Merlot and Missives

Awakening

2010-01-23T22:31:00.002Z

I have managed to lose 11lb in 3 weeks. This pleases me but it doesn't come easy. For a start I'm not eating lunch. I know, I know...the way to lose weight is slowly and sensibly in order for it to stay off forever. Well sorry but slowly and sensibly isn't cutting it with me any more. I eat a tiny box of cereal in the morning, an apple or a Go Ahead bar for lunch, gallons of diet Coke to stem the hunger pains and either heated chopped tomatoes or veg goulash with a chicken breast or sweet potato in the evening. I'm also doing a Davina work out DVD when I can. Scoff if you will (I'm bloody not) but it's working. Unfortunately I am just now the weight I was the last time I thought 'Jesus I'm a porker, better go on a diet' so it's hardly a great achievement but it's a start. Case in point; it's Saturday night and although I'm drinking wine which is calorific, instead of my usual curry, snacks & chocolate fest of last year I have made goulash and had it with a chicken breast. I also worked out this morning and spent the afternoon helping my brother move house so I think I've earned a few glasses of wine. Tomorrow is a family do which are always heavy on booze and food but I'll just have to stick to spirits and avoid all puddings. I actually find I enjoy the feeling of hunger - it shows me I'm not overindulging.

Surfer Boy came to see me on Thursday night. I booked the Friday off work in a display of utter presumtiousness which fortunately paid off. He arrived in the hood and I took him straight to a bar and got the drinks in. He paid last time and he paid for the train up here so I figured it was only fair. Me being me went mad and ended up spending £50 but it was worth it. We clicked again from the start. He made me laugh and we talked non-stop. He put his hand on my leg more than once and watched my lips for just slightly too long while I was talking.
I took him to my favourite Brixton pub, The Dogstar where I know the staff very well and knew we'd get a good welcome. It couldn't have gone better - as we approached the head doorman spotted me and immediately went into Wayne's World style 'we're not worthy' bowing, elliciting a 'wow' from SB. Inside we were warmly welcomed and immediately bought into the fold, resulting in a lock in and a prolonged period mucking about with the lost and found glasses box. SB was impressed with the gang and I loved them for being so effusive. We headed back to mine at which point I became more nervous than I've been in a long time. My body confidence is very low but he seemed to be really into my body which I found astonishing as someone who spends every day loathing it. Somehow he relaxed me and I fooled around without worrying about my arse/thighs.
We didn't have sex. It was actually really nice because it feels like there's still something to discover. He stayed the night and the next day was spent on the sofa, kissing, chatting, laughing, watching DVDs and basically being as couply as you can be. My warning bells were going off purely because I felt myself starting to yearn. I can't be hurt again, I really can't and I really like this boy so I continually extricated myself from embraces and joked where I probably shouldn't have. Still, he left around 9pm and texted me on the way home saying he couldn't wait to see me again. He texted me again today asking to see me in a few day's time. I love the fact he's not dicking about or hiding the fact he likes me. Whether he wants something long term remains to be seen but right now I'm not sure I even do. It's just nice to feel alive again. I feel like I've been woken up after a year and a half of hiding away and being scared. It's like running through a rainstorm and right now I can't wait to get wet again...

It's Been a While

2010-01-06T21:40:00.002Z

I pick up my blog a whole 21 months after I last posted. I am not going to go into detail here about the last 21 months because they've been shocking. Here instead are a few handy bullet points.

Had a year long relationship with a guy who turned out to be a manic depressive. He attempted suicide when I dumped him. I found him. When it was finally over he stalked me for three months. It ended in March 09 and I am still wounded.
Developed an allergy to perfume which resulted in hideous rashes on my face and severely swollen eyes. This happened three times before the allergy patch tests revealed it was perfume. I have since discovered it's mainly aerosol perfume that exacerbates it.
I was made redundant. Spent 10 weeks over the summer navel gazing and panicking only to get a much better job with a much better company. I now work in advertising.
Got a flat on my own. Still rental but I live by myself and I love it.

Since the horror relationship ended I hadn't been touched let alone kissed by another man until one night over Christmas when I met up with a guy I hadn't seen since I was 19. Surfer Boy (because he does) was a crush of mine from when I was about 15. In the days before Facebook or mobile phones there was no way of keeping in touch with crushes unless you exchanged full postal addresses and landline numbers (which ran the risk of speaking to someone's dad). So whenever we bumped into each other we'd end up 'getting off' with each other. Since then he's been married and is now in the final stages of divorce. We've been in contact on Facebook since middle of last year and in the last 5 months or so the contact has been almost daily. Unfortunately my weight has skyrocketed (comfort eating) so I had been dodging his occasional suggestions of meeting up. However, he lives in my hometown and over Christmas I decided it was about time we met up.

He looked just the same. I mean, I'd seen pics on Facebook of course but this was different. I felt 15 years old again. It was bank holiday so everywhere was shut but we found an open Cafe Rouge and settled in for a couple of bottles of red and a catch up. Early closing came too soon and we had a lock in, then continued drinking and talking in his car. We kissed and it was just the same only maybe a little more practised on both sides. He mentioned coming up to see me and I agreed but since there has been no mention of that. We're still in touch virtually every day one way or another and I am in full blown crush overload. It's made my diet all the more vital as I would give anything to go to bed with him. I haven't had sex for 15 months which, if you read back over this blog, is pretty shocking for me.

I need to lose 2 stone. I don't imagine it'll be quick but it must happen and stay off. I have started my diet with earnest and the desire for Surfer Boy coupled with the fact none of my clothes fit properly is spurring me on. I've done it before...I can do it again.

The Fool

2008-04-28T12:27:00.003+01:00

The combination of gallons of rosé, PMT and a genuinely upsetting situation can only lead to one thing. With all the inevitability of seeing your ex when you're hungover, last night I made an utter fool of myself.

I should start from the beginning. A year or so ago I met a guy on Myspace (S) who, although flirtatious, never really became anything more than an online buddy. That was until New Year's Eve when we ended up at the same club and met for the first time. I didn't particularly fancy him but liked him a lot and so we became real-life friends, occasionally meeting for drinks. We kissed a couple of times but things never really went any further so I just took it to be a clumsy display of friendship and affection.
S has four brothers and one night he bought his youngest brother W, along for drinks with me and my friend R. That night, R slept with W and I slept with S (it was a ridiculously messy night fuelled by Grolsch). From that night I developed a crippling crush on S, who sadly appeared to have no interest in actually taking things beyond friendship so I was left to suffer through my tumultuous and confusing emotions while pretending to him everything was fine. Meanwhile, R and W began seeing each other which I found annoying but wasn't totally sure why.

That was a couple of months ago. R and W are still going strong, S and I have slept together once more, three weeks ago but S now seems to be largely ignoring me again. R is spending more and more time at their house (S and W live together), and is getting really close to S. They all went clubbing without me on Friday night (I was busy but it still hurt), and I've since heard nothing but how wonderful S was and how much fun they all had and I just don't think I can take it any more. I am crippled with jealousy over my best friend's blossoming friendship with MY FRIEND S. I hate the fact that she has usurped me as his mate both online and in real life and I loathe the fact that no one seems to think this might bother me. "But I was there FIRST!" I want to scream.
Instead I am left, bitter and bruised, to deal with my emotions in silence. I know it's childish and I know I should be more in control of how I feel but I'm not. In this situation I am a jealous, petulant teenager slamming their door and blaring music while smoking out the window.
It came to a head last night while I was very drunk. I ended up standing outside a pub in Clapham, bellowing at Steve down the phone about how he is neglecting our friendship and demanding to know why he can spend virtually an entire 24 hours with my friend R, but can't spare time for one pint with me. I was then rude to R and strode home through the hood with poor A running after me, as I bellowed expletives about S, prompting stares from the local crazies at the bus stop.

I know what I need. I need a guy of my own. I need someone to take my mind off this ridiculous situation and take the focus off S because actually, he is a totally inappropriate crush. He's a loser, a player and has the maturity of a 14 year old boy. I believe I only have this crush because I have no one else to focus on. Fighting my apathy I have rejoined a couple of dating websites. I really can't face any more 'first dates' but I've failed to meet anyone whilst out and about of late so clearly this is my only recourse. I'm spending today veiled in shame and depression and wallowing in an acidic hangover. When will I learn?

Change

2008-03-19T14:32:00.002Z

I just deleted my Myspace profile. I feel strangely nervous and unsettled. For a year and a half I've used that site for music, friendship and dating but it's gone from being a buzzy, exciting site to a trawling ground for freaks and perverts. If I received one more email from someone calling themselves 'The Dark Lord' and asking if I have a webcam and time to play, I think I would have smashed my screen with my in-tray.

I am still on Facebook, though (no social networking sites at all? are you crazy?!). Along with everyone else in my life, including several people I met on Myspace who have never even spoken to on the phone let alone met but who feel like proper friends. I resisted Facebook for ages because I thought it was juvenile and vaccuous. I couldn't understand why I might want to throw a sheep at someone or write on their 'wall', but of course over time it became even more addictive than Myspace. Those stupid little applications start to appeal more and more and suddenly I really want to be able to tell people which 1950's pin up girl I most resemble. The excitment! Facebook just seems more...wholesome somehow. Every friend I have on there is either someone I know or a friend of a friend which I'm fine with. I've had no pervy emails, no stalkers and no bands trying to add me so they can use my profile to advertise their next shitty little gig at some back alley community centre in Birmingham. It's the future!

Elsewhere I was able to feel particularly smug this week when KOKO emailed me out of the blue after callously dumping me for 'someone special' a few weeks ago. After a few back and forth messages I was able to ascertain that his 'someone special' turned out to be 'someone crashingly dull' and he finished it. Apparently she didn't share his passions for drinking heavily, taking recreational drugs and spanking cash on pointless things like massive TV's. What a crying shame. I have decided, despite the mild humiliation of his finishing our liaison, that I will see him again. I have no emotions for him - I don't want to go to dinner with him, meet his family/friends or discuss the future with him. What I do want to do is spend some QT with him and his astonishing cock. KOKO is poles apart from me in terms of personality and background but physically we just clicked and had the most amazing sex. Obviously I'm making him work for it at the moment but in the long run, why would I be so stupid as to miss out on a repeat performance, especially given the sexual drought of late?

Bits and Pieces

2008-03-06T12:44:00.002Z

There is a famous quote about bad girls not keeping diaries because they don't have time (ridiculously paraphrased but you get the point). Well lately my blog has quite clearly fallen by the wayside - not because I've had nothing to tell but purely because I've been so darned busy. I guess another of my patented 'don't know if you actually care or not but...' round-ups is due (on the day the world found out Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer - poor man).

I have just got back from Berlin. A's sister lives there so R, A and I went over for a week. It's a strange city. Obviously it's recent past is still evident and you just can't escape the WW2 resonance. It's a city of wide-open spaces, due mainly I believe to most of it being obliterated by bombing during the war. We visited the Brandenburg Gate and the Museum for Murdered Jews which reduced the three of us to silent, pouring tears. It was a very difficult place to be but so, so worth it.
The social scene is typically European - everyone tends to go out at midnight and doesn't return home until dawn. The house/electro scene is incredible and I can highly recommend Panorama Bar. When dawn breaks the over-populated club lifts the shutters that cover the huge windows and briefly let the daylight flood over the previously dark and dirty dancefloors before lowering them again and plunging the whole place back into darkness. It's the most surreal thing but acted as a rejuvenator for all present and the DJs definitely play on that moment, allowing tracks to break dramatically and euphorically throughout. Ambulance Bar is also a must - the music is very 'Jaded'.

I have also finally had my tattoo done which I'm really pleased with. Six hollow, five-point stars of differing sizes are sprinkled down my left ankle and across the top of my foot. I am happy with it but I do keep having slightly worrying anxiety dreams about tattoos, involving me accidentally having a huge piece of work done across my back or a tattoo getting scuffed and not healing properly. I remember this happening 10 years ago when I had my first tattoo done so I guess it's just going to take time for my subconcious to accept what I've done!

On the man front things are a little quiet. I pulled a guy a few weeks ago at an afterparty. He was ridiculously handsome and I wasn't surprised when he told me he was an actor and lead singer in a band (he is - I've Googled him). He came home with me on the Sunday morning and we began to fool around together. Unfortunately due to the amount of chemicals in my system I was bone dry and as a result got a severely bruised labia meaning we had to stop immediately while I freaked out about what might have happened to my vagina (I was still wasted and could make no sense of the scary swelling). Bless him, B was fantastic - just lay with me and cuddled me as I quaked and fretted. I was shocked when he texted asking to see me again but jumped at the chance of erasing the memory of the make-up smeared, gibbering weirdo he'd last seen. We went for drinks and did lots of lovely snogging and I'm hoping we get together again soon. Unfortunately with me in Berlin and him in Amsterdam this week, time apart is rapidly elapsing which can be a death knell after a brief meeting such as ours. I find you have to maintain the contact to a reasonable degree or apathy sets in. I'm really hoping that doesn't happen with B! We shall see...

It shouldn't bother me, but...

2008-01-31T16:25:00.001Z

It had been two weeks since I'd last seen him and a week since his last, extremely non-committal text. It had always been a fuck thing with us, I knew this. The whole 'never going out only staying in together' theme of our 'dates' was a dead giveaway. We were great at filling the gaps between sessions with light chit chat and giggling and the sex was unbelieveable but I knew it was never more than that. We were far too different to ever have a relationship.

So when C, the guy I met in KOKO before Christmas, rang me one night this week after a two week silence I was surprised. I had assumed he was letting things fizzle and although I was a bit disappointed at the thought of no more sessions with him, I had started to accept whatever it had been was over. His phone call perked me up no end and I went from a pyjama-clad slob watching Masterchef and eating pasta and pesto with a spoon, to a hair-flicking, throaty-laughing party girl. Well, vocally at least. For fifteen minutes we caught up, laughed and chatted and just as I thought he was going to suggest another meeting, he says the immortal words: 'Actually, there is a reason I'm calling...'

He didn't have to use the word 'special' now, did he? "I've met someone special and we're seeing each other.' Of course I heard 'You're not special enough' which really annoyed me because I absolutely didn't want to be special enough for him, I never actually wanted him as my boyfriend but suddenly I found myself experiencing intense feelings of rejection. I guess this says more about my fragile ego and the fact that sex is still, no matter how emotionally healthy I try to be about it, a form of validation for me than the fact that I liked him. I was pretty pleased with my response although I did call him 'mate' about four times towards the end of the call, probably to emphasise the distance I was already putting between us. I hope I got away with it. Anyway, I have deleted him from MSN/Facebook/mobile and have already moved on but I'm still annoyed with myself for caring at all.

The girl can't help it

2008-01-28T11:44:00.000Z

I wrap my arms around my body and hug myself, using the internationally recognised 'I'm cold' noise...'ooohhhoooohhooh'. It's no wonder I'm cold. The time is 5.25am and I've just spent 7 hours in the club Turnmills, sweating my booty off. As I stand in the queue outside the after party, the increasing daylight and chilly winds are seriously threatening my buzz. I glance to my left and notice him. Firstly, due to the fact that he is wearing a navy blazer over a white shirt and jeans with a pair of tan loafters. This is incongruous attire to say the least, being as he is surrounded by clubbers decked out in their finest regalia. The second reason I notice him is because he is very tall and ridiculously handsome. He catches my eye and we grin at each other, inhibitions shattered by hours of substance abuse. We chat for a few minutes, in which time I discover he is a stockbroker (big shock) and clearly extraordinarily arrogant and self-assured. This, of course, ensures I am completely enamoured within a matter of minutes. After a while our conversation includes a gay guy who has decided I look warm and is huddling against me, shivering. The gay guy and I, being on the guestlist are ushered in ahead of stockbroker, a great relief given that I was close to freezing at this point.

Once inside my group find each other, drinks are bought and the dancefloor hit. Around an hour later I spot stockbroker and the gay guy chatting at the bar. Stockbroker catches my eye and flashes the knee-wobbling grin at me. I leant into R who is dancing beside me and tell her that suddenly, I have an overwhelming compulsion to go down on him. This is, apparently, the best idea I've had all night and she urges me to go for it. Bolstered by her encouragement and my inner euphoria I approach and beckon him away from the gay guy.
"This is going to sound weird," I begin, standing on tip toe to speak into his ear. "But I'd really like to go down on you. Now." His grin fades and he looks incredulous. "If you're interested, we'll find somewhere. Just let me know."
I leave him and rejoin my friends on the dancefloor. I see him lean into the gay guy and start whispering furiously. I see lots of nodding and smiling from the gay guy, and the stockbroker rubs his face vigorously. He beckons me back.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course. Look, I know it's weird but I don't want anything in return, I just really want to suck your cock. That's basically it. Are you up for it?"
He gives me a sideways look and snorts. "Of course I bloody am."
"I'm SO coming." Stockbroker and I turn and look at the gay guy.
"No you're not!" Exclaims Stockbroker.
"Listen, if this is happening there's no way I'm missing it. I'm coming."
Stockbroker and I gaze helplessly at each other. Frankly if I didn't think I'd get arrested I'd drop to my knees on the dancefloor so having a random watching really doesn't bother me. The stockbroker weighs up his options which are: experience a mildly homoerotic moment and get a blow job or succumb to stereotypes and outmoded fears and miss getting no strings attached head. His libido wins.
The female loos are pretty empty, so gay guy pays the toilet attendant £10 to turn a blind eye and the three of us pile into a cubicle. Gay guy leans against the door, sipping his gin and tonic through a straw. I drop to my knees and get down to it. As I suspected he's in possesion of an amazing cock and as I stroke him to erection and see his look of disbelief I feel an unexpected sense of power wash over me and wonder, briefly, if that's why I wanted to do this. Maybe this is my way of cutting an arrogant man down to size. After all, I have him by the balls.
I begin and for a few moments, stockbroker has trouble relaxing, constantly shooting glances toward the gay guy. After a while stockbroker pulls his blazer round to hide what's happening but it's largely ineffectual. It doesn't take long before there's a stifled moan, a shudder and I'm reaching for the tissues. I had put my all into it and it definitely paid off, for myself as well as stockbroker because I realise at this point I'm wet. We all smile at each other and adjust dress where necessary, then leave the cubicle much to the astonishment of the girls primping in the mirrors.
Once we're back upstairs stockbroker catches my arm and says 'thank you' into my ear. I turn back, flash him a smile and push through the crowds to the dancefloor to find R and tell her everything. I never found out his surname, I never asked where he worked or where he lived. I wanted more than anything to suck him off and I did.

We stick around at Jaded until about 10am and the daylight pouring through the skylights is beginning to ensure we all start to feel pretty grimy. As we are leaving I spot the stockbroker across the bar with a blonde girl perched on his lap. I feel nothing.

New year, old story

2008-01-10T15:06:00.000Z

New Year's Eve was beyond messy. R, A and I went to a club in Brixton to save on taxis and I invited S - a local guy I've been chatting with on Myspace and Facebook for over a year now. It was only ever a mate thing, or so I thought until he stuck to me for the entire evening and tried it on more than once. Fortunately he is pretty cute, if not a total geezer (south London born and bred) so once the love was in full force I was happy to be as tactile as he liked. The four of us arrived back at my flat at around 6.30am and by 11am, were all in my bed moaning and trying to sip water. It was, apparently, torture for S who unexpectedly found himself in bed with three girls in their pyjamas that were preventing him from touching them in anything other than a friendly way (although he did spend a large amount of time stroking my arse under the covers).

I remained in touch with C over the Christmas period (guy I met at Koko in Camden). We exchanged some filthy text messages on New Year's Eve and hooked up last Friday. He cooked for me at his flat for the second time and we had ridiculously good sex until 5am and then again the next day. Interspersed with this were moments of couple-like tenderness but I'm ignoring them. He has yet to ask me 'out', instead our assignations are conducted at one of our flats. Case in point: I am cooking for him tomorrow night. It's fine in a way because it does help me maintain the perspective I need not to let myself fall for him. I've been through this so much lately; really fancying someone, having amazing sex and really valueing those moments of hand-holding, hair-stroking and spontaneous cuddling when in actual fact those are all things men do consciously or otherwise to ensure women don't feel like lumps of meat and as a result become pissed off and resentful or (heaven forfend) needy. This is particularly relevant if they like the girl enough to fuck her again but don't actually want a relationship with her. It's a complicated smokescreen that is easily misconstrued for genuine affection but the fact is, no matter how much you laugh together, how well you get on together, if he cooks you duck a'la orange (he did) and if he spoons you tenderly after rogering you senseless - if you're just staying in and shagging every time you get together, that's all he wants. You aint meeting the mother any time soon. Or any of his mates come to that.

I've been in touch with yet another online bloke who at first seemed really cool. Very 'manly' in build, looks and manner but has turned out to be a clingy, lonely, desperate fool. I hate to say this because he does mean well but it's gone from us exchanging emails and having the odd phone conversation to him ringing, emailing and MSNing me every day, telling me he 'misses me', talking about how great we're going to be together, how he needs me to 'look after him' and that he was 'sad' that I didn't text him one evening. The vital thing to remember is that this bloke lives in Manchester and we haven't even met yet. In the space of a week he has managed to make me see him as an unshakeable annoyance rather than someone I'd ever consider dating. He wants to come and see me next weekend but he's put me right off so I'll have to try and get out of it.

The thing I'm beginning to realise is that there is no happy medium when it comes to blokes. You either like them or loathe them. They either ignore you entirely or text you 17 times in one evening. The ultimate frustration being that the ones you like rarely like you back but the one-man freak shows would happily garrotte their own mother if it meant you'd date them. Why is this so? It's the most unfair rule Murphy ever came up with.

Last of 2007...

2007-12-27T22:18:00.000Z

Wow! 100th post! How fitting that it should be a retrospective of the year (yes, I know it's ridiculously self-indulgent but it's my blog, so there).

Firstly, my weight has thundered upwards and I'm now a shocking 1.5 stone heavier than I was this time last year. I am disgusted with myself, particularly after such an indulgent Xmas week. Things must, must, must change as I'm miserable and uncomfortable all the time.

Job wise I started my current one in January so it's been a year, virtually. It was great to begin with but the constant abuse of my time (made me work late on my birthday and miss drinks) and the rubbish pay are seriously starting to bring me down. I'm definitely asking for a pay rise at my year's appraisal (not something I've done before) and if that doesn't work, I think I'll look for something else.

Home wise I managed to move twice this year. Mine and A's flat in Fulham was lovely for 8 months but always temporary when she announced she'd bought a place. We are now in Brixton and although it was a struggle to get used to the culture change I now love the vibrancy of it. I can buy plantain at the market, three streets from my house - genius.

Man wise. Ha ha. It sounds revolting to say there are too many to mention them all, but frankly it's true. I started the year thinking I was on my way to being sorted, only to be chucked in February. From then on the online dating and real life meetings have led to many liasons and a couple of attempts at relationships, none going the distance. I have had many one night stands, many first dates, several third dates, many teenage snogging sessions, a couple of arguments, a lovely number of genuinely fantastic nights out, some exciting text and phone sex, two threesomes (one of each kind), a rampant holiday and one bloke with four nipples. I am no wiser about men now than I was 12 months ago but it's heartening to remember that neither are any of my friends.

Any new year is an opportunity to make a fresh start and resolutions will be firmed up in January. I must think about what I want from men and how I can change my destructive behaviour. This year has made me realise I'm not completely repulsive, and yet I still have shockingly low self esteem. Another thing that needs working on. Still, I love a challenge.

When bad men happen to good girls

2007-12-18T10:12:00.000Z

I can't quite believe I've been blogging for over a year (despite the recent lapse in posting). I think I'll leave the bumper-navel gaze for the Christmas week when I'll be trapped in suburbia and bored stupid but for now I can't help my thoughts wandering to the beginning of this year when, as always, anything seemed possible. It's definitely been an odd one.

On Sunday A and I invited all our fave chicks over to the pad for a Christmas soireé. We provided an acre of buffet food and gallons of wine which of course, meant the evening culminating in the 'C*nt of the Year Awards 2007'. Each of us submitted a bloke from the year who has really screwed us over (mine was New York R but it was a tough choice) and the token engaged person among us judged which 'man' was most deserving of the title. It goes to show the levels of horror we've all endured this year when I tell you that R didn't win despite his stellar levels of fuckwittage. The winning bloke was submitted by F, whose ex-boyfriend she was with for 8 years recently texted her out of the blue after 2.5 years of silence. After a couple of hesitant texts, they agreed to meet and of course, alcohol flowed, a romantic meal occured and before you could say 'castrate them all' she was in his bed. A day or so later she mustered up the courage to text him (she was drunk) and 36 hours later, she got a reply which ended with 'see you around'. As if that wasn't bad enough, during the course of the date she discovered he'd lived with someone else for a year since their split; she's only just got to the point where she's ready to date again. A deserving winner, I think we can all agree.

There's not much going on in my life at the moment in terms of men, just a couple of flirtations (and a weekend of filthy sex with one which I really needed). This could be because my confidence has hit rock bottom due to my weight. It's been creeping on the last couple of months and I'm now really uncomfortable. Bloody typical just before the festive season - so like me to make sure I'm really, really fat after the holidays rather than being sensible and allowing a bit of a buffer zone. If only I was the type of girl who lost her appetite in the face of heartbreak rather than one who uses it as yet another excuse to comfort eat. Mind you, if that were the case, based on this year's experiences I'd be thinner than Posh.

FA's: Friend or Foe?

2007-11-16T18:55:00.000Z

This week I am mostly on holiday. Which is dandy and jolly for the most part. I am free to rise when I wish, boil an egg in a languid fashion at ten in the morning or paint my toenails then immediately remove all the polish, cackling to myself while watching Richard & Judy Mark 2. Oh yes, I know how to live.

However, this week does involve me spending time with Functioning Adults. For those of you that don't know, Functioning Adults (FAs) are those of your peers that have somehow managed to wade through the general low-level neurosis, negative peer pressure, lucid nightmares in which your mother catches you having sex/taking drugs/molesting ferrets/dropping babies on their heads and all-encompassing self-doubt to emerge victorious at the end of a church aisle swathed in a white dress or morning suit depending on gender of aforementioned FA. It's kind of like 'It's a Knockout' only with shorter arms.

FA's are present in all our lives and, short of deleting them from your BT Friends and Family package, there's not much you can do to avoid them. Admittedly, women feel the shadowy presence of their FA's more keenly than men. This is because we have ovaries.

FA's are distinguishable by certain characteristics and there are many circumstances to which you must adapt. Here is a selection of what I just said then:

1. FA's are never single

2. They are not just co-habiting* but are either engaged or married

3. If they are engaged, they will have a constant ream of bridal magazines stashed about their person and fabric samples hanging from their bag at all times

4. If you are lucky enough to be their bridesmaid they will monitor your calorie consumption for a year and a half and make you go to Colour Me Beautiful (then cry for a week if you're not a Summer and make you dye your hair)

5. You must like the fiancé/husband without question and value his opinion on all matters

6. The fiancé/husband has the right to stare at your tits whenever he so wishes, occasionally choosing to enthusiastically vocalise the action with the phrase 'I would'

7. If your FA owns a house and decides to replace all the wooden doorknobs with glass ones, not only must you notice, you must also ask the place of purchase, price of knobs and entire thought process leading up to this crucial decision

8. If your FA's have a child and/or children you must be ridiculously excited to see/hear about/talk on the phone to them at all times. Especially at 6am on a Saturday when your FA is calling you for a quick chat because they've been up for three hours feeding, changing and watching 'Nibbly Pig Disbands the Third Reich' and she naturally assumes it's around lunchtime but can't check because all the clocks in their house are covered in baby sick

9. When you go for dinner with the FA's, especially those with children, you must remember that they are probably no longer having sex. To this end, and to get the best portion of tiramisu, you must regale them with glamorous and risqué stories of your urban single life. This is doubly important if you live in a city and they live in the 'burbs. Pepper your stories with throaty laughs, hair-tossing and knowing winks to the husband. Discreetly avert your gaze when he stands up with a stiffy

10. Never attempt to have a conversation with your FA if their child is anywhere in the room. Conversations attempted with FA's in the presence of their offspring generally follow this pattern:

FA (three hours after you arrive): So anyway, enough about us. How are YOU?

You: Not too bad. Oh, funny thing happened actually, you know that bloke I mentioned? The one who took me to that Greek restaurant?

FA: Stop that darling, please. Because you'll get stuck, that's why. Come and read dinosaur book, you like dinosaur book. Dinosaur! Dinosaur! Sorry, you were saying?

You: Er...right well anyway, after the disaster of the Greek place I didn't think he'd ring again but low and behold he did. Anyway, I decided...

FA: Jocasta! Jocasta! Don't stick your Lego there, its disgusting! Because I said so. I'm not joking, I know it's fun now darling but it won't be so much fun when mummy has to take you to Casualty again, will it? Remember Casualty? Yes you do, the nasty nurse had to put the cream in your special place, didn't she? And it hurt, didn't it? Right, so put the Lego down and come here. Barbie! Look darling! Barbie! Sorry, so you're at a Greek restaurant...

