Latest news with #courtship
Yahoo
16-07-2025
- Science
- Yahoo
Large dinosaur mating 'dance arena' discovered in Colorado
Researchers have discovered evidence of one of the largest dinosaur mating "dance arenas" in present-day Colorado. Previous studies have identified a couple of "dinosaur lek" areas -- where male dinosaurs likely congregated to perform courtship displays for females, primarily for the purpose of finding a mate -- at Dinosaur Ridge, 20 miles west of Denver. However, using high-resolution drone photography and photogrammetry to make 3D models of the sandstone at Dinosaur Ridge, a team reexamined the area to see if there were more markings on the surface. MORE: Jurassic Park-ing lot: Dino fossil turns Denver museum into dig site What they found were dozens of lek traces tightly clustered together, suggesting the area was once a site to perform mating rituals, similar to some modern-day birds. "So, these trace fossils, we interpret them to be evidence of dinosaur courtship activities, just from kind of process of elimination," Caldwell Buntin, co-author of the study and a lecturer at Old Dominion University in Norfolk, Virginia, told ABC News. Buntin said the team ruled out that these "scrapes" were caused by dinosaurs digging for food and water, from marking their territories or from colonial nesting, which is when animals build their nests close together in groups. "Basically, these were a lot of organisms that were coming together, performing some kind of activity that would include building some kind of nest to display to a female, and then maybe doing some kind of a dance or scraping activity, which generates a lot of the scrapes around the nest display structure," Buntin said. The scrapes belong to theropod dinosaurs, characterized by hollow bones and three toes and claws on each limb, which were alive during the Cretaceous period, between 145 million and 66 million years ago. It's not clear which species made the scrapes, but they were likely three to four feet high at the hip and were between 2.5 and 5 meters (8 to 16 feet) long, from the size of an emu to the size of an ostrich, according to Buntin. MORE: New horned dinosaur species discovered 'largest and most ornate' of its kind ever found There's a "spectrum of different scrapes," according to Buntin. Some are simple, shallow toe claw marks, indicating one or two scrapes from the left and right legs. There are also longer scrapes overprinting one another, resembling a wagon rut. Additionally, there are semicircular bowl-shaped marks "associated with a step backward" with a second set of scrapes "indicating a counterclockwise or a clockwise turn." Lastly, there are deep bowl-shaped marks with some shallow toe claw marks, Buntin said. In terms of behavior, Buntin said these dinosaurs most resemble that of banded plovers, which are small shorebirds. "Basically, they will dig out a nest display, basically a fake nest, to be able to show a female that, 'Hey, I'm a strong male. I can dig this. I can make a good, strong place for you to lay your eggs,'" Buntin said. "And then when a female comes to visit, they'll perform a dance which consists of kind of bowing, bobbing, raising their wings out, creating some scratches around the sides of that display nest." The authors emphasized that the site is public, meaning anybody can visit and see the scrapes for themselves compared to other scrap sites, which are on federally protected land. "It does really make it a very, very unique site, because not only does it have this amazing like type behavior displayed, but it also is so accessible for lots of people to be able to see it and understand better about the behavior of these wonderful animals that we can see now," Neffra Matthews, study co-author and former employee of the Bureau of Land Management, told ABC News.
