Dinner with a Dominatrix

Toast

On Friday it was an old friend’s birthday. I’ve known her for years now, we almost kissed once but since then we’ve settled into an easy, honest friendship.

She is a Dominatrix.

Not the sort that just dresses up in leather and is a bit shouty, she is a serious Dominatrix.

I once asked her what she was doing in the evening and she said she was driving to Birmingham to sew up a man’s arsehole.

The mind boggles.

She is lovely though and working on her PhD so an pleasingly complex character, albeit a self confessed sadist.

Her birthday was in a club in East London and the dress code was 1940s. We arrived a bit late so the party was in full swing. Everyone had made a huge effort so the place looked amazing.

All the girls had Betty Page style fringes and feirce red lipstick. The men were mostly in suits some of them were even wearing gloves. My Dom chum had two slaves with her that night one who was her butler/driver and another who was sort of handmaid who would show his underpants on command. I was terribly impressed.

I chatted away to a few Doms about fetishes and the route of kinky stuff. One of them (who often works with my friend) as a real thing for copper. Yes the metal. I asked if brass would do, or perhaps bronze but no, it has to be copper. It made me a bit sad that I never carry any loose change.

We drank cocktails and talked nonsense with more people at the party. Biscuit made balloon moustaches for the ladies and a selection of rude hats for the men. There was a lot of drinking going on.

Biscuit pointed out that there was a person there who was exactly my type. Tall, leggy, strong features, good hair dark hair, clearly very clever and wearing a smashing frock. The only problem was it was a man.

Some time much later someone proposed to someone else with a Haribo ring. They accepted and paraded around the bar showing it off. This new couple then insisted that I propose to the girl I’d been chatting too. She was tall with thick black hair with a red bow in it and was wearing a wiggle dress.

The newly engaged couple were really quite insistent and so I was cajoled into proposing, with a Haribo ring. I can’t believe my first ever proposal was to a Dominatrix who I didn’t really know with fruit flavoured ring.

She accepted, on the condition of a very long engagement and then offered a ring to me. She didn’t use her hand, no she put it in her mouth and well, the exchange involved a bit more tongues that I expected.

It made Biscuit say ‘BLIMES’.

There was more drinking and talking but my fiancée and I parted ways because she was going off to a foot-fetish club and I wasn’t really in the mood to worship someone else’s feet. She was still wearing the ring as she got into the cab to leave.

I wish her well,  but I think this is going to be an engagement I’ll have to back out of. I don’t even know her real name.

It had been a very strange evening.

Dancing with a lady

Biscuit

One of the things that enjoyed most about living with Dragonforce was going to gigs and festivals and being able to get drunk, bounce around being punched by sweaty strangers and have an awesome time without the need to babysit anyone or feel bad for having fun. I’ve been to gigs with girlfriends before and it’s sapped my enjoyment if I can’t be where I want to be or feel guilty for being where I want to be and having to keep running back to check they’re ok.

When I last saw Jen we spent a lot of time swapping music recommendations and I invited her to join me at a filthy electro rock gig I had the following week.  This was real make or break stuff. Seriously, had potential to be a bit moshy so it really could have been ‘break’!

Having spent the week with an ambivalent mix of excitement and trepidation she arrived at mine looking suitably attired for a gig: leather jacket, flats and some rather slinky jeans. Also her accidental Princess Diana haircut had now grown out to a fiery, slightly shaggy, rock chick cut. I was so proud that I wanted to take a photo to start an instructional “Dummies Guide to Gig Going” manual.

Because I had insisted on buying the tickets, she insisted on buying the booze. After the support band we settled into a comfortable spot in the crowd (after I’d finished mincing around, fretting that we’d not get where I wanted to).

When going to gigs with Dragonforce we used to use fluro wristbads to find eachother in a crowd. Her being about 5′ 10″ helped too. Despite being at a tiny venue with Jen, there was a not unreasonable chance of losing her as she is 5′ 3″.

