This Charming Man

I thought it'd be the last of Mr Maps after the cancelling. And the indecision. And the general fuckwittery. But no! He had more treats in store, as I was to find out.


I wake up Saturday to find two missed calls from him. One at 1:30am, one at 2:16am. Curious, I thought. One call could be a sit-on-your-phone accidentally scenario. Two separate calls intrigued me, and I was interested to see if he had an excuse or was just a bit mental. The following text conversation ensued.

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Hey. I had two missed calls from you at 2am. Everything ok...?


Sorry for drunky calls at silly o'clock. Brain switched off and willy started driving. X


Riiiight... do you always call random people you've never met for 2am booty calls? x


No. Sorry x


Cor, talk about mixed messages. Could've been quite simple had we just had that drink x


Sorry about that. I was horny and drunk x


Still not doing the dating thing? I notice you're still on the site. x


I don't think I want anything serious, just some fun x


Fair enough - tough call to make though if you've not even got as far as a casual drink with someone. x


I know, I just want to be honest. x

Course. Surely it's a case of seeing what happens right? You can't have expectations if you've not met :) x


Busy tonight?x


Why, you taking me for that drink? x


Maybe x


Man you've pushed your luck... If I say yes, will you just cancel again? x


I'm driving. I'll give you a text in a bit?


Let's leave it. Sorry. x


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Face like Crime Watch

Well, here it is – the first post of 2011. And it’s going to be a moany one. About dating.

With the business of Christmas out of the way (shopping, drinking, hangovers, eating, drinking, hangovers, glowering) I decided to get back into the dating thing for 2011. What people don’t tell you is that it’s hard work. You have to be prepared to find time to trawl through endless profiles, for someone who’s photo isn’t like something off Crime Watch and who’s personal description goes beyond “I like smiling, the gym and socialising.” Then there’s the contact thing. It takes time to reply to messages and filter out who you are and aren’t going to respond to. Then there’s the actual dating – going to meet a stranger in a pub after a busy day at work to make wry, flirty, intelligent conversation, when all you really want to do is sit about in your pants and have a nice glass of wine and some crisps while you watch My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding… what do you mean, that’s why I’m single? Shut up.

Anyway. The etiquette of contact. What I am finding is two things: one, I attract some dodgy types who can’t actually type English (the best one’s personal tagline read ‘Where is soulmate?’), and two, there are a fuckload of timewasters on this site. Before Christmas, it all seemed quite straightforward and everyone I met was normal. (With the exception of the Doctor who clearly had the mental stability of a post-Haribo and Capri-Sun binge Jedward on a trip to Alton Towers.) Arranging dates was simple and they always turned up.

Since Christmas, I’ve had messages from three men who looked interesting enough to agree to meet for a drink. It started off with the usual slightly laboured conversation based around something they’d seen on my profile, then getting down to the business of date arranging. Having been asked out, and accepted, I then started the process of when and where we were going to meet. Herein, it seems, lies the problem. Apparently, this is very difficult for grown men to arrange. Two of these conversations ended up fizzling out halfway through arranging a drink. Not a good sign for the future really.

The third one impressed me with the cut of his jib when he simply messaged me ‘cut to the chase – can I take you for a drink?’ No messing about, I thought, how refreshing. We swapped numbers and began texting to finalise details. Then the cancelling began. Firstly, admittedly, it was me. But I was genuine about rearranging. Which we did, four times – and each time he would cancel. This morning I got the classic text (after we’d arranged to meet this Wednesday) saying ‘Hey, I’ve been thinking and I’m not sure I’m ready to date. There’s no point meeting up. Sorry x’ – which is fine….. but prompts the question, WHY in the name of Zeus’s beard are you on a DATING site, actively asking people out?

Tool. Perhaps I should take ‘where is soulmate?’ man up on his offer. If I’m lucky, I might get taken to Wetherspoon’s for a Bacardi Breezer and a packet of Nobby’s nuts. 

"It's just not going anywhere."

So after a month throwing myself into this online dating lark, I thought I was becoming quite the Veteran. I was no longer feeling sick at the thought of meeting a stranger in a pub for a drink and feeling that my small talk skills were pretty polished - it's important you don't sound like you're interviewing when trying to make conversation.


I'd met various decent-seeming guys, and friends had been asking me how it'd been going, and where my blog posts on the topic were. I naively said that everyone I'd met had been perfectly nice so far, even if they didn't all have any chemistry with me. I'd happily regale the story of No'rn Ir'on's 'mental' who got excessively pissed off after she was too busy to answer a message and labelled her a timewasting girl who clearly like to mess men about. Mentally unstable AND hates women - what a catch!



