Do Something!

I think one of the reasons I've been a bit antsy recently is because I'm bored. It's not a general 'bit bored today so I think I'll go shopping' kind of bored, rather a 'months stretching ahead of me with nothing to do except work' kind of boredom.

I don't have any hobbies. I actually don't like the word 'hobbies' because to me it conjures up images of people who stick pins in butterflies whilst breathing through their mouths. Or the sort of people that weep with joy at the prospect of finding a mint first edition of 'Laser Boy and the Mutant Fish People'. Nevertheless, a hobby is what I need. I am shockingly one-dimensional. I spend my time drinking wine with girls, drinking wine and flirting with boys, working (a job not a career too), shopping, reading and occasionally faffing about with creative writing. Oh, and watching far too many DVDs - mostly boy's choices too such as Spaced, Scrubs, MASH and The West Wing.

During the course of this dating malarky I've come to dread the question 'so what do you do in your spare time?' or if they're really hip 'so like, what are you into?' Urgh. I tend to feebly list the above in a half hearted way, often playing up the creative writing bit so as not to sound completely weak. Often I'll tack on the fact that I used to make mosaics. This is true and I felt I was good at it (even did a week's course in London before I lived here) but I haven't done it for years. They glaze over slightly then proceed to recount an endless list of pasttimes that makes me feel as though my life is ebbing away from me in a haze of alcohol and self indulgent navel-gazing.

I feel the need to change my outlook. I've found my 'look' (if I ever had one) evolving lately. I've always pushed the boundaries a little in terms of clothing but I've become a bit more edgy which I think is the influence of being in London and working in an agency where everyone my age dresses in an achingly cool way. It's starting to bleed into other areas of my life too. My music tastes are changing for a start and I'm seriously considering getting another tattoo. God, I sound as though I'm having some sort of early-life crisis. Anyway, the tattoo I have is tiny and was an impulse when I was 19. It's not in plain sight which I'm relieved about because I don't really like it any more but I like the idea of them and don't regret getting one. I know the design I want and I think I've finally decided where to have it so I'm going to start investigating.

In the meantime, I was casting about over the weekend for ideas of something to actually do with my time. No matter how much I love it I'm not sure I'll ever be a writer. I don't think I have the talent and certainly don't have The Big Idea right now. I have no interest in sport of any kind which is worrying for the future (brittle bones anyone?) but gyms are for people with no souls and team games fill me with dread. I didn't inherit my dad's artistic streak unlike my artist brother and I don't really have an interest in learning a musical instrument. I'd like to do a course of some kind but I'm not sure what in. Well, OK I had one idea. It's probably a complete pipe dream but I've started investigating DJ courses. You can actually do a beginners course where they teach you all the basics - everything to do with the equipment and how to mix songs in to each other by learning to count tempo etc. I know it's random but I've always really admired female DJs ever since I first saw Sister Bliss live. I never considered it as something I could do but then I thought 'why not?' I love music, I really adore finding new tracks and if it has any relevance at all, I love making mix CDs for people with stuff I really think they'd like. I love the atmosphere of clubs and the buzz of a really good set but dislike actually being on the floor. Maybe it is a complete pipe dream but it's been on my mind for a few days now and apart from the expense of the course I can't quite come up with a reason why I shouldn't properly look into it. Plus (and this is pretty sad) I secretly want people to think I'm cool.

Anyway, I've got to do something because I'm nearly thirty and have accomplished precisely nothing and have zilch to show for my time on earth. Nothing at all. Which is just beyond tragic.

Rubbish Date and Realisation

I would like to add an amendment to the last couple of posts, almost a rebuttal to myself if you will. Having been on a date last night with Mr Boring 2007 I am gratified to acknowledge that I will not in fact just sleep with any old loser that shows interest in me or affection towards me. I do have to be physically attracted to them and identify at least two winning personality traits (most important ones being sense of humour and intelligence). I am not going to dwell on the deadly date (save to say I worked my arse off with the guy and ended up feeling quite cross with him for being conversationally shite) instead I am going to take away the fact that even with a fairly attractive bloke making it obvious he's interested (through the medium of staring at my boobs and offering me more drinks) I was in no way tempted to jump his bones. A small step but a significant one.