As it turned out, she was brilliant. After the initial surge when the crowd sorted itself into ‘dancy’ and ‘non-dancy’ people, I slotted her into a space in front of me where she had a good view. We bounced around threw embarrassing spazzy shapes with abandon.  She was gleefully absorbed in dancing whilst I would bound off for the odd song for tussle , then come back dripping with sweat to see her grinning at me. or whilst I fought off the bodies that would ricochet too near to us and I was worried about her getting hurt (I needn’t have been, she can look after herself)

She was even highly amused when, after kissing me, I unconsciously wiped my hand across my mouth because of sticky lipstick (hers, not mine… Wow, I’m really building myself up as a hot date)

I don’t think the night could have gone better. The more I date her, the more I feel like I’ve discovered a partner in crime. This is five dates now. FIVE! Look at me being a grown up and taking it slowly!

Marriage percentage: 57%

I would ordinarily add WAY more for that kind of excellent gig performance but she is already very high as it is. Is that a fair approach? If I had put on the  15% (at LEAST) that would otherwise be worth then we’ll be almost over the 70% and that leaves little headroom before we hit 100% and I have to propose.

I at least need to ask her more about her cat first.

Searching for Biscuit’s ideal woman

Biscuit

Since we are in the Land of Opportunity (or of churros and ENORMOUS pancakes) I should sieze this chance to find my ideal woman.

Unfortunately,I’ve not really been sure what this was and it’s taken a lot dating to try and figure it out. Thankfully I have discovered that someone has been browsing the ‘Dream girl catalogue’ and has recreated ‘Biscuit’s super deluxe dream girl’ on the big screen.

I watched ‘Scott Pilgrim Vs The World’ with my mouth open in astonishment whilst Toast occasionally grinned at me with a knowing look.

In a complete realistic venture, which is not in any way doomed to failure, I am now looking for a real life equivalent of Ramona Flowers.

Seemingly, the following combination of characteristics render me utterly helpless:

• bright pink/blue/green hair
• quirkily pretty
• achingly cool
• sultry American accent
• dry, almost arid sense of humour
• wryly mysterious
• alternative/hipster stylings
• seemingly distant until you break through the shell, then affectionate and warm
• slightly troubled but fixable
• rollerskates that melt snow
• mean ninja fighting  moves with a giant mallet

I’m not saying that a future spouse has to possess all or any of these qualities, just that they made me go all weak kneed and made me need a glass of cold water and a little sit down.

Unfortunately the only person I know even slightly like this lives even further away than New York and was born over a decade too late to be a possibility.

As I’ve only got a week, if any American readers can point me in the direction of real-world Ramona then I’ll put you on a great table at the wedding, one where you can see Toast singing. and give you an honarary mention in the speech.

Marriage percentage of real-world Ramona: 100%

I suppose I had better be extra nice all year if I’m going to try and swing this one with Father Christmas in December. Hell, we’re in New York for a week, I imagine I’ll probably bump into her on the street, right?

The Story of Cupcake

“The last girl that I loved she was a low and lusty liar
She set my heart on fire but made me choke
Her beauty was a sight to see, but she didn’t save it all for me
I found other fires by following the smoke.
I wish that she had either cared for me or let me be
But she chased me from mind and from my home”
Frank Turner, ‘Substitute‘

Biscuit

There is one person to whom at least part credit should go to for this wager, someone who is to some degree responsible for the strange situation I now find myself in. This is the story of Cupcake and this tale is rather timely because, as of a few days ago, it is now longer since we broke up than the total time we were together.

This dating lark is all rather new to me, which might help to explain why I am so bad at it. For most of the last 15 years I’ve been a serial monogamist and have usually been in a long-term relationship.

Hallowe’en 2007: I was single and looking as unpalatable as I usually do at this time of year; torn flesh, exposed teeth and an unhealthy pallor. I was introduced to a girl with an incredibly cheeky smile, naughtiest glint in her eyes and rocking a surprisingly sexy corseted zombie outfit.

Through the magic of Facebook I got in contact and plucked up the courage to invite her out for a drink. We got on well, VERY well. In fact we saw each other for 4 days of the following week.

I still clearly remember the moment I fell in love with her. We were sat in an old rustic beach front pub and I was listening to her talking with my elbows on the table and head cupped in my hands. The feeling suddenly hit me and for a moment my head swam and I all I wanted was to hold her in my arms and make her feel safe and loved forever. I’ve never had that happen before, or since for that matter.