"But so far, for me, everyone's been fine!"



Talk about tempting Fate.


Friday was the fifth date with the Doctor. I wasn't convinced of the compatibility between us but there was a definite chemistry which we'd been er, acting upon, since pretty much the first time we met. (Not like that,  I'm not some sort of slattern. In a rather innocent teenage type way.) He seemed to be a gent, taking me out on the heath in Hampstead for an autumnal stroll (now I've typed that, I also see how dodgy that sounds. Honestly, this cottaging lark has ruined mentioning Hampstead Heath for the rest of us. Are you reading this, Stephen Fry?) and sipping good bottles of red in cosy London pubs. The conversation was pretty good as you'd expect from an intellectual and I enjoyed his company.


After our second date, he was going away for a research trip to Budapest - upon saying goodbye, he promised to get in touch from his trip away. I said, er no, it's fine - just text me when you get back and we'll take it from there. The alarm bells should have started ringing at this point, along with the very premature coupley things like hand-holding in pubs and excessive PDAs. However, I just thought it was quite sweet that he was keen.


We carried on seeing each other, while I proclaimed to friends that I wasn't really sure about our long-term compatibility due to his a) extreme and self-admitted middle-class snobbery, b) his intellectualism and c) our very different lifestyles. As an academic, his life was the British Library, teaching students, endless coffee and erratic research hours. Mine's more 9-6 working in the City, pubs and extremely inappropriate conversations with my dear friends. I had a feeling that his softly-spoken nature might not gel that well with my friends who think nothing of telling a paedophile joke in public, or dropping the C bomb without batting an eyelid.


So, Friday - the fifth date. We arranged to meet at the German Christmas market on Southbank. He greeted me like his girlfriend outside the BFI, apparently we'd graduated from polite kissing on the cheek to all-embracing smackers.  I was taken aback but suggested we go and enjoy the market delights. Working our way through Gluhwein at the BFI bar and from the stalls, we wandered and laughed at the disgusting tourist tat for sale (who actually needs a Nativity scene snow globe that lights up? Who?) and commented on how pretty the London Eye looked.


We decided to go for dinner, unremarkable food at Giraffe but a pleasing respite from the biting winds. Halfway through the meal he asked about my plans for the remainder of the weekend. I explained that I was seeing various people on Saturday afternoon but other than that, was happy to go with the flow.


"Well, it's my friend's birthday party on Saturday night and I wondered if you wanted to come and meet my friends?"


I instantly thought NO - bit soon for the whole meeting each other's friends lark. I made non-committal noises about how I wasn't sure how long my afternoon engagements would go on for, and steered away from the topic. We got back to more light-hearted chat, and went outside to finish our bottle of wine and smoke a cigarette. Now I don't know if it was the wine or what, but The Doctor was telling me how whatever it was between us, he was enjoying it and would very much like to come back to mine. I said yeah, well it is what it is and right now it seems fun so that sounds good.

Which is when the night went a bit wrong back at my place. At the most inappropriate time he probably could have picked all night, he suddenly went from “come and meet my friends” and “this chemistry is amazing” to “I’m not feeling this. We could definitely go out for a few months, and we’d have loads of fun but you’re not The One.”

Naturally, I was taken aback as I wasn’t aware that the fifth date was suddenly akin to making vows and promising yourselves to each other forever through sickness and health.

“Riiight… and this occurred to you when, after proclaiming whatever this was ‘was brilliant’ or after asking me to your friend’s birthday party?”

He then proceeded to have a small Existential crisis about what he was looking for while I looked on, baffled.

“I don’t know you very well, but in all honesty, I think you might get disappointed if you enter every alright date with the notion that this person could be your wife.”

“I over-analyse everything. I’d fuck it up. I should go.”

Yes, I think that might be wise.

The following morning, I went to make tea in the kitchen. No’rn Ir’on looked puzzled.

“Here, were you wearing pearl earrings last night?” She held up a stud that she’d found on the sofa.

“Ohh yeah, I wondered where’d they’d gone, thanks,” feeling my bare ear lobes. I explained the evening, still bemused by the remarkable U-turn and flash of issues I’d been lucky enough to be exposed to at an early stage.

She shrugged.

“At least you can get a blog post out of it now.”

True that. Thanks to the Doctor for the inspiration.

Twenty-something girl WLTM Mr Wrong. GSOH.

