Blokes drive Barry nuts for being rubbish, because he considers himself less rubbish in many ways, although he’s profoundly more rubbish in others.

It’s the memory thing which really gets him.  The way he can have chats with friends and they won’t ask questions or remember anything he’s said in earlier conversations.  Sure, he thinks to himself, they have their own life in which I only play a very small fleeting role, but surely they’d remember x or y?  Surely they’d just be polite enough to ask a question or two about me?  I remember stuff they’ve said before, which they don’t always remember having told me.  They should remember some stuff too?  

No.  Is that because you’re a bit dull, Barry?  Or because they are, and they’re blokes?  Or both?

When the boot’s on the other foot and Barry is speaking to a female person, and he remembers something they mentioned once, he’s made to feel creepy for his memory.  “Wow!  You remembered that?” they say, looking at him like he was making notes or hiding in the bushes outside their front door every morning for a month.  “Um, yes,” Barry replies.  Because he does remember stuff.

This may be, in part, due to the fact that Barry doesn’t speak to all that many people so his brain is less burdened with stuff to remember, but he does still pride himself in having a strong memory when most people, especially blokes, don’t.  That’s still not ok though, if it makes you look like a creep.

The memory thing struck him again when chatting to someone he thought was going to become a good bloke friend several months ago, then their relationship wained.  Despite a handful of decent nights out, feeling like they were establishing a bond, certain things irked, Barry supposed mutually.  Enough for their manlove to both dwindle anyway. 

This saddened Barry, but not that much, which then saddened him some more: that he could just drop people, suddenly become less fussed when he realised they were a certain way, nice enough but plastic, not altogether that bright.

His ability to let friendships wither and slide was relentless.


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