For 7 glorious weeks I was the happiest I had ever been. I didn’t care that she was grumpy in the morning or that talking to her when she was putting eyeliner on was a major crime. All this was inconsequential and I could see myself still making her tea or breakfast in bed to alleviate the morning grump-head for decades to come. It seems such a fleeting period of time now but those 7 weeks were monumentally significant.

I got on brilliantly with the family, in fact it turned out that her mum was my 6th form chemistry teacher! She said to me that she hadn’t seen Cupcake this happy in years and she felt like she had got her daughter back. I even spent most of Christmas with them.

I’m not the sort of person to rush into big commitment lightly but for the first time ever I found myself on the verge of proposing. Cupcake used to look my in the eyes and say “Marry me”. I always held her back and said “yes” (although I do know that this doesn’t actually count).

We were inseparable, joyful, and very much in love.

Then, with the violence of caesium dropped in a glass of water, it all suddenly blew up in my face. There was a cancer in the ointment: cupcake’s ex’ ‘Ed’.

Ed and Cupcake had a relationship for a few months, just prior to me meeting her. Despite initially denying it, Ed had been getting it on with Cupcake’s closest friend on the sly. Throughout the first couple of months she was fuming with him, he even called her up on Christmas eve to shout abuse down the phone at her over a perceived misunderstanding. Basically he was a cunt.

I have never had any problem with any girlfriend’s being in contact with their exes. Marshall‘s friends used to comment that she was very lucky that I was so laid back. I judge people as I find them and I DEFINITELY did not like Ed.

Skip to January 2008 and Cupcake has the ills so I am nursing her at my place. I had to go to work so I equipped her with all the pharmaceuticals, distractions and comfort food that she could need and left her to recuperate in my bed.

When I arrived home something had changed. Apparently Ed had reconciled with Cupcake, apologised for screaming at her down the phone, for cheating on her with her closest friend and a myriad of other misdemeanours and suddenly it’s as though all the anger and hurt she felt had never happened. He was still with her (now ex) best friend but wanted to be super chums with cupcake again.

I was not OK with this as all I had seen was him upsetting Cupcake. That night texts were pinging back and forth. She would break midway through conversationwith me to reply to messages.

Whereas we used chat via text during the day, suddenly replies were sparse. She said she was just busy at work. In an attempt to be magnanimous I didn’t protest when she said she was planning to meet Ed and that circle of friends for afternoon drinks. We had previously arranged to eat at mine early evening so I had prepared a meal. She didn’t call me until 10P.M., drunk.

It was clear to me what was happening. I was losing her to someone who had treated her with contempt and then dumped her. She denied it, which left me in a vacuum, unable to piece any other explanation together for everything I was experiencing.

After a week of not really sleeping and having no appetite I cracked. Whilst she was in the shower I picked up her phone and read through her messages. Almost all between her and Ed and were absolutely unequivocal in their tone. There was no misinterpretation possible.

Looking back now, I should have ended it then but I just couldn’t see how something so right could suddenly have crumbled in my hands and was convinced it must be possible to reclaim it

Instead I tried to fix it. Much to my shame torturing myself with texts became an obsession. I wasn’t eating or sleeping properly and all sorts of other complaints were flaring up. It came to a head and I basically gave her the ‘me or him’ ultimatum. The fact that she wouldn’t even commit to one or the other should have been the biggest prompt I needed to get out.

We stayed together for a total of 18 months. That was 16 months too long. Although I didn’t recognise it at the time, the trust was broken beyond recovery. The ‘Ed situation’ waxed and waned but even at best was only in remission. At my worst I lost a stone and a half and looked wretched and under slept.

As if that wasn’t reason enough Cupcake gave me more reasons to distrust her. On two separate occasions (that I know of) she snogged other boys whilst she was out. The first time she denied it. When I called her on it she was utterly repentant. I made it clear that trust is more important to me than fidelity and I understand that people do stupid things and she promised to tell me if anything happened again.

That might seem strange but if a partner comes to me and ‘fesses up that they have done something silly then I trust them more because I know they will be straight with me in future. The second timeit happened she lied about it again to the point of deliberately making me feel bad for questioning her.