BBC News
06-07-2025
- Entertainment
- BBC News
Beyond words: The 200-year-old hidden languages of dating
From Regency-era "fan flirting" to coded gifts, people have perfected the art of discreetly signalling their love over many centuries. Here's what it reveals about our quest for love. If you visit the Richelieu wing of the Louvre in Paris, you might meet the gaze of a former Queen of England. Her hands, adorned with expensive rings, are clasped together. She smiles ever so slightly in her reserved, composed way. Jewels and gems cover her headdress as well as the rich red and gold fabrics of her puffed-sleeve gown. A small cross hangs below her neck. There is no doubt from the painting that she was destined to turn heads. So arresting was Hans Holbein the Younger's betrothal portrait of Anne of Cleves, it caused one of the most powerful people in the world, Henry VIII, to enter an engagement with her in 1539. The painting was described by Henry's ambassador in Cleves as "very lively", implying that it was an accurate portrayal. However, some historians have accused Holbein of exaggerating her beauty. Either way, Anne and Henry's first encounter in person was incredibly awkward, with historical accounts suggesting that neither was attracted to the other. What followed was an unconsummated marriage before the couple were granted an annulment in July 1540 – some may say, a lucky escape for Anne. While presenting a potential future Queen in portrait form might initially seem far removed from our modern-day efforts of finding love in a world of digitised dating services, courtship portraits are, actually, back. Dating apps, used by 30% of adults in the US as of 2022, require users to make crucial preliminary judgements based on little more than a photograph and perhaps a few reassuring words from friends. As the majority of modern dating interactions begin from behind a screen, online users are exposed to hundreds of potential partners sorted by an algorithm. But, dating today and courtships hundreds of years ago suggests that words have not always been central, or necessary, for finding love. Some of the hidden languages or visual signals of attraction have remained remarkably similar over centuries, while others have faded into oblivion. What do these non-verbal codes reveal about how we perceive romantic relationships – and might understanding them, help us find true love? "Fan flirting" Let's begin with a period in a history known for celebrating romantic love and courtship. The Regency era, loosely defined as the decades around 1800, offered women the opportunity to be wooed – courted – but also, to actively go out into the marriage market. In novels by Regency era writers such as Jane Austen, characters often pursue marriage for financial or social prospects – but love tends to win by the end. Marrying for love became a "widely celebrated ideal during the 18th Century", says Sally Holloway, research fellow at Oxford Brookes University and author of The Game of Love in Georgian England. People emphasised finding love before marriage, as opposed to developing love for someone later, "not dissimilar from how you would assess compatibility with a partner today," she says. A love interest might develop at one of society's social events. Holloway says that there was fun to be had in subtle flirtation in these public settings – for example, there was a "language of fans" during the period, "but it was more a bit of fun than a serious method of communication". In 1797, the designer Charles Francis Bandini created a fan on which he printed a coded alphabet in tiny, ornate lettering – to allow women to send messages from across the room. The fan, called Fanology or the Ladies Conversation Fan listed different hand positions to indicate each letter in a similar fashion to semaphore, which was a method of communicating employed mostly by sailors using coloured flags. Another fan, entitled The Ladies Telegraph, for Corresponding at a Distance from 1798, was similar. "The primary use of the fan between lovers would have been as a much less explicit means of flirtation, accompanied by longing looks, fluttering eyelashes and loving glances," says Holloway. Fan signals were useful at crowded and noisy dances, or where discretion was required. But in closer quarters, men and women could use scents to "stimulate and strengthen feelings of love and sexual desire," says Holloway. Liquid scents were also applied to love letters in order to entice a lover. Holloway says that men during the Regency era typically presented women with a wide range of gifts, from flowers to miniature portraits, to show their affection and suitability as a partner. "Couples would check that their disposition and outlook on life were suitably similar by exchanging books as tokens and underlining the passages that they most agreed with," says Holloway. "In their letters, they discussed their hopes and fears, their moral views, what they hoped to find in marriage, and worked to build a closer emotional bond." In return, women "typically presented men with handmade items such as embroidered ruffles