APPLES AND INSOMNIA

Yesterday I ate an apple for breakfast.

A tiny, piddling little apple.

And I thought to myself, mmmm that was quite refreshing; I feel full now. Then I tried to eat a pain au chocolat which I later found discarded and only half-eaten on a plate of grapes (yes, grapes) on my desk. I HAD FORGOTTEN TO EAT IT.

Please understand: I HATE FRUIT. And I LOVE lard. Lard in all its magnificent lardy forms: pastries, fry-ups, clotted cream, those heart attack bars from Pret, more fry-ups. I live for lard.

I also live for sleep. I LOVE sleep. But the past two weeks has seen me waking up positively effervescing with joy only to realise it’s 3.30am and I am an idiot. I write a lot of blog posts in my head at 3.30am. They are all much funnier than the ones I post here.

So yeah: combine the whole fruit eating, insomniac thing with the fact Winter has descended in August and that Kate Winslet has been flexing her superheroine muscles rescuing-Richard-Branson’s-mother-from-a-burning-building and life seems to be taking on an air of serious unreality this week.

What next?


ps. Draw your own conclusions about the cause of all of this; my lips are sealed.
pps. Apologies to anyone who was hoping for tales of comedating from this week but I cancelled them all.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin . . .

THE MISSION: find a boyfriend.

THE RULES: keep spending strictly within a £20 per date limit; try not to get too drunk and whatever you do: DON’T KISS THEM.

DATE 1
NAME: David
HEIGHT: 6’ 5” or, in his words, “really fucking tall”
COST: £15. Well done me.
DRUNK: 4 pints: hammered.
KISS: Natch. See above status.
SEEING AGAIN: Noooooooooope.
COMMENTS: See below post.

DATE 2
NAME: Andrew (not Andy)
HEIGHT: Not as tall as he claimed.
COST: £7.40*. Gold star to me.
DRUNK: 1 pint, double g&t, half a bottle of wine: bit pissed.
KISS: Yup.
SEEING AGAIN: Yes. Has potential.
COMMENTS: Wants to run off to the south of France and have four kids but fears he may have to lower the number of sprogs in light of my great age. Cheeky bastard.

*plus the cost of the fags I bought on the way home. Dammit! Dating makes me smoke.

DATE 3
NAME: Yawn
HEIGHT: Didn’t notice
COST: Not much
DRUNK: Nope
KISS: ---------------------- negative
SEEING AGAIN: See above
COMMENTS: Highlight of the evening was getting an email from the Man I’m Going To Marry (more on this subject to follow) saying he’d had a premonition of me looking bored somewhere. His talents truly have no end.


DATE 4
Date 4 has been postponed due to inability (mine) to string words together and the doggy revolution I came home to last night which involved ripping up my vintage leather armchair. That and the fact there is no space in my brain for anything other than the MIAGTM.

OOPS I DID IT AGAIN

“I just recounted: you were number 9” – said the message from Friday night’s date. Number 9 what, you might ask. Answer: the ninth woman he had ever kissed. Oh Jesus.


As a good friend of mine would say, dogs learn faster. Offer a dog an electrified choccy drop and I reckon it wouldn’t take more than one dose of pain to get the message through. I on the other hand repeatedly kiss boys I have no intention of seeing again. Result: guilt and admin. I even told this one the PASSION KISS story in the hope of putting him off. Didn’t work. Turns out he’d been deeply religious up until a couple of years ago and was now starting out his life as if he were 18 again. Let’s gloss over the finer details but suffice it to say around about the time he had hoisted me up in the air (he was 6ft 5) at the bus stop and suggested we go back to his but “keep our clothes on” I was scarpering up Mare St faster than if a vast mob of looters was behind me.


NEXT!


And there’s a lot of next. Oh yes you lucky, lucky people; I will be baring my soul to you all in the name of entertainment over the next couple of weeks. I’ll try and keep a running diary otherwise I think I may get confused so here’s a quick heads up of what’s to come . . .


TONIGHT: Grumpy Andrew (not Andy – absolutely positively not Andy, apparently).

TOMORROW: Steve! Slightly concerned he works in King’s Cross. Could be too close for home.

THURSDAY: Stuart! Who I met on Saturday at a burlesque show. Fancy that – a real lifer. He’s undoubtedly too nice and I will break him.

NEXT WEEK: Jonathan (serious, short but very hot) and Stuart (different one – tall and funny but only one pic. Cause for concern? He likes furniture though which is basically why I said yes)

More of this anon then – assuming I live that long.

ONLINE NOW

Just a quick update really to say that, after a fairly doomed flirtation with meeting people in real life, I am once again stalking men in cyberspace . . . Keep checking the site for more tales of dating derring-do. You know it makes sense.




Well it’s that or go out with the bin man who insisted on joining me on my dog walk this morning.

DON'T MAKE ME DO IT!

Seriously - would you date this man? *sigh* I do this for you lot you know. Right - where was I before he distracted me...somewhere around profile 300 of 1,000. Bloody internet dating. Can't I just get a nice boyfriend already??

My Oberon! What visions have I seen!

I am delighted to report that the powerful love potion that is rejection has worn off.

And that, dear reader, is all I have to say about that.

I no longer hate myself (well maybe a bit but that's another story for another day . . .)

Welcome to Dumpsville . . .

I’m not very good at dumping people.

No, I SUCK at dumping people. In my last two ‘relationships’ (I use this term very loosely) I have spent literally 2/3rds of the time with them, working up to dumping them. This is tedious for those around me, no doubt perplexing for the boy in question and emotionally exhausting for me. It is in everyone’s interest that I get better at it.

This time around it was time to say goodbye to TV man, who is a truly, truly lovely human being, which just made it all the harder. So, all psyched up following a coaching session from a friend (‘imagine you hate him’ was her excellent but, as it turns out, hard to follow advice) this is how the conversation went:

Me: I need to talk to you about something...I've been thinking and...
Him: yep, fine, yep, totally.
Me: You know what I'm going to say don't you.
Him: Yep.
Me: only I wanted to speak to you in person otherwise it's just...
Him: yeah...err are you around this week?
Me: Errr yes
Him: Shall we meet for a drink after work tomorrow?
Me: Yes, that would be...nice (NO IT WOULDN'T!!!!!!)

How the HELL did I screw that up so badly?! And yes it has been pointed out that ‘in person’ does mean face to face but hey – I was under pressure! My words came out wrong!

Anyway, I gave him an out the next day but he didn’t take it. We have yet to meet but he’s going to let me know when he’s available to be dumped in person. Crazy fool.