A blogpost about online dating.* Here it is. The internet is awash with Carrie Bradshaw wannabes detailing the excruciating details of their dysfunctional love lives. So I thought I'd join in. 

While I love my single life (not having to answer to anyone, no-one else's issues to deal with, the total freedom to see whoever you want, whenever you want), I'd been discussing online dating with friends recently and came to the conclusion that it's no longer the preserve of hideous virgins and dodgy perverts. Our generation works online, socialises online so why not a bit of digitally-induced romance? I know of people who met online and are blissfully happy, even married. 

We've all heard the horror stories. My particular favourite is an ordinary-seeming guy, who halfway through the first drink asked my friend if she'd "like a good fisting?" Seriously. She politely declined. Aside from possible situations like this, I figured the experience could at least make for some funny stories, and perhaps lead to meeting some new friends, or the man of my dreams, Benedict Cumberbatch... what do you mean, he's not online dating? But how else am I going to find him? 

So, filled with curiosity and trepidation, I registered with a site and found myself stumped at the first hurdle of putting my profile together. It's hard to a) differentiate yourself from everyone else on there without sounding too 'quirky', b) big yourself up without coming off as a twat, and c) be funny without being flippant. A quick browse of other profiles reassured me that other people aren't very good at building their own brand either. I made a decision not to engage with anyone who self-describes using the words 'crazy', 'unusual', 'laid-back' or 'normal.' (Read: annoying, on some sort of sex pest register, boring and weird.)

It's clear that there are some oddballs on there. I've been emailed people's bizarre life stories, and had interest from a guy who has used some very weird song lyrics as his 'about me' section. However, am also having some interesting chats with people who on paper (or should I say screen) look interesting and normal. A date yesterday was perfectly alright but I instantly knew on meeting him that despite the eloquent and clever emails, there was no spark whatsoever and he just wasn't going to be funny enough for me. So I dazzled him with my wit, obviously, then after a quick lunch and drink, made my excuses and left. I'm certain he's not at home nursing a broken heart today. 

A few of us have joined the same site and it's going to be interesting seeing what happens and who we meet. A giggle if nothing else, and hopefully some good material to write about on here before I inevitably meet that male model millionaire with a PhD. (Or, Benedict. Obviously.)

* I should just clarify that I detest the word 'date'. It's just so fucking American. But there's no real alternative in English, is there? 'Online seeing-someone' or 'online flinging' just sound a bit weird and/or like you're cruising the net. 

Some commuter etiquette recommendations

I spend a lot of my time on public transport in London. Mainly buses. Now I know that I could save myself hassle and money, save the planet, get fitter blah blah by cycling, but I'm a menace to myself and others. It would take one momentary distraction of "Oh look, a bee!" and I'd cycle straight under the wheels of the 26 bus.

I avoid the Tube where possible as being on an oven-temperature B.O.-reeking underground train isn't my favourite thing in the world. I also don't really enjoy being full-frontally pressed against strangers at 8am. Or anytime really.

So, buses. A magnet for stupid people, it seems. So, to make everyone's lives easier, here's a few little tips to make everyone's journeys a bit more comfortable.

Brush your teeth before getting on the morning commuter bus. You're going to be in close proximity to other people, it's only polite. Imagine every morning journey is like a date, yeah?

Stop carrying massive fuck-off rucksacks/suitcases/boxes/suspicious parcels on the rush-hour buses. Get a chuffing cab if you have loads of luggage.

People with massive buggies who get on for ONE stop and force a whole bus load of people to move or get off. You can just fuck right off. WALK you lazy people.

Don't have loud, inappropriate conversations on your mobile phone whilst your mouth is roughly four centimetres from my head, because despite my earphones I can still hear you and I may well assault you.

If you're sitting next to me, don't sit ON me.

Don't use the fact we're standing in cattle-truck conditions to 'accidentally' touch me. One more hand brush anywhere remotely sexy and I will scream sexual harrassment. And swiftly knee you in the balls.

If you're a highly attractive man please don't stand right next to me, face-to-face as I will die of not knowing where to look or what to do.

Stop showing off if you think you're funny and you're having a comedy conversation with your friends. Listen, you braying idiot, you're not funny, you're a twat. Shut up.

School kids - just go away.

Right, that should make everyone's lives easier. I for one am a model bus passenger and would never barge you out of the way to scramble on the bus, never have very very loud music blasting out of my headphones and never scowl at other passengers when I am hungover and a bit fucking irritable. *beams*

"It's the weekend!!!!!!!! LOL x"

I've been quiet again on the blog front. Turns out having a busy job and getting drunk with your friends take up more time than you'd think.