and waistcoats to indicate their domestic skill and time invested in a suitor, and pressed flowers such as violets, which symbolised their modesty, truthfulness and faithful love," says Holloway. The two most symbolically important gifts were locks of hair – a physical piece of the loved one's body which would outlast their time on Earth – and a ring, which symbolised their hand in marriage. While the language of fans may no longer be in use, according to Holloway, there are some similarities to the way couples still use gifts and messages to connect in the modern dating world. "All of these rituals helped to create a sense of intimacy and emotional closeness in a similar way to how modern couples might exchange a flurry of gifts, texts, emails, plan dates and days out, and spend time together as a way to ascertain their compatibility," Holloway says. The earliest form of social media? As photography became more accessible and widely distributed during the Victorian period, more people had the chance to see likenesses of celebrities and even royalty for the first time. Friends and family could also exchange mementos of each other. And soon the technology sweeping through British Victorian society found a romantic purpose: the cartes de visite – a portrait photograph around 9cm by 6cm, pasted onto a piece of card that could be sent to prospective lovers. Cartes were cheap and easy to exchange, so in their own way, a portrait could go viral like an image might go viral online today. People posted adverts requesting an exchange of cartes, and lovers might keep their suitor's cartes close to them, "almost like a little fetish object," says John Plunkett, an assistant professor in the department of English at the University of Exeter in the UK. Originally made famous by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert before becoming more accessible to the middle and upper classes, the cartes were "part of an individual's construction of themselves in relation to a wider collective identity," wrote Plunkett in a paper published in the Journal of Victorian culture. Cartes provided some people with their first and perhaps only opportunity of having their photo taken. As with modern dating apps, a carte could allow them to make an impactful first impression. "You're going to dress up in your Sunday best," says Plunkett. People included something of their personality, showing themselves reading, or posed in a way that showed how dominant or demure they were. "It gives you a chance to make a statement about who you are. You're going to make yourself look more socially mobile and higher status," says Plunkett. It became fashionable to turn the cartes of one's closest social connections into collages. An art style developed around posing friends in unusual and creative ways, such as assembled in a drawing room or even as unfortunate victims in a spider's web. The aim was to save these mementos in a scrap book and express something about how closely one's friends were held. In many cartes, some of which can be viewed at the V&A museum in London, UK, people posed with objects that represented wealth, such as art or sculptures – and even pets. Plunkett explains that the use of props helped people to remain still while photographers took their pictures, since those early photographs required much longer exposures than photos do today – but also to incorporate "the sense of a grand background" or to show off your profession, for example. "It's all about putting on an appearance and thinking about what's the vision of yourself you want to project… [like an] Instagram or Twitter profile… You're going to choose something that shows off a certain version of yourself," Plunkett says. Similarly, on dating apps today, people use backgrounds and props including exotic landscapes or animals to reflect their interests and how they like to see themselves. Romance in Berlin nightclubs By the end of the Victorian period, social etiquette was beginning to relax, and daters found new places to seek partners. Dancehalls played increasingly upbeat music late into the night. Jaunty ragtime dances gave way to jazz in the 20th Century. It became more socially acceptable for single women to go to bars and clubs with friends and meet people there. With new dating spaces came new ways to signal interest. Around this time, in the 1920s, Berlin became the poster city for ultra-modern night life. Some Berlin clubs were "immense, multi-level, with movable floors and even water for water ballet shows," says Jennifer Evans, a professor of 20th Century social history at Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada, and author of Life Among the Ruins: Cityscape and Sexuality in Cold War Berlin. Technology of the time enabled dancers to flirt in busy clubs. The Berlin nightclub Residenz-Casino, known familiarly as the Resi, became famous for offering night-clubbers the means to contact each other using either a telephone or an elaborate system of pneumatic tubes from their table. Like the tubes used in internal office mailing systems, department stores and banks to send money from the shop