I got an email from my last date yesterday which was surprising. After 24 hours with no contact I'd started to believe it was definitely a one night thing (even given the boy time principle). The email was very ambiguous, just mentioning how he'd been hungover after the date and very tired so had an early night the following night so felt better. Oh, and was looking forward to the weekend. He did put a x after his name but to be honest I have no idea whether he's expecting a response or whether it was a strange brush off of some description. Surely though he'd do what men are programmed to do and just not call or email ever again.

I have agreed to Go Clubbing on Saturday night. My housemate, A is a regular and has invited me and our friend F along with her usual crew. Apparently the night will involve everyone coming to ours for junk food and drinks then onto a couple of bars and finally around midnight we will repair to The Hat Club in Kings Cross to throw random shapes in the church of dance. The only thing with The Hat Club is that you have to be wearing a hat to get in. I don't own a hat and the only hats in the shops are summer hats which will look stupid. Next on the agenda: find sexy black trilby in the style of Philip Treacy except only a tenth of the price. I'm not sure my clubbing days aren't completely behind me, the thought of getting home at 8am on Sunday morning fills me with dread. It will either be fabulous or a total disaster but it's too easy to avoid these situations through worry or fear so I've decided it's better to just bung on some comfy ballet pumps, pile on the glittery eye shadow and make the best of it.

Down South

I found myself in Clapham last night. Well, I say 'found myself' as though I had no say in going there, I did of course have a choice and I chose to go to Clapham. It's sounds clichéd but I don't really do 'sarf of the river' however last night's date was coming hard on the heels of a very stressful week and a rubbish weekend and I needed to let my hair down. After a couple of drinks off Oxford Street we grabbed some food at his suggestion (I took that as a sign he didn't find my company repellent). He then suggested heading down to Clapham which is oh so conveniently located close to where he lived. Now I was under no illusions about the reasons behind this. I am not so naive to believe that he wasn't slowly edging me towards his bed in tiny increments. However I was just in the mood to misbehave and decided to go along with it. We did a couple of bars then the inevitable 'Do you want to come back to mine for one last drink?' line came out. Well of course I did but you have to be coy about these things. I muttered a couple of cursory 'Oooh I really shouldn't's before blithely hopping in a taxi with him. Actually the night was lovely. He was lovely. The flat was lovely ('wow' factor lovely - lots of stainless steel and leather sofas).

The nicest and most surprising thing though, was after the inevitable happened, he proceeded to spoon me, all night long. In fact, I woke up in his arms this morning and I usually can't sleep without an acre of personal space. I left his flat at 6.15 to dash back to Fulham and hurl myself under a hot shower but before I left he told me to text him later to let him know how my day was going. I didn't really reply, save for a wry 'don't feel you have to bother' smile but when I told him I'd had a good time with him he said 'Well it could happen again you know.' It just feels as though there are a couple of details that stopped it from being a typical one night stand. I tend to find they don't cuddle afterwards, they barely look at you the next morning and they certainly don't hold you and kiss you properly before you leave. But then I've been here before. I've looked for meaning where there was none and I've blown up tiny details to infinite proportions just to try and believe that maybe this could be something and I'm always disappointed. I went into last night knowing that it was likely to be a one night stand and actually, I think I'm OK with that. Sometimes you just have needs that have to be fulfilled, right?

The Funk Continues

I have screwed up at work. Actually, scratch that, I haven't screwed up I'm just being made to feel like I have. I think the common term is 'scapegoat'. I'm organising a conference for one of the teams I work for and something's happened which now means the company may well end up footing the bill for something they're not actually doing. I can't say too much about it but suffice to say I am confident that I did everything I was asked to do and the issue is a lack of communication elsewhere. But of course, that doesn't really matter. I'm a PA and therefore the lowest life form and ripe for buck-passing. I wouldn't mind so much but there is now a definite frostiness in that particular team's dealings with me. I'm organising another conference for them due to take place in a couple of months and they're now communicating with me as though I were mentally subnormal - saying everything slowly and checking and double checking. It's frustrating in the extreme because I'm not an ignorant or stupid individual and always try to be professional so it's galling when despite your best efforts you still end up eyeball-deep in the proverbial. I have resolved to keep my head down until it's all over. I can't cope with people thinking I'm stupid or that I've made a mistake. I've actually lost sleep over it which is ridiculous but shows how invested I am in this job. So invested I came in on Saturday afternoon, but that's more to do with not having much of a social life at the moment.