Personally I'm happy being a DA (Dysfunctional Adult). In the city DA's travel in packs, selfishly filling our days with shoe shopping, bed hopping and cocktail consumption. We gleefully kill off clutches of eggs with extra-strong Mojitos and pulverise brain cells with Merlot.

Unfortunately, the chances are there will come a point when your FA's become a positive influence. It is inevitable that, unless you are cursed with the same levels of deluded self-confidence and playboy joie de vivre as Peter Stringfellow, you'll eventually want to hitch your wagon to someone of the opposite gender, financially cripple yourself by purchasing a shoebox with windows and find yourself taking folic acid whilst flexing your pelvic floor in the queue at Waitrose. At this point you will probably start to appreciate the eternal struggle of unfounded optimism that is the life of an FA. You will go to them for advice and integrate yourself into their routines until one evening you find yourself serving tiramisu to a DA across your limed oak dining table, listening jealously to her tales of urban debauchery while your husband shuffles across the kitchen with a gingham chair cushion clutched to his crotch. Something to look forward to, then.

*It's never final until a ring is purchased - mortgage schmortgage

De ja vu

2007-11-14T16:50:00.000Z

I don't know what's going on in my head these days, I really don't. After a year of more casual sex and dating than the rest of my life all together, I am still no closer to a) understanding men or b) understanding myself.

Communication between Red and I continues, however I can feel myself retreating. I've been on holiday this week, travelling round visiting friends and family in the home counties and as a consequence have been away from email anyway, but even my texts have been drying up. I think I knew all along that physically I just couldn't fancy Red which is really, really sad. So much about him appealed to me; his mind, his sense of humour, his interests, his compassion, however the physical thing - no matter how much I tell myself otherwise - is important. The memory of Red kneeling over me, and showing me his cock but first having to move his stomach out of the way is resounding more loudly in my mind than anything else. I loathe my utter superficiality but I am what I am. I don't expect people to be perfect, there just has to be an attraction. I would like to keep him as a friend but I worry we've gone too far for that. He had a problem that cropped up earlier today and his first thought was to text me for sympathy and help. I feel we've crossed a line.

I have somehow agreed to go out with L tomorrow night. It will be the first time I'll have seen him since our disastrous third date back in May. He's invited me to a comedy night, which is just my kind of thing. The problem is, I don't know if he's inviting me as a friend or as a date. He could feasibly think that enough time has passed now for the dust to have settled on our brief period of dating so that friendship is possible, or he might genuinely like me again and want to date me. I have no way of telling so my only option is to go, look fab and not make a single date-like move. I will assume it's a friend thing, then if he happens to try and kiss me or touch me in any way (other than a platonic one) I'll know the score. Trouble is, if he doesn't try it on I think I'll be quite disappointed. The man may have been a headwreck in the past but my God he's damn cute.

Can't see the wood for the sleaze

2007-11-08T17:36:00.000Z

This post was going to be different. I was going to write about how I ended up meeting and sleeping with my latest Myspace admirer (I'll call him Red). How he text me that day telling me he'd cut his lip shaving and I was worried it would make him even less attractive to me than I already thought. How I travelled all the way to see him still not quite knowing why, and the second he met me at the station I knew I didn't fancy him. How I realised I was so far from home the only thing I could do was persevere and try to get to know him. How we ended up in his tiny loft room in a shared house with dingy carpet and how the only things we had to eat were crisps and grapes. How physically, he was just not attractive to me. His pictures were clearly old as he had gained a lot of weight since then and had neglected to buy new clothes because his shirt was stretched taught across his body, the buttons gaping. How I managed to get pretty drunk and when he finally did make a move to kiss me it was clumsy and unpractised. How when it came to sex he seemed awkward and unsure and when I gave myself an orgasm as he watched, he commented afterwards how he was glad he made me come. I was going to write how, the following morning I was embarrassed when he played me some songs (he's a comedy musician) and just wanted to get back to London.

But in the last few days, my perception of my time with him has changed. The flipside has shone through like pin pricks of sunlight through a straw hat.

When I was on the train on the way down, he sent me an excited text telling me to enjoy the sunbathed fields and watch out for the white horse on the hillside in Wiltshire. When he met me at the station, Red was clutching a small, tissue-paper wrapped bunch of purple iris's which he shyly gave me as he told me I looked spectacular.
As we walked up the hill from the station, he pointed out buildings of interest and told me which artists had lived in which houses and which writers had drunk in which pubs. He bought me real ale and told me all about a children's book he's writing, encouraging an engaging debate on religion and atheism.
Before we went into his house, he stopped to apologise for the state of it, imploring me not to pay attention to the threadbare carpets and lazy student decor, explaining it was his only choice as a struggling writer and poorly-paid journalist.
When Red opened the door to his tiny loft room, it immediately felt like an artist's garret and he beckoned me to the window to show me the view high above the rooftops and out across the fields beyond in the dwindling autumn dusk. When I leaned over the desk to peer out the window, he rested his hand lightly on the small of my back and a gesture that would have felt sleazy and presumptious coming from another man, felt warm and affectionate. The only reason there were just crisps and grapes to eat was because when he asked if he should book us a table for dinner, I stupidly said no and that just snacks would do. When we were settled, he played me episodes of my favourite radio show about which he's writing a book and told me stories about the participants which no one without full cast access would know. He made me laugh. He produced joint after joint and we got stoned together, sitting cross-legged on his bed listening to comedy. When he leaned in to kiss me, it was my fault it was clumsy as I was most of the way through a bottle of red only I had been drinking and I blundered into his approach. He tenderly kissed my skin and seemed to marvel at my body, he gazed at me and stroked my face, smiling as though we were sharing a huge secret. When it was over and we needed to sleep, he fetched me water and tucked the covers around me, spooning me tightly and kissing my neck. I was surprised at how, although physically I didn't fancy him, something must have clicked because every time he kissed my neck or stroked my back, I was instantly wet. I could see he was frustrated at the clumsiness of our liaison and I recognised shyness in his eyes.
Since I've been home we've texted or emailed constantly. He's been so kind about me being ill the last couple of days. He properly thinks about things I tell him and gives me thoughtful, kind responses. He seems to adore me and intellectually and emotionally, I adore him too. Red is like me in so many ways and so unlike the parade of sleaze I've been subjected to this year.

However, my mind is in turmoil. I keep imagining what it would be like to be with him, forgetting for a moment the distance issue. Could I overcome the physical thing? I've been in that situation before and just couldn't and I think this might be marginally worse (back then I used to cry after sex but stayed because I loved who he was). He keeps saying he wants to lose weight so if he did, would it make a difference? I think it would, judging by the cuteness of his Myspace pictures. Plus, how often do we slate men who don't fancy women because they're overweight - am I really that shallow? Am I just idealising this man because he idealises me and basically I just want to be loved, regardless of how pathetic that is? Am I hankering after his meagre lifestyle in his lofty garret because I suddenly feel so vulnerable and lost living in a rough part of South London as opposed to the safe, sloany West (last night I watched out of my bedroom window as, under it, a troop of police searched and questioned a group of teens for drugs and weapons, eventually cuffing and arresting all of them for having PCP and weed - all I could think about was the safety and peace of Red's little hideyhole)?

I don't know how I feel but I know that I wait for his text messages and I crave his emails and if I haven't heard from him for a couple of hours I get twitchy. I can feel myself getting dependent on his presence in my life but is that just because I haven't met anyone else?
L, a guy I went on three dates with back in May and who basically went AWOL after the third, has been back in contact and asked me out again. Is this it? Am I doomed to fall prey to fuckwit guys who pick me up and drop me and treat me like crap, purely because I'm physically attracted to them? Is it time to start looking beyond that and fall in love with what's beneath? Or is that just a load of almost-thirty, Disney-crap desperation nonsense and if so, then where the fuck is the right one? All I know is, it's been a long time since a man's mind really caught my attention without the body to back it up. Rightly or wrongly, this guy is different and I just can't get my head straight. Sometimes I wonder what I'm waiting for.

Secrets and Lies

2007-11-01T17:59:00.000Z

Blogging lost it's appeal for a while. Doom and gloom prevailed and frankly I was boring myself. Nothing of any major significance has happened since the last post. I moved house with my flatmate, A, into her brand new flat which was stressy but such a good move. The flat is gorgeous and we're in an area of London with so much more vibrancy and excitement about it that where we were in the leafy old West before.

On Tuesday night, work A and I went to the Soho Theatre to hear Abby Lee who writes the fabulous Girl with a One Track Mind blog discuss sexually explicit blogging and the affect it has on feminism. The evening was a sell-out and the topics ranged from the aforementioned to body image, kinkiness, misogynism and many others. It was utterly fascinating and I was thrilled at the end when I got the chance to chat to Abby and have her sign the book. A asked an extremely pertinent question while we had our five minutes regarding female to female misogyny and whether it's worse or just different than male to female. Thrillingly we got a mention in her subsequent post!

The only other thing to mention is the developing relationship between an online guy and me. Yes, another one and another Myspace one at that. We started emailing a few months ago when we discovered a mutual interest in ancient English comedy, particularly radio shows and an absolute obsession with Stephen Fry. As time went on our mutual interests became more and more evident and we genuinely started to get on. I was in a 'relationship' at the time and he never mentioned anything remotely sexual or leading in that respect, but I got the impression he fancied me from the comments left on photos and general affectionate tone.
Recently things have changed. He obviously knows I'm now single and was very sweet when I was coping with the fallout from R (ulterior motive??). Slowly but surely, things changed and we started flirting a little over email then text until we've recently had full blown phone sex. Issues with all this are:

I worry that he seems TOO nice - is this just a cover to hide the fact that he's a deviant trying to get his way?
He lives in the West Country so distance would be an issue for dating.
He is not remotely my type - red headed and, well, a little chubby (but very, very cute nonetheless).
I am concerned that I'm only 'falling' for him because I'm on such a rebound from all the rubbish blokes this year and am therefore sucked in by his chivalry, flattery and, quite frankly, adoration

The problem is, my battered heart thinks I deserve to be adored for a while. Selfish, I do see but this year has been ridiculously cruel, man wise so it's about time isn't it?

Gas and Electric

2007-10-17T16:28:00.000+01:00

Of course its over. Took a while to die, though. He suddenly realised he wanted to try and win me back after the glitter of his holiday faded and he understood what a bastard he'd been. I agreed to go to dinner on Saturday and it was excruciating. I was angry, hurt and beligerent, he was uncomfortable, distant and jet-lagged. It was obvious things weren't working so we left on an uncertain note then I rang him on Monday night and ripped off the metaphorical plaster. He apparently realised over the weekend that I like him more than he likes me. Could have fooled me, seriously. Still, the chances of two people actually liking each other equally are slimmer than a gnat's wing so I shouldn't be surprised. I am upset, hollow and sad but not surprised.

So. What next?

Healing: Obviously, although addressing and dealing with another rejection feels like an insurmountable task right now.

Fun: Would be a good thing but I have to be careful not to slide down the slope of angry drinking which threatens every night.

Occupying myself with alternative activities: Well I move house in two weeks so that'll keep me busy, plus will provide a physical fresh start to go with my emotional one.

Learning: Hmmm, difficult this one. I'm not totally sure what lessons I can take away from that last dalliance. Never trust the Scottish? When a bloke quotes you song lyrics the chances are he'll dump you barely two weeks later? If a guy says he's sharing a hotel room with a girl under ANY circumstances, run for the hills and don't look back? Don't trust men if their mouths are moving because the chances are, they're lying? Don't let the bitterness eat you alive...actually, no. I'm not sure that last one is possible.

My flatmate, A, said something insightful to me the other night. Which was this:

"It's like gas cookers and electric cookers. Men are gas because they can suddenly flip on a flame, burn hot very quickly then extinguish it in an instant. Women are electric cookers. They take a while to get warmed up, when they are they get really hot but they can't just switch off the heat - it takes a lot longer for the electric cooker to cool down."

Beats Mars and Venus as an analogy anyway.

Heartbreak

2007-10-11T11:11:00.000+01:00

R arrived home yesterday morning. Within four hours of his return, I learned that the girl he spent the week with in New York utterly blew him away, that they developed very strong feelings for each other, that they spent all their time together and he met her friends, that she cried when he left and that there was an occasion where they masturbated in front of each other. He claims they didn't touch or even kiss and certainly didn't fuck but I don't believe him. I don't believe a word. He is also now smoking again because of her and yet I've smoked in front of him for six weeks and never had that affect. He says he now has feelings for two girls at the same time. The worst thing, the unbelievable horror of it all is that he cannot see why I might be upset about this. He genuinely believes he's done nothing wrong and has asked me to 'give him credit' for not fucking her when he had the chance. Apparently if she lived over here it would be hard for him because he would have to choose between the two of us but since she doesn't - hooray - decision made, he picks me. He is going to keep in touch with her and also sees nothing wrong with that.

I am, at my best, insecure and easily threatened. If I was to try and stay with this person now, like he's asking me to, I'd give my sanity a week, maybe two, tops.

Yesterday I ate nothing through the sheer all-encompassing upset of the revelations and the fucking heartbreak of it all. I roped F into coming out with me and pounded cocktails and shots all night as though my life depended on it. I got home at 1am blasted out of my mind, and passed into blissful oblivion. So far today I've vomited four times at work and spent ten minutes sitting on the floor of the toilet, crying. I cannot eat because the minute the food enters my mouth it becomes a hard lump, impossible to swallow and I vomit again (admittedly I've only tried this with a piece of dry toast but it's enough).

This is after just one day of self-loathing, anger, bitterness, jealousy, heartbreak, disbelief and frantic confusion. How on earth will I remain alive if I keep this person in my life?

And yet...and yet the needy, insecure little girl inside me, the part that fell utterly in love with him can't seem to let go just yet. What, in the name of Christ, is wrong with me?

Headwreck

2007-10-09T16:19:00.001+01:00

R leaves New York tonight, arriving back in London at stupid o'clock tomorrow morning. I have spent the last five days and nights (mainly the nights) worrying, obsessing and torturing myself about what he might have been getting up to. Various reactions from friends and family who have kindly put up with me boring the collective arse off them with my issues, have made me even more uncertain about what to expect.

For example, the issue of him sharing a room with this girl has garnered supportive, 'oh I'm sure nothing will happen' type responses from my girlfriends however my brother (a man) reacted by exclaiming 'What?!' then sucking the air in through his teeth like a plumber surveying a boiler that's rusted off the wall. The issue of him switching his phone off and telling me not to text him because 'it's too expensive' has also received mixed reactions. Again, the supportive collective I surround myself with have decided this is perfectly reasonable and doesn't mean he's been planning a New York based shagathon with this girl and doesn't want to be disturbed. On the other hand my friend K who travels all the time and never sugar-coats anything reckons that's a load of old tosh as it's not that expensive to text from the US any more.

Basically my brain is spinning. I keep telling myself not to expect the worst but then would he switch his phone off for a week if he really liked me and was missing me? Would he not move heaven, earth and line rental to drop me a line to let me know he was thinking of me? Would he not have tried to reassure me more before he left that he would miss me and couldn't wait to see me again? I know it's only been six weeks but they've been so intense I feel as though some kind of affirming declaration wouldn't be inappropriate.

My feelings are all over the place plus I'm PMSing like a bitch so my only recourse to give voice to my frustrations, is to quote Sex and the City which I'm sure I'll be mortified about when all this is over and my head is straight again. However, mired as I am in the depths of my current torment it seems to fit. This is what I want and I don't understand why it's so far proven impossible to find...

'Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, can't-live-without-each-other love...'

I don't know where this thing with R is going but needless to say I'm rapidly retreating from it, back to how I was a few months ago where casual sex was commonplace and I actually felt confident. This emotions lark is far, far too difficult.

Big Apple, Big Upset

2007-10-05T17:37:00.000+01:00

"There's something I should tell you about my trip to New York," he fiddles with his wine glass stem and doesn't look at me.
"Right," I say cautiously, my stomach already twitching.
"Well, you know when I said I was meeting friends there from Washington? Well actually it's one person, a girl and I've never met her actually, she's a friend of a friend."
"Right," I say, with an edge to my voice I instantly regret. I seem to have run out of any alternative words so for safety's sake I stick with this one word. "Right."
He explains to me the reason he didn't tell me this initially is because it didn't seem relevant however now we've spent so much time together he felt increasingly like he was lying to me. Apparently a female friend of his over here, knows this girl and said she'd be in New York around the same time and suggested they sightsee together as both she and R would be out there alone.
"There's one more thing," he adds, looking up at me. "We're sharing a room."
YOU'RE DOING FUCKING WHAT??????? Screams my brain.
"Is she single?" Asks my mouth.
"Yes. Recently."

This is one of those pivotal moments. It is a golden opportunity to behave in a calm, rational fashion and prove that I am premium, Class A, fantastic girlfriend material. I need to remain utterly aloof and detached from emotion as though the whole thing has nothing to do with me.

I fail.

"Right. So, why exactly are you sharing a room with this person?" I demand, exaggerating the word 'exactly' and twisting my face into mock curiosity and confusion.
"We just thought it would save money. Look, it was all arranged ages before I met you and she's only going to be there for the first two or three days, after that I'm on my own..."
I'm barely listening. Across my mind's eye flash images of this girl and my boyfriend sightseeing all day, wrapped up in scarves and hats, warming their hands on take away coffees and taking silly pictures of each other. The two of them by night finding dark little bars and underground clubs to discover new drinks, new music and new memories, then stumbling back to their little hotel room to... I snap back to the moment and tune into what he's saying.
"...totally understand if you're jealous. I would be, I mean I'm not even comfortable with you having male friends for fuck's sake. Look, I'm really sorry about this but I wanted to be honest."

That was two weeks ago. He left yesterday. In that two weeks I have skirted the subject, acted extremely happy and interested whenever he's mentioned it, and spied on this girl on Myspace relentlessly. She's not exactly stunning but she's not a total dog and let's face it, when you're a bloke who is pissed and having fun it really doesn't matter how a girl looks. I am not naive; R and I have only been going out for just over a month and although it's been intense it is still early days. He could feasibly sleep with this girl - all the opportunity is there. The only thing I can do is endure this next five days with my imagination running riot and wait to see what happens when he gets back.
Of course, the gremlin in my head that pulverises my self-esteem and clobbers my self-worth is busy whispering nasty nothings all day, telling me he won't be back in touch and if he is it will be to dump me.
I reached a low point the night before he left. We had a 'goodbye' phone call and he was utterly unemotional ('talk to you in six days, then!'). I was feeling rubbish and just then one of my Myspace boys rang me for the first time in weeks and we ended up having phone sex. He asked to see me this weekend, for 'a drink' i.e. 'to fuck' and I said yes. Just now I emailed him and cancelled. Although it's tempting to put myself on an even footing for R's potential return announcement it would be a hollow victory. If he does sleep with this girl I want to be fucking Snow White. It's the only way I'll feel remotely good about myself. Nice to know I've got the opportunity though.

Once this is all over, I really should consider therapy.

2001 Pies: A Pastry Odyssey

2007-10-02T17:30:00.000+01:00

This is not glamourous. It's not exciting and it's really not the sort of thing a city-dwelling girl who owns mostly nice shoes and has all her own hair should admit to but it's time to vocalise the passion because, after all, ridicule is nothing to be scared of.

I absolutely love pies.

See? Now I've said that you're thinking 'Fatty Fatty Pie Eater' aren't you? You are, aren't you? It's OK, you needn't feel bad. It's simply a knee-jerk reaction rooted in playground mockery of the following sort:

Who ate all the pies?

Got hit with the ugly stick on the way out of the pie shop.

Likes a pie.

Hilarious though these erudite jibes are, they have inadvertently taken the focus away from the pavement-pulverisers amongst us and tarred the innocent pie with a lard-laden brush. Let's be honest, your average pie does contain a couple more calories than say, your average garden salad, this is an acknowledged nutritional fact backed up by pie scientists (pientists?). Pies are, like all comfort food-stuffs, essentially bad for you. No one finishes work on a Friday after a harrowing week and thinks 'Sod it all, I'm having a salad!' Salads are not comforting. They are cold and spikey and leafy whereas pies are crumbly and warm and satisfying. Anyway, I'm not advocating merrily troughing pies on a daily basis. Those would be the actions of a Mad.

So, back to my pie-passion. I wasn't raised in the kind of household where pies were regularly consumed. My mum used to make the occasional pie if people were coming round but it would generally be sweet and more often than not, open-topped. That's where I first learned about 'blind baking' which involves covering a pastry base in a dish with a layer of dried-out beans to weigh it down and protect it. I found those beans fascinating as a child. They would sit, hard and colourful in their jar until they were forced to endure extreme temperatures fulfilling their destiny as guardians of the sensitive layer of pastry, then cooled and poured back in the jar to await their next searing adventure. Mind you, I didn't have many friends then and there's only so long you can spend playing swingball with yourself.

My grandmother used to make amazing pies, mainly savoury ones. As a child I would have rather given away my entire Barbie collection to my brother and watch him decapitate each one of them than eat kidneys. However, granny could bung the pig-organ in a pastry casing along with some steak and gravy and I just yummed it up.

We used to take our summer holidays at the same farm in Cornwall every year. Enter, the variation on a theme: Pasty Obsession. The woman who ran the farm used to make pasties for dinner once a week. Her method was the traditional Cornish one, involving huge chunks of steak meat and potatoes and pastry the thickness and consistency of a house brick. There wasn't a straight line to be found on that woman, but you could have used her lips as a ruler when we had the gaul to ask for gravy. Admittedly I still adored these parcels of joy but by God they were dry. It would be been easier to chew your way out of a coal shed than eat one without gravy (unless you're a horny-handed son of toil eating one on a tractor, in which case pulling a small, portable gravy boat out of your barbour jacket pocket is just stupid).

Doris (or Mrs Pastry Hands as I wish I'd had the nous to call her at the time as they were always, always cold*) had a unique method of pasty-making. She would tailor them to each guest's shoe size. Fine for a dainty-footed nine year old like me but dashed challenging if you're a hefty size fourteen like my dad. His pasty used to hang over the sides of the plate. I was jealous.
It sounds obvious but it really is the pastry that makes it for me. I love the crumbliness of short, the flaky crispness of filo, the lightness of puff and the softness of choux. However, there are certain ground rules or, to be less totalitarian about it, observations I would like to set out regarding the word 'pie' and what it really means to me:

1) Shepherd's Pie, Cottage Pie, Fish Pie: OK, so technically these are pies in that they are a 'filling' covered by a 'lid'. But where is the excitement or satisfaction in a lid of mashed potato? Where's the craftsmanship? The investment of cold-handed time? The crisp, satisfying layer disguising the delicious mystery within? Boiled root vegetables smeared over mince with a fork does not constitue an honest-to-goodness pie. No matter what Delia Smith might say.

2) Dessert Pie (e.g. the flan, tart or tartlet): OK so the base is at least pastry, this is a step closer than the jokers listed above. However, without the lid to cut into, it's like opening what you think is a new jar of coffee, only to find that some bastard's got there before you and robbed you of the teaspoon-through-gold-foil pleasure. Another disappointment to add to the myriad of small disappointments that make up Life. Although on this note I should point out I am a huge fan of banoffee pie however the correct method of making it calls for a biscuit not pastry base. Another fallacy uncovered.

3) Lids Alone: Read your gastro-pub menu carefully, fellow pastry-lover or you may be caught out by this one. Does the menu describe the steak and ale pie as having a 'pastry lid'? If it does, order at your peril, for this loose-bottomed prankster is bound to ruin your luncheon. Is it a thrifty way of saving millions on expensive pastry ingredients? Are you actually supposed to eat/keep the ceramic dish? Or are you just in the establishment of a deceitful, pub-owning git? What's the point of pouring stew into a ceramic dish, slinging a layer of pastry down on top and serving it with peas next to it on a plate? What an absolute load of tossycock. Go for the fish and chips in beer batter. I would.

4) Fray Bentos Pie-in-a-Can: Just don't. Ever. Seriously.

5) The Australian 'Pie Floater': A perfectly good meat pie, needlessly immersed in pea soup and decorated with ketchup. I mean honestly, what the fuck?

6) Chip Shop Pies: God these are good. I mean, really good. My first job was working in a chip shop and I hated it. I hated the heat and the permeating smell and the fact that I had to scrape squashed chips out of the treads of my shoes every evening. But I loved the pies. They served a chicken and mushroom that could make a confirmed pie-obsessive weep vinegary tears. Complete buggers to wrap, especially with a portion of large chips but I could forgive them. Basically, your average chip shop pie or indeed any pie purchased in proper pie form from a supermarket or similar ticks all the boxes. Gorgeous, rich, oozing fillings encased in crumbly, slightly sweet, short pastry. Ultimate comfort food? Yes, my friend. Oh yes.

*You have to have cold hands to successfully make pastry or it goes all crumbly and sticks to your rolling pin, prompting you to fling the entire lot in the bin and sob behind a locked door while your dinner guests sip sherry in the front room and pretend not to notice.

Tired and Emotional

2007-09-27T12:40:00.000+01:00

10:30pm - Arrive at front door and fumble in cavernous bag for keys.

10:32pm - Fingers eventually touch keys in bottom of bag. Get arm caught in bag strap during attempt to extract said keys. Drop keys back into bag. Pause to indulge in heavy, shuddering sigh.

10:34pm - Manage to relocate keys and remove them from bag slowly but successfully.

10:35pm - Attempt to focus on keyhole.

10:37pm - Success! Keyhole is now singular, rather than plural. Poke key in general direction of hole.

10:39pm - Get key in hole. Turn key whilst congratulating self for remembering to push door at the same time. Say 'Motor skills are great!' out loud in the street.

10:40pm - Shut and lock door. Stagger purposefully towards the stairs leading to inner front door. Briefly consider removing man-traps disguised as shoes from feet but conclude that as feet are now mere bloody stumps after a day encased in the instruments of torture, a few stairs aren't going to make much more difference.

10:42pm - Trip up the stairs, land on one knee and fling handbag high and long, carpet-bombing the landing with the contents.

10:43pm - Remove shoes and hurl them up onto the landing in a fit of pique. Switch light on to prevent further accidents.

10:44pm - Scrabble about on hands and knees gathering up the scatter-gunned contents of handbag. Do final bleary-eyed check of carpet. Hope I haven't left a tampon lying sweetly in front of neighbour's door.

10:45pm - Enter flat being really, really quiet.

10:46pm - Flatmate is still awake so need for quiet is negated. Hurrah! Happily slam door and fling down bag and shoes, calling a cheery greeting to flatmate.

10:48pm - Flatmate joins me in the kitchen and observes me gazing unseeingly into the depths of our fridge whilst using the open door to prop self up. Flatmate proffers the suggestion that I may be a tad inebriated. I cannot deny this. Mainly because I can't speak properly.

10:50pm - Flatmate gently eases me out of the fridge, extracts a can of Coke and leaves me to fend for self.

10:52pm - Extreme excitment! Have found a bag of microwaveable egg fried rice! Yumorama! Rip top off (of bag not self) and slam microwave door with a flourish. Slamming doors is fun.

10:53pm - Rice is taking far too long to cook and am starving so root about in the fridge again. Find cheddar.

10:54pm - Due to my inability to wrap food properly, the outside of the cheese has the texture of heel-skin. Find knife and risk life by hacking away at the manky bits to reveal the glossy yellow cow-joy underneath.

10:55pm - Microwave pings. Remove bag of rice, probably burning hand on steam but will worry about that tomorrow when can actually feel it. Bag apparently needs to stand to cool. Emit derisive snort at Uncle Ben's ludicrous and extreme health and safety procedures. Shovel cheddar into mouth to appease the beast which appears to have taken up residence in stomach. A thought swims lazily through the bath of wine in my cranium and presents itself for inspection. It is this: Hmmm, cheese before bedtime. I wonder if I'll have a nightmare.

10:57pm - Empty rice into bowl. It looks dry. Cover rice in dark soy sauce. It looks brown.

10:59pm - Eat rice while attempting conversation with flatmate. Make a profound statement regarding piece of political news on the telly. Flatmate nods and smiles at me, I can tell she's impressed. Can't remember what statement was though.

11:05pm - Flatmate goes to bed. I dump bowl and associated equipment into the sink. I don't remember why I needed the round pizza slice-roller thingy but it's covered in cheddar so was clearly useful.

11:06pm - Quickly pop to bathroom to remove make up and clean teeth.

11:12pm - Realize have been staring at self in mirror for over 5 minutes.

11:13pm - Make up has turned to scrambled egg on face. Scrape it off using tea-tree infused wipe. Get tea-tree infusion in eyes and pause to stamp foot in pain. Finish removing make up whist squinting, and clean teeth.

11:15pm - Remove clothing and leave scattered across bedroom floor. Climb into bed.

11:16pm - Oblivion

05:10am - Eyes fly open. Horror noises/visions immediately cease and realise have been in the grip of terrifyingly chilling nightmare.

05:12am - Finally get up the courage to sneak an arm out from under the duvet and switch on light.

05:13am - Am so spooked I can't actually move. As am contemplating whether crazed humanoid beings with red eyes and gigantic mouths protruding shining white pointed teeth, riding quad bikes round a cul-de-sac in the dark might actually exist, my hangover kicks in.