floor to the back office, a message could be stuck inside a metal canister and pushed into a tube, where it was sucked by a vacuum to its destination. Someone could write a message on paper and send it to a switchboard, where an operator would read to ensure it was polite (a bit like, an early example of content moderation on social media today) before diverting it to the recipient's table. Alongside messages, gifts "from cigarettes to small trinkets to cocaine" could be bought and sent to the intended love interest, says Evans. "There must have been something quite scintillating about seeing your person across the room as they received the message, hidden in plain sight," says Evans. "Their reactions, positive or negative, immediate and unfiltered, enhanced by the sense of fun and frivolity in the room. Maybe we should bring them back." The outbreak of World War Two in 1939 spelled the end of this form of social interaction, she says, but some nightclub communication systems lived on in what would become West Berlin after the war. The Resi itself re-opened in 1951. "I suppose we are constantly re-inventing ways to talk to one another, expressing our desires, in these demi-monde [fringe or clandestine] spaces,' says Evans. "It seems to say a lot about who we are as humans and how badly we seek connection." Secret signals in LGBTQ+ culture Same-sex relationships have long had to rely on alternative modes of communication because of the history of oppression and marginalisation that has targeted people in LGBTQ+ communities. Historically, secret signals allowed LGBTQ+ people to find partners while trying to stay safe from hostility, violence and repressive laws. Same-sex relationships were illegal in much of Europe until the 1960s and 70s, and 2000s in the US. The green carnation, for example, originally became popular as a symbol with a hidden meaning by gay writer Oscar Wilde. In 1892, Wilde instructed a handful of his friends to wear them on their lapels for the opening night of his play Lady Windermere's Fan. When asked what it meant, Wilde (allegedly) said, "Nothing whatsoever. But that is just what nobody will guess." "This sums up so many of these queer symbols – they have to be hidden hints and nods without overtly saying what they mean," says Sarah Prager, speaker and author of Queer, There and Everywhere: 27 People Who Changed the World and other books about LGBTQ+ history. "This can be a challenge for historians," adds Prager. "There might never be full confirmation or separation from legend with some of these symbols, because the whole point is to be able to communicate in secret in times of oppression." Other flowers and plants became associated with the LGBTQ+ community. "Besides the green carnation, one of the oldest examples of queer floriography is violet and lavender. [...] The colours purple, lavender [and] violet, have all been associated with queerness for centuries," says Prager. "We think this dates back to Sappho, the Greek poet of the 6th Century BCE, [who] wrote about women loving other women and is one of the earliest recorded examples of queerness between women." Jewellery has long been used as a visual expression and communicator of sexual identity in queer communities. "I have tattoos, earrings, clothing, that signal my queerness so that it makes it easier for me to feel in community with people," Prager says. "The feeling that I get when I see somebody else showing one of these symbols is an instant recognition of community, safety, kinship." Through the musical and sexual liberation of the Swinging '60s and '70s, queer culture found a new voice. There were increasingly spaces for the LGBTQ+ community to seek love. In Germany, "gay men used the Contacts Desired pages of magazines like Der Kreis and the later gay magazines like Him," says Jennifer Evans. "There, they'd advertise for 'friendship' or companionship... or sometimes, more brazenly for photo exchanges." The test of time The desire to see a sweetheart's likeness, and playfully connect through coded gestures and implied meaning, has continued to the present day – whether through dating app profiles, curated online presences, pings, likes, swipes and compliments. "There's a long history to secret writing, long before sexting or slipping into someone's DMs as they say," says Evans. She points out that flirting and the early stages of courtship have long been associated with the development of new technologies that allow people to communicate hidden thoughts and feelings, even in plain sight: "From symbols like a coloured handkerchief hanging from a back jean pocket in gay cruising, to shorthand emojis and acronyms in sexting." Sometimes, she adds, this furtiveness serves a purpose in keeping people safe – such as when being public about engaging in certain sexual practices could put one in danger. But more generally, she says, it is the sheer thrill of developing shared intimacies. Codes, rituals and carefully composed images are all "part of the game". -- For more science, technology, environment and health stories from the BBC, follow us on Facebook, X and Instagram.