Speaking of which I have another date tonight. Unfortunately my heart's not in it but I've already postponed the thing once so I really should make the effort. I'm not sure I even fancy this guy but he reminded me of an ex I used to get on really well with which I think swung it for me. Must plaster on a smile and do my best - my current mood is neither his fault nor his problem. Thinking about it, my weekend of isolation probably wasn't the brightest idea.

Please Wipe Your Feet

Last Saturday afternoon I got a text from P (he of the Piccadilly frolicking) asking what I was up to. I thought it was just a general chit chat thing so replied saying I was out that evening and just running errands that afternoon. His reply unnerved me. He said that his friend had been due to come to London for the weekend but had cancelled, leaving a paid-for hotel room that he'd given to P, in which P was now asking me to join him or in his words 'do you fancy coming and making use of it with me?' Affronted and not a little concerned about this kind of question coming just after a first date, I replied trying to be upbeat as I said I couldn't change my plans and added that he shouldn't be so cheeky. His response was that he thought he'd try his luck and ask anyway. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt and not immediately think 'player' (I know, I know) and we arranged to get together on the Sunday.

I spent Saturday night in Soho with my new friend F, which only served to reiterate how depressing being 'on the pull' is in London. How is it remotely fulfilling to spend the night drinking as much as you can, then grabbing the nearest person, indulging in some mutual molestation before staggering home to pass out in your own smokey stench? I'd rather be online.

To that end, when P called me on Sunday to say that he was in the pub with a couple of friends, did I want to join them, rather than be a) resentful that our pre-planned date had been gatecrashed or b) terrified at meeting friends on a SECOND DATE I gritted my teeth, told myself it was a good sign that he wanted me to meet his friends and agreed to meet them all that afternoon. Unfortunately by the time I arrived they had already been drinking for a few hours and, not to put too fine a point on it, they were all hammered. He was with his best friend and best friend's girlfriend who were actually lovely people. Just very drunk. I forced a smile onto my face and squeezed into the bench next to P who utterly failed to offer me a drink, leaving the girlfriend to finally offer to buy me one. I made an effort to be funny and lively and drank beer despite a killer tequila hangover.

I had been chatting with the girlfriend when it dawned on me that P and his best friend had been hunched over a mobile phone having a heated discussion about the contents of a text. As I tuned in, it dawned on me that P was advising the best friend about buying a quantity of drugs to sell at a forthcoming event. I couldn't believe it! Right in front of me! Do I look like the sort of girl that's 'ok' with that sort of thing? Admittedly I've hardly been snowy white in the past but it doesn't mean I want to fraternise with drug dealers for crying out loud. Alarm bells were ringing all over the place.

After the friends left, P and I remained but rather than try and sober up a little to get to know me, he engaged two local nutters in conversation and invited them to join us. One Albanian guy who regaled us with stories of his (clearly untrue) sexual conquests and a Scottish bloke in his fifties who lived in a bedsit and ran a stall off the Portabello Road. After an hour or so of lunacy I'd had enough so I announced I was going home. When P offered to come with me I was pleasantly surprised that he didn't want me doing the long walk to the tube alone. Shameful and inexplicable though it is, I kissed him outside the pub because despite all this I still fancied him. It was going fine until we got to the tube and he started pressuring me to let him come home with me. I refused, saying I didn't think it was fair on my flatmate to bring home a strange bloke whilst she's there as it's a small flat and she could feasibly have been up watching TV. Then there's the whole issue of getting ready for work in the morning - it just seemed too complicated. Plus frankly, it was way too soon for me and I wasn't exactly burning with lust after the afternoon's performance. At that point he completely changed. He said it was the biggest load of bullshit he'd ever heard, he was too old for girls who cared what their friends thought and if I didn't want to sleep with him I should just be honest, then he stormed off and left me standing alone. When I got home after a very dazed tube journey I'd received a text which said 'I'm not going to ruin an apology with an excuse. Really sorry for my actions tonight.' I replied an hour later to say 'No worries' and that was the last contact we had.

The shameful thing is that I kept thinking about him. All week long. Every time my phone beeps I lunge for it wondering if it's him. This is worrying. What's more worrying is that despite hearing nothing from him all week, I emailed him yesterday. I don't understand why when a guy acts like the biggest arsehole ever to grace the planet, I'm hooked. He hasn't replied to my email which is a clear brush off. That, I can deal with. What I am having trouble with is the fact that I clearly have a massive problem with men. I am so starved of affection that when any old tosser shows me some I practically hurl myself at their feet in gratitude like the doormat I am. It's possibly not the best state of mind to be in while trying to date people.