I'm compelled to write to address some irksome social media issues. Now, for most people, these things probably don't matter. If you're one of those people and you're reading this, you're probably going to think 'get a life, who even cares?' in about 100 words time. This might piss you off.

So, I like social media, right? I'm pretty passionate about it. (That sounds better than 'geek'.) I think it's an amazing tool that allows us all to be connected, if we want to be. I know what my friends abroad are doing day to day, I can see their photos, I can read interesting blogs about my industry and I see the power of the ordinary person's voice on Twitter. I think that's quite cool. I work in communications so for me, it works both on a personal and professional level.

Lately though, I've been getting a wee bit irritated by some of the things I see on Facebook and Twitter. Maybe it's because I'm what you might call a 'frequent user', or because I am interested in the sector, I have more of an interest/understanding in style and etiquette than someone who just uses these things to organise football practice or stalk their crush.

Maybe it's because I'm a social media snob. I'm not saying that my Facebook or Twitter feeds aren't annoying to some people. They certainly are. I bang on about music, tea, the fucking London bus service, how much I love Guy Garvey, and I also have a lot of essentially nonsensical, bollocks conversations with my funny friends.

Saying that though, these are some things that I just don't understand - and I know it's not just me they bug because I've had conversations with mates recently about the very same things.

1) Using a MILLION exclamation marks on tweets or Facebook statuses. Why? No really, WHY? It's always attached to the most mundane of statements too. "I've finished work!!!!!" Or my personal favourite, "It's the weekend!!!!!" I am glad you wrote that on your Facebook wall, otherwise I would not have KNOWN. Also if you'd written it with only one, or maybe no exclamation marks, I might not have FULLY UNDERSTOOD. Perhaps this a wider English language thing I have, but either way, it translates really fucking badly on social media. I know the Grumpy Scot and The Director are with me on this one. It's like if you have to say 'I'm mad, me!', I can guarantee the most you can hope for is that you're 'mad' in a needing-medication way, not a 'carefree, spontaneous, risky' way.

2) Facebook photos. Right, this is a contentious issue. Most people chose a nice shot their mates have taken of them. Or a nice, not-too-twatty self portrait. Or something totally not of them at all. There a couple of other types of shot that grate a wee bit. Firstly, matching coupley profile pictures. I know, I know, I come across as a bitter spinster. It's not that people in relationships annoy me, I just don't understand why people feel the need to up the smug 'look at me with a LOVER!' stakes. It smacks of showing off if you match this with your partner's photo. What you're trying to say is 'look how sexually desirable and generally awesome I am, I'm an Other Half!' What you're actually saying is 'we didn't have sex on this holiday and I'm really unhappy but I think I'll stick with it because we have a lovely house and I won't give up custody of the dog.'

Secondly, perhaps it's just because myself and a lot of mates are at that age where people are staring to settle down - but KID profile pictures. Now I know, it MUST be amazing having children. I've heard all about it, from friends and sisters. When I see my niece and nephews there is something so profound about the trust they have in you, and how lovely it is having hot little bodies snuggled up on you on the sofa while dozing. It does transcend everything else. However - just because you've had a child, you're still my mate, you still have your own personality, you don't just become MUM.

In fact some people I know who aren't close friends may as well have 'I can't use birth control properly, LOLZ!' on their Facebook statuses.

3) Adding a kiss to the end of every generic status update/ tweet. 'I'm eating toast x' Am I missing something? Yes I write kisses on messages to specific people, but I don't get it on general statuses. It reeks of a kind of arrogance, like all your followers would be so grateful for your love. You're not Jesus, yeah? It just looks a bit weird, like you're bestowing something on people. You're not. It just looks a bit affected.

4) I'm not proclaiming to be the most exciting, entertaining person ever. My favourite recent TV programme was with Martin Clunes rambling on about horses, for goodness' sake. However. I do try a little bit to be slightly amusing. Someone I had as a friend on Facebook just used to basically list their household chores. Part of the point of social media I guess is making the mundane prominent if people want to. But you don't want to make your friends want to send you a hobby leaflet, or ask your family if 'you're ok, as you don't seem to get out much.' I know The Blonde is with me on this.

Some of you might think this comes off as snobbery or communication superiority. It's not, it's just observations that become apparent when I spend a fair bit of time using social media for work and for pleasure. Right, I'm off to get a real life. Either that, or tweet about what I'm having for my tea.