WIRED
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- WIRED
A Game Called 'Date Everything' Literally Lets You Date Everything—Except People
Jul 3, 2025 12:45 PM The new dating sim's characters range from polyamorous to asexual, but none of them are human. Still from Date Everything. Courtesy of Team17 Lux, a catty, bottle blonde personification of my house lights, has just informed me we're dating—as long as I can follow a few rules. The influencer, whose head is haloed by a ring light, has a few notable ones: I need to take them out to the most chic restaurants for every meal. Sex only when they want to film for their 'Fans Only' account. The relationship ends when they find someone 'richer or more famous.' Agree, and their brittle love is mine. I want to unplug all my lamps and throw them on the curb. Instead, I saunter off to go flirt with the shadow that exists under my spinning globe in hopes of a better date. Date Everything , a new dating sim from Sassy Chap Games, imitates the highs and lows of real-life courtship, but with an absurd twist: everyday objects in your house are now here for you to woo, whether it's your couch, your washer, or yes, even the lamps and light switches that exist throughout your house. But where other dating sim developers want you to fall in love with their characters, these game developers know you're going to find a few to hate. 'It's called Date Everything , not romance everything,' Sassy Chap co-founder Robbie Daymond says. Some of their characters were written to feel a little bit like villains. That's because, Daymond says, 'you probably went on a date at some point in your life with a villain.' The game's only hard and fast rule is that players can't date anything living. Nothing with a soul, according to Daymond. 'That opens up a Pandora's box of uncomfortable conversations about living things and relationships,' he says. Sassy Chap Games' 'cheeky dating sim' began as a riff between renowned voice actors Ray Chase and Daymond. Chase's credits include Final Fantasy 15 lead Noctis and Cyclops in X-Men '97 , while Daymond has voiced characters such as Goro Akechi in Persona 5 and Sailor Moon 's Tuxedo Mask. Although the two didn't have a formal background in game development, both have strong connections to artists and actors who could help bring their vision to life. The idea came from Daymond, who laid out the game's ultimate vision plainly: 'Well, like, what if you just date everything in your house?' Seven years later, Sassy Chap—which formed to make this game specifically—released Date Everything . It's a game of quick-witted writing with an impressively diverse cast of characters, voiced by some of the game industry's best actors. After you're replaced at work by AI, you find yourself with a lot of free time and a pair of 'Dateviator' glasses, mysterious tech delivered to your front door that allows you to see objects in your home as talking, flirting humans. You're tasked with finding new objects to build relationships with, whether based on friendship, love, or—as is the case with my asshole lamp—hate. The game is loose with how many lovers you can have and doesn't penalize you for playing the field. Instead, it actively encourages it. 'From a traditional dating sim standpoint, you usually choose one route, one lover, and you go with that,' says Chase, who was the lead narrative designer, on top of doing voice work in the game. The team thought about following a similar path before eventually rejecting it for feeling too limiting. 'This is a game that celebrates polyamory by definition—you are dating everything,' he says. Despite the inherent absurdity of its premise, Date Everything is closer to modern dating than many dating sims today. The player's character is stuck in a dead-end job that's being eaten by shady CEOs and capitalistic greed. It's not always easy to find the objects you want to ask out, and sometimes even when you do you quickly learn there's no chemistry. Some of the characters carry content warnings for things like stalking, or are downright rude; others get clingy or just want hookups. 'We're telling [a story with] a lot of different ways that love can be expressed,' says Chase. 'We have some characters who are explicitly horny, and all they want is a pure sexual relationship with the player.' Other characters are asexual, meaning they aren't sexually attracted to others, or are aromantic and don't experience romantic feelings. 'We even have some very sexual characters that are totally fine with a completely asexual playthrough, showing that kaleidoscope of different ways of expressing love and friendship,' he says. For purists who aren't keen on that idea, it's still up to them to decide what they want. 'You are getting to know a lot of characters in the house, but whether you fall in love with them or become friends or become enemies, it doesn't really matter. You can still do a completely purely monogamous relationship with one character or with five hangers.' (Hangers usually come in a pack, so even together they all count as one character). 'We wanted to make sure that all the pathing for everybody was as diverse as people are diverse as well,' Chase says. 'We didn't want any repetition between characters thematically.' Sassy Chap doesn't consider their game a typical dating sim, nor do they think it necessarily—or needs to—fit perfectly in that genre. 'The whole point of the dating sim genre is to embody the human experience,' says Amanda Hufford, who also wrote and acted in the game. 'As that evolves, so does the genre—or at least it should.' Variety is just as much a benefit to the genre as it is to real-life dating. 'You do date around, you get to know people at different depths, different lengths of time, and that's really important to exploring yourself and how you experience relationships with other people—how you connect with others, what you need, what you don't need,' Hufford says. 'I don't think a lot of [dating] games necessarily always give you that kind of opportunity.' Hufford adds that they think it's good when players find characters they don't vibe with. 'That's not for them. They learn something about themselves, not only as a player, but also as a person, which was kind of the goal.' In my case, it turns out, I'm not all that interested in dating self-absorbed influencers. When Date Everything gave me the dialogue option to end my time with Lux, I happily took it: 'Changed my mind. I fucking hate you.'