Fortunately this weekend, A is away and I have no plans. I will be holed up in the flat, ignoring the world at large, drinking Merlot and trying to work out what the fuck is wrong with me.

Adoration

I have rediscovered The West Wing. My dad got me into it the first time around by lending me each video box set from series 1 through to 7. When I was at home recently I borrowed series 1 again (now on DVD!) and I'm hooked all over again and frequently reduced to tears by the storylines in this incomparable drama.

I've now borrowed series 2 which I'm just about to watch for the second time in two weeks. It's an odd sensation being utterly invested in the characters whilst at the same time not having a clue what's going on. Actually, my tenuous grip on the intricacies of American politics has tightened with the last few viewings. For example, I now know what a filibuster is! I know how a bill becomes a law! I know that during times of war the eagle on the presidential seal on the Oval Office carpet, faces in the other direction towards the arrows in it's left talon and away from the olive branch in it's right (impressive or what?)!

I can completely understand why members of the American public have in the past been vocal about wanting President Bartlet rather than President Bush (I assume they do know it's a fictional character and are being ironic). It's not hard to see why; Martin Sheen is astonishing in the role and gives me goosebumps every time he delivers a speech or floors someone with his razor-sharp debate skills and depth of knowledge. Plus, he has the most amazing way of putting on a suit jacket. It's the sort of stupid detail I tend to notice but next time you see an episode where it happens you'll know what I mean.

I think my number one crush has to be Josh Lyman. Yes, Sam (Rob Lowe - early series) is pretty and extremely intelligent but Josh is funny and confident, therefore cute. The relationship between Josh and his assistant Donna is so well written. She is the perfect foil to his disorganised joker.

Favourite character though, hands down, is CJ Cregg the Press Secretary played by Allison Janney. I am consistently impressed by her delivery of lines from the complicated and heavy with jargon to the lightening fast comebacks. Despite her levels of professionalism and strength of character, she still manages to give a credible air of a career focused woman trying to maintain her impressive status in a male dominated world whilst occasionally wondering whether she's good enough and displaying a distinct lack of comprehension regarding men. Lately, whenever I've been in a difficult or stressful situation at work I've asked myself what CJ would do. Yes, it's kind of sad but it's funny how, when I think of that character, I secretly stand a little taller, walk a little more purposefully and try my hardest not to take any crap. CJ Cregg, I salute you!

Lip Locked In Piccadilly

My friend E has a theory that the reason O didn't call me again was because I kissed him on the first date. Apparently that sort of thing gives the wrong impression and one must remain aloof and cool in order to ensure a sufficient level of mystery for them to book a second date. Frankly I thought it was not sleeping with them but what do I know? She's French, very cosmopolitan and dates voraciously so I thought I'd bear her advice in mind for my date with P. We met last night in sprawling Piccadilly Circus. The first impression was good; although he didn't look exactly like his photos he was attractive (and tall!). We settled down with mojitos and the conversation flowed extremely easily. I found out I was his third date from the website and although he hadn't had as bad an experience as me he had experienced a pretty rough evening with one girl. I was already at an advantage!

By the time we ordered the second bottle of red wine, and split the cost of a pack of Lucky Strikes (yep - I smoked) our body language was screaming attraction. Legs crossed towards each other, lots of hair stroking (me not him) and lip gazing. He kissed me halfway through the second bottle and we didn't stop kissing for almost two hours. God he was good. I've noticed something with men I've kissed recently and that's that they all seem terrified of using their tongue. As if there's been so much negative propaganda about the right way to do it; not too hard or soft, no licking the face, don't let it just lie in her mouth like an oyster etc etc, that now they're all too damn scared to even attempt a delicate lip-lick. Well not P and thank goodness. It wasn't rough or unwelcome, it was sensuous and delicious - just the right amount.

We left the bar at midnight and wandered outside to try and find cabs. This activity was severely delayed due to our inability to keep our hands off each other. We would stop every few yards and kiss again. We stood on the roundabout in the middle of the haring traffic, under the bright lights of the Sanyo sign and the gaze of Eros and kissed for ages. I felt completely teenage which was lovely. I was also quite drunk which was not. It was now fast approaching 1am and I had still made no effort to find a way home. With great difficulty, I tore myself away and hailed a cab. We swapped texts all the way home and today he asked to see me on Sunday. We're planning a mid afternoon meet in lovely Notting Hill. Cosy pub, good conversation and hopefully more delicious kissing.

