you can’t hear his voice.’ Michael McIntyre
A control freak looks for love (women who leave wet teaspoons in sugar bowls need not apply).
‘I haven’t woken up with a cup of tea by the bed for seven years. It seems such a small thing but it’s one of a thousand things I miss about having someone around to take care of me. I have spent my entire adult life getting things the way I want them and all I want now is someone to give it all up for.’
Is your filing faultless? Your CDs, apostrophes, cutlery all in the right places? Can you eat a biscuit in the correct way? Then Jon Richardson (single for seven years and counting) could be your ideal man…
Living alone in a one bedroom flat in Swindon, Jon has had far too much time on his hands to think. In fact to obsess. About almost everything. Jon’s obssessive compulsive personality disorder has seen him arrange the coins in his pockets in ascending size and colour code his bookshelves. It takes him less than 90 seconds to locate a receipt for a pair of shoes he bought in 1997. Over to the filing cabinet and R for receipts, S for shoes.
But Jon doesn’t want to be like this, in fact he would quite like to share his life with someone. But who could that someone be? Someone like himself, a quarrelsome perfectionist only with breasts and less body hair? Absolutely not. But who exactly is Jon looking for and where will he find her? Faced with a loveless future filled with his own peculiar quirks and perfectionism, Jon sets about his search for The One. The question is, will he mind her keeping the knives to the left of the forks in the cutlery drawer or organising the CDs by genre and not alphabetically?
Книга издана в 2011 году.
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Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF
© Jon Richardson 2011
Guardian Weekend cover and ‘Not Looking for Miss Immaculate with a GSOH …’ article by Jon Richardson © Guardian News + Media Ltd 2010
Jon Richardson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Source ISBN: 9780007414949
Ebook Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007414956
Version: 2016-10-21
Dedication
For all the friends and family members who tolerate my intolerance with inspiring grace
EPIGRAPH
Perfectionism is the enemy of creation, as extreme self-solitude is the enemy of well-being.
John Updike
Introduction
My name is Jon Richardson. I am an extreme perfectionist and I live on my own in the Wiltshire town of Swindon. I make my living as a stand-up comedian, travelling the country and talking about my life with what I intend to be hilarious consequences. In February 2010 I was asked by the Guardian newspaper’s Weekend supplement to write an article on romance for their Valentine’s Day special. I wrote the only article I felt able to write, namely my thoughts on the other side of the dating coin from the point of view of someone who is not in a relationship, has not been in one for some time, and feels more than a little trepidation at the thought of ever being in another one. Here is what I wrote and what was printed on 13 February.
NOT LOOKING FOR MISS IMMACULATE PERFECTION WITH A GSOH …
My last girlfriend was a loser. Literally. A wonderful and beautiful person, but prone to losing things: keys, money, credit cards, mobile phones. Each time she lost something, she would get upset and come to me for help and reassurance.
I, on the other hand, am a keeper. Not in the American sense that women throw themselves at me. Rather that if you were to ask me to lay my hands on a receipt for a pair of shoes I bought in 1997, I would be angry if it took me more than 90 seconds to locate it. Over to the filing cabinet I would stroll, R for Receipts, S for Shoes, and work through chronologically.
Had our relationship taken place in a sitcom, this juxtaposition would have led to hilarious consequences, as we laughed and joked about what a couple of cards we were and what kind of mixed- up world could ever have brought us together. Instead, we argued frequently over what she saw as something she was powerless to change, and I saw as a correctable weakness in her character.
In general I would say I find it difficult to accept other people’s shortcomings. I am not an unfair person but I do think more effort is the solution to most problems. Not losing things is simply a matter of trying harder to remember where you put them, isn’t it? Popular music is no help here:
If you love something,
Let it go, If it comes back it’s yours,
That’s how you kno-o-ow
Nonsense, Christina Aguilera! I say, ‘If you love it, file it away under “Things I love”. If it’s required at a later date, you’ll know exactly where it i-i-i-is.’
Wanting things my own way is not something I like about myself. From my love of right angles to my stubborn, black and white views on complex issues, I recognise I can be a very difficult person to be around. I also cannot fail to recognise many symptoms of obsessive-compulsive personality disorder. I have countless habits that I know serve no purpose but am powerless to avoid. I arrange my coins into ascending size in my pockets, for example, and nothing gives me more comfort than the knowledge that my forks, knives and spoons are all in the correct place, tessellating magnificently in their drawer.
I like to think that we’re all on a scale where these tendencies are concerned. I am sure many people find it difficult to settle down to watch a DVD with a cobweb hanging behind the TV. But what if the cobweb isn’t behind the TV – or even in the same room – but lurking nauseatingly in the room next door? Could you still relax and enjoy the film? As a child I remember marvelling at how neatly my dad’s sponge used to fit into the sponge-nook in his Ford Escort, but I don’t know whether this was an early warning of who I would become or the reason for it.
If I were to have a catchphrase (and I like to think I don’t), it would be, ‘Fun must be sacrificed for efficiency.’ It’s harder to try all the time, it’s harder to be monogamous than to sleep with whoever you want and it’s harder to be disappointed by failure than it is to laugh and move on. That said, I have definitely crossed a line.