Telegraph
08-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
We fell in love over cocktails, and wine. Could our relationship survive when I went sober?
When we both ordered Old Fashioneds on our first date in 2012, I thought my husband might be the one. Dale told me that, when it came to cocktails, he had a sweet tooth, and he couldn't resist a maraschino cherry or a tiny umbrella. I felt exactly the same way. I was smitten. Cocktails defined our courtship. We went to the Ivy, the Connaught, the American Bar at the Savoy. Not long after we met, he whisked me away to Paris, then Venice, and we attempted to drink in every bar Hemingway hung out in – quite quickly, we discovered this was pretty much every bar we passed. We went to New York and stayed at the Algonquin – and stayed up at the bar. Dale was happy to indulge my Dorothy Parker fixation. I started to wonder exactly what Parker's problem was. I couldn't channel her cynicism, any more. I was drunk, in love. Eventually, we settled into a real-life rhythm. We moved in together and ticked every box on the newly cohabiting couple bingo card. We'd cook, we'd buy nice wine, we'd host and attend boozy dinner parties. We'd make noises about taking a week off drinking, then we'd meet in the pub after a particularly tricky day at work, drink more than we meant to, and buy chips on the way home. We'd attempt dry January or Sober October, with varying levels of success. We'd have a drink when we went to the cinema, or the theatre. We became engaged in the summer of 2014, and we married in the Autumn of 2015 – I reckon I was drunk on champagne for the best part of 18 months. However, as my 30s progressed, I started to question my relationship with alcohol. I was struggling to manage my anxiety, and drinking exacerbated it. My hangovers got worse – I'd wake up feeling afraid – it was as though my bones knew something dreadful was going to happen, even though my brain could find no evidence to back this up. I became hypervigilant about work, worrying obsessively about making a mistake and failing, checking my emails constantly and obsessively. My alcohol-related anxiety shrank my ambition. I turned down exciting assignments, because I convinced myself that I wouldn't be able to do a good job. I never did anything dreadful – my worst drunken stunt was usually ordering a large Dominos pizza and then trying to beat it home. The binge eating was another issue: I was gaining weight and always trying a new diet. I'd drink on an empty stomach, then eat the contents of the kitchen cupboards for dinner. Dale was patient and kind, but baffled. He'd always been better than I was at knowing his limits and calling it a night. Yet, the more unhappy and anxious I became, the more I drank. Sometimes I'd go out without him and come home hopelessly drunk. We'd argue in the morning , because he'd been worried about my safety. I'd feel terrible about what I'd put him through and promise myself that I'd never do it again. Until the next time. For years, I wrestled with alcohol and my mental health, in secret. I thought that if I could get my anxiety under control, I'd be able to drink happily, in moderation, like everyone else. I still loved drinking with Dale. We moved to the Kent coast – we'd walk off our hangovers beside the sea, and he'd tell me everything was going to be OK. But mentally, I was going to some shockingly dark places. I was scared to tell Dale just how low I felt, because I was scared to express my thoughts out loud. I started reading memoirs about sobriety and addiction. At first, I was trying to reassure myself that I was fine and I didn't have a real problem. Maybe I was going through a phase, but I was startled to discover how much I had in common with the people I was reading about. The books made me feel less alone and less ashamed, but I couldn't ignore the facts that were in front of me. I couldn't drink like other people – not even my husband. We'd fallen in love under the spell of a magic potion. Now it was poisoning me. Every day, I went back and forth. I couldn't quit. I had to quit. I just needed a month off. We were going on holiday, then to a festival, then to a fortieth birthday party... As soon as the calendar was calmer, I'd take a break. The holiday was our first post-Covid trip – starting in Copenhagen, then on to Malmö and Stockholm. I'd been looking forward to it for a long time. On our first night we went out for gin cocktails, before dinner with a wine flight. And on our second day, I started crying, and I couldn't stop. I cried all the way to Malmö. I was in the dark and I couldn't get out. I realised I had to try sobriety, because nothing else was working. For Dale, a lot of this seemed to come out of nowhere. It was hard for both of us. He was sympathetic, but frustrated. He knew people who had problems with addiction, and I didn't fit the profile. For him, the trip marked the end of a big work project – he wanted to celebrate and have fun. 