I told P about E's first date/kissing theory and he eloquently declared it to be 'bollocks'. Something which he's proven today by contacting me. E has revised her advice and said that I am permitted to continue kissing him in a wanton fashion but I'm not allowed to sleep with him until the fifth date. I'm quite keen to try this as I do tend to sleep with men early due to stupidly low self esteem. Whether or not I'll manage that with a kisser as good as P remains to be seen.

Red Nose Challenge!

Troubled Diva has had a Big Idea!

In the name of charidee all UK Bloggers (and UK ex-pat Bloggers) are invited to contribute to Shaggy Blog Stories - an anthology of hilariously funny blog posts to be published in just seven days in time for Comic Relief next Friday. Read all about it and submit your comedy nuggets here: http://troubled-diva.com/labels/rednoseday.html

Rise to the challenge people! You know you want to...

Lost In Translation

It's funny how, just when you think you have the measure of a situation or person you find that you've been completely wrong. It really shows that no matter how people behave or what they actually say, they will frequently do the opposite with no warning. It's not like I'm wishing for live subtitles showing what people actually mean when they speak, of course not. There is a certain amount of subtle insinuation, tact and a little game-playing that is inherent to living a successful life without getting punched in the face too often. However just occasionally I wish people wouldn't say things they don't mean.

I'm referring to O, my date from Sunday. He actually said the words 'It would be delightful to take you out again, perhaps for dinner next time?' then kissed me. I suppose there is wiggle room there in that he didn't actually book a date or promise me anything but I took it to be more than just casual speculation on his feelings regarding a second date were it to happen. It's not that I'm overly bothered; after all I have had time to review the height issue and it really is something I'd have trouble getting beyond, it's more that I'm now confused over what it was about me that stopped him from calling me afterwards especially as Boy Time (I'll call you tomorrow = 48 to 72 hrs later) has now elapsed. Had he just said it was nice to meet me, pecked me on the cheek and disappeared into the rain I would have no preconceptions. It would leave him open to call or not call as desired. I have tried so hard whilst dating not to lead on anyone I really didn't want to get to know better, it's only polite. Even when one bad date read my cool dismissal at the end of the evening correctly but still text me the following day asking for 'one more drink to close the deal' (honestly!) I was utterly unambiguous in my response.

Still, I won't allow myself to dwell. Tonight I have a date with P, another teacher (these things go in cycles I find) who is as mentioned a lot taller than me. Last night we organised when and where to meet and he text me saying 'I'm going to send you a pic of how I look now, let me know if you still want to meet.' Cue visions of massive weight gain/baldness/loss of an eye until the picture arrived and I was relieved to see he looks the same as his other pictures and is very cute (dark hair, blue eyes). We're going to one of my favourite cocktail bars in Piccadilly tonight which I'm looking forward to. I am wearing a new dress and have broken out the Fendi B bag as I felt the outfit deserved to be accessorized appropriately!

I did a quick count earlier and realised that I'm currently talking to around 7 guys on the website and 4 or 5 have so far floated the idea of meeting up. I'm worried this is going to get a bit heavy so perhaps I should try and limit the numbers slightly. I'm just concerned that I don't want to miss out on someone really great! After all, I'm not doing this because I really enjoy the heart-in-mouth anticipation of first dates, I'm doing it because I'm sick and tired of being alone.

Pear Shaped

It shouldn't be possible for someone to simultaneously delight you with armfuls of red tulips and tell you you've got a fat arse. It shouldn't be, but it is. My mother is the most thoughtful, loving, kind woman I know but she tells it like it is. To be fair it was my own fault for asking her what she thought of my new jeans, I should have expected nothing but honesty. I tried not to sulk but they're high-waisted flares for crying out loud! They're THE jean of Spring/Summer 07 and I've discovered I can't wear them because I'm a 'classic English pear shape' (kill me now). I am delightfully less of a pear than I used to be but frankly I could starve myself until my ribs were visible and I'd still look like I was wearing jodphurs (thank you India Knight for that fabulous analogy). Anyway, they're going back at lunchtime today and I shall be unstylish for the whole of 2007. Humph.

So that was Saturday. On Sunday the heavens opened over London Town and it persistently rained all day. Not the weather most conducive to a first date, given my hair's tendency to 'fro-up whenever it's slightly moist out. However, I'd already postponed this once and I didn't want O to think I was frivolously into my hair (obviously I am; I'm a girl but you don't draw attention to it immediately).

