Shakespeare and (my) Company

I've blogged, before, about the joy that comes from seeing my old friend, Shakespeare. I believe I mentioned my offense at her not having gotten off her ass to make the short trip from London to have our hospitality bestowed upon her. Well, this weekend, Shakespeare rectified all, doing Flame-Haired Angel and me the honour of crossing the channel to be our guest and play in Paris for a few days. It only occurred to me when I saw her in London, in December, that we'd known each other a yikes-inducing twenty years. We dated for about five minutes, those twenty years ago. I was so struck when I first saw her that I went on incessantly about her beauty to my friends, who teased me by nicknaming her: "If bodies were literature, she'd be fucking Shakespeare." We might have had a disastrous relationship based on deep mutual longing, except for the fact that each of us suspected the other of harbouring absolutely no desire whatsoever, and so walked meekly in opposite directions. It wasn't until much later that we disabused each other of our self-deprecating assumptions and donned the truer mantle of mutual stupidity. And, of course, by then, we had each moved on. We've not lived closer than a few time zones since leaving university, but ours is one of those friendships that is precious not just because she is, but because our history covers more than half our lives, and that is precious. Like it or not, with history that long, we have each played some small role in defining the other. Lovely to see her, walk arm in arm with her, introduce my true love to her. Shakespeare (with company) in front of the world famous bookshop, Shakespeare & Company ..