The final nail in the Biscuit/Cupcake coffin was a boy that she worked with who I could see was trying to slime his way in. Without even trying I found a conversation between then when I opened my laptop and she hadn’t cleared the screen. When I picked her up from work that night, no one else there would look me in the eye because they knew.

The positive bit about this is that I got to enact a classic movie cliché as I flew around the house (where we lived together) stuffing emergency packing into a bag and storming out. If that had happened after 8 weeks it would almost have been worth it. I recommend that you try it. If you’re not actually breaking up then just try packing for holiday REALLY fast and only look to see if you have enough pants when you get to your destination.

For me the sadest part of this is my loss of unequivocal trust. For a year and a half I became a person I didn’t like: supicious, highly strung and eventually controlling. Ultimately there was wrong on both sides but the things that cupcake complained about were a  direct result of my behavior change from not being able to trust her. I have never been like that before and I hope never to again.

One valuable lesson that I have taken away from this whole experience is to cut my losses and not flog away at a relationship that is making me ill and unhappy. It sounds obvious but I just didn’t recognise it when it was happening.

Since breaking up with Cupcake and moving in with Dragonforce, then Toast, I have had some of the best times of my life. It’s been almost everything that life should be about, friends, fun, joy and a lust for life. All I’m looking for now is the right person to share it with.

“Well I’ve had many different girls inside my bed
But only one or two inside my head
These days I cuddle up to my guitar instead
But oh, what I would give, not to stumble but to really fall in love
And I could substitute my singing for the sound of someone sleeping next to me”
Frank Turner. ‘Substitute‘

The Winky Lashes of Suggestiveness

Biscuit

As you may recall, I spent a fair bit of Hallowe’en  kissing. Given the hideous (visual) state of Toast and I,  I didn’t expect to do any kissing at all so I was rather surprised at the outcome of the night as it was.

I didn’t really see it working when we met up again for a date but it all ended amicably anyway. That was the legacy of Halloween done and dusted. Or so I thought *dum dum duuuum!* </suspense>

There were a few  other interesting and pretty girls out as part of the group that night, some who I lightly firted with early on in the evening. One had an amazing, if completely unwieldy,  ‘Gaga’esque costume and the other was an American girl in a rather fetching top hat but with enormous fake eyelashes. Large fake eyelashes utterly terrify me, like killer attack-butterflies, so that gives you an idea how  intriguing and attractive she was for me to get over my disability.

Actually, she appeared to be very much Toast’s type, pretty, brunette, lustrous shiny hair so, although I really fancied her myself, later in the evening I attempted to wingman for him and steer her back over to him on the dancefloor. After that I spent a lot of time kissing Elizabeth and that was pretty much me done for the evening.

So, a week or so ago Toast and I were included in a group email from the Birthday girl to everyone who was out that night. After replying I was rather surprised to receive a slightly flirty reply from ‘Gaga’ which was directed at me but  sent to all. Toast noted how flirty it was too. It even had a ‘winky face’ on the end.

Shortly after, I received another group reply directed at me from ‘Lashes’; THIS one was overly flirty AND had the winky face of suggestiveness too. Blimes!

What surprised me so much was visible. What you should remember at this point is that Elizabeth is also on this group email. I was pretty sure that she had left by that point though and had not seen the kiss-a-thon.

Although both were very interesting, pretty and eminently date-worthy, Lashes was the girl who had really struck me the the most but who I thought was totally out of my league, so I was absolutely stoked that she had made contact… but obviously played it as cool as I could manage (which is rarely particularly cool).