05:14am - Ow.

05:15am - Reach bravely for glass and drink water. Paracetamol are on dressing table but cannot possibly leave protective cover of bed in order to retrieve them. Big-toothed-suburban-quad-bikers might be hiding under bed.

05:16am - Resolve to lie awake with light on until time to get up. Ponder the situation I find myself in. Did I have a nightmare because I ate cheese before bedtime, or did I have a nightmare because I told myself I probably would have a nightmare because I ate cheese before bedtime? Were the old wives right or am I in possesion of a brain that is ridiculously open to suggestion? Decide never to attend end-of-the-pier type hypnotism show in case end up shouting 'Testicles' every time someone says hello to me for the rest of my life.

08:30am - Wonder whether actually am on the tube or whether in fact this is just one long, elaborate, lucid dream. Bump hand with rice-steam burn against some bloke's record bag and realise that I am very much awake. I have mixed feelings about this.

Right click

2007-09-21T12:45:00.000+01:00

"I think I'm going to change my Myspace status," he murmurs into my right ear.

"To what?" I ask sleepily, as I move my butt further back into his crotch.

"To 'In a relationship'."

It's not possible to tell with the lights off, but I freeze. Did he just say that or has my fuckwit-addled brain finally blown a fuse and affected my hearing? I must consider my response carefully so as not to freak him out. His man-brain has obviously decided this was worth going to the trouble of actually forming words for but any slight overreaction on my part could quite easily cause them to be retracted. I consider the best path to take and make my move.

"Really?" I ask airily as I coincidentally move his hand up to cup my breast.

"Well I don't really want anyone else contacting me for dating on there right now. I only want to be seeing you. I want people to know I've got a girlfriend."

Good God, a double whammy of unexpected committment-speak. Relationship? Girlfriend? Have I mistaken a particularly butch lesbian for a bloke? I shuffle my bum back even further and feel proof that no, I definitely haven't.

"I like that idea," I say, sounding on the verge of sleep but feeling a thousand miles away from it. "I think I'll do that too then."

"Cool," he mutters, kissing my neck and causing shocks of lust to fire through my body. I turn my face towards him and we kiss.

The next day I log onto Myspace a little after 9am. Sure enough, his status reads 'In a Relationship.' It makes me smile.
I remember when asking someone to be your boyfriend/girlfriend involved a frustratingly vast amount of mixed messages, hints, subtext and confusion. Now you can simply select an item from a drop-down menu and everyone knows you're together. Welcome to the digital age.

Clean slate

2007-09-13T14:56:00.000+01:00

I got the all clear, one day shy of a full week of torture. I had spent the previous evening, curled foetus-like on my bed sobbing my heart out, convinced I had some terrible illness. I had held it together for days but the worry finally broke me and I gave into a sleepless night of panic. Just as I thought I couldn't take any more of it, my phone beeped and there was the text message I'd been waiting for for what seemed like weeks.
I count myself very, very lucky. It is a cliché but it feels like I've been given a second chance. My life, pathetic and shallow though it might be, is precious and I'm the only one who can protect it. Next stop: quitting the fags!

Things between R and I have continued apace and I think I might actually have a proper boyfriend. Not someone I'm 'seeing' or playing games with or just fucking but a proper, bona fide, lovely boyfriend. We seem utterly besotted with each other. This morning I got an email that simply quoted the following Nick Drake lyrics at me:

I never felt magic crazy as this
I never saw moons knew the meaning of the sea
I never held emotion in the palm of my handOr felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree
But now you're here
Brighten my northern sky.

I need this man in my life.

Waiting to exhale

2007-09-07T15:47:00.000+01:00

After months of procrastination, self-delusion and general ostrich-like behaviour I finally took the plunge. Yesterday, I had an HIV test.

Well, not just HIV; also syphillis, gonorrhea and chlamydia. My friend R (she of holiday jollity) had the tests recently and was negative. She and I have a similar, occasionally lax attitude to casual sexual protocol and her being OK gave me hope. Stupid, naive, idiotic hope founded in nothing more than desperation, but hope nonetheless.
I don't set out to be careless, I really don't, however there are times when I've been too drunk or just too damn horny to care (mainly the former). This is inexcusable, immature and very dangerous. We are all told from the second we reach sexual maturity to take precautions otherwise things ooze and occasionally drop off or in rare cases, you drop dead. Quite why I have been playing fast and loose with my own health of late is unclear. Therapy could very well be an option. Anyway, I now have to wait up to 10 days to receive the results. This is Day 1 and I'm already in hell. I'm convinced I am riddled with disease and have already made mental plans regarding my palliative care. Extreme possibly, but it's my macabre way of preparing myself. I am hoping for a reprieve, another chance to stop being so irresponsible and save my own life. I'm currently making a lot of deals with God.

In other news, I have met someone lovely (I know, I know - they always are). R is an indie guy with superlative taste in everything retro, primarily the 60's. He is Scottish with a soft, lilting accent and astonishingly blue eyes. We have so far only had two dates but they have been fun, romantic and exciting. This morning I received a text from him that said:

'I've just woken up and the first thing I thought of was you.'

This is a delightful contrast to N who was practically bipolar and M who ignored me for 6 weeks then rang me drunkenly at 1:15am last Saturday morning to ask whether he could come over. I took great delight in refusing then ignoring his calls for the next two days. The fact of the matter is, as I explained to my friend F when she went off on a tangent regarding the horrors of dating, I see it as a numbers game. Dating is excrutiating and often a total waste of time but then so is sitting at home night after night watching Celebrity X Factor on Ice and fighting a losing battle with a tub of Ben & Jerry's. The pizza delivery guy is never going to ask you out, no matter how wistfully he might eye your chocolate-stained pyjamas when you open the door. I might be getting clobbered but at some point all this effort has to pay off...doesn't it?

Wake Up and Smell the Gulibility

2007-08-30T08:58:00.000+01:00

I don't know. Perhaps I just have a tendency towards unfailing romantic ideals in the face of absolute and continual disappointment. I wouldn't have said so about myself but it's becoming more and more apparent that my utter willingness to believe the best about men can withstand more pressure than a large slab of lead.

Traveling N returned home just before my holiday. Having known each other for just two weeks prior to his departure, we spent three months emailing and texting almost every day. I tried not to get too invested, I really did but it was hopeless. In my mind, he would return, gather me up in his arms and not let me go for at least half an hour or until one of us needed the loo quite badly. What actually happened was that he turned up in a mood, managed to call me fat and insult my job choice within approximately 4 hours. Oh, and we had to go dutch on lunch. Despite that, I slept with him that day (I know; weak). After this appalling display I went on holiday and vowed to sack him off when I returned. He asked me to lunch and over lunch was a different person. He was apologetic, kind and full of remorse claiming jet lag and nerves as the root causes of his knobbery. I was won over and decided to give him another chance.

The night before my birthday he wanted to take me to dinner. We met at the tube and, once again, he was in a mood. Sorry, but this was MY birthday dinner, supposedly and yet here I was doing my manic cheerleader impression, trying to cheer up a guy who I wasn't even sure I actually liked that much. In the bar we actually bickered. I bickered with a guy I've met a handful of times who's intention had been to take me out for the evening and convince me he was worth a shot. He called my opinions stupid (we were discussing politics) and told me I clearly had no experience of real life or real people (we were discussing infidelity - could we have chosen more volatile topics?). We were in danger of descending into actual drunken rowing so we went to eat (I had to suggest and then find the restaurant). Throughout the meal I tried to be civil and ignore the barbed comments coming at me. I asked him why he was being such an arse and he said it was because I was being defensive without actually thinking that perhaps that was because I was being attacked. As the meal ended, I escaped to the toilet to breathe deeply and chastise myself in the mirror. When I returned, the waiter was poised with the electronic card reader thingy.
"Oh thank goodness," my tormentor exclaimed. "I was about to put the whole meal on mine."
The real shocker is that once again, I slept with him. Now, in my defence it was the eve of my birthday and I didn't want to be alone. Physical comfort was required and he was clearly willing to provide it. Plus I was quite drunk.

On Monday I spent the day in Brighton with four friends to whom I relayed this sorry tale. The open-mouthed horror with which they received it made me grateful they weren't furnished with weaponry. Thank God for friends - they have all confirmed what I knew to be true. That he might have a nice side and might be good in bed but by God he's got issues and is actually a bit of a bastard. Enough was enough. I sacked him off by email (I'm chicken). He's text me a couple of times asking me to see him to 'discuss it' but I won't. I've had enough blokes knock my always-shaky self confidence in my lifetime and I finally realised it was only me that could preserve my own sanity. I'm aging physically, perhaps I'm at last beginning to age emotionally as well.

If we took a holiday...

2007-08-14T15:55:00.000+01:00

In the case of holidays, in the past good food and a quiet place to sun worship have been highest on my agenda. However in the past, I have only ever ventured abroad as part of a couple, intent on relaxing together and hopefully having as much sex as possible, punctuated only by visits to quaint tavernas and the odd place of cultural interest. However, given my single status and current obsession with sex and partying I jumped at the chance to take a holiday with one of my newest pals. R is an absolute inspiration when it comes to both men and partying and we often meet to compare stories of filth and shame (in fact, we have vague plans to one day turn our 'Hall of Shame' into anonymous memoirs).
The destination was chosen for its cheapness on all counts. We arrived at 10:30 on the first night and were out the door by 11:15 to sample the delights of the locale. Our first venture onto the main drag of the town prompted us to walk close together, arms linked and eyes wide. We were easily the oldest visitors there by a good seven or eight years and felt it very keenly. Coltish girls in tiny shorts and bra tops tottered past, ogled by young lads in Osaka t-shirts and too much Lynx deodorant. Our only recourse, we soon realised was to spend the week blind drunk. Which we did. Well, the nights anyway, the days were spent lying very still by the hotel pool, trying not to be sick.

That first night we scored. A group of guys from Birmingham were out in force and we accompanied them on a crawl of a few bars, purely to find our bearings. (An interesting point to note and one that has great influence on our behaviour is that in the resort, when one drink is ordered you always get one free and invariably a shot too for good measure. I have never been anywhere that encourages liver-abuse quite so unashamedly but then again I've never been to Glasgow). Later that night (or early the next morning) I was on the balcony demonstrating my talent for regulated breathing combined with careful teeth placement on one of them, whilst R got a vigorous workout inside the room with his friend. It was to set the tone for the week. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of squadies on the island and we were thrilled to be able to do our bit for our 'brave boys'. Worryingly, my 'par amour' for a couple of nights was a paratrooper aged just 20. Enthusiasm made up for a lack of technique in the bedroom, predisposed as he was to the classic 'jackhammer' shagging as favoured by most young men who have yet to realise that there is a major difference between their hand and a vagina. I managed to slow him down somewhat from warp-speed and he actually showed a great deal of promise. His best friend apparently suffered from the same issue, R reported later. You think I would have noticed, given that at one point during our first night with them, the four of us were copulating in the same room. R and I have now very much established our friendship, given that we have seen more of each other than any of our other friends. A couple of nights later we met up with that group again, minus R's recent bedmate. Undeterred, while I got down to round two with the paratrooper, R snared one of his best mates but not before, quite sweetly, 'marrying' him in our favourite bar. I was in the bathroom at the time but on my return I was told that their scariest looking army friend had been the vicar, a very drunk group member who had been trying it on with me all week (with no success) was the best man and another had been a bridesmaid. I was to be the photographer, apparently. I obliged and ended up with a really lovely photo of the 'happy couple' kissing. Had they been an actual couple it would have been one for the album, however as it is the photo is blatant proof that given the right amount of alcohol, geniune affection can quite easily be faked. This is worth remembering.

At the end of the week we dove into our favourite indie bar (an oasis amidst the 'banging choons' of the rest of the island) for a quick nightcap before retiring. Four cocktails and several Sambucca shots later we got talking to yet more army boys. After approximately fifteen minutes of innuendo-laden conversation, I agreed to accompany one of them, a corporal, back to his shared apartment. I can honestly say I have never in my life been lucky enough to wriggle around on such an astonishing body. His main function in the army, it would seem, was training recruits in the gym and my goodness it showed. I spent a good few seconds just admiring him before we got down to it. Although 23, he had passed through the embarrassed fumbling stage of life and clearly understood what was expected. I was pretty much helpless and was thrown around like a rag doll for a great deal of the session. We wrecked his bedroom with the sheer passion we both threw into the sex. We pulled beds away from walls, we knocked over tables, we broke a glass and, most worryingly, managed to knock the switch on an oven ring, turning it on. We realised later just as the hairdryer which some idiot had left on top of it started smoking. I never found out whether he was able to remove the puddle of melted green plastic from the stove - I was just glad we weren't electrocuted or asphyxiated from chemical smoke.

All in all it was a good holiday. I learnt that actually, sex with younger men can be very fulfilling as they seem endlessly happy to please and were always impressed by the experience of an older woman. I learnt how to set light to Sambucca shots in my mouth. I learnt that seven nights straight on the lash is my limit and that actually, sunbathing makes hangovers worse. I learnt I now have a sense of humour about difficult and trying situations whereas in the past I would have spent the week in tears rather than making the best of it. I also learnt I have a great friend in R who is a fantastic partner in crime and someone with whom I now have enough in-jokes to annoy the rest of our group for a year. I'm skint, tired and pretty jaded but overall it was definitely worth it. Not a bad tan, either.

Stupid Girl

2007-07-23T13:29:00.000+01:00

I waited a very-restrained three days before emailing M after our date. He replied in fairly short order with a chatty email that included questions which I went back and answered, including a couple more of my own to keep the contact going.

That was the last I heard from him and that was 5 days ago.

Why are men like this? Why do they feel it's completely unnecessary to keep us in the loop re: decisions that involve us? I mean, strap on a pair for fuck's sake! Also, I thought women were supposed to be the fickle ones; how is it possible to decide within the space of an hour and two emails that actually you don't want to talk to someone ever again. As usual I completely misunderstood the situation and thought maybe he actually wanted to date and have a giggle. Note: I am NOT viewing every man as the father of my children. I enjoy having fun and while I wouldn't mind a relationship with the right person I'm not about to rush into anything. Why do they assume we are all picking out wedding dress fabric within four seconds of them saying something vaguely nice to us?

Needless to say with my ego more battered than it's been for ages, my weekend was always going to involve me desperately fishing for validation from men. This ridiculous mindset and far too much wine on Saturday night led to F and I pulling several men and taking them back to my flat. She slept with one of them and I had a threesome with another two of them. Quite what the circumstances were leading up to this I've no idea. I was wasted so there are fairly substantial gaps in my memory which is worrying. Thank goodness they were 'nice' boys because they could have done anything to me and my friend. This is an inestimably scary thought. I have got to stop this excessive self-destructive behaviour. It's starting to scare me now as I'm really putting myself at risk. Although all my friends pretty much seem to be the same so maybe I should be questioning what the heck is wrong with all of us. I guess self-esteem issues would be the main reason but (and I know I'm biased here) we're all pretty cool girls so why we should feel so utterly inadequate is beyond me.
R and I have just booked a week's holiday to Malia in Crete which is basically the clubbing capital of the islands so actually the chances of more of the same are high. Still, at least with any self-loathing incurred on holiday you can fly far, far away from it at the end.

N returns home in just over a week. The three months have flown by. I am very excited about his return but I'm worried about the reasons why. First of all, I fancy him like mad, secondly we've really got on well during the time he's been away and I'm eager to have voice on voice conversation rather than text or email. Finally though, in my mind he has emerged to represent protection, comfort and security. This is dangerous, mainly because I don't know how strongly he feels about me, despite hearing from him on an almost daily basis while he's been away but also because I am likely to make a very stupid decision because I'm feeling vulnerable. I must try my hardest to tread carefully with this one but my excitement levels as the day of his return approaches are threatening to overwhelm me.

Ego

2007-07-16T14:14:00.000+01:00

M got back in touch with me last week. We spoke on the phone for about an hour on Thursday night and arranged to meet up on Saturday night. He came over to my neck of the woods and we just did a couple of the local bars. My flatmate was away so inevitably he came back to mine which I was fine with. I'd been worried I wouldn't fancy him given that I was really out of it when we met but boy, did I fancy him. He is all charisma coupled with sparkly eyes, a gorgeous body and an absolutely killer smile. Back at my place we carried on drinking, played music, got off with each other and basically messed about until about 5am. As he was leaving on Sunday morning, he said he'd like to 'do this again'. I agreed and told him to call me, to which he responded 'Well you could call me, you know.' I replied that I didn't like to assume and his response was simply 'Assume.' Fair enough then. To be honest though he's way next weekend and the one after so I've really no idea when I'd see him again anyway. After that, I'm potentially going on holiday with my friend R so things could quite easily fizzle out. I hope they don't though. He does seem to be a bit of a lad but obviously that just makes him more attractive to me. I'm very preoccupied with thoughts of him at the moment and I'm annoyed with myself for giving in to yet another crush.

N is due back in just over two weeks. I can't believe how quickly this three months has gone. I'm still very keen to meet up with him when he gets back but honestly I can't really remember what he looks like or what his voice sounds like...he's become a sort of wispy memory and I'm slightly concerned that I'll be disappointed or vice versa. Still, nothing ventured obviously.

I discovered last week that The Ex is moving his girlfriend into his flat. This is surprising because a) I didn't know he had a girlfriend and b) we've only been apart for 9 months so this is astonishingly quick work on behalf of a confirmed commitophobe. She is apparently the diametric opposite of me; sporty, laddish and with an utter aversion to make up. This is a good thing though - had she been a clone of me it would have been creepy. At least this way I can be sure that I just wasn't the right sort of match for him, rather than just a rubbish version of a type he adores. Needless to say after finding out just a couple of weeks ago that that a previous ex is getting married, I was feeling extremely inadequate. Perhaps that's why I'm in full blown crush mode with M - maybe my bruised ego is just crying out for some validation. No change there then.

Wildchild

2007-07-09T13:53:00.000+01:00

For the first time in ages I absolutely and completely let go. You may find that statement surprising given the lack of self control evident in recent posts but last Saturday, at the Wildchild dance festival I partied harder and with more abandon than I have for years. We arrived, following a stomach-lining Wetherspoons lunch at the site around 3pm. Undeterred by the rain we checked our coats and dived straight in The Cross nightclub (the festival was based around The Cross, The Key and Canvas in Kings Cross). As an avid Spaced fan I was thrilled to be in the club in which they filmed the 'clubbing' episode (I kept that to myself at the time). We danced...and drank...and danced for hours, visiting different tents and clubs as the day wore on. At around 8pm I found myself dancing in an outside tent with the rain pouring down, puddles underfoot and nothing but a strappy vest covering my shoulders. I got talking to a group of lads, one of whom immediately caught my eye. M was tall, dark and oh yes...very handsome. We all spent a couple of hours dancing and laughing in there until the main festival closed and we decided to make a night of it in The Key.

After a while M and I began kissing and basically didn't stop except to dance or get more drinks. My first couple of friends left around 2am, then the next lot at around 4:30am until the only person I knew in the place was M. Not having ever been a real clubber I was amazed to find I was the last one standing at 6am. Well, I say 'standing'...I was actually slumped on a bench in the chill out area, defiantly smoking my last ever legal cigarette indoors (the ban kicked in at 6am that day) when M came and found me. We went back to mine, arriving home around 6:30am. We spent the day in bed, not eating and not sleeping, just exploring each other. I found him overwhelmingly attractive and the heady cocktail of no sleep, no food for almost a day and sexual arousal meant we were obsessed with each other and only each other for hours.
He left me around 7pm that Sunday with a raging stubble rash around my mouth and sore muscles in my thighs (well, it's been a few weeks). Not certain whether I'd ever hear from him again I was thrilled when he text me asking for my email address the following day. He confirmed he'd like to see me when he returned from holiday. Despite the way we met I had thought perhaps he was interested in me in a dating sense, however when I received a call from him on the morning of the third day of his holiday which, it became quickly evident, was a telephonic booty call I began to have my doubts. Of course I obliged, my self esteem is too low not to, but I was left feeling a bit hollow. I'm fine with 'just sex' normally as I never real feel that much of a connection with anyone but M was different. In between the marathon heavy petting session of that Sunday, we talked a great deal and found we had lots in common. He's intelligent and successful with a great sense of humour leading me to secretly harbour hope that he might develop into something more...substantial. He gets home tomorrow so we'll see how things go and whether he even contacts me. I think I would see him again, if not just to have the chance to hop onto that fabulous body but also to see if I can't persuade him to think outside my box.

Dirty Discourse

2007-06-28T11:41:00.000+01:00

I wonder what it is that makes men want to talk filth at me. I've been myspacing with a guy on and off for a few weeks. The emails were friendly and funny, both of us discovering mutual love of certain films and comedy shows. There was never really a hint of sexuality about them, instead it was just the odd 'hey how are you?' approach (from him, admittedly). Then before I know where I am, we've exchanged mobile numbers with a view to possibly having a date and suddenly utter filth is being pedalled via text and email. I can't remember who started it but it culminated in us have phone sex last night. We also exchanged videos - his of himself wanking and mine of me rubbing my breasts. I actually made that ages ago for J when we were sleeping together but kept it for some reason (guess this was it).

I seem to get carried away very easily but I'm not sure why. I'm kind of coming to terms with the fact that I'm a slut although it really doesn't sit well. But is it obvious over light-hearted email that I have an appetite for dirty talk that could make Roy Chubby Brown blush? This is the fourth guy in a couple of months who has led me rapidly down the primrose path of dirty talk. Maybe I just attract them. It doesn't happen to any of my friends though. They lament my seemingly unending filthy shenanigans, going on about how they never find themselves in these situations. I don't honestly know how I do though. It just...sort of...happens. Anyway, the latest filth-monger and I are having a date at some point soon and it's pretty much guaranteed we'll end up having sex. This is fine with me as I am extremely horny and I am in no way looking at him as a long term prospect. Any man who wants to bang me before they've even met me is clearly not the future father of my children, just a cock to be enjoyed.

This Saturday I'm going to Wildchild which I'm really looking forward to. It's going to be an utterly mad day commencing at 1pm with lunch and wine then continuing until...well until we literally drop I guess. Having said that, I'm going with a group of friends who frequently get on it for 24 hours straight so I may well be the first one to go! The weather's supposed to be rubbish but hopefully after several bevvies and some good DJ sets we won't care. My friend F is coming and we're treating it as her 'end of twenties' blow out. She is dreading thirty and I can't blame her. I'm 29 in two months and absolutely hating the thought. I feel as though I've only just started to enjoy my twenties thanks to a string of unsuitable relationships, and now they're about to be snatched away from me. Must make this last year count...

Fear and Loathing in London

2007-06-22T11:23:00.000+01:00

I have got to stop doing this. Yet again I am at work, hungover as fuck having not been home all night. A and I (who else?) were out with workmates for someone's leaving do last night. We decided pints of Stella were the way forward and consumed many, along with tequila shots. We were relatively well behaved up until the end of the night when, just as we were loitering in the main area of the bar wondering whether it was worth cabbing it into Soho, we were approached by a cute guy wearing specs asking what we were up to. At this point we were keen to do anything other than go home so we latched onto Specs and his friend who suggested we go back to Spec's flat which happened to be a couple of streets away from the bar and our office. I don't know how we manage it but again we'd found a guy who was apparently very, very wealthy and lived alone. His two bedroom flat in Marylebone looked like something out of Elle Decoration complete with a real zebra rug on the lounge floor (Specs took great delight in showing us the bullet hole in it's head - urgh), dark wood trim on everything and bathrooms with slate tiles and Molten Brown products all over the place.

The night rapidly got extremely debauched. The party favours came out, the drink flowed and A and I threw ourselves bodily into the whole night with absolutely no regard for the consequences facing us in the morning.
I can't remember at what point the porn went on but I remember glancing up at the TV, seeing it and not being remotely peturbed. I also realised at this point that the friend had gone and it was just the three of us left. Specs had been kissing me at random points throughout the night and I suddenly decided I really wanted to go down on him. A was fine where she was so I dragged him into the bedroom and started to blow him. Unfortunately my mouth was completely dry to the point where I couldn't actually produce any saliva so, embarrassingly, I had to stop and go for water. I wandered through into the lounge, sipping from a glass and sat down with A to watch the porn, temporarily losing interest in my previous activity.
Specs came in having had a shower in just a towel. He really had the most gorgeous body so the combination of that, the porn and being utterly off my face meant I decided I wanted to have sex with him, right then. I stripped off and lay back on the zebra rug (urgh) while he went down on me very enthusiastically. Now, I've never had a threesome and although this wasn't one, nothing prepared me for experiencing this kind of thing in front of one of my best friends. Had I been sober...well, had I been sober that never would have happened but hypothetically had I been sober I wouldn't have been able to relax but as it was I really got into it. After quickly slipping a condom on (thank God I had one), he fucked me. Right there, on the zebra rug in front of my friend who was texting her boyfriend.
Afterwards A and I went to bed in his room and Specs took the spare room. This morning we woke up to find him pottering about getting ready for work. He left us in the flat and we slowly got ourselves together. Fortunately we were five minutes away from work so after a quick detour to McDonalds we were able to arrive half an hour early. Luckily, because everyone here was out last night, our hangovers have blended in with everyone else's and so far no one has commented that we're wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

I worry about myself though, I really do. I don't understand what makes me do this kind of stuff or exactly what I'm trying to run away from or replace. There's got to be something because this behaviour is not normal. The self loathing is mainly due to the hangover, I know that but I also know that I need to sort myself out. I woke up really missing N and wishing he was around. Maybe all I'm doing is creatively killing time until he gets home and I can see whether I have a potential relationship on my hands. Honestly though, crochet really would be a better way of doing it.

An Update

2007-06-18T12:22:00.001+01:00

I haven't felt very inspired by my life recently, hence the gap between the last post and this one. I hit a bit of a low after the J debacle and spent some time wallowing which was pointless but I obviously needed to get the frustration at being taken for a mug out of my system. Which I now have. Hurrah! Anyway, here's a quick recap of recent events...

A from work and I went on a stupidly large night out which ended up with us meeting a guy in a bar in Soho (where else), getting horrendously drunk and taking a rickshaw back to his large and astonishingly posh Covent Garden flat where we drank until the early hours and the guy and I kissed whenever A was out of the room. The three of us went to bed together, but in the 'Morcambe and Wise' sense rather than the 'skin flick' sense. We all wore pyjamas and he read us a bedtime story (this is true). Later that morning after not enough sleep, he woke me up and took me into the spare room where he proceeded to shag me senseless. It was lovely but I wish I'd been more sober to appreciate it. A and I staggered off to work around 3 hours later, still drunk, late and clutching two sausage McMuffins apiece. I stayed in touch with and recently had a date with the guy (who, it turns out lived alone in that amazing flat and is my age but stupidly wealthy) which went well but have heard nothing since.

That night, before we met the rich bloke, I blew the owner of my favourite bar in his office downstairs. Flirtation has been going on for weeks and weeks so something was bound to happen. That was it.

I am still in close contact with N who is travelling. He's been in touch almost every day since he went away which I'm really surprised by but like a great deal. We're still keen to meet up when he's back but there's around 6 weeks still to go and anything could happen even though I miss him though and think about him all the time. I'm trying not to romanticize anything we might have which would be easy to do given the 'lovers separated by the ocean' theme of it all. I'm taking care to remain a little cynical about the whole thing so as not to be utterly disappointed when he returns.

This weekend was my best friend's wedding. I was the bridesmaid. I travelled down to Hampshire on Friday and immediately got thrown into organising and helping. This continued right the way through until 1am Sunday morning when it finally finished. The bride looked stunning and the day was lovely. I developed a minor crush on the best man who was single and very flirty with me the whole time (at one point we escaped the reception and went to the local pub together for a pint - naughty but fun). There was no opportunity for anything to happen, sadly but as he was leaving he told me he thought I was gorgeous and took my phone number. This was largely pointless as he's currently travelling the world and only back for the wedding. Still a nice ego boost though.

That's about it, really. Not the most exciting couple of weeks but definitely not the most boring.

Clarity?

2007-05-30T17:40:00.000+01:00

What was I thinking? I mean really, what on earth did I think was going to happen? That somehow getting involved with several men at once wouldn't end in tears and would in fact result in everlasting happiness? With the benefit of hindsight it's laughable that I could have been such a twat for so long.

The weekend was every bit as depressing as I thought it would be. I was angry and upset and I didn't really do anything except get my hair cut and eat my body weight in Phish Food. However I came out of it with the realisation that I deserve everything I get. If I mess around and choose to sleep with whoever then I must expect emotions to eventually get tangled up. It's not true of all women of course, I don't subscribe to the theory that all women are unable to separate love from sex but I know that with me it's only a matter of time. Two or three sessions, I'm detached. Any more than that though and apparently I start to yearn. Still, at least I've learnt my limits although frankly I feel like steering well clear of it all for a while.