We met at Leicester Square (why is it always LS?!) and immediately I clocked how short he was. Not midget short but probably my height. Just. This usually spells death to any attraction on my part but O had the good fortune to be extremely good looking. I immediately decided to ignore the height thing (and the fact that he was quite slight...again as discussed above I'm not exactly Kylie Minogue). We hurried through the rain to All Bar One in the midst of them setting up for the Becoming Jane premier and settled down with some drinks. He's a fascinating guy and very funny. In fact most of our conversation was taken up with talking utter nonsense which immediately puts me at my ease. Also I found out he'd written a book! Unpublished at the moment but he has a finished manuscript and everything so I was very impressed (and also a little envious).

We left ABO before the premier started - I would have preferred to stay and ogle Anne Hathaway, Maggie Smith et al but decided not to whine about it (it really is all about tactics on the first date). The next bar was the unashamedly brash Waxy O'Connor's and we drank Guiness as an homage to the Irishness seeping out of the very woodwork. We couldn't find a seat but managed to find somewhere to lean and stood next to each other, looking over a balcony and commenting on the patrons below. It was an intimate way to stand; whenever we looked at each other our faces were very close and there was a lot of lip-watching going on. We called it a night around 9pm and he walked me as far as Leicester Square. He told me he'd like to see me again and then we both stood there faffing about and making stupid comments long beyond the point where one or other of us should have walked away. This is a sure sign you both want to kiss...so we did. It was very good but I did feel slightly ridiculous kissing someone whose mouth was exactly the same height as mine. It made me feel large which I don't like. I haven't heard from him since but that's OK. If he asked me out again, I'd go, just to see, but if he doesn't then I will consider him a palette cleanser after the S debaclé. A sexual sorbet if you will. I am talking to a few other possibilities on the website and a couple in particular have caught my eye. Not least of all because they're in the 6ft 1" - 6ft 4" bracket.

9 days smoke free...

Recovery

What started out as a mildly scratchy throat on Sunday night, turned into a hacking cough by Monday lunchtime which sent me home from work in a jelly-limbed stupor. I managed to stop at Boots on the way home and stock up in the manner of a Supermarket Sweep contestant with all the items I could possibly need to fight the approaching illness. Thank goodness I did because what followed was three days of the worst chest infection I've had for years. I had a temperature! Haven't felt the familiar clammy-handed sweats for a long time. I basically spent the whole week up until yesterday lunchtime languishing in my too hot/too cold bed being simultaneously searingly ill and unbelievably bored.
Today I made it into work, trailing the remnants of the infections behind me like tin cans on a wedding car. I still have a cough although I can lie flat without my lungs filling with fluid (scary) and I still have a runny nose and accompanying dry skin. One good thing that came out of all this was that I received a loud and very determined wake up call from my own lungs. As I lay in the midst of the worst of the infection on Monday night, thrashing about in frustration at my boiling skin and compressed chest, gasping and wheezing for breath between coughs, I realised what it would be like if I continue to smoke. Just like that, but probably without the temperature. The horror of it hit me harder than any of the physical symptoms did and it reduced me briefly to tears. What am I doing to myself?? I am voluntarily plotting a course towards certain death that will probably be a hundred times more excruiciating and upsetting than anything I can imagine. It's utter insanity. Of course I know the dangers, have always known them but somehow as an addict you just blind yourself to the reality. Well, I haven't smoked for 5 days and I would really love to try and stop now. I suddenly feel I owe my lungs an apology.

Needless to say I missed my date with O on Thursday although he texted me through the week and knew I wasn't well. I had two phone calls with him and we got on extremely well. He's a biology teacher with the sexiest voice I've heard in ages. He's welsh but the accent has softened after years in London and he's been left with the most delicious lilt to his voice. I'm slightly worried about the amount of contact we've had prior to our first date (which is now on Sunday) because I've been down this road before. You have call after call, you send random texts and you build them up in your mind to be the one who might just change your life. Then you meet them and realise they're most definitely not which leaves you in the delightful position of having to extricate yourself from regular contact which is hard when you've sort of let yourself get used to them. It's a lot easier if they don't like you of course. Painful but it takes the pressure off.

I'm looking forward to Sunday afternoon. Hopefully if nothing else it'll be a nice diversion from an otherwise uneventful weekend and...well..you never know, do you?