The conversation went like this (edited down to prevent accidental outing):

Lashes (to everyone): “I have the top hat if you find yourself in need, Biscuit. Ya never know when you may need one …
;)
- L
(the one that looked like a floozy in fake eyelashes)”

Biscuit: “Hey you floozy! Of course I remember you with those utterly terrifying eyelashes!
Thought it best not to inflict my ramblings on the entire mailing list. I do have a top hat but I remember yours being nicer. We should definitely compare. ;)  …unless the eyelashes are a permanent fixture!
B”

Lashes: “terrifyingly awesome eyelashes? then yes, im most certainly your gal :)
sadly, those eyelashes aren’t permanent fixtures. booo. Im working on it.
how are things for you? I’m putting something together [next week] in [London location] if you’re available – more the merrier :) it’ll even have [two boys] participating from the [Hallowe'en] crowd. [link to interesting 'thing']
hope you’re well, and maybe cross paths soon?
stay ghoulish,
L”

Biscuit: Actually that looks really interesting. Quite fancy it. Are you gonna be uber busy running round organising things on the night?
And when I say terrifying eyelashes, I mean it! It’s a real irrational fear. Mind you, not one of those ridiculous fears of the dark or being buried alive,no, this is a proper sensible fear. :p
B

Lashes: “I forgot you had a legitimate fear of eyelashes (as rational as that sort of phobia can be). I’ll be sure to wear some [when I see you].
just kidding.
(not really) :)
do come. the uber busyness depends on how good of a turnout we get. should be a damn good time, too. and worst case, if it’s reaaaaallly bloody boring, it’s in a pub and drinks can be easily attained. win win.
hope you can make it!”

Conversation continued in this vein. I nearly blew it by making a joke about having to marry her but recovered.

I’m not sure what her M% was yet as these things so often depend on chemistry on the night but it was already high nevertheless. So, having been given a clear green light to meet up, I washed my best jumper and planned my next move.

There were going to be other boys there who I knew were also interested in her. This was the first time in a long time that I would be walking into a situation knowing I was going head to head with other men so this was possibly gonna get fighty!

*limbers up, cracks knuckles*

Challenge 1: Biscuit’s blind date report

Biscuit

This is the first time I had ever been on a *proper* blind date. I have been on quite a number of internet dates but those are different. With internet dating you have at least both been complicit in the selection of each other. For this date I was totally at the mercy of Toast’s selection.

Well… I WOULD have been at the mercy of Toast’s selection except he had been replaced by the fictional ‘Lauren’ as a proxy for Ms Fuckwittery setting me up with her friend.

This was all a rather confusing start to the proceedings and already laid a minefield of conversational faux pas that I would have to avoid. This would become even more hazardous  if drunk.

The original plan for the date was to go on a fantastic walking tour of London where you join a group of strangers and an urban troubadour takes you to notable sites, tells you interesting things and then you put booze in your face before moving on.

Unfortunately it seemed that the monsoon season had unexpectedly hit London.

I was standing tentatively at the edge of the tube station peering nervously outside at the impending apocalypse when my date, Lucy, arrived. She had tight dark curly hair and was rather pretty. She also reminded me (facially) of a colleague, although it took me a couple of hours to figure out why she looked so familiar and it kept bothering me the whole time.

Agreeing that neither of us particularly wanted to take up snorkelling or be forcibly whisked away to a land of scarecrows, lions and tin men, I deferred to Lucy’s knowledge of the local drinking holes.

Skilfully sidestepping any conversation about ‘Lauren’ we gabbled about how rubbish X-Factor is, vodka-bra and treasure-hunting. Occasionally she mentioned her friend (Fuckwittery) and how much I’d get on with her. This made me do my best ‘poker face’, which mostly consisted of looking whimsical and replying with something vague like “hmm”.

We moved to another place and started on mojitos. This may not have been a good plan for a school night but it was fun. When it was time to part for our respective journeys I gave her a hug and a light kiss on the lips. She kissed me back… for a good 30 seconds or so! It left me feeling rather chipper and frisky!

Fuckwittery was a little disappointed that the date did not go either brilliantly or terribly. I think she was hoping for a little more of a dramatic outcome!

I *did* really enjoys Lucy’s company, but this is the ‘Wed or Dead’ wager, not ‘Get a Fun Drinking Chum’ wager. The intangible chemistry that makes me think of someone as girlfriend material just wasn’t there. I wasn’t thinking about introducing her to my parents or going crabbing in Cornwall. I could see fun times, not love and marriage on the horizon.

Marriage percentage – 22%. If it was a ‘drinking chums’ percentage it would be much higher.