Having said that though, I've had some truly lovely emails from N while he's been travelling. He's still got around 8 weeks to go which is a shame as I'm finding I'm really missing him. I've spent a long time trying to ascertain whether I miss him because I'm hurt and need the comfort or whether I actually like him. At the moment I'm pretty sure it's the latter but I guess this will become more evident in time. It's just refreshing how honest he is about how he's been feeling and how much he's been thinking about me. I'm touched that in just two weeks together I seem to have had such an impact. He managed to get under my skin too though. I cried the last time I saw him (although he doesn't know this) and found I was extremely melancholy at the thought of possibly never seeing him again, although if the email contact keeps up to this degree it's highly likely I will.

Mug

2007-05-25T18:41:00.000+01:00

There is a moment of clarity that, when you experience it, leaves you reeling. I had that moment this week.

On Sunday night, J (the ahem...model) took me for drinks and with his best sincere face on, told me he wanted to start seeing me properly. He told me that it wasn't all about sex, that he liked me for me, that I was special and that he even wanted to accompany me to my friends wedding in June. Finally, after weeks of ignoring his comments about the issue, I started to succumb. I actually started to wonder whether I could make it work. I talked to my friends about it, I asked opinions and relayed snippets of conversation and allt agreed he sounded sincere.

On Wednesday night, at his request, he came back. He was late. He didn't want to eat because he wasn't hungry so neither did I. He bought a DVD but fell asleep 10 minutes in. He fucked me but only he came. He told me all about this girl he could have shagged that day at the gym. The following morning, despite telling me on Sunday he'd see me this weekend, he relayed a catalogue of commitments all involving female models and booze. When I said 'But you told me you were free this weekend', he said 'Did I?' He left while I stood, dizzy from the realisation that I'd been utterly suckered. Comments on his myspace page and ones that he's left on others have confirmed my suspicions. Obviously I wasn't only sleeping with him but I didn't say one way or the other. He on the other hand, promised fidelity (even though I didn't ask for it) and yet deceived me at every stage.

I am trying not to be sad and feel foolish but I do, I really do. I have been a fool and now I have a bank holiday weekend stretching in front of me with my flatmate away and not a single plan to occupy me, bar getting my hair done. I know what will happen and I'm dreading it. I will wallow. I will cry. I will mourn the loss of yet another shred of dignity and I will lament my advancing years and the fact that I am still, despite all my efforts, single. Yes, it's melodramatic and I will probably read this back in a few days and laugh at my melancholy hyperbole but right now? Right now I can't decide whether to bawl my eyes out or find the nearest man and punch his face in.

Huh?

2007-05-23T09:50:00.000+01:00

I am lucky enough to work for a company that not only lets you wear your own clothes every day, as opposed to those of a Jaded Wage Slave but also allows you to listen to the radio at your desk. I tend to believe, quite cynically, that it's more based around wanting us to spend more time at the aforementioned desks than to kid us into thinking we're at the very hub of workplace cool. However those are the sorts of musings that lead you to carve your way out of the office with a paper knife and into forensic history.
It is my choice to listen to Kiss FM which I realise many find wholly offensive, so I do so discreetly through my pink earphones. I happily tap away with a joyous mixture of hip hop/dance/r'n'b filtering into my brain and providing a happy soundtrack to my otherwise lacklustre days (modular office furniture is marginally less depressing to look at with Beyoncé warbling away). However, due to the inability of Kiss to play anything other than the same 25 songs in differing order throughout each show, some of the more ludicrously-lyriced numbers have got under my skin and made me ask 'Why should it possible to make a record that consists solely of faux-street nonsense?'
Case in point: Current 'hit' Da* Bump by Mr V and Miss Patty. Here is a sample of the lyrics:

This is the way we move it, This is the way we party, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, This is the way we feel it, This is the way we started, With a da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, This is the way we move it, This is the way we party, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, This is the way we feel it, This is the way we started, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump,

It's not the most inspiring start to a song is it? One might be fooled into thinking perhaps they were just using a ghetto variation of vocal warm up exercises (me me me becomes yo yo mo fo). Let's give them a chance to redeem themselves for the superlative Miss Patty's section of the song. Here she is then:

Shake what'cha momma gave ya, Shake what'cha momma gave ya, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, Wave your hands in the air, Wave'em like you just don't care, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, Sisters in the house tonite, Let me know you feel alright, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, Let me hear ya'll scream, Fellas you know what I mean, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, We all come down to the club, To get loose and have some fun, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, Pass the dutchie to the left hand side

Now, I realise they're not the first 'artists' to write fairly nonsensical lyrics, after all one can't fail to remember Des O'Connor's classic hit 'Dick a Dum Dum' or Abba's haunting track 'Dum Dum Diddle (my darling fiddle)'. It's just that somehow these early efforts have the veneer of innocence. In today's exceedingly verbal world, shouldn't it be easier to come up with a really awe inspiring hook for a song without resorting to the babblings of a drunk teenage girl in a bus station? Oh, and don't get me started on their shameless pillaging of the classic Musical Youth in that last line. Step away from the dutchie Miss Patty.
Also, when did it become cool to employ session chipmunks to give an edge to your efforts? First the laughably un-convict like Akon with 'Lonely' and now Mr V and Miss Patty have got da 'munk on board for Da Bump. Who is this chipmunk? Is he to become the next Ja Rule, popping up in guest spots on every new release to catastrophically ruin it (I think Mr V was doing pretty well on that front by himself).
Of course there is the argument, as Salt N Pepa took the trouble to remind us, to 'pick up the needle, press pause or turn the radio off' (name that song) but I like most of the other offerings from Radio Smooch, I really do. I even don't mind Sean Paul, the Grand Master of unintelligible lyrics but I've nothing against an honest dancehall effort, it's a different genre entirely. My only recourse is to simply persevere with songs such as 'Da Bump' and Dada's 'Lollipop' (I'll lick your ice cream, you can lick my lollipop' - oh can I? thanks awfully) and wait for the good shit in between. The Kisstory hour (see what they did?) is pretty good although like the albums entitled 'Old Skool', 'Back in the Day' and 'Now Time to Look Into a Pension' it does tend to make me feel the wrong side of young.

*Street for 'the', apparently

Jumping the gun?

2007-05-17T13:32:00.000+01:00

Well it appears I may have been slightly premature in writing off the men in my life. N has so far been travelling for 6 days and has already emailed me 3 times. From the tone of the emails I can tell he's happier and calmer for getting out of London and getting some head space. He has told me he's missing London and me but I think that's just early days talking. I'm sure once he gets into the swing of travelling solo again and embraces his situation that will wear off. I have found that I've thought about him every day and have been delighted when his emails have appeared. I don't yet know whether this is due to him not having been gone a week yet and whether the feelings will fade. He's going to be out there for at least another 11 weeks as it is. For now though I hope he stays in touch. He almost feels like a departed lover that I am waiting at home for which is nonsense really but strikes a chord with a terminal romantic like me. A told me jokingly she thinks I'll end up marrying him (another terminal romantic) and, idiot that I am, I started daydreaming about it. Talk about impressionable.

J has also been back on the scene. He called me out of the blue from a day-long modelling assignment at the weekend to chat and tell me he'd been thinking about me in his more idle hours. On Monday he emailed me to say that although he was surrounded by pretty girls the whole time (thanks for that), 'they were muppets and it really made me appreciate you, you're really special to me.' I still have no idea what's going on but for now it's definitely just sex. The dom/sub conversations have started again and for our rendezvous tonight he's apparently bringing handcuffs and is going to 'play' because he feels I'm ready. I'm slightly apprehensive but I haven't had sex for two weeks and quite frankly I'm gagging so I'll go along with whatever.

L is the only one that really does seem to have fallen off the radar which is a great shame. I didn't hear from him all weekend and lasted until 4pm on Monday when I emailed him in an exceedingly breezy tone to ask how he weekend was and what he was up to this week. I received an email back with a detailed itinerary of all his activities which take up every night of the week with no suggestion of us getting together ever again. He may as well have just said 'I don't want to see you' but clearly that's impolite, exceedingly unBritish and not part of the rules. We exchanged a couple of matey emails but that was three days ago and I've heard nothing since. I can't work out whether his silence is due to him worrying about something personal he told me last week and perhaps my reaction to it. In which case it's up to me to contact him to offer (mute) reassurance that I'm not bothered and would like to see him. However perhaps I did something or said something to put him off the last time we met but I've been replaying the whole evening and for the life of me I can't imagine what it might have been. Finally though, perhaps he's just lost interest. One thing I've learnt about men (and myself) since I started this voracious dating is that impulses, desires and apparently genuine feelings can disappear as quickly as they arrive. It's finding the ones with staying power that's the challenge. The search continues...

...Comes Around

2007-05-12T23:57:00.000+01:00

From having to worry about how to accommodate three men in my life, it would now appear I have to worry about none. Is this karmic retribution for my excessive sluttishness of late (two men in my bed in one weekend...three in one week...??). If history (and Hollywood) teaches us nothing else it's that naughty behaviour will always be rewarded with a MAJOR buzzkill. OK so I'm hardly Alan Rickman in that Die Hard film but you get the point.

N has gone travelling following two weeks of constant texting and three sessions of very hot sex with one last meeting of surprising tenderness. I went to his flat in St James Park the night before the night before he left and he cooked. I met his flatmates and felt oddly like his girlfriend. I found myself getting quite lumpy-throated at the prospect of this man I'd known for a mere fortnight, skipping the country for three months. We've promised to email and if I'm single when he's back and he's still into me...well who knows? I had half a bottle of wine that night and so wasn't drunk, yet when he left me at the tube I found myself blinded by tears which shocked me. He very much got under my skin and I'm already having to resist emailing him.

J has slowly gone quiet. I was supposed to see him last Sunday but I blew him out in favour of L who at the time I thought was a better investment. Instead J came over after I got home from my friend's birthday party on the Saturday night around 1am and stayed the night. I was on so nothing happened but it was lovely to see him. I was supposed to see him Friday night but have been dragged back to suburbia for bridesmaid duties and family devotion so had to blow him out again. I think that was the last straw for him because he's since not replied to my text message and seems to have lost interest. This is a shame because although I know he was wrong for me, I enjoyed his company very much and found him so exciting. I don't know that the door is fully closed but it feels that way from this side.

I met L that Sunday and we had a lovely, giggly, mutually hungover date. We went back to mine for DVDs and a take away and he stayed the night (same weekend obviously so still on - bad timing all round really). We fooled around A LOT which was totally hot. I've always had a thing for guys with long hair but never been with one before. I was right to fantasise - it just does things to me! He left at lunchtime on Bank Holiday Monday and I went out and got absolutely wasted with flatmate A and ended up puking all over our bathroom floor which made me feel shocking and very, very ashamed.

Thursday night I met up with L and his best mate for drinks. I played it so well - the friend and I were laughing and joking together after an hour which I think L was happy about. The friend left and suddenly L and I were kissing (I think I started it but I was quite drunk at the time). Suddenly L started to tell me why he couldn't sleep with me that night. There was a very good reason which I'm not going into here but suffice to say it bought us right back down to earth and although we kissed at the tube it was awkward to say the least. He emailed me the following morning to apologise for the headwreck of the night before and we emailed a bit that day but they were matey emails not really going anywhere and they smacked of 'I just want to be friends.' He seemed to go from majorly effusive to evasive and non-committal within a week and I was left wondering what the hell happened. I will wait to see whether he contacts me again but I'm trying not to care.

I've just logged into the dating website for the first time in 3 weeks...just to see what's going on. It would appear that without the prospect male attention I now panic. This is both sad and desperate so maybe that's what they can all smell on me. Perhaps I need to give it all a rest - I don't think I'm in the right frame of mind any more. Spending the weekend discussing weddings and making placeholders out of sprigs of lavender has definitely not helped.

Casual?

2007-05-03T16:50:00.000+01:00

I offloaded the armful of gleefully-priced H&M specials I was holding onto a nearby rack and scrabbled about in my bag for my ringing phone. To my surprise it was J (model/porn star/young 'un). This was surprising given that he is currently 'on it' in Tenerife with his best friend and partner in crime. The first thing I asked was why on earth he was phoning me (possibly not the sweetest sentiment but the only thing I could think). Apparently he'd spent the day on the beach and while lazing about had been thinking about me and really wanted to talk to me. I was stunned. This is the guy who has been all about the 'filthy fucking' (his words) and who actually answered the phone at 9am the Sunday morning he stayed at mine to a football buddy and said loudly 'Nah not today mate, I'm balls-deep in some gorgeous bird'. Yet here he was being all thoughtful and sentimental. We're not even going out with each other, not really.
He told me he'd set his mate up with a couple of girls and that one of the chicks on the beach really fancied him but that he wasn't really interested. I can genuinely say I wouldn't be bothered if he did score whilst over there because let's face it, I've hardly been Little Miss Innocent have I? However he was at great pains to reassure me that this wasn't what he wanted from his time in the sun. It confused me because I do have a teeny crush on him, even though he is Captain Unsuitable but I'd managed to squash it a bit with him out of the country only to have him sweetly ring me and throw me right back into it. I woke up the following morning to a text from him, sent at 3am UK time that said:

"I don't want the sexiest girl...I want the one that likes me as I am."

First of all, he was clearly twatted when he sent that and I'll wager, has been kicking himself for it and secondly, talk about a back handed compliment! So I'm not sexy am I? I just adore you and that's all that matters. That served to bring me slightly back down to earth at least by making me feel slightly frumpy and desperate. As though I'm some safe, squashy bean bag he can collapse onto when the sleek Eames leather chair is just too streamlined to be comfortable.

I'm seeing N from the party again tonight but I know for sure this has a shelf life as he leaves the country for three months next week. He is a blissfully good shag though so I'm happy to dally (is that a word?) while he's here. He's been texting me every day since the party and seems very keen considering we both know this is casual. As mentioned, he's hinted he'd like to stay in touch and catch up when he gets back but we shall see.

I had a date with another guy from myspace on Tuesday night. We'd been emailing for about a week and getting on very well. He's not my usual type really. He's a long-haired, scruffy, muso/indie boy who is 33 but is clearly stuck around the age of 27. On the other hand he is completely gorgeous, very funny and extremely interesting company. We had a great time and a very exciting kiss at the bus stop on the Wandsworth Bridge Road that made me feel about 14 again. We've been emailing ever since and I'm supposed to be seeing him on Sunday. I don't want to put all my energies into one person at the moment, given my recent lack of judgement but at the same time I'd really like to slow down a little and get to know him. He seems keen to do the same although for all I know it could just be that he wants to hit it and quit it. Who knows? I'll give him the benefit of the doubt but he is a bloke after all.

My flatmate A finished with her boyfriend this week and has been understandably low. We both have extremely busy bank holidays coming up but are making time to see each other on Monday for lunch and drinks. It's funny how you can live with someone and hardly ever see them but we get on well so it should be nice. I have the day off work tomorrow but the bank wants to see me. Apparently I have a great credit rating and they want to do nice things with interest rates for me. Frankly, given the amount of debt I'm in I should imagine it's a cheap ploy to get me through the door so they can wrestle my cards off me and poke me with sharp things for being so utterly rubbish with money.

A Little Glimpse...

2007-04-30T12:40:00.000+01:00

My friends from home came to stay on Friday night. It was lovely to see them but due to the remnants of my hangover and the emergence of a head cold, I was less than on form. Fortunately we'd only decided to stay in and get a take away so it wasn't too taxing. Having decided to edit a lot of my recent stories for their consumption I found myself being utterly honest with them - porn stars, French foot fetishists (don't ask) and all. I don't know why but I think it had to do with being too tired to put on the same front I use for my mother and although they are both younger than me, married and clean-living I figured they could handle it. Although there were raised eyebrows they seemed to find it more funny than anything and even did that thing of justifying my behaviour for me which only real friends do.

They left on Saturday morning and I went back to bed after cobbling together a half-arsed breakfast of croissants and toast (with a side of Lemsip for me). N from the party began texting me at lunchtime and by 4pm we'd agreed he was coming over. I wasn't sure what to expect as I couldn't really remember what he looked like or anything about his personality but he was capable of writing some class A filth over text so I figured it was worth a punt. He arrived and fortunately I found him attractive which was a relief. We drank wine and talked for ages, getting on really well, before the inevitable happened and we wound up in bed. We resurfaced for pizza and a dvd around 10pm at which point I suddenly found myself having an extremely coupley moment. We sat on the sofa and I stretched my legs out and rested them on his lap. He stroked my feet and we chatted companionably about nothing but I found I was happier than I'd been for ages. He stayed the night and stuck around until around 2pm on Sunday. It's a shame he's going travelling because I quite liked the little I got to know of him (and yes, the sex was fabulous...really amazing). He's been quite open about the fact that he'd like to see me again before he goes and potentially stay in touch while he's away. He kept saying that 3 months wasn't that long and that we could get together when he's back. It's a nice idea but given how much has happened to me in the last 3 months I have no idea what my life will be like then. He did cause me a moment of self-doubt when he announced I wasn't the type he normally went for, I quote: "I normally go for tall brunettes who are really skinny with no tits." My first reaction, whilst straddling him in my underwear was to glance down at my own ample chest and mutter "For God's sake, why?" He went on to say I was 'unconventionally sexy' whatever that means. Needless to say I've been dissecting it ever since and still have no idea.

I haven't logged onto the dating website for days. I feel as though my head and my diary are too full to start anything else at the moment. However I'm feeling to compelled to check my messages because...well I could be missing something great. Let's face it, at the core of all this messing about is the desire for intimacy, passion and above all, love. This was bought home to me by N who obviously fucked me but who, during one session, was so tender and so gentle including just holding me afterwards that oddly I almost cried. It was as though the veneer of carelessness I've built up since The Ex finished things last year, slipped briefly and the loneliness and vulnerability I've felt showed through. Embarrassing though this is to admit, it would appear part of me is still on the lookout for The One.

That's the side that will keep me on the straight and narrow food-wise because despite the exercise I've been getting recently (of sorts) I've also been eating for England. Having weighed myself and therefore scared myself this morning, I will be positively angelic this week. I may be booking a holiday soon with my friend F and am about as bikini ready as a double decker bus.

Fake Lesbians and Real Martinis

2007-04-26T13:11:00.000+01:00

The media party was fairly lame in the end but A and I were up for debauchery. At the time it seemed like a great idea to guzzle free wine by the bucketload in between doing kamikaze shots. It seemed like a good idea for A to give me a lap dance while several leering men filmed us on their mobiles. It seemed like a terrific idea for us to dance with each other in such a shockingly provocative fashion even I had to double check I hadn't suddenly become a lesbian. It seemed a brilliant idea to grab random blokes and force them to dance with us for ages. It seemed really clever to take one of the random blokes up on his offer of going onto Soho House for XO Martinis. It seemed the right thing to do when I found myself piling into a taxi at 3am with one of these random blokes, going home and shagging him stupid.

I was late for work this morning and still drunk when I arrived. This was because my alarm genuinely didn't go off so I massively overslept and when I did try to get up, random bloke - N - firmly pulled me back into bed and proceeded to spend twenty minutes giving me a terrifically enthusiastic seeing to. I have discovered that my legs are covered in bruises but I think that's down to A's platforms kicking me in the shins when she was straddling me as opposed to vigorous sex.
I quite liked the bloke which is always nice to discover when you wake up next to them. He was handsome and had a fantastic body and was also northern so when he talked dirty it sounded really dirty. Sweetly, he's texted me a couple of times today and I've replied. He's going travelling in a couple of weeks but I've told him that if he wants to meet up again before he leaves I'd be up for it. Just to be able to take my time with him while sober - I have a feeling I'd enjoy it a lot more if the room wasn't spinning and I was on the verge of throwing up.
Fortunately rather than be cross with me this morning, my boss teased me and lent me eye drops. Everyone now knows about mine and A's debauched behaviour and have been ragging me all day. Apparently at one point I was taking off a man's shirt on the dancefloor but I really don't remember that.

J has said he may stop over this evening on his way to the airport just to have sex (what else?). Part of me would love to see him but another part doesn't want to for two reasons. Firstly I feel horrendous and not remotely sexy, plus am covered in common-looking bruises and secondly I worry that if I end up spending time with him and kissing him bon voyage at the door I may really start to yearn and I don't need that in my head. I think the mental disassociation is working because after sleeping with someone else I don't feel remotely guilty or like I've cheated in any way at all. If I really thought there was any sort of relationship here I daresay it would be eating away at me. Honestly, sometimes I think I might be turning into a man.

A More Flattering Light

2007-04-25T13:34:00.000+01:00

S was an hour late. Not the most auspicious of beginnings for a first date but to be fair he did text me and let me know so I wasn't hanging around needlessly.

I had raced home from work at rush hour which I usually miss. With my face in a stupidly tall bloke's armpit and his arse pressing against my stomach in the sweltering heat of the tube carriage I silently hoped S was going to be worth the effort. At home I attacked the disgusting pimple on my chin with determination. I managed to sort it out (can't bring myself to expand on this) but it ended up being dark red so I spent a good twenty minutes trying to conceal it before concluding wearily that if that's the only flaw I have to worry about (barring my horrible thighs and squashy stomach) then I could handle it. I'd just take him somewhere with flattering lighting. I changed into the strapless top and heels and immediately felt sexier.

I met him at the tube and apart from the slight height deficit on his part due to my heels, he was very cute. I took him to a bar with virtually no natural light but with lots of tea lights all over the place to aid the spot-concealment.

We had a great date. Lots of laughing and talking absolute rubbish for ages. Disappointingly he did try to come home with me at the end of the date. I say disappointingly because I liked him so much I didn't want to ruin things by sleeping with him. Unfortunately at that point I was a little drunk so I had to really work hard to resist but resist I did. We kissed a lot - in the bar and again at the tube and he hinted he'd like to see me again but they always say that. He did text me on the way home to thank me for a good time which they don't often do. I'd like to see him again but I'll leave it up to him to contact me I think. If he doesn't I'll know he was only out for sex and I can be proud that I didn't give in.

Tonight is a big media party in town which I'm very excited about. Not least of all because I'm going with A from work who is such fun. We've decided our mission (after filling up on Wagamama's) is to flirt like nymphos on death row. With any luck the place will be lousy with laid back media totty hopefully in suits. I love the smell of Paco Rabanne in the morning...

From Frump to Fabulous (sort of)

2007-04-24T15:27:00.000+01:00

Last night I spent an hour on the phone to S, my date for tonight. He was lovely, very funny and totally got my sense of humour. I'm not allowing myself to get lulled into premature satisfaction at this point because let's face it, I've met some apparently terrific guys doing this dating site thing that have very quickly turned out to be cockmonkeys. Although after the phone call, he text me to say he was really looking forward to meeting me which I thought was a nice touch. He's on myspace too so I found his page and was treated to a vast array of photos and a much more honest portrayal of him than his dating site profile. This isn't a surprise. My myspace page is definitely me but the dating profile is a little more reserved (understandably). I can see from the range of pictures that he's very cute as you would expect from an aspiring actor. He's disgustingly photogenic and one might almost say 'pretty' (delicate features bordering on the feminine etc). He is also photographed with a lot of girls, all of whom are attractive and/or slim. One has to question the motives behind his joining a dating website when he's clearly very sociable, funny and attractive. OK so he's struggling actor and works part time as a waiter but that would only be a minus point if he was a girl, on a bloke it's 'romantic'. Mind you, I've not been short of action since joining the site and I don't think I'm offensive in any way (OK verbally occasionally but I don't tend to hurl abuse on dates even when provoked). A from work says it's just another way of meeting people and doesn't mean you're physically incapable of doing so in real life which I knew already but needed to hear again.
I have just had a very in-depth discussion with A, my current favourite confidant, about my outfit for this evening. I was planning on going straight there from work but it occured to me that I hate what I'm wearing, at least in the context of a first date. The only flesh on display is my arms and my face. I'm not advocating dressing like a slut ho to ensnare a man but I wouldn't mind it if his pants tingled a little at the sight of me. We agreed that my long black strapless top with a teeny black cardi over the top to take away the ho-ness. A little bit dressy, a little bit fleshy and not frumpy. S claims this is his first date from the website which made me feel quite siren-like but also oddly a bit Mrs Robinson-y. At the very least I'll have to make it a good experience even if it doesn't work out - I don't want to be responsible for the abrupt end of his dating 'career'. I have already decided I will not be getting drunk and will definitely not be sleeping with him if things look like going that way. This is despite him meeting me walking distance from my flat and my flatmate being away. I think I could like this bloke and I really don't want to mess it up.

Being at home for a few minutes between work and date also means I can properly repair my make up and attempt to cover the spot that been on my chin for weeks now. It started out as a mini-mountain with a pulse then shrank over the course of a week or so and is now just a low level annoyance that sometimes looks like a scar and sometimes flares up into a little spot again. It's currently doing the latter (of course). It is Perma-Zit. It must be a phenomenon, I should be studied by dermatologists.

I am still talking to J. He eventually IM'd me yesterday and we talked for a while, he then rang me last night. The problem is, emotions are definitely starting to get in the way (by that I mean my crush). He told me he'd been thinking about me all day which really didn't help. Today he rang me on my mobile to say he was unable to get online and didn't want me to think he'd abandoned me. We also seem to have calmed down on the dirty talk which I find interesting. It's almost as if before he got to know me he could objectify me as just someone to fuck whereas now he gets a little of who I am, he's become much more tender and emotional. It's confusing the hell out of me and I'm more than a little worried. Not least of all because he's off to Tenerife for a week with one of his mates and I don't for a second expect that he won't shag anything he can get his mitts on (two twenty four year old single blokes surrounded by easy chicks from Essex?? please!). The real problem there is, I'm about 3 heartbeats away from caring.

God I hope tonight goes well.

Inappropriate Obsession

2007-04-23T14:14:00.000+01:00

I decided to wear my new shoes. They're not my usual style, they're very pointy, very high stilettos in a shockingly provocative patent red. Perhaps the exhibitionist side of me that's taken over recently had an influence when I saw them glistening on the shelf in front of me. I once heard an expression that only prostitutes and children wear red shoes.

I met J on Saturday night. It was a gorgeous evening; warm and inviting. We went for drinks and shared a bottle of rosé during constant chat and giggles. I found I was confident enough to tease him both physically and verbally. We kissed between chats and I felt more comfortable with him than I have with anyone for a while. He stunned me at one point by sharing a pretty personal and dark experience from his recent past. I'm not sure exactly what his motivations were for telling me but it was so sad I had to stop from flinging my arms around him in a gesture that would have been sympathetic but would have surely come off as patronising. Suddenly he had depth and I could feel the early stirrings of a crush begin...
Back at my flat I lit candles, poured wine and put on music. I don't know why I felt the whole seduction thing was necessary given that I was onto a sure thing but I wanted to feel sexy and dare I say it, maybe just a little romantic? He seemed to appreciate it and we had some filthy but not scary (phew) sex. He stayed and in the morning we woke up early and did it again. It was without question, the best sex I've had in a very long time. I was half expecting him to bolt according to tradition but he didn't. In fact he suggested we get ourselves together, buy the papers and go and read them in the sunshine somewhere. I'm ashamed to say my heart swelled a little at the intimacy of this suggestion. OK, so we'd already been massively intimate in a physical sense but you don't agree to spend time in such a relaxed way with someone you're not into. Do you...?

We wandered down to Parson's Green, a lovely area of grass set amongst wealthy households in West London. We lazed around on the grass talking rubbish while I intermittently read him frothy articles from Glamour. We had a long lunch outside a pub, kissing a lot and generally revelling in each other. He is wrong for me in so many ways. He's too young, he has made porn and frequently models with beautiful women (not great for someone with my track record of insecurity), he is promiscuous and despite what he says I have no idea if I can trust him when he tells me he doesn't fuck around or that he wants me to be more than a fling. The crush is in full force and I'm finding it harder to hold onto these things. He said he'd call me last night but didn't. Lately I've found that when someone says that and doesn't I haven't really cared. I assumed it was because I'd grown as a person but it would appear it's because I didn't really like any of them enough. Today he's on instant messenger and so am I but he hasn't messaged me. I'm too scared to approach him in case I don't get a reply. Apparently I'm now 14 again. On the plus side he's off on holiday in a few days and it's likely I won't see him for a couple of weeks (if I do again). It could be what I need to get him out of my system.

To take the edge of this madness, I have a date tomorrow night with S from the website. He's a lovely sounding/looking guy who I've been IMing with. I'm looking forward to the distraction. On Wednesday night there's a big industry bash which I'm going to with A and P from work. I'm really looking forward to letting my hair down for the night. Again, any distraction is more than welcome right now. Stop me before I obsess again...

Goosebumps

2007-04-20T09:04:00.000+01:00

Last night I went to see Phantom of the Opera. I didn't just go to see it though, I went to meet E, the fabulous girl I met at my cousin's wedding. She's a sound engineer and has worked on the show for the last year or so and she invited me to go along and watch it from her sound board. Now, I've always had a thing for creative types; actors, artists, musicians...they simply dazzle me and I adore being in their presence. Not least of all because if my life had turned out the way I wanted I'd be writing/acting/singing rather than wasting my days pushing paper. Anyway, I digress. I met E at the stage door (the excitement!) and she took me up to meet some of the engineers she works with. Just before the show was due to start we made our way downstairs to the sound booth which is at the back of the stalls. On the stairs we passed an unremarkable red-haired guy who greeted E warmly and smiled at me. I later learned that was the Phantom.