'At the time, I thought 'Can't she just wait until we're back from our holiday?'' he told me, later. But he knew that I was desperate and frightened. Together, we took it one day at a time – some occasions were more challenging than others. At first, I struggled when I was socialising, and we'd bicker about when we could go home – if I had my way, we'd leave 20 minutes after arriving. We tried to go to bars together, and I turned into a whiny fun sponge, complaining that everywhere was too loud, too crowded and too hot. I suspect that we came quite close to divorce when I was about three months in sobriety, and I'd wake up every morning and give Dale a TED talk on how well I'd slept. We missed our favourite drinking rituals, but we found new ones. When I finished a novel, Dale bought me a bottle of Wild Idol non-alcoholic champagne to celebrate. Instead of seeking out new cocktail bars, we went on missions to discover the best gelato. And I started to realise that without booze, I was, on balance, a better partner. I still had dark days, but they didn't become dark weeks or months. I had more energy and enthusiasm for trying new things, from exhibitions to cinema trips. We went out for dinner less, but we went out for breakfast more. I often thought it was a shame that neither of us could drive – poor Dale missed out on the biggest potential benefit of a newly sober spouse, a late-night chauffeur. I asked Shahroo Izadi, a psychologist, addiction specialist and behavioural change expert, about the challenges that a couple in our situation might face and how you can both support each other when one of you goes sober. She told me: 'What often creates tension is the assumption that one partner's choice to stop drinking is a silent judgement on the other – or on drinking itself. In truth, it's usually about recognising the personal impact alcohol has on them – not alcohol itself being 'bad.' The key is to communicate your needs without moralising: 'This is something I'm working on, and here's how you can support me,' rather than implying anyone else needs to change.' Her words strike a chord: if I've learnt anything since I stopped drinking, it's that alcohol affects everyone differently. I feel as though I'm 'emotionally allergic' to booze – I wouldn't necessarily expect Dale, or anyone else to respond to alcohol in the way that I did. It's coming up to three years since I stopped drinking. I believe it's one of the best things I've ever done – I think I'm happier, and I think our marriage is stronger. But in the interests of accuracy, I had to ask Dale what he thought. 'It's been much easier than I thought it would be. Drinking together was always fun, and I never thought you had a problem, so I was a bit shocked and sad when you stopped. Maybe the hardest part was not knowing how much you were struggling in silence. But three years on, you seem calmer and happier and our life and our routine hasn't changed that much. We still go out and have fun together. I drink a bit less, and I feel better for it. For me, the biggest benefit is probably that I don't worry as much when you're out late without me.' Quitting drinking was hard. Having a supportive partner made it much easier. I don't know that I'd still be sober if I was with someone who pressured me to come to the pub, for 'just the one'. I know that this has been challenging for both of us, in different ways. I worried that without booze, I wouldn't be any fun. But before I quit, I wasn't fun at all. Just anxious and unhappy. Now I'm calmer, more confident and more energetic – and hopefully, nicer to be married to. Sometimes sobriety seems bittersweet. I miss getting tipsy with Dale, and I'm sad that there aren't any more shared Old Fashioneds in our future. But we can still toast each other if I'm holding a mocktail. And there's always gelato.
RNZ News
06-06-2025
- General
- RNZ News
Critter of the Week: The New Zealand Backswimmer
animals national 32 minutes ago This week's critter is a common inhabitant of ponds. You may have seen them before, swimming under the surface upside down! The New Zealand backswimmer is cute little bug shaped like a boat with oars for legs. They are voracious predators, eating anything they can get their straw like mouthpart in to suck up the juicy insides. Males will court females by singing to them, using a special part of the foreleg which they drag on a part of their mouth to create a chirping noise. How romantic!