Lessons learned:

• Blind dates are fun.
• I need bad weather contingency plans for dates which are essentially outside.
• Just because I let a girl kiss me on the mouth it doesn’t mean I’m going to marry them, nice kisses can be just that.

Camping report – Part 2

Biscuit

Having left you on something of a bad soap inspired cliffhanger in part 1, I should  take a step back to expand on some things that I was too rushed to write about properly.

I said that Stripy Dress blew hot and cold. Through all this it was actually quite useful to have have Dragonforce’s (slightly sickening) festival romance a yardstick. There was a stark contrast about how comfortable they were with each other compared to how sure of myself I was around Stripy Dress.

I just really didn’t know what was OK and what wasn’t and found her indirectly dictating the terms or our liaison. She certainly got friendlier with a little booze down her but, as nice as this was, is never a good sign if it’s not replicated when sober.

I’m not one to beg for scraps of attention so gradually this behaviour grated. Because we had such a good time on our first date I knew that she could be so much more than this and just kept hoping that she would snap out of this demeanour.

Catching up to the end of part one, I had gone back to my tent to stock up on booze before heading to Silent Disco (best thing EVAR!). I was taking her to task over being difficult and grumpy. She was actually a little affronted about this and protested. We tood and froed over this and then, instead, we were kissing. Then we were kissing a LOT. And then… well… the aforementioned hijinks.

It would be fair to say that this was something of a surprise! The hijinks was great and I think I enjoyed the post-hijinks cuddling up just as much (I’m skirting round the subject but apologies if this is too much info!). She snoozed a few times, which was no mean feat as we were both crammed on my tiny 1 person camp bed.

However, 1 fact remained: I had come back for booze for Silent Disco and I was determined to rendezvous back with the others for silly dancing as I was in no mood for sleeping. So, possibly ill mannered, I whispered my goodbyes, tucked her into my bed and toodled off for some serious dancing.

At this point there may be several readers who are judging me. DF made me feel, quite frankly, AWFUL for doing the sex and then leaving. However getting in my pre-emptive defence; I had said all along I would be leaving for silent disco and I did not just splash and dash, I stayed for all the lovely stuff after for a good while and made sure she was firmly slipping to the land of nod before I left.

On my arrival back from silly dancing I was blissfully pleased to discover she was still there… although in retrospect, this may have more to do with the fact that it was dark and she did not have her contacts in to find the torch. Hmm. Genuinely though, it was a joy to cuddle back up and to snooze together.

After some slightly warmed but still a little too distant behaviour on Sunday she was feeling rather ill so sloped off earlyish that night. She was actually feeling pretty rubbish and I did feel sorry for her.  So after eventually retiring to the campsite I replied to a text to her to say she was welcome to come and cuddle up if it helped then went to bed.

About 2 hours later I was woken with a start as I was lightly prodded in the chest. Opening my eyes I saw Stripy Dress who had received my text somewhat belatedly. Despite all the uncertainty and levels of fuckwittery I was genuinely pleased to see her… once I had gotten over the shock of being woken.

So we cuddled up and it was lovely. Actually, what happened is that my improvised bed construction intended for 2 only really housed 1 so most of me was relegated to makeshift bedding formed of rugs, bubble wrap and a hoodie. But I was still genuinely very happy to have her there.

Since the festival, and the journey home with her almost intolerable friend, we’ve spoken about the whole festival experience. 2 interesting things emerged:

1. It turned out the she was as pissed off by her grating friend as we were and that made her substantially grumpier all weekend.
2. She has a (genuine) medical condition which generally makes her tired and so has to slope off early and which she needs to get sorted.

YES, I KNOW that I’m making excuses, none of this excuses the level of grumpy behaviour I saw but I want to see if the girl who I went on the date with is the real Stripy Dress or if she is the grumpy one. Toast is worried she may be high maintenance. He may well be right.