I felt secretly quite important being able to sit in this special little area whilst people were filing in to take their seats. E is amazing - watching her work was fascinating. We sat in front of a gigantic and scary looking bank of sliders and dials over which her hands fluttered throughout the performance. I ate chocolate raisins in silent awe.

Although I love the theatre I'm not a fan of musicals. When people sing random lines at one another, the voice in my head hisses 'Just say it for Christ's sake!' I just don't get the point. However last night I can honestly say I was impressed. For a start the sets were unbelievable. Obviously if you've seen it you'll know what I'm talking about but the scenes moved effortlessly from a theatre stage with sweeping velvet curtains and ballerinas twirling around, to the Phantom's lair complete with a moving boat, a million candles and a massive iron gate. Although the singing still annoyed me I found myself enchanted by the spectacle of it.

During the interval, after having a quick cup of tea in the sound engineer's room E gave me a quick tour of the theatre during which time we ran into several of the actors, waiting in the wings for Act Two which was very exciting. Obviously they were very down to earth and quite chatty but it was as much as I could do to form coherent sentences and suddenly felt very suburban. After the show was over we gathered our things together and I trailed round after E as she collected mics from actors and chatted with some girls from the chorus. We moved on to the theatre staff's local pub and hung out with the wardrobe manager and some of the lighting guys. It was so exciting to be with people who were so massively removed from my circle of friends. I also got on really well with E and we're both keen to go for drinks properly soon.

Elsewhere I'm trying not to be too preoccupied by my date with J on Saturday night. I have to admit to being pretty scared about it as he's been pretty graphic about the things he wants to do. I know it's absolutely my right to say I don't want to meet him but an overwhelming part of me is compelled to do so. I am tired of giving into fear. What with this dominant character suddenly on the periphery of my life, and having spent the evening watching a play about a man overpowering and capturing a young girl, I had disturbing dreams about being kidnapped and trapped last night. Whatever this phase of my life is, its beginning to get under my skin.

Getting in Deeper...

2007-04-19T14:47:00.000+01:00

Haven't heard anything from D after Friday night which is a relief. I must have made it very clear that I wasn't remotely interested; quite an achievement when you consider I slept with him. Maybe blokes sometimes can get mixed messages in the right order.

I'm supposed to be going to see Phantom of the Opera tonight, finally. I've missed it twice and am risking E deciding she doesn't want to be friends with someone so flaky. I'm definitely going even though frankly I'd rather go home and eat a curry in my pyjamas. It doesn't help that I'm hungover today due to excessive Guiness consumption. I went out with A from work last night who is my new favourite girl! We're so astonishingly similar even though she's 4 years younger than me. She's the only person I can talk utter filth with and that will either have done it or completely get me. She doesn't judge either and although I could tell my close friends about my recent activities and they'd laugh along gamely and widen their eyes at the appropriate moments, I know I'll still see a topnote of shock in their eyes.

Speaking of which, I now have a total of five videos on my mobile phone from myspace guy all of which showing him being very...erm...graphic with himself. They are astonishingly arousing and I've watched them a shameful number of times. The more we talk, the more I feel myself becoming really attracted to the idea of this dom/sub relationship. Not in any deep way at the moment, but the idea of being controlled by this mesmerising man really turns me on. I still have reservations, or fears if I'm honest, which I told him about the other night. He was at great pains to reassure me that if we indulged in that kind of play, it would be for mutual pleasure and would stop the minute either of us wanted it to (he meant me but was being kind). He also asked me whether I saw this relationship as just sex. When I replied that I didn't know him well enough for it to be anything else, he seemed almost disappointed and told me that 'filthy fucking' aside he really liked me as a person and wanted to get to know me better. It may well have been a line but it was a sweet one nonetheless. Typically I am trying to move him around like a jigsaw piece to see if he'll fit into my life in any way but he just won't. He's too young, too wild and far too arrogant. He's very fun for now but as for long term...I think I need to detach the emotions immediately before it's too late. The problem is I'm finding that I'm not interested in any of the guys contacting me through the dating website or any that I meet in real life at the moment (which isn't many if I'm honest). I compare them to myspace guy (who I'll call J from now on) and they just seem less sexy and less exciting. Plus I'm now sleeping with a model/porn star. Who the hell can top that?

Makes an Ass of You and Me

2007-04-16T13:59:00.000+01:00

I should really stop making assumptions about things before they happen. Having had a very definite scenario in my mind of how the weekend was going to go, I was completely taken aback by the reality.
I met D on Friday night as planned. He arrived late so I went home and met him at my flat. I don't know whether it was nerves but he immediately starting teasing me about having tidied my room in anticipation of his arrival. This was true but he pressed the point as if to suggest I was obviously enamoured to have made such an effort (no, I just didn't want you to see my dirty knickers and spot cream). Once he saw he could get a reaction, he teased me about everything which I don't take well from people I love let alone people I barely know. We went out to a couple of pubs near my flat and I realised I didn't remotely fancy him and in fact found him really annoying. This posed a problem because he was due to be staying over so I decided the only recourse was to just get drunk and make the best of it. I'm ashamed to say that even though I wasn't into him, I still slept with him. I couldn't put him anywhere else as we don't have a spare room and was too tired to try and make excuses as to why I wasn't up for sex. It was rubbish and I felt really quite hollow afterwards. As if to make matters worse, when we finally turned off the light at 4am he snored at an astonishing volume, to the point where I grabbed a blanket and went out to curl up on the sofa. I managed about two hours sleep and in the morning was so ratty I told him I had to get ready to go home so he needed to go. I hope he doesn't contact me, I'm not sure after seeing what he's really like I'd be able to be polite about letting him down.

As a result I went back home to my parents feeling tired and low. Unfortunately I had no way of offloading because I was due to meet my friend who's just had her second child. It was her husband's birthday and we were all due to be going out to dinner. It turned out to be a lovely evening but apart from one other bloke, I was the only single person there. I tried not to let it get to me but of course it played on my mind the whole time. I was driving too so I couldn't even drink to take the edge off. All in all I think I managed the whole situation rather well, baby-holding and diet coke consumption included.

I had been thinking constantly about my Sunday 'date' with myspace boy of course, especially after he text me late on Saturday night. My imaginings about the day had grown to terrifying fantasies about him rocking up to the flat with whips, chains and a gimp mask for an exhausting and painful session. I was supposed to contact him on my return to the city but almost didn't due to almost overwhelming fears of my own inadequacy. I showered when I got home and as I did my make up and got dressed I realised I really didn't want to give into fear and possibly miss out on a great new experience so I called him. He seemed pleased to hear from me and was at my flat within the hour, having suggested we go for a drink (a very welcome and normal idea!). I needn't have worried. He arrived looking as gorgeous as I'd remembered and we went off to the pub together for a lovely, giggly couple of hours. Every now and again he'd touch my leg or kiss me and I was getting more and more impatient to be alone with him. When we got back to the flat we lasted about 10 minutes before moving into the bedroom. It was amazing, truly amazing and such a good way to wipe out the grubby experience of Friday. I was worried about what his reaction to my body would be given that fact that he spends time around female models but he seemed to find me attractive and his appreciation of me made me gradually more confident until I completely let go. He was skilled but not as controlling as I was expecting. He didn't stay over which I was happy with but asked to see me this Friday, rang me when he got home and IM'd me this morning. I am not remotely considering the possibility of a relationship with this boy. He's too young and far too promiscuous (not that I can talk) for it to be a possibility but for as long as he's happy to be fuck buddies I'll be more than happy with that.

Filth

2007-04-13T18:45:00.000+01:00

God what a random week. I feel quite exhausted and I'm still at work at 7pm killing time before meeting D who's on his way down from Warwickshire.

My date on Wednesday night turned out to be a lovely suprise. The guy was very funny and much cuter than his photos suggested. We went to The Sanderson and had cocktails in the courtyard outside the Long Bar. We stayed for hours just talking and laughing and drinking cocktails (him: Frostbite me: Pink Passion). He walked me to the tube and down onto my platform to wait with me. We ended up having an astonishingly frantic snogging session resulting in my missing three trains and his substantial hard on. Even though my flat mate was out I decided not to invite him home and instead we made do with texting filth to each other all the way home and in bed until we both admitted to coming. He hadn't seemed remotely nasty on the date (mind you, neither did I) so it was a nice surprise. He emailed me the following day to set up another date. I am wondering whether he would have done had I taken him home. If it goes anywhere I think I'll ask that question.

My contact with the myspace boy has continued apace to the point where I have ended up having to 'attend to myself' at work. I know for definite that he's done the same, because he text me a video of the evidence. I've replayed it approximately 40 times since receiving it and I am still massively aroused by it. Then yesterday, things became real when he suggested meeting up after I'd been out with friends. He was actually willing to drive the 20 minutes into London at 11pm simply to meet me. I seem to have temporarily lost all sense of decency because rather than be horrified at such an irrational and selfish suggestion, instead I found myself agreeing. He met me at the tube and we spent almost two hours in his car, talking and fooling around. I occasionally questioned what the heck I was up to, given that this guy was a 24 year old and I have such a thing about age (got to be older) but he's not a normal 24 year old. He's made porn films for crying out loud, he has a very successful job and a car that's as horny to look at as he is (well almost). I'm not going to lie, I really don't think there's anything on the personality front particularly that would keep me going back, it's purely the fact that I fancy the pants off him and knowing about his extensive and extreme sexual experience makes me desperate to learn what he could teach me. I have the flat to myself when I get back into town on Sunday so he's coming over. I'm simultaneously very excited and pretty scared. I think he has the capacity to be quite gentle but I also know the things he's described doing to me aren't just talk. This boy has done it all and when he says he wants to tie me up and lick me for hours, or spank me so hard he leaves welts, I know he means it. He made me promise not to make myself orgasm all weekend until I see him. I went along with it for the fantasy, neglecting to tell him about my date tonight and the fact that judging by last time D and I will end up getting it on tonight. As I type this, I feel worry creep in. It would appear I have morphed into a super-slut. When did that happen?

Wishing I Was Bettie

2007-04-11T13:49:00.000+01:00

Gosh it's been a busy few days! I spent a lovely Easter weekend at home with the family including my nan who I haven't seen for ages. She had bought along reams of old family photos and some letters/newspapers from the war so on Sunday we tripped off down memory lane and learnt about our immediate ancestors. My dad then caught the history bug and dug out his slide projector. We sat long into the evening going through photos he took around London when he was 21 and throughout his early twenties in general. All the way through to my parent's wedding photos which I'd never seen. It was really emotional and I felt strangely detached from reality having spent a large portion of the day in the past.

I had a date a couple of weeks ago from the website with a guy that lives in Warwickshire. Heck of a way to come but the plan is he move down to London soon and I really liked the sound of him so I decided to go for it. When I saw him the first time I was momentarily stunned because at 6ft 4" I practically had to look directly upwards to meet his eye and as previously mentioned, I'm not short. After so many dates with shorter, slimmer blokes, to meet a guy that was not only tall but seriously built with it was fantastic. He turned out to be lovely and although I got embarrassingly drunk on the date (must stop doing that) he didn't seem to mind and came home with me (must stop doing that too). The following morning we fooled around for a while longer, making me late for work. I had assumed that once again I'd ruined any chances for a repeat performance but he's been texting me ever since. I've been waiting in vain for him to suggest a second date and yesterday when I got another 'how are you' text, I lost patience and asked him out on Friday. Happily he said yes which pleased me immensely as I haven't been able to stop thinking about him.

In the meantime, I've got a date with someone else from the website tonight which was arranged ages ago. He's taking me to The Sanderson in Soho which is very posh and makes me think finally I've got a date with someone that's not afraid to spend a bit of cash! I'm not overly excited about it but it'll be a nice distraction.

I've also been emailing a guy who hit me up through my myspace page. The only reason I bothered replying to his first email (among the reams of loonies that contact girls on a daily basis) was because he was unbelievably fine. He's a male model and had some astonishing photos on his profile. The emails escalated to instant messaging and culminated in us writing absolute filth to each other yesterday afternoon. After a while we were just simultaneously spinning our own fantasy out together and I'm ashamed to say I was desperately aroused and so, apparently, was he. In the midst of my lust-glaze I gave him my mobile number and he rang me late last night. We talked for about an hour in which time I learnt that not only is he 24 (felt immediately old) and has a very successful sales career, he has also spent the last three years practising dominant/submissive relationships, with him as the dominant party. This made me nervous for however sexually open and aware I like to think I am, there's something about dedication to things like bondage and fetishes which both scares and fascinates me. He explained that it's not all he's about but that he is involved with several 'groups' who meet for parties occasionally and that he goes to erotic festivals. In the cold light of day as I type this it strikes me as surreal and a little grubby but last night, with his low voice close to my ear I was excited by it. I have always had a thing about being controlled by a man (in a very non-rape way, believe me) but just having them call the shots. Unfortunately it would seem most of the guys I've been with lately have been so lazy, it's been me doing all the work. I don't mind making the effort but it would be nice to get something in return (like...er...an orgasm maybe??).

After a while I started talking to him about what I liked to do and got onto the subject of blow jobs which culminated in me graphically describing what I would do to him, while he masturbated. Hearing him ejaculate on the other end of the phone, purely because he was listening to my voice (and touching himself, obviously) turned out to be a real power trip for me and I've been thinking about it ever since. I never realised I could describe in quite such realistic detail such acts but it would seem I have a new skill. He's now asked me out (what a shock) but I don't know whether I'll meet him. Sometimes it's best to keep these things as a fantasy. Well, that's partly the reason I might not meet him. The other reason is that because he is a male model I am completely intimidated by his physique. He's seen head and shoulders shots of me but that's all and I'm by no means model material! The crushing disappointment of rejection in person would just be too much to cope with, I fear. Anyway, it's all fantasy. The real thing I'm looking forward to is meeting D on Friday. It will either clear him out of my head or plunge me deeper into the crush. As he's so far away I kind of hope it will be the former but then when have I ever jumped to the easy option?

Twatted Lawyer and Big Cabbie

2007-04-08T00:15:00.000+01:00

Dragon Bar on Thursday night was typically filled with uber-trendy Hoxton types. The girls looked like clones of Sandy Shaw in shift dresses and 'kooky' necklaces while the men were divided into the ridiculously slick in pork pie hats and suits to the trackie top and baggy jeans crew. It's difficult to relax when you've come straight from work and are just wearing a long black jumper and skinny jeans but I removed my demure cleavage-concealing vest from under the jumper, piled on more liquid eyeliner to almost Winehouse proportions, squirted some hairspray on my roots and decided to vamp it. I met Oz Girl and B for a night of funk, too much gin (as it turned out), to regale them with my latest date stories, and to meet Oz Girl's new boyfriend who was very tall and very lovely.

Towards the end of the night I got talking to a guy at the bar who claimed to be a lawyer. He was pretty drunk but was cute and funny and the other guy I'd been making eye contact with for an hour had just started talking to one of the Shaw clones so I was feeling a bit pissed off and was glad of the distraction. After a while we ascertained that we both lived in West London and he suggested we share a cab. I debated the pros and cons of this for about four seconds but the part of my brain that controls the 'male attention' related decisions overruled most of the cons and I agreed. I wasn't about to flag down one of the many murder cabs lined up outside so I called faithful Addison Lee after agreeing we'd go halves on the fare (naturally). When the cab arrived, Lawyer was nowhere to be seen and after pushing through the hoardes I eventually found him with his head on a Shaw Clone's shoulder, practically passed out. I managed to rouse him (as it were) and went outside to wait. Presently he staggered out and fell into the cab with me. Within three minutes he was trying to get me to go home with him. Every single tired old line I've heard over the last few months of voracious dating was trotted out. When he scooted over in his seat and tried to grope me, I not only got offended but really pissed off with him. To the point where I actually said 'I've had a few one night stands recently and I'm so over them right now. You picked the wrong girl to share a cab with.' It clearly didn't sink in as he didn't stop so I just resisted his octopus-like advances until we reached his stop. At which point he turned to me and said 'Have you got any cash?' Excuse me? Haven't you?? No, it would appear he didn't but I wasn't to worry because he had some indoors. Oh and if I wanted to come up with him for a while, that would be OK too, obviously.
The cab driver had been cutting him suspicious looks in the rear view and he began to look genuinely annoyed (him and me both). Lawyer promised he'd go indoors then come straight back down with the cash and dubious though I was we had no choice but to agree.
He went indoors.
We waited.
Cab driver asked me if I was OK and I got teary (too much gin as mentioned)
We waited some more.
We waited a bit more while I grew more and more embarrassed.
Cab driver decided enough was enough, turned off the engine, got out and banged on Lawyer's front door.
Lawyer eventually emerged in his socks and Grant Mitchell-alike cab driver forced him to get back into the cab to drive to a cash point much to Lawyer's annoyance (he was also clearly bricking it under big-bloke threats which pleased me). We drove around looking for a cashpoint and eventually Lawyer had to get out in his socks to get some cash. The fare was £32 so when he returned to the car and practically threw a tenner at me accompanied by an angry 'Is that enough then?' I was livid. 'No it's fucking not! You still owe me six quid, you dickhead!' I don't usually provoke drunk men like that but I had the backup of Grant so I knew I could push it a bit.
The cab driver (to whom I'd been apologising profusely for bringing this turd anywhere near his car) demanded the Lawyer give me a twenty. 'But I already did!' Lawyer whined, gesturing stupidly at the tenner I was clutching. The moron. Eventually he took that back and gave me a twenty. I slammed the cab door and we sped off leaving Idiot Boy stranded in his socks, streets away from his house and hopefully without his door key. The whole thing ended up costing me the same as if I'd gone home alone but with the added bonus of leaving me feeling so angry with men in general that I got indoors and burst into frustrated tears. If I'm honest it wasn't tossy Lawyer I was that annoyed with, it was myself. I am so messed up with men that I'm willing to share a cab with a guy so drunk he could barely focus just because I was feeling a little starved of attention and wound up being upset and very, very embarrassed. I really need a hobby.

A Wedding From My POV*

2007-04-05T08:40:00.000+01:00

"Haven't they been fortunate with the weather?" That was definitely quote of the day last Saturday. Actually, it's probably quote of the day at every wedding held on British soil. That and 'What was she thinking?" - a quote applicable to either the bride or any of the female guests present. On this occasion they were indeed lucky. A wedding held in March on a hill in Cambridgeshire could have easily resembled the Somme in a force ten gale had the weather been poor but no, it dawned bright if not a little breezy.

Our side of the family had never met the girl my cousin was marrying but she was apparently 'just what he needed.' I'm not entirely sure what that means but it was uttered a lot which made me think my cousin had been like a child with ADHD who'd just found the key to daddy's drinks cabinet until this fresh-faced angel stepped into his life and made him see that life could be all about Radio 4 and wine clubs. Given that my cousin is actually a teacher who has written a book on philosophy I found this comment odd but it was said by my mother and her peers and so automatically sounded sage. As if they all knew something us youngsters didn't (this is entirely feasible).

The church was idyllic, set in a picturesque village surrounded by green stuff. I vaguely remember it from before I moved to London and I think I heard someone refer to it as 'grass' but don't quote me.

The dress the bride had chosen was attractive yet simple. I wasn't expecting out and out chic given that the bride is the sort of person who spends months in the Gambia working with AIDS victims and when she's not there spends her time rehabilitating drug addicts over here. I think the word I'm scratching for is 'worthy' i.e. too busy to worry about all that fashion nonsense. Anyway, it was fine but she'd decided to wear the veil her mother wore to her wedding. 'Awww bless' you might think. 'Errr no'. The thing was gargantuan. It was beyond huge. It was akin to a veil tornado, there was just so much netting; it snagged on bushes and threatened to suffocate small children. As if that wasn't bad enough it had obviously been stored very poorly because it was the exact colour of smoker's fingers - a horrible browny yellow, the colour of age. Her dress was bright white and the two clashed horribly. I'm not sure I'll be so open to sentiment overruling style on my wedding day (whenever the hell that might be). Having said that, my mother's first wedding outfit was a Biba dress which ended up being used as 'dress up' by me as a child and when she married my father she wore a dusky rose coloured, loose fitting suit which was long ago disposed of so unless I manage to uncover the purple felt floppy hat she wore with the Biba dress I'm screwed on the sentiment front.

Speaking of children I counted and there were seven thousand present that day. OK, I may have miscounted given that they didn't stop haring about but the cacophony in the echoey church was astonishing. My father and I enterered into a tutting competition as I have inherited his utter lack of patience with anyone under the age of ten. These are the sorts of things my dad and I bond over.

The reception was held in a marquee in the grounds of the bride's parent's house. The marquee was bigger than my parent's house in terms of square footage, a fact which prompted a certain amount of 'lemon sucking' from my mother. Fortunately the champagne was plentiful and during the pre-dinner drinks I got chatting to the girlfriend of the best man, E, who didn't know anyone. Within five minutes I knew I had found a kindred spirit. She was as cynical, sarcastic and caustic as me and when she uttered the phrase 'God I'm gagging for a fag, aren't you?' I knew I wanted to be her friend. It's odd but as an adult you rarely meet anyone you could be friends with, relationships now involving more than just occasional spats over who gets the best spot in the sandpit, but I really felt I'd like to get to know her better. We spent the reception drinking red wine and playing drinking games with the ushers which was just the kind of juvenile fun I needed given that I seemed to be the only single person there apart from my brother and my strange 35 year old cousin who still lives at home. The melancholy threatened to set in when the slow dancing started but my new friend thoughtfully eschewed dancing with her bloke and settled down with me to start on yet another bottle of red wine and complain about men. We've arranged to see each other back here in London which is great. My little network expands!

Much later that evening when E, my brother T and I had been forcibly removed from the marquee, T and I staggered the few yards back to the B&B we were sharing with my parents. Some thoughtful soul had put the catch down on the front door so I was forced to phone my mum's mobile and get her out of bed to let us in. To be fair I was sharing a room with her so she was awake and anticipating our return. I was very drunk by this stage and had to get ready for bed in front of my mother. Normally when I arrive home drunk I am free to fling myself over whichever piece of furniture is needed until the room stops spinning, lie on the floor of the bathroom for a while, leave my make up on, eat junk food and just generally faff about drunkenly. I tried so hard not to fall over as I was taking my tights off. I tried to give cogent answers to my mum's questions about the day and I tried really hard not to give in to the urge to vomit in our tiny plasterboard-partitioned en suite. Eventually I fell across the tiny single bed and passed out, no doubt snoring.

The following morning my mother was up at 7:45 sharp. She loudly asked me whether I wanted a cup of tea at which point I cracked open the slit that was where my mouth had been and mumbled a croaky refusal. She was practically singing as she clattered about being unnecessarily loud with the cups and saucers. Apparently revenge is a dish best served when the object of your revenge has a hangover. I see more of her in me every day.

* point of view

Do Something!

2007-03-27T14:06:00.000+01:00

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

2007-03-22T09:29:00.000Z

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

2007-03-20T09:11:00.000Z

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

2007-03-19T15:20:00.000Z

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

2007-03-16T12:39:00.000Z

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

2007-03-12T15:56:00.000Z

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

2007-03-09T18:00:00.000Z

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!

2007-03-09T10:56:00.000Z

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

2007-03-08T11:57:00.000Z

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

2007-03-06T09:53:00.000Z

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

2007-03-02T18:00:00.000Z

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?

Fresh Start

2007-02-26T11:50:00.000Z

I'm back on the dating website. I spent all of two days mourning the premature death of my fledgling relationship with S then on the third melancholic day I suddenly realised that he had gone from 'can't wait to see you' to 'and you are...?' in the space of 72 hours so why the hell should I dedicate any longer to feeling sad/abandoned? Sitting about being miserable is a total waste of time, whereas messaging and dating cute men, is not. Of course I'm feeling extra cautious, contrary to historic fact I don't actually enjoy getting clobbered by blokes so I'm not expecting to meet Mr Right, just some nice guys to have fun with. OK if I'm honest there's an ego-massage element to it too. I don't cope well with rejection so a small amount of validation that I'm not a complete waste of skin is just a bonus.

I changed my photos and updated my profile and have been happily inundated with messages. Of course around 98% are from the usual crop of weirdos/old guys/uggo's but some have been lovely. I have a date pencilled in for this Thursday with O, a guy my age who's a teacher (sexy profession). I'm also messaging about six other guys at the moment. I've decided to cast the net wider this time.

I met up with Roobs, Oz Girl and B yesterday for a terrifically girly afternoon involving a pub lunch and a full on assault of Oxford Street. We massacred H&M, Topshop and Beyond Retro with almost military precision. It's the kind of afternoon men will never understand - it is utterly the preserve of girls and their friends. It actually astonishes me how the four of us managed to hold a cogent conversation whilst at opposite ends of the shop and still ask each other's opinion on whatever we happened to be holding up for inspection. I haven't shopped en masse like that since I was about fourteen when it was mainly about spotting boys and deciding which top to spend your pocket money on in Miss Selfridge. Not much change there then.

As Roobs and I were coming out of Topshop, I was approached by a glamourous fifty-something woman in a fur-collared coat, who asked me if I'd ever considered modelling or TV work before. My bullshit radar immediately kicked in and I narrowed my eyes and asked why. It turns out she was scouting for a casting agency who look for people for music videos, TV commercials and modelling (don't make me laugh...or cry) and she thought I 'looked the part'. She didn't specify which 'part' that might be so I didn't immediately discount the possibility that she was thinking of the before shot in an obesity/acne/dangers of smoking campaign (I told you rejection messes me up). I said all that to Roobs afterwards and she punched me quite hard in the arm. Anyway, fur-collar took my photograph and phone number (work line of course) and said someone would call me during the week to 'discuss the opportunities'. I've got the card and will have a quick look at the website. I hardly think it will come to anything given the number of nubile young waifs she must have accosted around Topshop that afternoon, so I won't be preparing for my close up just yet.

Women's Intuition

2007-02-19T17:30:00.000Z

Women's intuition is an interesting thing. Somehow we know when a friend is down or when our boss is using clever words to disguise a worrying subtext or when our mother says she doesn't want anything for her birthday you'd better bloody buy her something good. It is also very efficient at picking up on the fact that someone, to put it bluntly, has gone off you.

I hate women's intuition.

On Friday night I met S for dinner and a movie. The aforementioned strange atmosphere of Valentine's night continued and I did begin to wonder whether the awkwardness really was all in my head. I tried so hard to be sparkly and funny despite my brain feeling mummified after an astonishingly stressful day in the office. We sat through the two hour film without a single touch being exchanged between us. Afterwards outside, he suddenly announced he had a headache and thought he should probably go home. I'm sorry but a pack of rabid dogs couldn't stop a man from going home with a woman he wants to have sex with let alone a 'headache'. "I'll talk to you soon," he said and kissed me on the cheek. Honestly, he may as well have hired a plane to sky write 'You're not the one' - it would have been much more subtle.

Although at this point I didn't know for sure of course. CM arrived on Saturday morning and thank God she did. Our bridesmaid dress shopping was peppered with my obsessing about S and what it could all mean. Bless her heart, she didn't sugar-coat it which is what I needed. Had she tried to do the faithful friend thing and given me false hope I may have let myself believe her but she absolutely agreed it wasn't looking good. Incidentally, we did find a dress which I love and as CM noticed, it's exactly the same blue as my eyes.

She left me on Sunday lunchtime and I busied myself with chores until my phone rang at 5pm. It was S and, of course, he finished with me. I didn't give anything away and I was very Zen about it. After all, what's the point of behaving like a harpy or screaming like a fishwife? If someone's made up their mind to dump you, all you're going to do is confirm their decision and leave them feeling justified. The trick is to remain calm, and be civil, which I was. That is until that call ended and I immediately rang CM and burst into tears. We only dated for a couple of months but I was really falling for him and he seemed so into me. Frankly I think it has a lot to do with him turning 30 this weekend. He's looked at his life, evaluated 'us' and asked himself whether he's with the person he wants to be with for the rest of his life, to which the answer was clearly 'no chance.' Well that's fair enough and I'm glad he did it now than when I'd really been hit hard. I'll miss talking to him and sharing the in jokes we had and I know I'll get over it in time but it doesn't stop it hurting now.

However, I'm looking forward to next weekend. I was supposed to be meeting S's friends at his 30th birthday dinner but now that's off I have a free Saturday night. I need to find someone that would be willing to accompany me to some dark bars for strong cocktails. On Sunday I'm meeting up with Roobs, Oz Girl and B from my last company for a lovely long lunch. I haven't seen them since I left that job so I'm very excited. It's all about being a single girl again and filling my time accordingly. Luckily I'm a veteran...

Every Girl's An Island

2007-02-15T17:10:00.000Z

I don't know what it is about me that craves solitude from time to time. I consider myself to be very sociable and gregarious but I am also completely happy with my own company. Lately I don't feel as though I've had any time to myself. What with the new job, the hectic flat move, getting involved with S and desperately trying to find time to see all the important people in my life I feel as though my time has belonged to everyone but me.