"Washing your car?"

Ah, Sunday. Papers, relaxation, pottering. I love Sundays.

Today was a little different to usual. I normally wake up bleary-eyed, wondering what the hell happened the night before (if it's been a good night, that is) and asking the nearest person to make me a cup of tea, immediately, PLEASE.

Today I awoke on a sofa bed after a wonderful university housemate reunion, with a ginger kitty called Horris purring in my ear. We were leaving early to get back to London so I could attend yoga and go for a swim.

The Cyclist and I boarded the train in Sutton, full of bacon sandwiches and tea from our hostess's fine breakfast. We'd not had much luck on the way down from London, as we'd inadvertantly boarded a train carriage that contained the Spawn of Satan. A gaggle of middle-class teenagers had whined, shouted, brayed and squealed through the whole journey. One of them was called Paris. I wanted to smack Paris, a LOT. Severely obnoxious with a total lack of self-awareness is a winning combination for others wishing violence upon you.

As we boarded, I said,

"If Paris turns up on this train, I'll punch her in the babymaker."

Luckily there was no Paris. But there WAS an insufferable, pseudo-intellectual bearded idiot sat with who I presume was his girlfriend. Or if not, he definitely wanted to fuck her and was using smart-arse film references to get in her pants. Now I love a bit of culture, don't get me wrong. I will happily sit and talk about music and art and films. But hopefully I don't do it loudly on a train with a smug, self-serving tone. If I do, let me know yeah?

The Cyclist and I glanced at each other as he harped on loudly about some film and some other pretentious crap. A stream of spurious culture references spilled out of his mouth. I was dying to a) laugh loudly, b) take the piss out of him, and c) self-harm so I could concentrate on something else. I texted The Cyclist as I just had to vent.

"Oh my god Jonny Lee Miller was, like SO understated yah? When I was at The Globe, yah? Shut up you massive drama student TWUNT!"

The Cyclist read it on her phone and smirked, I gritted my teeth. The braying idiot, now using his Magnum lollystick to gesticulate to his poor potential Rohypnol victim, shouted, "So Sara organised dinner at The Globe!"

We cracked up loudly.

We had to endure the following conversation before the sweet relief of arriving at London Bridge.

"So me and my sister yah, started saying 'Your Mum' to each other! And THEN my Mum started saying it too! Fnar fnar fnar."

"Devotion breeds complacency then that breeds IRONY, YAH?" At this point him and his friend erupted into peals of laughter. The Cyclist and I met eyes and did that quizical "what the fuck?" face. I sat on my hands so I didn't go over and beat him to death with his own copy of Empire magazine.

Journey over, I managed to be in time for the yoga class and both No'rn Ir'on and I managed to get through the class without getting 'too relaxed' which I'd heard horror stories about. Afterwards we went for a swim. The normally quiet pool was manned by two dodgy guys sitting in the shallow end, who watched us walk from the changing rooms to the water while pulling faces like a sex pest. I didn't understand this, since looking at me in a swimming costume is something you Just Don't Do, like looking directly at the Sun, or putting foil in the microwave.

We began our lengths of the pool, avoiding Splashy McPervert who was hanging around in our general vicinity and inexplicably splashing halfway into the middle of the pool then swimming back again. I was concentrating on breathing and my stroke, when I passed No'rn Ir'on.

"Guess what just happened to me?"

I shrug. "The weird guy touched you up a bit in the deep end?"

"No. I did a lap of the pool before I realised my right boob was out."

I checked she wasn't at risk of being arrested for indecent exposure in a public family place and we swam to the shallow end. She looked wistful.

"I wish I was a mermaid sometimes."

I disagreed. "Nah, there's loads of things that would be impossible to do." I dived under the water and carried on my lengths. I passed No'rn Ir'on in the deep end.

"Like bungee jumping?" she suggested hopefully. I inhaled a litre of swimming pool water and tried not to drown whilst regaining my composure in 12'6" of water.

She was obviously considering it, as the next time we passed she ventured, "Washing your car?"

We luxuriated in the water at the deep end after the pool was vacated by the Special contingent, floating and chatting.

No'rn Ir'on: "I need to wee."

Me: "Oh."

No'rn Ir'on: "Do you think they have that chemical that changes colour if you wee in the pool?"

Me: "Only one way to find out...?"

No'rn Ir'on: "No, after swimming about with one boob out for a while, that's probably enough embarrassment for me for one day."