The next step is to see her next week, preferably with minimal or no booze involved, and see how it goes. Today she left work early as she has the ills and is feeling rubbish so I posted a small aid package as a joke consisting of chicken soup, snacks and tiny toys to keep her entertained in case she is stuck in bed. Basically, it’s both comedy genius (if I DO say so myself) AND a very sweet gesture so if this is not received well then it’s a dealbreaker! I will let you know the official M% after any next date but currently it has plummeted until I can re-evaluate the grumpiness.

and now the p.s….(not related to Stripy Dress)…

In an interesting twist, DF has been meeting the people who she is going away with (for those who are not in the loop she soon leaves to work in Qatar for 2 years). I received a string of excited text messages about a very pretty girls she was with who described her perfect man as ALL the things I am and then proceeded to describe everything I love about girls in herself. Seriously, down to the really ridiculous stuff (and any girl who professes that they have ‘blow job lips’ gets EXTRA points in my book!)

I asked DF to just propose on my behalf and I’d meet her  in Vegas at the Star Wars wedding. She replied that she loves Vegas and has always wanted to get married there. She said she would dress as Leia.

She has not only just ticked off EVERYTHING on my ‘list’ but has added new things that I didn’t even know were there. We’ve not even spoken yet but have set the date…  for 2012.

2012… because, like Dragonforce, she is f***ing off to Qatar for 2 years!!! ARGH!

The Toblerone of victory

Toast

I could be wrong, but I think I’ve just successfully played it cool. I waited until The Fez called me first.  

This involved almost a week of waiting and not sending text messages or emails or telegrams or messenger pigeons or signal flares but I managed it. 

Tonight she called me. I’m so pleased with myself I think I’ll celebrate with some Toblerone*.

We spoke on the phone, I made her laugh, she called me a maverick and a date for next week was arranged. Hurrah. I managed the whole conversation without any spaz-like comments or proposing so let’s chalk that one down as a win.

Girls are excellent sometimes, especially ones that laugh at jokes about broccoli.

*I’m getting in shape to improve my dating chances.  I’ve started eating painfully healthy food most of the time, so now chocolate is a special treat.

The rules of engagement

Biscuit

A wager needs proper protocols.  After all Phileas Fogg didn’t didn’t tramp off round the world without first establishing a few ground rules (note: Phileas Fogg did not technically tramp off round the world at all, what with him being a pretend man in a book an’ all).

At the start of our London adventure, Toast and I wrangled out a quick guide to conduct throughout the bet. This compilation will no doubt be further expanded over time but we needed a starting point to ensure no foul play on the first earnest weekend of the wager.

This is the list that we have currently agreed:

1. No deliberate cock-blocking.  We may accidentally date the same girl but phoning her up to say the other one punches kittens for fun is off.

2. No telling girls you are dating about the blog.  This is for our own safety really. No good can come of this. Although it’s probably wise to explain a bit after the proposal.

3. No outing.  Since the girls you date don’t know about the blog it would be wrong to take photos of their faces or identify them openly.

4. No quitting.

5. Dating an ex of the other challenger is permitted but you have to let the other person know first. However, exes listed under the relevant challenger’s ‘Dating History’ are STRICTLY off limits.

6. EVERY date must be blogged.  No secret dates. No ‘we just went for a coffee’. Every single one has to be recorded. Also you have to provide a Marriage Percentage (M%), scored at the end of the date.

7. There are no bad dates, only good stories.

8. The definition of a ‘real engagement’ is that you tell your mum.

For the sake of clarity and fair play,  any future additions will be added to ‘The Rules of the Wager’ at the top of the blog. With that established we were free to start the weekend in earnest! (Note: for the sake of further clarity, we were in ‘London’, not ‘Earnest’)

In which Biscuit and Toast go to London

Toast:

Biscuit and I are going to London this weekend, and I can’t wait. The weekend will be devoted to some extreme dating. Well actually not that extreme. More concentrated dating. Various female focused meetings be scattered through-out the weekend. In between the rendezvous,  Biscuit and I will meet and compare notes, scores and M% (The percentage chance of you proposing to the girl when drunk).

This is the plan, what I suspect will happen is that the first date, or perhaps the second will be incredibly boozy and at that point the weekend will decend into a messy heap of booze and weird clubs in East London. This result isn’t a bad thing but it’s not part of the plan. We must stick to the plan. The plan is important.

Oh and, I didn’t realised that Biscuit really liked that girl and now I feel bad. Maybe it’s not too late to do a swapsie?