I had hoped that with A away until next Tuesday, I would be able to set aside some time this weekend to be alone and just potter but it seems I am required for bridesmaid dress shopping. That's the thing about agreeing to be someone's bridesmaid. You don't just commit to the day, you commit to a year or more of wedding dress shopping, veil shopping, endless conversations about the big day from what colour the ushers should wear to what they should serve as a starter, numerous discussions about dress length for the bridesmaids and then trips to go and try things on. It's an absolute honour to be asked but I'm the only one for this wedding so it's all on me. It just means that where I thought I'd spend tomorrow night with S then have a couple of days of blissful solitude, I will now be getting up early on Saturday to go shopping then entertaining CM for the evening. After that got booked I just thought to hell with it and booked something in for Sunday too although it's one of those flaky commitments that may not happen. I spotted that the Curzon cinema in Mayfair is showing Casablanca which (don't judge me) I've never seen. How absolutely perfect though because the first time I ever see it will be on the big screen! S is apparently coming with me although I worry that Weds, Fri and Sun is a bit much. I don't want to overdo it after all so we'll see if that actually happens.

Tomorrow night we're going to see Hot Fuzz which I am so, so excited about. I am a complete Simon Pegg fanatic and know Spaced practically verbatim. This is supposed to be even better than Shaun of the Dead so I have high hopes!

Last night we completely failed to go for dinner. We met in a bar off Piccadilly Circus and after a bottle of wine decided we couldn't be bothered to move so we basically just stayed and got leathered pausing only to consume heavily-breaded hot bar snacks. Nutritionally useless but delicious nonetheless.

It was a slightly strange atmosphere but sometimes I wonder if that's just in my head. I was really tired so I wasn't very sparkly but he didn't seem to notice. He came home with me and we had a very drunken but very hot session before going to sleep/passing out. I have realised that he seems rubbish at initiating physical contact. It's nearly always me that reaches out a hand to him or gives him a kiss and that's not too often because I don't like PDA's at all. It just means that we spend a large amount of time like awkward acquaintances who aren't sure how to behave around one another. I guess it'll be up to me to be a bit more assertive and not just assume he's not touching me because he doesn't want to. After all, he always reciprocates. Honestly though, why is it all about the fucking head games? Why can't men and women just be honest with each other? Seriously, I'm getting to damn old for this.

Happy VD

2007-02-14T10:17:00.000Z

www.meish.org/vd/

Hearts, Flowers & Cynicism

2007-02-13T12:08:00.000Z

I wasn't going to be the one to mention it. We both knew it was fast approaching, casting a shadow of obligation and inevitable awkwardness over the coming week. I dread this day the way I dread dentist appointments or having to see those friends who are inexplicably in your life despite neither party liking each other or having anything of interest to say.

Valentine's Day.

It's not that I don't like romance, it just makes me astonishingly uncomfortable. Mind you, so does people invading my personal space, anyone doing nice things for me ever, anyone buying me presents when its not my birthday/Christmas and men crying. However, romance is the subject at hand. I'm not referring to garage forecourt sentimentality either; carnations in yellow paper and pink teddy bears holding overstuffed hearts bearing sickening legends such as 'I wuv you'. Oh and not forgetting (shudder) 'Love Cheques', an idea so out of touch with modern relationships that any normal person would immediately dump the individual who dared present them with what is essentially a gift that says 'You don't fuck me imaginatively enough so here are some instructions and a schedule.' If you like any of that you're probably called Kylie and dot your 'I's with hearts. If so, stop reading now - you're banned.

See? See how antsy this whole thing makes me? I'm not against a dab of romance here and there providing it's done with style. I love being taken out to expensive restaurants, being sent flowers spontaneously or having a quicky when you're supposed to be on your way out the door (OK that last one's more blind lust than romance but I still love it). I know it's an old complaint but I just can't get on board with this 'Ready, Steady, Go!' idea of a day devoted to romance. Yes, it's probably worse if you're single but at least you can keep your head down and ignore the entire 24 hours.
However in my typically contrary fashion I would also feel slightly let down if I was seeing someone and they didn't mention the day or suggest doing anything for it, much in the same way you don't actually want to be wolf-whistled at by builders when you walk past the site but if they don't, a small part of you wonders why. Curse my high-maintenance.

S asked me to spend tomorrow evening with him. I decided not to mention V Day because it can be kryptonite to some blokes and we've only been seeing each other for a few weeks. However he's independently booked a nice restaurant and will then be staying at mine. I'm not entirely sure I know the rules of the night though. For example, he was at my flat last week when I was opening my post which contained a big stack of housewarming cards. He watched me opening them delightedly for a few moments, then said 'I hate cards.' That was it, offhand statement of fact for me to do with what I please. Unfortunately I adore giving cards and get really excited when I find one I think a specific person will like. Does this mean I can never give him a card? What about the immediate future? Is he more anti-Valentines than me and decided to make a pre-emptive strike against a possible whim whereby I present him with a 5 x 2ft padded card featuring pigs kissing?? I've decided to be sly about it and have bought a very nonchalant card with a clever quote on the front of it and nothing inside and the 'L' word is nowhere to be seen. If he presents me with one, he's getting the stealth-card from me but if not, it's staying in my bag. It's really all about the powerbase.

Having said all that, I am keen to find out where this is going. Coupledom or 'that girl I used to date'? I still have no real idea where we are. We are gradually starting to see more of each other and I feel a little more comfortable emailing him occasionally but any firm developments are as yet unspoken. I won't ask on Valentine's Day, there couldn't be a worse time; I'd be better off asking in the queue at Waitrose. Plus, I haven't actually said the words 'Are you my boyfriend?' since primary school. I'll just have to bide my time and obey the rules of engagement. Ooops...there's a word I'd better not say tomorrow night.

Funky Cold...what?

2007-02-07T09:13:00.000Z

Ordinarily waiting on hold for anyone is a frustrating and ultimately mood-dampening experience. Today however, as my travel agent fiddled away unseen with the BA master computer, feeding its hamsters/oiling its cogs/promising her first born to wangle yet another late notice travel request on my behalf she placed me on hold and I came ear to voice with the erstwhile gravel-voiced rap 'sensation' Tone Loc harping on about his Funky Cold Medina (y'all).

I was instantly transported...away from my desk, out of this office and back in time to myself aged 11. It was Summer and my birthday and I'd just received a compilation on double cassette (probably Now 8 or similar) along with a shiny new Sony Walkman. It was of course, the standard design with the interesting feature of not actually being able to rewind the tape, rather you were forced to eject it (with the bone-shaking catapult mechanism), re-insert it, fast forward to a guesstimated point of origin, eject again, re-insert, press play and repeat the entire process if it wasn't exactly where you wanted it. God I thought it was flash. I remember driving in the car to the Peacock Farm for a picnic listening to my new acquisition on my new acquisition (it wasn't called the Peacock Farm by the way - it has a proper name but its main feature was that it had peacocks wandering unworriedly through groups of playing children and emerging suddenly from the orifices of the wooden adventure playground structures...but I digress). Now 8 was an interesting choice for a burgeoning 11 year old be-braced girl who had just started noticing boys for reasons other than that one had just pulled her hair or they had a strange smell and was starting to realise that the approaching teenage years held great potential for sulking, mood swings and obsessional behaviour. The songs seemed hand-picked to coincide with my coming of age. For example, 'Boys' by Sabrina (remember the video? Oh yes you do), 'Can I Play With Madness' by Iron Maiden and the pinacle, the jewel in the crown of this pop-drenched inappropriate cheese fest; the one and only Tone Loc.

I hadn't really listened to the lyrics of Funky Cold Medina before, not properly, but today I paid attention and it hit me. What we have here, is a rap record advocating early use of Rohypnol in the pursuit of getting laid. He buys some random shit from a dude draped in glassy-eyed 'hos in a bar one night and proceeds to pepper every woman he meets with this potentially fatal narcotic. He goes on the American equivalent of Blind Date and drugs the girl who picks him which quite frankly I could see her mentioning when they popped back the following week to discuss the date with whatever perma-tanned host the Love Connection has. As if that weren't bad enough, he drugs his own dog causing it to be gang-raped by the local hounds in a Medina-induced frenzy. The only highlight of the song is that in the manner of Crocodile Dundee, he encounters a transvestite (Sheena - a dead giveaway for anyone but the sex-blind Loc) and fails to realise it's a man. Only when the old boy comes out does he realise the potential horror of dosing all and sundry with the monstrous Medina. Plus we never find out why it has to be cold. He may have meant it as a cautionary tale to all about the dangers of drugging helpless women in bars so that they're 'good to go' but given the current rampant abuse of the drug, I would say he failed. I have a suspicion his dubious turn in Ace Ventura Pet Detective was merely the result of a community service order on the way to well-deserved obscurity. Tone Loc, where are you now eh?

Random 80's rap observations aside, life seems to be going well at the moment. A and I moved into our new pad at the weekend which was stressy enough without a 25 stone stinking Russian bloke making it worse. Honestly, the van hire place promised us faithfully that the driver would be helpful and we were hoping for some cheeky cockney gent with forearms like hams to call us 'little ladies' and not let us lift anything heavier than a bag of pillows. What we got was a guy with a spike through his ear, no grasp of the English language, a complete disinterest in assisting with anything and body odour that could slay an elephant at 50 yards. He actually managed to make the air OUTSIDE our house smell. A and I scuttled back and forth from the house while he waited in the van, then he waited in the van at the other end while we scuttled up and down stairs at the new flat. We cursed under our breath and breathed through our mouths the entire time.
Still, it's nice to have a new home even one with a perpetually luke-warm shower (must phone the landlord) and an unfathomable cooker (ditto).

I've been roped into hosting a table at an industry 'bash' tomorrow night in Battersea. The theme is Burlesque (Oooh look, there's a band wagon! Quick, jump on it!) so I had to dash out last night and buy fishnets and red lipstick. It's essentially black tie with a twist. Actually it should be fun - there will be free champagne and wine and a meal plus burlesque bingo (the mind boggles) and other rampant entertainment. I'm a pretty open-minded kind of girl but the minute anyone gets a snake out I'm leaving.

All Work

2007-01-31T14:03:00.000Z

I didn't sign up for twelve hour days, I'm sure I didn't. I don't mind an early start; I've always been better in the mornings, but the late nights are killing me. I was in the toilet at work last night at 9:30 looking at my face in the mirror, noticing how like scrambled egg my make up looked after that long on my skin and wondering whether I could leave and not look as though I wasn't a 'team player' (as the rest of the team were still there). I did actually leave about 15 minutes later but the tiredness made me irrationally emotional. I was on the escalator at Notting Hill tube and a busking saxophonist was playing 'Baby I Love Your Way' by Peter Frampton which actually made me well up.

Tonight is a big in-house black tie event which we're all obliged to attend. I bought a new dress for it which is quite exciting (£110 down to £35 - gotta love the sales). I'm hoping it will give me the chance to blow off some steam and get to know my colleagues a bit better as I just haven't had time yet.

I'm looking forward to getting the house move out the way this weekend. Once that's organised I'll be able to concentrate on the rest of my life properly. There's loads of organisation to do but I can't let myself feel overwhelmed. Coupled with the sleep deprivation I'm likely to end up on the roof with a gun and a hostage demanding a pay rise, some Kalm tablets and a bucket of Merlot.

A Little Bit Country

2007-01-25T08:32:00.000Z

I stood, shivering outside the imposing Centrepoint building at Tottenham Court Rd, stamping my feet in an effort to keep warm on the first day it snowed in the UK for a year. My Creative Zen was blasting Lady Sovreign into my ears; something energetic to prevent my mind from dwelling on the sharp winds whistling around me. During the second verse of 'Random', I felt a tap on my shoulder. S had appeared, wrapped in the cosiest looking jacket and beaming broadly at me. We hugged and all at once I forgot the cold, I forgot the touts jostling us, trying to get us to buy tickets for Jamie T at the Astoria, and my little world was filled with him.
Yes, yes, I know it's melodramatic but a) I think we've established I have a tendency in that direction and b) I hadn't seen S for 10 days and I missed him. We went to 101, usually a place I like to avoid like an ex-boyfriend but on a chilly Wednesday night it was practically empty plus it was happy hour on the cocktail menu (I'd drink in an abbatoir if they had a deal on drinks). We drank White Russians and laughed constantly while I revelled in the joy of being near him again. There's always a little physical awkwardness between us when we first meet, neither one wanting to be the first to touch or sit right next to the other. It doesn't usually last that long but I've realised that he's as afraid of rejection no matter how minor, as I am. I wonder what's behind that particular emotional door...

S had tickets to a gig at The Borderline, a small venue near Greek Street famed for it's Country and Western associations and big name bands that like to patronise it with intimate, private gigs - often under a psydeudonym so only those in the know, know. We went to see Railroad Earth; a band I hadn't heard of until S lent me a couple of CDs of theirs. They're pure, Blue Grass Country hailing from (I think) New Jersey who hadn't played in the UK before. They are one of S's favourite bands and he was beyond excited. The venue is indeed, tiny and smoky but amazingly atmospheric. We found a great spot, seated atop a waist-high cupboard (which, embarrassingly S had to help me up onto - I have very weak biceps) right next to the stage. After the support acts finished, the place filled up and pretty soon there were long-haired blokes and cute chicks dosy-doing and generally having some kind of giant hoe-down. It was a great atmosphere and I found myself completely absorbed in the music, smiling involuntarily at the exuberance of the fiddler who was nearest us on the stage. S made a point of holding my hand or touching me in some way throughout. During my favourite song of theirs also called Railroad Earth; a beautifully whimsical acoustic track, he leant over and kissed me for the first time that night. I'll say one thing for the boy; he's certainly got timing.

Earlier that evening we'd started talking about movies and, knowing my love of Arnie films he suggested we should have a Predator night. This rapidly grew into a 'schlock night' featuring Predator and Running Man and to counterbalance that, a 'comedy night' with The Three Amigos and Spinal Tap. He asked when we should do it and I suggested Friday night, knowing my housemates were out. Luckily he was free although we couldn't decide which theme to go with for movies so we're going to do The Three Amigos then Predator (it's our thing we can change the rules). I'm going to cook - probably some three alarm chilli in honour of The Three Amigos and I think S might bring some tequila (seriously).

We went our separate ways a little after 11pm and at the scene of our first kiss, in Tottenham Court Rd tube we kissed again. I whispered something about how spending the evening but not the night with him kind of sucked and he agreed although he did point out that we were seeing each other in two day's time and that would definitely include a night (beyond excited about this).

Elsewhere the new job is calming down a little now the pitch is out of the way. I am able to try and get to know my colleagues and the job a little better. Unfortunately I am now dreaming in Powerpoint slides due to massive overexposure in recent days.

Our official farewell to K in Soho last Saturday night was a lovely evening. We ate Italian then the five of us tripped off into Soho and found a bar on Carnaby Street. We all got tremendously drunk which was pretty much the point.
She actually leaves this Sunday so on Saturday night, A, K and I are all staying in for chick flicks, wine and junk food (your typical girls night in minus the face packs of our youth) as a special goodbye. It's going to be really sad and I'll miss her loads but on the plus side I have a new job to keep me busy, a new flat to settle into and a new man to make me smile.

Work/Life Balance

2007-01-20T18:32:00.000Z

The cold has officially gone. The biblical plague of phlegm has dissipated and I'm free. Free to enjoy the unseasonable sunshine and spend Saturday frolicking in my glorious little corner of London. But wait...what's this? A desk...a computer...a boss. Hang on...this is work!!

Flashback to yesterday at around 4pm. I had worked every day until at least 7pm so I knew I wasn't getting out any time soon, even on a Friday. I'm in the kitchen making an overly sweet cup of tea when my line manager sidles in behind me and closes the door (no funny business, she's a girl).

"I just wanted to say you've done a fantastic job this week, especially on that pitch, really excellent. Everyone's impressed, they really are!"
"Yeeeeees...."
"Well, the thing is, the pitch is next week and...I mean I'm coming in too...but...could you come in tomorrow do you think?"
"Tomorrow as in Saturday? That tomorrow?"
"That'll be the one, yes."

I was supposed to be at a family party today. I love it when my family all get together; there's 26 of us and we basically congregate round the table in someone's house and stay there eating, drinking and laughing for anything up to seven hours. My family can get quite mediterranean about these things - must be the latent Spanish ancestry. I haven't seen them for five months but I knew it wasn't a request. So at 2pm today, clutching a large Starbucks latté and smoking furiously I made my way to the office. It's now 4.5 hours later and I'm still here. I've actually finished what I needed to do but I've missed my blog this week so I decided to post. Plus I've got to be in Soho at 8pm so there's really no point going home now.

Tonight is K's leaving drinks. The girls and I are all meeting at a generic Italian restaurant behind Topshop Oxford Circus to stuff ourselves and gossip relentlessly. It'll then be off into Soho to seek out a dark bar with no doubt even darker men and preferably huge cocktails to while away the night in the most hedonistic way we can afford (well it is January). Basically we want her last proper memory of London to be a fab one before NYC weaves it's magic spell and she decides to make the most of the fact that she's been given a 3 year visa... I'll probably cry tonight but that'll be more down to sheer exhaustion than anything else.

My friends are going through a lot right now. D is now about 2 months away from giving birth, CM's wedding is fast approaching (as is bridesmaid dress shopping for me!), A is deciding whether to embark on a relationship with a guy who is currently in NYC but is coming home in April plus she's moving with me and K is off to NYC. It's all go in the lives of my friends and I'm trying to be supportive and happy for all their endeavours but I feel shockingly self-obsessed at the moment. I think it's the result of my life having been so darned complicated of late. On the plus side things are slowing falling into place. Once we're in the flat and the job's settled down I should be a much better friend all round.

Things with S are still about as clear as a tricky question from Mensa. It's vexing, really. Are we seeing each other? Are we dating? Are we 'going out' (whatever that means)? After the call from him on Sunday night I heard nothing for ages. I was far too busy/ill to worry that much but I was determined not to crack and contact him first. It got to Thursday and I'd spent the afternoon thinking about him in the midst of work chaos and really wanted to email him. I resisted.
That evening, as I emerged from the tube a little after 9pm my voicemail went and he'd called me. Oh, the jubilation at the restoration of my power base! I called him back an hour later and we talked for ages. We're not seeing each other this weekend, we're both too busy but we are going to the gig on Wednesday night and having dinner first (I'm leaving work on time, I don't care what's going on - I do have a life outside here). I can't stop thinking about him. I'm starting to realise he's so right for me in so many ways. I think the next step will be to orchestrate a meeting with his friends. You can tell a lot about a man by his friends. Plus if they like you, you're a shoe-in (what does that mean, really?)

Right, going to finish off a couple more bits then it's a quick retouch of the old slap and off into the night for fun, frivolity and...

Busy, busy, busy

2007-01-16T13:08:00.000Z

The new job is insane. I have never been so busy and it's only day two. The only way I can even post this is because I'm covering reception for half an hour so I'm essentially immune to people asking me to do things. I can't complain, I knew it would be like this. In contrast my last job was a total doss relatively speaking (although people did tend to creep up behind me and bellow things about missing revenue on a frighteningly frequent basis). I do have a head cold that could frighten a small child at fifty paces and is enough to put me off oysters for life which is draining my ability to feel dynamic. Perhaps when my sinuses open up and the first week is out the way things will seem slightly less surreal...

S and I saw each other on Saturday night for dinner, drinks and a sleep over. He stayed at mine which was lovely although in my drunken haze on Saturday night I did whisper breathlessly "I can't believe you're here; it feels like a dream!" He had the good grace to ignore that comment and not tease me the following day for being such a complete girl but I was fairly embarrassed all the same. It was true though - he makes me feel so amazingly high each time I'm with him that sometimes it does feel like a dream. I will make a mental note not to share these thoughts with him in future.
He sweetly rang me on Sunday night for a chat and to wish me luck for the new job. I'm besotted, I'm a smitten kitten...but the cards are remaining close to my chest. I can't afford to give anything away but it's getting harder and harder to resist.

Nerves

2007-01-12T12:49:00.000Z

It's my last day at my current job. I am swaddled in an odd combination of sadness at leaving behind such a fabulous bunch of girls and nervous excitement about my new job.
First of all though there is the glamorously messy leaving party tonight for which we've all bought in around four tops each for 'trysies' (I love girls). I had my presentation yesterday when the boss was here and they bought me a large selection of items from my favourite make up brand; Benefit. They know me better than I thought they did. I will be debuting one of the sparkly eye shadows tonight, called enticingly, 'mint julep'. I am wearing my skinny jeans which will be teamed with a dressy top that hasn't seen the light of day for a good couple of years (does that qualify it as vintage?!). I weighed myself this morning and another 3lb have miraculously vanished meaning I have now lost 34lb in total. I feel hungry but happy.

A and I have found a flat which is fabulous news. Plus we get to stay in Fulham which is even better. I'm so relieved to have it sorted out before my new job starts. Just the packing to do now (hurrah).

Having got used to S being highly attentive with regard to emails and texts (pretty much every day) I became rather unsettled when I emailed him on Tuesday only to receive quite a short, non-lovely reply. I was off work on Wednesday afternoon for errand running and so I text him at the very end of the day to say hey...no reply. I tried not to worry that he'd perhaps changed his mind about me (shamefully it crossed my mind that one of the many ex-girlfriends he's in touch with had persuaded him to remove the 'ex' - see? told you I was insecure) and that he was probably just busy at work but by 9pm last night I was cross. I know it's early days but how hard is it to send someone a text mid-week to say 'really busy...talk soon etc'? Why do men only see everything in black and white? Why can't they spot the different shades of grey and subtle nuances that women do? Anyway, I called and there was no reply so I didn't leave a voicemail (I'd damaged my power base enough) but shortly afterwards he rang me back. It was an odd phone call. He sounded tense as he explained how he'd been having issues at work and was close to quitting and that he'd been out a lot in the evenings. I tried to be upbeat but as usual I was reduced to shyness and nerves due to being on the backfoot as the one doing the 'chasing'.
It does seem though that we are getting together tomorrow night and that he is venturing down to West London to come to my favourite family-run Italian restaurant. Despite the slightly odd week (mainly in my head, admittedly), I am really looking forward to seeing him. I've freaked myself out by how much I like him though so I think I really need to chill.

Anyway, this is likely to be my last post for a while because of the new job. I can't imagine I'll have much time so until I get the cash together to buy a laptop, I'll have to post as and when I have the time. It's a shame because this is rapidly becoming a very cathartic exercise.

Downsizing

2007-01-10T10:37:00.000Z

I have started the mammoth clear out that signals yet another house move. It's fair to say I've moved around a lot since I first left home aged 21. In fact, this will be the eighth property I've called home in seven years which is both exhausting and quite sad. I am seemingly incapable of putting down roots anywhere. I really thought by the age of 28 I would have sussed out the job, would have the home and might have even been married, if not in a very serious relationship. I know I'm not unusual; many of my friends my age are single and still sharing a house with other singles. Plus, look at Sex And The City and Friends; it's certainly not freakish for me to be in this situation but it does feel rather...hollow. Not to mention the shame I am starting to feel at not yet producing grandchildren or even a wedding for my parents to get all misty-eyed over. As people around me begin to tie the knot and drop some sprogs I can't help wondering: What's wrong with me?

Anyway, off we go again with boxes, packing tape, bubble wrap and van hire. Each time I move I have one of these major clear outs and each time it's very cathartic and nourishing for the soul but somehow all the junk creeps back in. Last time I moved, I sent an entire long-wheel base transit (you pick up the lingo when you book as many vans as I do) to the dump full of furniture and excess trash. I made three separate charity shop trips with books, clothes and ornaments and yet somehow last night I still managed to bag up seven sacks of clothing, shoes and books. I was quite ruthless about the clothing. I got rid of all my fat clothes, all the random summer clothes I haven't worn for years and a multitude of coats I'll never wear again. During the course of this I unearthed a pair of skinny jeans I had relegated to the back of the wardrobe on the offchance I might fit into them again one day. I shut my eyes tightly while I stepped into them, expecting disappointment but joy of joys they fit! That was the highlight of the evening.

This morning I managed to drag one sack to the charity shop in the pouring rain (fun!). The others will have to be taken as and when I venture in that direction. Tonight after yet another flat viewing I think I'll start on the kitchen stuff I don't need. After that it'll be onto the furniture - I am on a mission to downsize!

Speaking of downsizing I managed to lose, in a single week, the 5lb I put on over Christmas plus one more which I was extremely pleased about. Admittedly I have been absolutely rigid with my eating (despite homemade sausage rolls in the office!) and have been largely famished since 2nd January but it'll be worth it. Seven more pounds to go and I'll be the slimmest I've been in around four years. Now that's the sort of motivation I can use!

The Big Three

2007-01-08T16:08:00.000Z

Is it possible that I'm on track for The Big Three?
Surely not. Surely the Holy Grail of every twenty-something girl's existence can't be within my grasp! I feel as though I'm in the presence of a rare species of deer and if I make any sudden movements, step on a twig or in any way let it know that I know it's there, it'll bolt.

In case you don't know, the principle of The Big Three is very simple. It's based on the premise that everything in life can be placed into three very clear categories. Home, Love and Work. It's generally accepted that it is possible to achieve satisfaction or even happiness in two of these three areas but the minute you look as though you're on track to conquer the third, it's highly likely that a problem will crop up in one of the others. It's just Murphy flexing his muscles and making sure none of us forget about his Law (who was this totalitarian bastard, anyway?? Answers on a postcard...).
However here we are, not even a month into 2007 and I have a very exciting new job starting next Monday, I'm on track to find a new flat which will hopefully tick the boxes (especially as we have realised we need to expand our limits with regard to price) and have met a man who is astonishing me, thrilling me and making me laugh in equal measure and seems to really like me. I have to treat this theory like a solar eclipse: I musn't look directly at it.

My date with S on Saturday was fantastic. Even though we did go bowling (I've now somehow been twice in the space of a month having successfully avoided it for twelve years). He later cooked for me at his flat; a simple but delicious menu of Monkfish wrapped in pancetta with a celeriac, carrot and savoy cabbage mix in cream sauce. I was mesmerised as I stood in the kitchen doorway sipping red wine and occasionally chopping things in a supportive fashion. I've never had a man cook for me before and it is surprisingly arousing. We drank cold Muscadet and ate in the living room by the glow of his now rather stale Christmas tree's lights. We stayed up for hours just talking (his flatmate had tactfully decamped to her boyfriend's so we had the flat) and tentatively opened the Ex-File a little more. I am aware that it's rather early to be having these coversations but it really didn't feel like a fourth date...it had substance. Despite it being my Special Time (ironic capitals) I stayed over and, in bed, as we succumbed to the soporific effects of the wine and food, he murmured that he wanted to try and make a go of this and asked if I would give him a chance.

Lots of things tore through my mind at that point. I've only known you for a month. I haven't met any of your friends - will they like me? You haven't met any of mine - will they like you? You're still in touch with your exes and I'm insecure but will I be insecure with you or will I finally be happy? I haven't seen how you are around anyone else. I haven't seen you angry, sad, really drunk, really hungover, frustrated, disappointed, high or demonstrating any of the habits every human has, good or bad. I don't know if you get jealous, I don't know if you'll be bored by how limited my life has been so far. How can I launch myself into something with someone I feel I know so well but actually don't know at all? So what did I do with all these thoughts hurtling round my brain like skaters on an ice rink? I kissed his eyelids and I said yes.

There's a ridiculously trite saying that's probably stitched onto a million cushions that includes the line 'love like you've never been hurt'. That part has been going through my head a lot recently. I've had a catalogue of failed relationships but each time I meet someone new I conveniently forget the hurt, the anger, the dark, shouty, bleak nights that seem to go on forever and I pin my heart to my sleeve and dive right in. Am I really that desperate to achieve The Big Three?

Flats and Cats

2007-01-05T10:54:00.000Z

I loathe flat hunting. I always feel quite excited at the prospect of finding another new girly pad and wonder whether I'll finally find the high-ceilinged, open-fireplaced apartment I wish for that is (miracle of miracles) within my budget. It's only after I've been dragged around the first mucky-carpeted mildew-bathroomed hovel by a letting agent eight years younger than me and wearing a Topman suit that my bubbles of optimism pop and I resign myself to the fact that my budget and my dream flat are as far apart as prawn crackers and actual prawns.
Still, not all of them have been horrendous although it does appear that without K, A and I are going to have to leave our little corner of West London for a slightly less salubrious corner of West London. It's a shame because I really started to feel at home there (kidnappings, street brawling, rats and mice notwithstanding). A and I are blitzing some viewings on Saturday so hopefully we'll find somewhere that ticks as many boxes as possible.
I'm shamefully having to borrow the money up front from my parents which I really hate. I have the cash it's just tied up in current house deposit and changing-job-mid-month pay horror. Luckily they still think I'm a pretty good daughter despite being monumentally shite with money but I am still consumed with guilt.

It would appear that S and I are getting together again on Saturday. He sent me a gorgeous email earlier this week apologising for coming on a bit strong (he wasn't) but saying how much he liked me. I reciprocated (it's only polite) and we've had a couple of long phone conversations since then. I can't get over how much we laugh together; we both seem to have an atypical propensity for abstract thought (his phrase not mine). The topics have ranged from what the 'J' in LL Cool J actually stands for (we concluded Jeremy), why it's acceptable to bury all pets in the garden except goldfish which must be flushed down the loo in a kind of Viking ritual, whether in fact I was insane for suggesting one should pre-poach cod in milk to make a fish pie and the most exciting sleb encounters we've had.

I'm not sure what we're doing at the weekend but I'm due to be surfing the crimson wave so whatever it is it won't involve sex (I just cannot go there...ever). Still, it's probably best not to start out whatever this is by basing it all on sex anyway. I am keen to make sure we can be friends, too. He does seem capable of commitment though as I found out when we briefly opened the Ex-Files last night. I found out he has lived with a girl before, and that they bought a cat together which she kept when they split up. I also found out that when they broke up he was so traumatised he jacked everything in and went travelling for 6 months. Hmmmm. The slightly worrying point there is that they still speak and in fact he was on the phone to her before he rang me. It's way to early for me to have an issue with that kind of thing but it's certainly a flag to be revisited if this gets serious. I tend to be extraordinarily insecure due to low self esteem and am very threatened by ex-girlfriends. Stupid really, being as they are 'exes'. I am also embarrassingly threatened by female friends of guys I date. I know why this is, I just don't know how to stop it. I should be prepared to be OK with it though as S shares a flat with a girl and seems to have many female friends. A bridge to be crossed when I reach it I suppose.
God I hate being so insecure, I really do. How does one actually get/find confidence?

I trace my issues back to my first serious relationship which was a cacophony of horror from pretty much the word go but I was inexplicably besotted and stuck with it through alcohol abuse, drug abuse, physical abuse, him having one child and then discovering he had another two year old by different woman a year into our relationship, prolonged disappearances of up to a week, affairs and constant physical put downs. It went on for two years and when I finally got the courage to leave him I was a shell, a husk of my former self. It's taken five years and two miscalculated relationships to get rid of most of the demons and here I am. Older, wiser, tougher (God I sound like that Aguilera woman) but still wracked with insecurity. I wish I could purge the last of it, I really do. Otherwise my only option is to give up on relationships, get a cat and start making my own jewellery out of shells.

Cold and New

2007-01-02T14:30:00.000Z

The office is freezing beyond all sense. This is mainly due to it having been closed for over a week but also due to the fact that it's one, large, exposed-brick fridge and won't reach optimum concentrating-temperature until next Wednesday. I sit next to a gigantic wooden-framed window which has knifepoint draughts whistling in through every corner. We are all in our coats, those of us that didn't have the presence of mind to book today off in advance. I am typing with stiff little fingers (not the band, clearly).

New Year's Eve was a slightly odd event. K, F and I and a couple of other friends booked to go to a local pub which was charging a set fee but which offered free drinks all night and 3am closing. K called and booked it whilst we were at our respective families so it was done without us knowing the details. We turned up looking suitably glam (although I was in jeans) for a normal NYE free-for-all in a pub, only to discover it was black tie. It wasn't K's fault, they didn't mention this important point to her at any time during her three phone calls to organise it. They did let us in but having been geared up for a joyous, crowded, flirty NYE, we had to completely adjust our mindset as we were shown to our candlelit table in view of the pianist and handed a complimentary cocktail by a waitress who was better dressed than any of us. It was low key to say the least but we made it work by doing our best to drink our money back. I think we managed it.

The first task A and I had to perform on New Year's Day was disposing of the live mouse which we discovered stuck to one of Minty the Rat's old sticky traps which we'd (fortunately) left down. Awful thing to do with a hangover. This morning K, who is off work, rang to say she'd found another one so the pest people have been summoned.

So 2007 is upon us. A quick retrospective of 2006, which I originally did whilst very drunk at about 3am New Year's Day, filtered it down to these key events:

I moved to London (good)
I was made redundant from the job I moved to London for (bad)
I got another job but it turned out to be a huge mistake that bought me nothing but stress (bad)
I witnessed a kidnapping and ended up giving evidence in court (bad)
Our house was under seige from large, brown rat for over a month (bad)
I got dumped by The Ex after two years together (bad/good)
I saw two separate people getting the crap kicked out of them - one of them outside my house (bad)
I lost 2 stone (good)
My best friend is moving to New York (bad)
Turns out she's only going for 10 weeks (good)
I got a new job I'm very excited about (good)
I had a few salacious dates one of which ended in sex (goodish)
I joined a dating website and met S (good so far)
I appeared on Gordon Ramsay's The F Word and my interview was shown on TV (weird)

It's not as bad as I'd thought looking back although there are obvious events I could have done without. I am not entirely sure what I want from 2007 yet but to put it into one word wishes, I think this is about it: Success, Travel, Love, Education, Friends, Sex, Music. Yep...that'll do.

I had a date with S the night before NYE. We went for dinner which he booked in a pub near where he lives. In the past we've met in central London so the fact that he was dragging me to his neck of the woods (which is nowhere near mine) prompted me to conceal a clean pair of knickers, a toothbrush and my pill in my handbag. Good job I did because as we left the pub at closing time he asked me to spend the night with him. I'm not going to go into detail, suffice to say it was blissfully, completely, mind-blowingly wonderful and I didn't leave until 2pm the following day. I think this could be the start of something very interesting...

Premature Adoration (and chocolate coins)

2006-12-27T16:40:00.000Z

So Christmas has been and gone and here we are in the limbo between Christmas and New Year when I find I'm never completely sure what to do with my time.

I've been in my hometown since Saturday morning and whilst I love my family and have really enjoyed catching up with old friends, I can feel suburbia closing in on me like the walls in that Indiana Jones film. I got so bored on Boxing Day I ended up hitting the sales. Far too hard as it turns out but I bagged some glorious bargains and they're enough to make me realise that the eating has got to stop. The clothes are lovely and I am determined not to grow out of them any time soon! Must keep remembering this when faced with yet another stack of meat or bowl of mince pies and custard (or chocolate money which I inexplicably adore even though it's usually poor quality chocolate...why??).

A long time has passed since my last post (or so it seems to me) and in between then and now I had my second date with S. After work finished on Friday I went to the pub with a few of the guys from work to kill time before I had to meet him. Unfortunately I got a teeny bit drunk (not like me, I know). The good thing was, so did he. Unbeknownst to each other we'd both finished early and repaired to our local bars. We weren't hammered by any means but it meant when we met neither of us were that nervous.
Well, I wasn't until I saw him again. Honestly, I'd forgotten how much I fancied him and it really threw me. He looked delicious and I could barely touch my butternut squash risotto for the butterflies in my stomach.
We went to a pub after dinner and talked for ages until the blissful moment arrived (forgive my melodramatics but it rocked my world, really). I turned my head towards him to look around the bar and he leaned in to kiss me. I don't think our lips left each other's for the next hour. God he turned me on; the combination of his mind, his appearance and the fact that he kisses like a demi-god all basically served to turn me to jelly. He told me I kissed him how he'd always wanted to be kissed which was just about the best thing he could have said.
We kissed again in the tube and although I was trying to be coy I hinted I wanted to see him again but it doesn't look like it will happen until the new year now (although he invited me to his NYE dinner - I can't go but took it to be a promising sign). Later that night, this was the text I received:

"3 parts infatuation, 2 parts frustrated lust, 1 part premature adoration."

He even bought me a present which was a little embarrassing as I hadn't got him anything (it was our second date for crying out loud). I opened it when I got home and it was 'The Superior Persons Book Of Words'. May not sound like much but that's basically catnip to an obsessive linguist like me. I received one text on Christmas Day but nothing since. I'm compulsively checking my phone all the time which I must stop doing. I barely know the guy but he's got completely under my skin. I am a fully paid up member of the Crush Club. Again.

Yesterday I played Trivial Pursuit with my family and realised how little I actually know. Although, without making excuses, I did get some absolutely awful questions. For example, this was a 'history' question I got: 'How tall is Prince Charles?' Firstly, what the cock does that have to do with history and secondly unless I was his tailor or the Queen how would I know?? Incidentally, if you're interested, he's 5ft 10". Honestly, the unfairness of it. I sullenly crunched Twiglets and regressed to a teenager which is always so attractive. I cheered up later when my Dad and I had a West Wing fest. He introduced me to that show so we always watch either that or MASH together when I'm home. Just a little father/daughter bonding.

This will be the last post before New Year I think. Next time I do this I'll be back at work (shudder).

Happy New Year to all!

xxx

Christmas Joy

2006-12-22T13:42:00.000Z

That's it. Work has officially ended and festivities can begin. I'm off to the pub.

Merry Christmas everyone!!

X

Stuffing

2006-12-21T13:28:00.000Z

Oh my God I can't stop eating!

I'm seriously worried about my total lack of self-control when it comes to food at the moment. Having spent the last 6 months monitoring everything I ate and policing myself constantly I have now completely lost it.

Case in point: I just went to Pret and purchased a Brie (cheese for heaven's sake!) and plum chutney sandwich and a packet of lard-smeared crisps and consumed the lot in about fifteen seconds. That's on top of the Rice Krispies, mini mince pie, Santa tree decoration (chocolate), advent calendar sweet and chocolate digestive I consumed over the course of the morning. Yesterday I picked at chocolate all day long to the point where I actually felt sick (what am I, five??). The problem is, I'm in an office full of women and we're up to our eyes in foodie gifts from grateful clients. The desk opposite me is unoccupied so it's become the official home of every box of chocolates, packet of mince pies, truffles, Stollen, cashew nut tube and alcoholic beverage we've so far received. It's been a calorie fest for the last week with everyone hovering around my pod, eyes glazed with festive lust, carefully examining chocolate box menus and throwing back handfuls of cashews. How can I resist? It's like Chinese water torture only with chocolate not water and not as deadly. Admittedly that doesn't explain why I ate an entire garlic baguette to myself last night...

The perverse thing is, I've worked really hard to lose all this weight, I've just met a man I like and desperately want to impress and I've bought a sweater dress, but I'm scoffing like a compulsive eater in a pie-eating contest. I'm not going to call it self-sabotage yet, although it wouldn't be the first time. I'll blame it on the festive period and abundance of naughty treats permanently within my reach. If it continues past Christmas Day then I know I'm in trouble.

I didn't see C last night, I was just too tired. I think he was quite disappointed although we're back MSNing today. I don't know what I'm doing really because my thoughts are all wrapped up in S ahead of our date tomorrow. C is cute in a boyish kind of way but he's not on my wavelength like S is. I'm so excited/nervous about tomorrow night. I keep replaying our kiss over and over to the point where I'm in serious danger of jumping him the minute I see him tomorrow which wouldn't do at all. In the meantime, the casual flirtation with C is doing wonders for the ego in the midst of my self-loathing oink fest.

Tired

2006-12-20T10:00:00.000Z

I'm tired. All the late nights and early mornings of the last few weeks have caught up with me and I feel completely ruined.
Obviously the ten hours of drinking yesterday didn't help but this is more than that. This is a bone-deep tiredness that has me feeling as though I'm wearing a lead suit underwater. I can't really moan though. I don't have children, I don't work 20 hour days in a hospital saving lives, I have no one to blame but myself. Which is annoying; self pity is easier to enjoy when there is justification for it.

So, the Christmas party is over. It wasn't quite the horror fest I was expecting but neither was it that great. The lunch at Pizza Express was fairly generic (aren't they always?) but enjoyable enough. We then repaired to 'Funland' in the Trocadero for two games of bowling which my team lost. Two things of note happened; I realised I'm still rubbish at bowling and I ripped off a thumbnail. Otherwise it was strongly reminiscent of my teenage years. We were on a ridiculously tight schedule for The Fun and so after everyone except me, my pregnant colleague and my colleague with a bad back, went on the dodgems (honestly) we dashed to Henry's Bar in Covent Garden for a lightening round of drinks, then to the 'upmarket TGI Friday's'. Roobs, Oz Girl and I decided the only way we were going to cope with it was by basically caning as much alcohol as possible including several shots. This is a list of what I drank yesterday:

Red wine
Corona
Vodka Diet Coke
Champagne cocktails
Mojitos
Kir Royale
Lemon Drop shots
Bubblegum shots

A fairly impressive mix, I think you'll agree and yet I remained resolutely sober(ish). I think it was the fact that all that was spread over ten hours and the fact that we consumed a vast amount of food. The most drunk person was my colleague J who fell off his chair three times at dinner, downed glasses of red wine and picked up an entire slice of cheesecake in his fist and mashed it into his mouth. He is disappointingly bright this morning. I was in bed by 11:30 and must have been more intoxicated than I thought because I text S to say goodnight (felt my powerbase slipping as I did it). He replied though which was lucky with a very cute text which cheered me up after a strange day

I'm not totally convinced I want to see C tonight and so have not logged into MSN yet because he'll see me. It's not that I don't think I'll like him; I know I found him sexy and good company but I'm just exhausted beyond all sense. All I want to do is go home, force something of nutritional value down my throat and go to bed. I don't have it in me to be entertaining or alluring tonight. Still, it's early yet, I'll see how the day goes. I am keen to hedge my bets though so perhaps I'll just have to fake it for the cause. Wouldn't be the first time after all.

Baubles And Juggling

2006-12-19T10:59:00.000Z

This afternoon is our work Christmas Party. Well, I say this afternoon, the Bucks Fizz is being poured as I type (11am). I'm not entirely sure what the thought process was behind the planning of this Christmas Party, as we're going for lunch at Pizza Express then, inexplicably, going bowling at the Trocadero. It would appear they confused 'Christmas Party' with 'Twelve Year Old's Birthday Party'. Hardly the chic, exciting glamourfest I was hoping for. After the (shudder) bowling, we're going on to a restaurant that was described to me as 'an upmarket TGI Fridays'. Quite what the ramifications will be for my sanity I have no idea. The only plus side to that piece of information is that they will serve cocktails, which I will gaspingly consume in favour of the 'set menu' we chose in August. Apparently I'm having the salmon which I don't recall choosing. Anyway, let joy be unconfined.
On the plus side, everyone is in a very good mood and we're all raring to get hideously drunk together and fall over a lot. I daresay there will be a cheesy club somewhere in the very near future, too. I guess the key is to make the best of these things.

It looks like I am seeing S on Friday night. Neither of us had much time this week but we were very keen to see each other again. I'm now wracked with insecurity about whether I'll still like him or whether I'll have done a 'typical me' and placed him on a gilded plinth when actually he's quite normal. Maybe it was the XO Martinis clouding my perception. I hope not. As I am spending the holidays with my family, much as I love them, it would be fun to have a naughty text buddy to cheer me up if things get a little slow. His emails are still making me giggle though and I've checked his pics again to remind me what he looks like and it's all good there (I usually forget what boys I fancy look like).

Slightly worryingly I remembered that I'd made a tentative date with C (he of Rebel Yell discovery night) for tomorrow night. He messaged me yesterday to confirm it and I, being the fickle cow that I am, agreed to meet him. I have no idea why except that I quite fancied him and thought it was worth double checking whether I really liked him or not. He apparently seems to like me quite a lot judging by the MSNing we were doing yesterday and that's got to be worth nurturing until I know how I feel about him and S in comparison. Let's face it, I'm not exactly doing anything unusual; men have been doing this for years. I've never thought of juggling as sexually liberating but it just might be.

Roobs has just found out I'm leaving as it was only announced yesterday and she was on holiday. She cried which made me cry. I'm going to miss her so much, I really hope this won't go the way of countless work friendships in the past and fizzle out without the gel of the workplace to keep us together. She's such a fabulous person, I fully intend to keep my claws in for as long as possible.

Angels and Demons

2006-12-18T08:41:00.000Z

How does one extricate oneself from a bad date? No, let me rephrase that. How does one extricate oneself from a bad date if one is British?
Curse my inherent politeness and the horror into which it leads me. Damn my inability to insult others and my desperate need to please and be liked.

But let's start with the good before we move onto the bad and ugly (one and the same). Friday night was my date with S. We stupidly agreed to meet at Leicester Square and I hate Leicester Square. As I stood outside the neon flea pit of Garfunkels, clutching my bag tightly, pressed against the wall by the throng of frantic tourists, I wished we'd said anywhere else. It doesn't do to meet a date when you're stressed beyond all sense.
Suddenly, pushing through the crowd, came a tall dude wearing a hat that said 'I'm cool, the hat's cool but I couldn't care less' and a very nice pin-striped jacket layered over faded jeans. Our eyes met and I experienced a strange impulse to throw my arms around his neck and hug him. I have been known to be overly demonstrative but not with complete strangers. It became apparent very quickly that he was nervous. Perversley I am instantly at ease when I know someone else is nervous; a low level control thing I would imagine. We hadn't organised to go anywhere which on a Friday night, in Covent Garden and Soho, a week before Christmas was foolhardy in the extreme. Thank goodness it was a mild night because as a result we wandered around for a good 45 minutes trying to find somewhere that didn't have drunk Santas pouring out of it. We found a Mexican bar and drank XO Martinis and we started to click. He was funny. Not just 'I'm laughing on the inside' funny but genuinely, uncontrollably, deliciously funny. The even better part was that I made him laugh in equal measure. We finally found a small Indonesian restaurant with a table and settled down to eat. We spent three and a half hours at that table, sharing a sub-standard set menu and we didn't stop talking. I have to admit, he's a bit of a geek, but the good thing is I have latent geek tendencies and am now past the point in my life where I judge them in others. In fact I admire those that can factor them into their personalities. I found it endearing in S, he is tall and although slim seems strong, plus he removed the hat and I was relieved to find it wasn't covering any bald patches. Oh, I also discovered he plays about seven musical instruments and regularly cooks fabulously complicated and extravagent meals (in fact, on Sunday morning I received a text that simply said 'Smothering a duck in a balsamic maple syrup glaze and thinking largely of you.')
I wasn't sure what vibe I was getting from him until went got into the tube and he unexpectedly kissed me. For a long time, to the sound of caterwalling drunken revellers. It was a very good kiss and it was great to kiss someone taller than me, despite my heels. I missed my tube connection by two minutes so got the night bus from Notting Hill. As I was watching the lights of High Street Kensington whizzing past the bus window, he sent me a text that said 'You're lovely'.

On Saturday morning, I awoke to bright, crisp, winter sunshine and felt amazingly happy. I danced around my bedroom listening to Juice FM reggae and calypso tracks whilst hanging the washing and hoovering. I was slightly nervous about my date with the dark B, but buoyed by two good dates in a row.
The date started innocuously enough. We met at the galleries on the South Bank for the Dali exhibition. He did not look like his pictures. In fact, he looked about two stone heavier and five years older than his photos. Still, I decided to try and see past that, keeping in mind the poetic emails and erotic phone call we'd had (about which I now shudder with horror). After the exhibition we decamped to All Bar One and before I'd even finished my vodka and diet coke, I knew I wanted to get away from this person quickly, but I found that I just couldn't ditch him; I don't have it built into my personality. So, we had two drinks there, then he suggested we go into Soho for more drinks. We hailed a cab and found a tucked away uber-cool bar off Tottenham Court Rd. Oh look, I can't be bothered to write about this properly. It will be quicker to bullet point the horror. Here we go:

He constantly muttered with his head turned away and when asked to repeat something, inexplicably wouldn't
He talked continuously about his job as a trader and how good he was at it
He asked me virtually nothing about myself and when he did, could not have been less interested
In the cab on the way to Soho, he started talking about his 'sub-coetaneous' spots and actually used the phrase 'Pop, you bastard'
He was rude to the staff in the bar we went to, making ridiculous demands and barely acknowledging them
He took his sweater off when we sat down and I got a whiff of sour BO
He kept disappearing to the loo and it became quickly apparent he was coked up
Despite point 7, he still got very drunk
He kept grabbing me round my neck in a really painful way and pulling me towards him which was worryingly aggressive
He lunged in to kiss me after about half an hour with no signal from me whatsoever and managed a lip-touch before I pulled away
He was obviously very well off but knew it and demonstrated it, a lot
He was utterly devoid of humour, except when it was something he'd said
His teeth were buck, and the front two were either side of a gap you could have driven a truck through, giving him the appearance of a red-necked sister-fucker.
At one point, he actually drooled; a long stream of saliva left his mouth and dripped onto the table and, this is the crucial point, HE DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE
He called me a slut with a leering, public-schoolboy grin on his face

Finally, finally we left and despite my obvious revulsion to the point where I'd even given up talking to him in favour of letting him ramble, he insisted on holding my hand on the way to the tube. I instantly made it as limp as a manhandled protestor but to no avail. He attempted another lunge outside the tube but I managed to direct him to my cheek and eventually wrestled free and practically ran down the stairs. Fortunately he didn't 'do' the tube so there was no danger of him following me.

I got home tired, upset and emotionally drained. I ate chicken Super Noodles and a Dime bar and watched Friends in my pyjamas. The only highlight of the evening had been that every time I went to the loo I was texting S. He felt like my lifeline out of the horror of my situation into a kind, happy world. Not to put too fine a point on it - it was him with whom I wanted to be. Granted, having the flesh torn from my bones by a cross-eyed water snake would have been preferable to that evening but still...food for thought.

Oh by the way, the picture has nothing to do with the post, it's just my favourite Dali sculpture; Homage to Terpsichore which I saw on Saturday.

Red Sky In The Morning

2006-12-15T16:13:00.000Z

Ignoring the very hungover camera work, I found the colour of the sky over West London so amazing this morning at 7:30 I had to take pictures of it.

She Cried More, More, More

2006-12-15T10:36:00.000Z

I think I might have a problem. I seem to have absolutely no resistance to alcohol and have totally lost the ability to know my own limits. Every time I become incapacitated, I hear my mother's voice ringing in my ears telling me that no one likes a drunk girl. She's right, it's utterly unattractive and shamefully weak. My friends have informed me that I'm actually very good at hiding my intoxication but I think that might just be because they're as drunk as I am. On the other hand I've had a lot of practise hiding it from my parents throughout my teenage years spent necking Diamond White in suburban parks (classy). I know it's Christmas and the season of extreme indulgence but I'm not sure how much more my liver can take.

Last night was my first date from the website. We went to an upmarket 1950's themed bar for mojitos which we drank to a soundtrack of classic soul, progressing through American rock much to the delight of the work party crowd of which we seemed to be the only two people not affiliated. I spotted C waiting for me at the tube station before he'd seen me which gave me the chance to check him out. He was casually well dressed in a vintage brown leather jacket and dirty-wash jeans. He was only a couple of inches taller than me but fortunately I'd remembered to wear flats following the graphic designer/Laverne incident. Artfully messed up dark hair and big brown eyes were the first impressions I remember. We walked to the bar together and were teasing each other before we ordered our first drink and this theme continued throughout the night, both of us delighting in the other's love of sarcasm and witty oneupmanship. We decided we wouldn't talk about work which made things initially a little hard because it's default conversational setting for meeting new people but after a while it made things really interesting. The evening was a spaghetti tangent of subjects including juggling copulating monkeys, blow job lips, gun shows and cryogenic hair.
As the preamble to this would suggest I was drunk but it got worse when we invented a new game. It was very simple and we named it 'Least Ordered Drink'. The premise being that when you find yourself in an establishment boasting a glittering array of obscure spirits, you request the Least Ordered Drink with bonus points if the bottle actually has dust on it. Last night, the spoils were a thoroughly dusty bottle of bourbon, thrillingly called Rebel Yell. It tasted like an amalgam of Southern Comfort and Jack Daniels so we drank it with Coke and ice.

Eventually he remembered that he had been due at Pacha for his work Christmas party over an hour ago and we were miles away from Victoria so we had to cut it short. A good thing with hindsight because one more Rebel Yell and I'd have been on the floor.
We got the tube together and draped ourselves around the central pole in the carriage, our faces close while we whispered nonsense to each other. He somewhat ruined the moment by informing me that my eyes were bloodshot from all the smoke which immediately punched a hole in my thin self confidence. He made up for it though by kissing me very sexily, in full view of the tube carriage. We kissed all the way to his stop. Before he left, he told me he wanted to see me again and kissed me hard, holding onto my waist and pulling me close. He actually asked me to go to Pacha which (thank God) I refused, then hinted that he didn't really have to go to the party i.e. could come home with me. I refused this too, not only because my housemate's mum and sister are staying over for her mum's 60th birthday and the noise of The Beast With Two Backs coming through the wall is not the sort of highlight she deserves to remember, but also I never heard back from the graphic designer after rushing to bed with him and I feel a little hollow.

When I got home, I crawled into bed and was on the verge of passing out when my mobile rang. It was the dark man, B, who at just before midnight was still at work. Being drunk, I was quite open about being in bed and naked and he whispered to me in such a way that I squirmed with delight. I'm meeting him tomorrow and apparently it's up to me what we do. Oh blimey - no pressure then. What does one do with a man who clearly has contempt for the usual day to day pursuits? I suggested coffee and he practically snorted in derision so in irritation I suggested we fist each other on PCP in a car park then, which made him laugh and lightened the moment. I think I'll ask him to meet me at County Hall Galleries for the Dali exhibition which I've wanted to see for ages. That's suitably dark and twisted. Then maybe I'll just stun him into submission with Rebel Yell.

Tonight is my date with S who makes me laugh and seems handsome from his photos. We're meeting in Soho which I'm so excited about as I adore it there and haven't been for ages. I'm already thinking of all the little tucked-away bars we can patronise. I think by tomorrow I'll be as jaded as B which might actually bring our outlooks in line.

Pimping Online

2006-12-14T15:59:00.000Z

Earlier this week I joined a dating website.

Given my recent disaster with the milk-fed gimp you'd think I'd steer clear of pimping myself out online. However the mistake I made then was that there was no photo available whereas on this site, it's virtually compulsory. I did no research, just signed up with the first one Google threw at me, paid my month's trial fee and sat back. Yes, I could have searched and messaged like a breathless nympho but the low-level fear of rejection persists so instead I decided to see who found me.
The first flurry of emails I got was astonishing; around 40 in about three hours and this was in the middle of the day! The initial excitment wore off as I trawled through the collection of oddballs that were clearly at home, waiting for fresh meat to sign up. Still, it continued but out of the messages that came in, 99% probably got deleted. No, I haven't considered moving to Cumbria...yes, 35 really is my top age limit so 48 is pushing it, sorry...Only three children, really? I had to learn very early on that you cannot reply to everyone that messages you which completely goes against the grain of my inherent British politeness. Most give up if they don't get a reply but some are more persistent which is when the 'ignore list' (or sin bin as it should be called) comes into play. When they cross the line into stalkerville, you're always glad you didn't respond (one guy called me a 'brat' for not responding which I found oddly endearing).

Obviously I'm basing the first decision to respond on appearance and whether it fries my onions. Sorry, but show me someone that says looks don't matter and I'll show you an ugly liar. Seriously the initial attraction is always physical. Granted, it may not be sustained if the vessel is beautiful but empty so personality/beliefs are still massively important. If they're cute and I think their profile is cool and their approach is creative, then I respond. So far I'm talking to 4 guys. All surprisingly different people and not just in looks. I'm meeting the first one tonight after work before he goes to his company Christmas party at Pacha. It's nice in a way because there's an end in sight with his prior commitment so if it bombs we don't have to make excuses. He's my age which is annoying because I was aiming for older given my recent fuckwittage minefield but he's very cute and funny so we'll see. Plus he works in media so understands the sort of industry I'm in.

My second date is tomorrow night with a lovely guy who is older (hurrah), very handsome and very, very funny. In fact, it's scary how similar our sense of humour is and our emails have got progressively more relaxed and intimate. I'm slightly worried about going too far in case these dates are total let downs but I tend to get carried away. One thing I decided was that I was going to embrace this experience. There's no point joining a dating website then behaving like a rabbit in the headlights the whole time. Be prepared to message, talk on the phone and actually meet!

The third guy is a bit of a question mark. His initial approach was massively intense but I took it to be quite tongue in cheek although I didn't reply. He used the phrase 'destructive mire of mutual self obsession' but it was done with eloquence and wisdom. He then emailed me again, lamenting my silence but again his email was so, so eloquent and so exciting that I was compelled to reply. It's so typical of me. I am so dazzled by romantic, passionate men. Men who are a little off the wall, a little dark with whom a passionate, dangerous affair could ensue. I don't know why there is this side of me, I really don't. I had a traditional upbringing and have had a fairly mundane life to date yet I meet someone who could be voted Most Likely To Die In A Hotel Room and I'm hooked. Maybe that explains the whole Kate/Pete thing. Perhaps she's compelled by his tortured soul.
So I replied and he came back with something written so simply, yet it was so supremely erotic I am ashamed to say I re-read it just to feel the tingle in my loins.
Last night he called me and we talked for an hour. He is dark but is a commodities trader so is also apparently, independently wealthy. He was at work when he called me (at 9pm) and after the phone call I got a text saying 'Hard to concentrate thinking of you'. Sorry, but what woman isn't going to melt after reading that? We may be meeting this weekend, despite the fact that I am slightly afraid of him.

The fourth guy is the sunshine to third guy's shadow and is a very happy, Scottish IT consultant. He doesn't immediately thrill me but seems very sweet so we'll see what happens there.

I am nervous ahead of tonight but hopeful too. It's such a marvellous distraction, and a superb ego-massage to boot and so far I can highly recommend it if you have the right mentality. Oh, and a very, very thick skin. My view may change after the first few dates. We shall have to see.

A Story About The Past

2006-12-12T15:17:00.000Z

Last night I had a dream about someone I haven't seen or thought about for a long time. It's an odd sensation, waking up from a dream like that. It's almost as if you've connected with that person in some way. It left me feeling slightly melancholy but oddly happy.
It's probably too grandiose to say he was my first love. In fact, that's utter bollocks. I wasn't a virgin when I met him and he was going out with someone else and we never actually had a relationship. We just shagged. A lot.

It was my first job out of school and I was a receptionist. I was sixteen years old and basically didn't have a clue about life, men or working for a living so I was in a perpetual state of tension for a good three months. However it was a great, young company and I soon made friends and settled down. I don't remember noticing him until about six months into my employment, but when I had I couldn't get him out of my mind.
He was twenty eight and manager of a department based just off the reception area. I knew he'd noticed me but I was naive and couldn't believe anyone as handsome, successful or as old as him (oh, the irony!) could look twice at me. But look he did. It started off with casual, flirtatious comments, stolen looks across the office and cigarettes companionably smoked together on the fire escape. He'd been off for a few days before my first Christmas at the firm and I'd been missing him dreadfully, or rather with the wisdom of age was probably missing the attention. He was there on the last day before the holidays and a group of us decamped to the local pub to end the afternoon. I sat with my friends and ignored them, only nodding vaguely whilst I held his gaze across the pub and drank Archers and Lemonade in what I thought was a seductive fashion. After a while he got up to leave and, God bless my youthful arrogance, I got up and followed him out. He was waiting for me.
I'm sure we spoke but I don't remember what was said. All I remember is that he kissed me. With his hands cupped round my face and in my hair like a proper grown up. I'd only ever kissed boys. Usually ones who thought kissing involved either licking the area of the face around the mouth or just forcing their tongue roughly down your throat. He was soft, and sensual and to my little sixteen year old heart, an absolute God.

The flirtation continued in the new year and got stronger. This was in the days before mobile phones became smaller than hatchbacks and widely available and email didn't exist yet in our office so our contact was limited to times when we were alone which wasn't often. He used to sneak in on me in the post room, shut the door, push me up against the wall and kiss me, touching me urgently. I know, I know what it sounds like but I wasn't some teenaged Lolita and he certainly wasn't taking advantage. There was full complicity on my part. I knew he had a girlfriend but I didn't care. He'd told me she was virtually psychotic and that they were always breaking up. He didn't use it as an excuse to kiss me, he just told me when I asked about her which wasn't often.

Over the course of the year our illicit moments got more frequent. He used to 'give me a lift home' which was code for drive to the local park, stop the car somewhere secluded and virtually fuck in it. I remember the first time I gave him a blow job and he told me to bite his cock I was so shocked. It seemed so deviant to me (again, the power of hindsight). How the hell we kept this all a secret I'll never know. Once I gave him my knickers at the start of the working day. His boss was off so he was using his office and he told me later that he had to drive all the way back to the office after hours because he'd left them in his boss's desk drawer.

It wasn't until the following Halloween that we actually ended up having sex. It was fancy dress and I knew I was going to dress up for him. I was an oh-so-mature seventeen year old by now after all. I went as a witch but actually I went as a slut. Long black boots, short skirt, see thru top that had a vague resemblance to cobwebs and blood red lipstick. It worked. He barely left my side all day and that night I went home with him. He fucked me all over his flat for hours, smoked with me and drank tea naked, then drove me home (fully clothed). I think I changed a bit that day. I realised what the power of sex really was, in an albeit slightly juvenile way. I didn't really learn to exploit it until years later though.

From then on we slept together frequently. I learned to drive and got a car so we drove in tandem to his flat. Once he went in ahead of me and came running out a few minutes later clutching a rubbish bag (as an excuse). It turns out she was indoors which was a close call. He bought me my first legal drink on my eighteenth birthday and by this point I was convinced I was in love with him. I was distraught whenever he was out of the office or when we were forced apart at the weekends. I lived for workdays, basically.
I went through some difficulties with the company during my third year. I'd been in hospital for a couple of months following really serious surgery and they refused to pay me for my time off. I came back to the company for a few weeks but quit soon afterwards. I knew I was leaving him behind but I was eighteen now and knew I had to move on. It was so sad but the right choice. He was never going to break up with his girlfriend and I was growing into my sexual self, drawing on the energy and experience my time with him had given me. I never got any real emotion from him though. He never gave me any indication that it was anything other than lust which was so hard to get my head around at that age. I still sometimes have trouble separating sex and emotions now so how I coped then I have no idea.

I got on with my life, moved away and grew up. Years later I moved back to my hometown for a job and started working with someone who worked for that first company at the same time I did. He'd actually been her boss. Anyway, I confessed all about the affair and she was so shocked but suddenly became thoughtful. She eventually told me that he'd once told her about a girl in his life who had 'really got under his skin' and that he'd considered leaving his girlfriend for her. I have no way of knowing whether he was talking about me but the timing fit and I like to think he was.

I bumped into him a couple of years ago in my hometown and was sad how much but also how little he'd changed. He was in the same job, driving the same car and looking strangely old and tired. In my dreams however, and I have dreamt about him before, he's always twenty eight and so handsome - like James Dean I always thought. Why I dreamt about him last night I don't know but it's made me revisit that time in my life. Looking back I almost can't believe that happened to me. As a twenty eight year old I couldn't fathom getting involved with a sixteen year old boy so heaven knows what drew him to me. Whatever it was, I'm eternally grateful.

Late Night, Awkward Morning

2006-12-11T09:02:00.000Z

There are few moments quite so awkward as the moment you wake up next to someone and realise the soporific veneer of alcohol has utterly dissipated leaving only hoarse voices, unspoken words and the embarrassed covering up of skin.

So the date with the graphic designer went well.

Let's start from the beginning. The client lunch on Friday began at 1pm and ended at 4:45. The food was amazing (turns out Pan Asian is a good thing) even though I had to dissect an entire sea bass having been shown to be the least squeamish person at the table. The wine was an extremely good Sauvingnon Blanc and several large Baileys were consumed (Christmas law). I arrived back at the office just before 5pm and hid behind my screen trying to do my make up whilst feeling distinctly woozy. I was late for the date but only by 15 minutes and the graphic designer was sitting alone looking gorgeous in a soft blue sweater. Unfortunately the second he stood up to greet me, I realised the heels were a mistake. It transpired later that he's actually 5ft 10.5" which is by no means miniscule, however as mentioned in my last post, I was at least 5ft 11" in my new boots (unattractively and inexplicably named 'Laverne' by the retailer).
I recommenced the white wine and we immediately relaxed into easy conversation during which he me made me laugh lots. No sign of the reticent email-buddy of recent weeks, thankfully.

We got drunk. Oh blimey did we get drunk. My lunch had precipitated a surge in my affection for alcohol (never too far under the surface) and so when we moved bars and he decided to introduce me to dark rum, I thought this was a fantastic idea. Many, many rounds later the shots started and my resolve to be a grown up was trampled by the sheer brute force of my drinking binge.
He kissed me in the bar and despite my obvious intoxication I can categorically state it was the best kiss I've had in a long time. I can still remember it now - I melted (I've been doing a lot of melting lately but this isn't necessarily a bad thing). Fast forward through a whispered conversation, the securing of a cab and the fumbling of keys and light switches. The sex was frantic and obviously drunken but I was still capable of maintaining a good hour which under the circs was impressive (so was he which is much more impressive). The last thing I remember was him spooning me as I passed out.

Which brings us to Saturday morning; 10:35am and we are awoken by the sound of a motorbike starting outside my window. We stumble around trying to find his discarded underwear whilst I desperately try and cover up with my embarrassingly ratty dressing gown (mental note: buy sexy kimono-type robe befitting a single girl).
He was very sweet and left quietly, kissing me briefly on the lips at the front door, promising to email/call me today. I'm honestly not sure I'm bothered because although he was sexy and intelligent and we had a great time, I am disturbed by the fact that we are both capable of being shockingly sluttish. But how typically spoilt of me. I wanted to have sex with him but lost respect for him because he had sex with me so soon. Now, in my overly-active imagination, he is a cad and a bounder (in the traditional sense) and will never be the sort of strong man I ultimately want who will take care of me, resist my advances, kiss me goodbye, put me into a cab and call me the next day to make sure I'm ok. He's out there somewhere and in the meantime, random snogging and sex is turning out to be huge amounts of fun. That's despite the awkward conversations I had to have with my housemates following the event. We are not a house of sluttish types who bring boys home regularly so this was quite an event. I probably overplayed how embarrassed I was in an effort to negate their perception of the filthiness of my behaviour and it seemed to work because after a while we were all giggling about it and I was sharing details over tea and digestives on Saturday afternoon with Radio 4 in the background. Oddly wholesome in contrast to the alcoholic haze of the previous night.

As an aside I've just told Roobs all about it on email and she replied with 'you are truly fabulous'. That remains to be seen but it made me smile nonetheless!

The End. The Beginning...

2006-12-08T11:58:00.000Z

The deed is done. The clock is ticking. I have officially resigned from hateful-job hell! Hooray for new starts, a lovely fresh new year and the start of the journey back to joy.

My line manager, to give him credit, was lovely. He's not based here so I had to do it over the phone which was rubbish but necessary. I think the reason they assigned me to him after I spectacularly clashed with my original line manager was because he's a trained counsellor and me being the overly-emotional, exceedingly verbal person that I am was able to gel immediately with him. Therefore the guilt is overwhelming because I don't want to let him down but I could not feel more relieved now the decision is made. I actually feel a little bubble of happiness somewhere down in my tummy. No sudden movements as it might pop...instead I will carefully nurture my little bubble until it becomes a giant happy vessel filling my veins and making my brain float happily around in my skull.
I don't know what I'm talking about but I thought I'd go off on a random poetic tangent and not delete it afterwards no matter how crap it is, so there you are.

Also, today is date day with the graphic designer. I'm quite nervous because I've really got to like him which is always a mistake. However seeing as it took him about three weeks to actually ask me out, the email tennis was all I had. I am trying to remember the lessons learnt with the musician, i.e. not get overexcited, not get your hopes up etc and so far I'm sticking to it. I'm wearing a pretty laid back outfit of long fitted black jumper, patent cinch belt and jeans. After a lot of deliberation this morning, to the point where I missed the bus, I decided to wear heels. I can't remember how tall he is - in my mind's eye he's over 6ft but I'm now probably 5ft 11" with these on so hopefully he's not a midget. They're not just massive Elton John platforms by the way, I am actually 5ft 8" in my bare feet.

Client lunch in an hour which normally I would dread but lovely Roobs is coming with me. We're taking three of them to the Great Eastern Dining Rooms for Pan Asian fusion cuisine. Whatever that is. Hey - it's a free lunch!

Also, got an email from the metrosexual which was lovely. The music theme continued in that he's off to see not only The Wonderstuff this weekend but also The Levellers! I feel like I'm having the same conversations I had when I was sixteen. Very odd. Still, harsh as it sounds he's on the back burner for now. I've put too much effort into originally-reticent graphic designer so tonight is important. If he's as reticent in real life as he can be on email, or decides that me having actual hips like a proper woman is a problem then the metrosexual may become more interesting. To put it bluntly, I haven't had sex for two months and I am determined to get laid before Christmas! Ding dong merrily and all that.

Drowsy Wasps and Metrosexuals

2006-12-07T09:38:00.000Z

Urgh. I am hungover. My head feels like a box of drowsy wasps and my throat is raw from the grillion cigarettes I smoked. I went out with my housemate last night to a generic bar in Soho, ostensibly for one bottle of wine which turned into two and finally, a third was ordered. It was pretty nasty house wine as well, hence the drilling headache this morning but we were really past caring after the first one.

We got talking to some boys which lifted my flagging spirits no end and one boy in particular seemed to be paying some attention. To be honest, I thought he was gay. Not the most attractive first impression but he was really funny and smart so I just figured he'd be fun to chat to, sexual persuasion aside. However, as the evening progressed, the arm-touching and maintaining-eye-contact-longer-than-normal started and when he put his hands on my hips to move me out of someone's way and then left them there, it was clear which team he was on. To use a rather wanky term, I get the feeling I was in the presence of a Metrosexual. A handsome guy who is straight but can happily talk about Louis Vuitton bags (which we did, much to my delight).

It was whilst he was describing his recent holiday that I suddenly really wanted to kiss him. A relevant piece of information at this point is that when I'm drunk I become really, really passionate and excited about iconic music from my past. If I'm in a bar and the opening bars of Place Your Hands or Like A Prayer or pretty much anything like that comes on I'm in raptures. Anyway, he was describing a beach party he'd been to where, as the sun began to rise over the water, they played Sweet Child of Mine by Guns N Roses. I completely adore the opening bars of that song as it has particular significance for me due to a time in my formative teenage years and just thinking about it, especially when intoxicated basically makes me melt. As if that wasn't enough, apparently they went on to play Mr Jones by The Counting Crows and after that, Brown Eyed Girl. The way he described it was amazing, I could shut my eyes and almost hear the songs and see the sunrise.
But I'm getting carried away. I think I'm still slightly drunk actually. Oh, interesting point though, I realised I can walk and snog at the same time - all the way to the tube. Well of course I kissed him, I was drunk and he was fit! We swapped cards (trying to be grown up) but I don't know if I'll hear from him. Still, it was a lovely distraction.
A and I got home around 12:30, only to be woken up at 2am by K getting home and vomiting really loudly in the bathroom with the door open. Tis the season to be jolly...

I verbally accepted the job offer today which is exciting. Once I get the paperwork through I'll be able to give notice here. I'm scared but also really excited about the move. I cannot wait to get out of here and leave this horrible, pressured, terrifying job behind me. I just really hope I've made the right choice. I'm so sick of making wrong ones.

Anyway, I'm off for a sausage sandwich.

A Job Interview Without Cocktails

2006-12-05T16:16:00.000Z

This morning I had a job interview. It was my first one since signing with three recruitment agencies and being ignored by two of them.
I was quite excited about the role before I went and having been interviewed by the girl I'd be working with thought I'd actually quite like to be called back for a second interview to meet more people and hear more about it.
I got back into the office having told them I was having a client breakfast meeting (hate lying but needs must) and logged into my email account. The recruitment consultant had emailed me to say they'd offered me the job.

Now given that I met this person for 45 minutes this morning before she'd finished her Starbucks grandé latté I paused to consider whether her gut instinct was due to a lack of caffiene but apparently not. Initially, my usual default setting of PANIC that sets in in times of stress kicked in but once I thought about it I realised I was actually keen on this job. However I know me, having been me for 28 and a half years and I know that I'd need more to go on than that. I've pushed for a follow up meeting after work tonight to meet some more people and have a squizz at the offices. This means I can then go home, write lots of pro/con lists, drink red wine, talk to my housemates about it for three hours, not sleep at all then make a snap decision tomorrow morning.
When I initially floated the idea of the follow up meeting to the consultant she went all used car salesman on me, saying things like 'Well of course if you leave it too long to make a decision, they could see someone else they like' and 'Given how hard we thought it was going to be to make the transition from your current role, I'd think seriously about this'. OK, two points there. Firstly they've spent the last three months looking for someone for this role and until today, still hadn't found anyone so the chances of them finding an abundance of available people that they love in the next 24 hours are slim. Secondly this was my first interview and I got offered the role so potentially it's not going to be that hard if I miss out on this one, is it? Honestly. Those terror tactics used to work but as I've got older I've realised that if something's meant to be, it's meant to be. Slightly hippy but true.

In other news, the graphic designer is still emailing regularly ahead of our 'hot date' on Friday (his words not mine). He's taking me to a bar that describes itself as 'a retro-sexual haven of cosmopolitan kitsch'. Now what the hell does one wear to that?? I'm thinking smart/casual with cleavage. Not stripper cleavage, obviously...just a little Friday night cleavage to keep things interesting.

Escape

2006-12-04T17:18:00.000Z

My spirit is officially refreshed. Blissful escape from the city was exactly what I needed and blissful escape I got.
I am lucky enough to have a very good friend who, along with her lovely fiancé, owns a listed cottage in the villageiest village in Hampshire. I arrived on Saturday lunchtime and we went straight to Winchester for the Cathedral Christmas fair. They'd set up an ice rink in the inner courtyard, around which rosy-cheeked kids and slightly frazzled looking parents hared and wobbled respectively. The stalls were lovely if not shockingly overpriced but it seemed reasonable under the circumstances to pay £1.75 for a jar of onion marmalade the size of a thimble. We indulged in 'genuine' Cornish pasties and meandered through the festive throngs on the high street, enjoying the odour of roasting chestnuts and the distant sounds of carollers from the Cathedral grounds. Saturday evening saw us return to the village to light the wood-burning stove in the cosy, low-ceilinged living room of the cottage. We picked happily at olives and crisps and drank red wine heated in front of the stove before mooching off to the local pub for local sausages with local wine served by a local person.
Sunday, far from being a day of rest, was a day to leap happily out of bed at 9am, wolf down a bacon sandwich and yank on borrowed wellies and a hat I wouldn't normally be caught dead in, to begin our 'authentic country walk'. Up hill and quite literally, down dale we went for over two hours until we arrived at the pub, cold and covered in mud for a refreshing pint before heading back to the cottage to dry off and eat steak pie and potatoes whilst looking at wedding bumph for next year's extravaganza.
I arrived back in London refreshed, healthily tired and happy last night. I heated up a left over naan bread and dipped it in my homemade onion marmalade then slept the kind of sleep I haven't slept since I was a child.

This morning on the tube, the man sitting opposite me blew his nose directly into his hands and wiped it onto his trousers.

Why am I here again...?

Breathe And Reboot

2006-11-29T16:44:00.000Z

I need to learn to pace myself, I really do. Just generally in life I need to stop being so over-excitable and stop chucking myself head first into things all the time.

The date with the musician was nice, despite him being an hour late (he called ahead to warn me, so that was okish). He was shorter and less cute than I'd remembered which was odd because I (shockingly) wasn't drunk when I met him. Still, we went to one of my favourite fire 'n' leather pubs and had a couple of beers - he paid too which was lovely of him. The last guy I went out with did round for round with me which I'm fine with but it was nice to experience a little chivalry.
We chatted perfectly nicely and there were no awkward silences but something wasn't quite right. I hate to be vague but there was just no spark and for me that's a big deal. I can't imagine really dating someone who leaves me feeling the emotional equivalent of a casual shrug. Oh I'm so disappointed though; we got on so well on the phone! I tried so hard to be sparky and funny to put him at ease but I felt he was helding back. Maybe he was nervous, who knows? I walked back to the tube with him and he gave me a kiss on either cheek then left. Haven't heard from him today and I haven't contacted him. I don't know what I would say if I did to be honest.

Meanwhile, the graphic designer has suddenly got interesting again. I sent him one 'hello' email to the other address he gave me and he replied but I didn't go back because it was still a bit slow. However, he dropped me a line this morning and we've spent the whole day excitedly emailing back and forth, have swapped mobile numbers and booked a date for next Friday night. I'm not giving up on that one yet! But as I've just said, I'm not going to get myself worked up about it all this time. Yes, he's been very funny/cheeky today and yes he sent me a photo of himself that showed his upper body and yes he has forearms I could stroke for an hour but I'm determined not to get carried away...ahem.

Had to pick our Secret Santas at work today and surprise, surprise I got the MD. An office full of 10 women and 3 men and I get him. Fortunately there's a shop in the tube that sells chocolate genitalia so it'll be fine.

A Job Interview With Cocktails

2006-11-28T09:11:00.000Z

Last night the musician called me, ostensibly to book our first date but we ended up talking for two hours. I am officially enraptured yet utterly terrified at the same time because tonight's the night. The First Date. He's coming all the way to my corner of London to see me.
I am not, by nature, a particularly shy person. I don't have a problem meeting people - I even perform well in job interviews. But stick me on a first date and I turn into a petrified mass of insecurity. I don't know why I find it so hard to remain calm and just view it as though it were meeting a friend. I think it's largely down to the fact that I'm never sure I'm good enough and fear that nobody else will either. Essentially you're meeting up to assess one another and yes, I know it's a two way street but I automatically put them on a fantasy pedestal and place myself kneeling beneath it somewhere far below.
I guess I just don't want to blow this one. Hang on, let me rephrase that rather unfortunate sentence; I don't want to mess this one up. I always worry that I'm not really being me on a date (is anyone?) so I tend to either fit myself to their mould or I start coming out with views and opinions I don't even believe just to have something to say or to seem more interesting. It's like I get a form of First Date Tourettes.

Unfortunately unless you are so overweight you cannot leave the house and are forced to conduct your relationships with faceless strangers on the internet whilst pretending to be a size 8 underwear model, at some point you have to meet them. The musician admitted to me that he was 'excited but scared' about meeting me. He told me that he really wants us to click because we seem to have a lot in common and get on so well on the phone (hey, 2 conversations I know but that's 5 hours of talking in total). Both of us said how sad it would be to have had this great 'virtual' connection but to then have it fizzle out in person and just have to walk away. Great, so no pressure then. Still, at least we've both admitted we're nervous - there is no false bravado on show here. God, how on earth am I going to get any work done today? Roobs, Oz Girl and I all have GAP vouchers so we're going shopping at lunchtime. I think I'll buy myself a nerve-steadying new top. Any port in a storm...

A Dress And A Crush

2006-11-27T09:43:00.000Z

Two delightful events lifted what promised to be an extraordinarily dull weekend.

Firstly I tried on and purchased a sweater dress. Not the most thrilling event, relatively speaking, but to me it's a landmark. During the summer, I attended a family gathering to which I made the unfortunate mistake of wearing an outfit which not only demonstrated how, to put it bluntly, chubby I'd become but also made me sweat like some kind of farmyard animal as I'd failed to anticipate the ridiculously hot weather. To cap it all I stupidly had my photo taken with my cousin who is gorgeous and very, very slim (she runs). When my mum blithely handed me the pack of pictures a few weeks later I came to that one and felt as though I'd been slapped with a sockful of coins. I immediately put myself on a diet and since then have lost just over 2 stone. A few months ago, the thought of wearing what is essentially a knitted tube would have sent me scurrying for the darkest corner of room, however, joy of joys! On Saturday I stood and marvelled at how not-horrendous I looked in the cashmere-blend, soft navy, knitted tube. I'm wearing it today and working the heeled boot look with it. Not to sound shockingly superficial but there really are occasions when, as a girl, you can lift your own spirits and make yourself feel fabulous just by wearing the right outfit.

The second event was a glorious three-hour phone call with the musician yesterday afternoon. He text me first to ask if it was ok to call (bless). When I read the text I actually felt my heartbeat speed up at the thought of actual voice contact. We'd sent a couple of cheeky texts at the weekend but this was a big development.
We talked, and we talked and then we had a break for respective loo visits and tea making, then he called me back and we talked some more. He is fascinating and he makes me laugh. His outlook on life is philosophical but grounded and he can maintain an interesting conversation whilst going off on little tangents and still making sure he asks me questions. I think we're going to try and meet up one evening this week. I got off the phone and immediately felt myself plunge headfirst into Crushville. I am now demonstrating all the signs of a woman with a major crush. These are:

1) I've stopped watching TV because no one on there is sufficiently romantic. Instead I'm listening to CDs from my past whilst lying across my bed, just like I did when I was 15.
2) I'm not eating proper meals. Instead I'm just wandering into the kitchen occasionally and picking at whatever's around.
3) I lay awake last night for hours just replaying the conversation in my head. When I remembered the moment he told me he believed in 'The One' I knew I wasn't getting to sleep any time soon.
4) I'm daydreaming about him on the tube
5) I'm smoking more which I think is due to heightened nerves and anticipation
6) I keep re-reading his text messages, even though I know them by heart

It's pathetic, really. I'm old enough to know better than this and I haven't even seen him since the night we met. I guess the date will be the clincher. I'm now worried that meeting will break the spell. What if he doesn't like me after all or what if he's not as gorgeous as I remember? On the other hand will I plunge deeper into the chasm of my crush, destined to listen to bad love songs and eat too much toast for the next few months? I have to meet him and find out. Maybe I'll wear the sweater dress.

Big Apple, Big Change

2006-11-23T11:39:00.000Z

My best and oldest friend is moving to New York.

The unselfish, caring, supportive side of me is so, so happy for her. The other side hasn't come out of its bedroom yet after storming off and slamming the door.
You see, she's also currently my housemate. After 17 years of friendship, we've lived together for the last 9 months and its been lovely. It changed our relationship, of course but I felt for the best. So naturally, my other housemate A and I are left with the dilemma of what to do next. I think we're going to try and get someone else in for the room which is depressing for two reasons. Firstly we're going to have to interview a string of potential lunatics from Gumtree or wherever, and secondly, none of them will be my best friend, K.

I didn't handle the news very well. I don't feel as bad as I should about that because the timing was rotten. I'd just spent an hour pouring my heart out about The Ex one Wednesday night a few weeks ago and had just dried my eyes and done that brave but slightly self-conscious, wobbly smile every girl does after they've been bawling unattractively in front of someone. As the last of my Kleenex hit the bin, she told me. Her company have offered her directorship of a major new account over there. They are sorting out the move and getting her an apartment in Manhattan so its full on fabulous SATC joy. Cue much more Kleenex, more bawling and me trying desperately to be supportive whilst clearly very, very upset about it.
We've since entered a weird kind of static field where A and I aren't talking about filling the room and K isn't telling us anything more about NYC. If group denial is possible, we're doing it. She's not going until January but I'm all about the forward planning and details so I'm keen to crack on and make some decisions.

Oh, apparently, not emailing a man is the best way to get him interested. After two days of me not answering the graphic designer's last email, he emailed me again asking if I had time for 'general chit chat' (quick, help me get off my bra) but fortunately I was just disappearing off to a trade show. I dashed off a quick email to say as much and came in this morning to a reply saying he hoped I'd be around soon and giving me another email address to use. Maybe I'll just keep ignoring him - at this rate I could have his phone number by tomorrow.

Finally, the highlight of my week so far was meeting a sexy musician in a bar last night. He wasn't on stage or anything, just with a couple of friends but the fact that he's a singer/lead guitarist came out in conversation (he also has a proper job but I'm dazzled by creative types so I can't remember what it is). I gave him my card and this morning he emailed me. He sent me a link to his band's website which I've checked out. I can pretty much guess what their music is going to be like without listening to it. One of my exes was a lead guitarist and I was a groupie/roadie for a couple of years. You tend to find bands fall into one of two categories. Either they are utterly devoid of talent but desperate for attention so go down the Slipknot route of just bellowing/snorting into a microphone whilst playing the same three chords over and over, or they are genuinely talented and play listenable, slightly heavy on the guitar, Matchbox 20 type stuff. There are no dreadlocks/pig masks on their site so I think I'm safe. Let's see where this one goes...

He's Just Not That Into You

2006-11-21T17:21:00.000Z

Things have cooled off with the graphic designer. Honestly, he became dull to the point of narcolepsy. Maybe he went off me but honestly, I was trying to show an interest in his golf/gym/graphic designing. Perhaps I wasn't convincing enough. Anyway, I've decided not to reply to his last email and see if he a) wakes up and decides to chase me a little or b) slides further into his coma and forgets I exist.

I know I said I wasn't really into my date from Sunday night but it would have been nice to hear something from him. Even just an 'It was nice to meet you but I don't think so'. On the other hand perhaps I've got unfeasibly high expectations of men.
There's a scene in SATC where the character Berger is talking about men and how they behave on dates. The theory being that there are no mixed messages; if a guy likes you 'he's booking the next date, he's coming upstairs, early meeting or no early meeting.' Otherwise the conclusion is 'he's just not that into you'. A man (theoretically) does not worry about his own feelings or getting hurt, he doesn't wonder whether you'll respect him if he sleeps with you so early on and he certainly doesn't care if he has to dash home in the early hours to make it to a morning meeting. If he really, really wants you...he'll take any opportunity to have you. Having not really dated before, this is a difficult concept to grasp. I've always just fallen into relationships - you meet in a bar, swap numbers, talk on the phone, go to dinner a couple of times, sleep together then bam...relationship. Before you know it you're spending every night in front of the TV so you don't have to talk and you've lost two years of your life. Or maybe that's just my relationships to date...?
Anyway, the point is I've never offered myself up for rejection in this way. I guess I need to thicken my skin if my tactic going forward is to be a bit more open to dating and new experiences in general. Yeesh.

Big client dinner tonight. Me, my horsey colleague (I have NOTHING in common with horsey people), one client who is Mr Mumbling Sarcastic and another who is Mr Letchy Boob-Ogler. How am I expected to eat Chinese food with these people? I'll barely get through a bowl of hot and sour soup before I either pass out with boredom or am provoked into attacking Letchy Boob-Ogler with my chopsticks. I'd better not drink or I may not have a job in the morning.