A holiday report, and some quite big news

Toast

Holidays with a girl eh? Surely that can’t work? Especially a holiday focused around doing almost nothing for a week. That’s just asking for trouble right?

Not really. The sad an unexciting truth of the matter is that I went on a week long holiday with The Theatre Producer and it was lovely. We swam, I ran, we both ate a lot of seafood and  developed an impressive Sangria habit.

The Sangria made total sense, it was just over a euro a bottle and tasted like fruit juice. I miss it terribly. We need it in England.

Here are the facts from the holiday

• We were staying a resort near a golf course, so the rest of the guests were very old, I’d say somewhere between two and three times our age. I have never felt more studly and youthful.
• The other guests spent all their time lying by the pool working on their tans. Their tans were great, they were like leather walruses. Ones with northern accents. Because of their busy tanning schedule we had the pool to ourselves.
• We spent a lot of time messing around on boats, lots of boats. Some of them looked like pirate ships and they gave us rum based drinks. They were my best boats.
• The lifestyle of wake up, have a run, relaxed breakfast, swim, food, swim, afternoon nap, walk, supper, booze, sleep is very nice. I need to find a way to fund that lifestyle.
• The flight over was pretty bad. It was about 1/3 toddlers. They screamed and made horrible smells for four hours. Luckily they weren’t staying at our resort.
• We didn’t even have anything close to an argument or an disagreement about anything the whole time we were there.

It was excellent, and since we got on so well we’re going to move in together. So that’s some pretty big news right?

Marriage percentage: 80% - Also in real terms moving in together is a HUGE step, so I’ve basically won.

Long term relationships: pros and cons

Toast

I’ve been dating the Theater Producer for over four months now. Yes proper dating, from when I asked her out after Epic Date #1. She thought we were dating before then but that would be a mistake like thinking the Earth was flat or that Indiana Jones IV was any good.

This puts this relationship in as the longest one I’ve had since starting the blog (previous relationships – Consultant, Fez and well erm, some incidents), and one of the longest ones of my life.

No really, I’m that bad at keeping relationships going. I don’t really do pets either. I’m so bad at relationships I think I qualify for disabled parking.

We haven’t really argued in all that time, although we will never agree over if the Y axis on a controller should be inverted or not – It’s a nerd thing to do with computer games, all you need to know is inverting is WRONG.

Here are some other unexpected benefits of being in a long term* relationship:

• They know how you like your coffee and you know how they like yours.
• You can force them to read books you like.
• Sometimes they buy you chocolates.
• They know to act impressed when you show them a picture of a dinosaur you made at work.
• Cheese toasties may be made for you unexpectedly.

Unexpected downsides to being in a long term* relationship

• You have to pick up a lot of spiders and put them outside, even if you are just about to fall asleep.
• You may get into a slightly competitive game of ‘who can give their girlfriend the best gifts for no reason’ with your friend.
• Watching DVD Box sets takes ages because you aren’t allowed to watch the next one until they are around.
• If you give them a draw they will slowly take over your room.
• Apparently it’s never the right time to scribble on your girlfriend’s face when she is sleeping.

Marriage percentage : 77% (Yes, that’s right, one more than Biscuit gave Jen. IN YOUR FACE LOSERS)

 

*By my standards which puts me at about the same level as mayfly or the half life of Seaborgium.

This sh*t just got real

Toast

Jen knows about the blog. The Theatre Producer knows about the blog.

Biscuit and I find ourselves in the unusual position of both being in relationships with girls who know about the rules of the wager, and what has gone on before.

They also know how to win.

We are dating women who know that we are in a race to get married first, so if we had any doubts or second thoughts the time for that has passed. We are now trapped by this blog.

It’s a situation worthy of P.G. Wodehouse, but to quote the classic film, BadBoys II.

This shit just got real.

Serbian Wedding: Part 3 Dinosaurs and cannons

Toast

It was the day of the wedding at last. It was also bloody hot. It was the sort of weather that would make you say ‘steady on girl’ if someone even suggested you wear more than just shorts. I was in heaven.

Here are the three things I didn’t want to be wearing that day.

1) A dinosaur costume

2) A rubber one-piece

3) A suit

Sadly my first two looks had been vetoed so I had to go with the last one. It was a wedding after all, although it turns out the first costume would have been weirdly appropriate. More on that later.

At about midday everyone got all spruced up. I got into my linen suit and The Theatre Producer put on her fancy dress.

It had flowers on it and was a faintly vintage number that made me suspicious that some WW2 fighter pilot would whisk her away at any moment. I resolved to spend the rest of the day standing near her and growling at any men that got too close.

We waltzed down to the lobby and found lots of other people were looking like they were on their way to a job interview/prom.

There was a little bit of ‘ooh you look nice’ and then we all piled into a coach and went on a drive. Passing Serbians would have been impressed by how formally dressed British people get before they go on a coach tour.

Coach Trip

We passed the time talking about weddings while the coach driver stopped for directions. Literally stopped in the middle of the road and shouted at people in garages.

Someone on the coach had been to a Pagan wedding which involved people getting all nudie. This sounded well skills until I realised it would probably be just ancient Aunts and the creepy man you went to school with getting their danglies out. WELL RUBS.

Eventually we arrived at the venue. It was a lovely restaurant with an outside bit full of huge trees, gazebos and a sort of thing with pillars that could be used for getting married in. Or at night, with the right lighting, summoning the ancient gods of Olympus*.

Lots of people appeared and we stood around excitedly drinking water in the brilliant sunshine. The water was quickly swapped for boozes and the venue gained the appearance of a summer party in England, a very well dressed one.

Tiny lady hats

The groom was standing around nervously doing catalogue poses in his suit while we waited for the bride. She appeared in a long, very warm looking dress with a cool hat. Not that the hat would help keep her cool, it was one of those splendid tiny lady hats with mesh on it.

She appeared and got photographed a lot, then she walked up to see her massively grinning soon to be husband.

The service wasn’t that religious, it alternated between readings in Serbian and English. One of the English readings was about dinosaurs and romance. It was aces. It was the first time I’d ever been at a wedding where dinosaurs were mentioned.

After the couple said ‘yes’ at key points (huge cheers). After the service was over everyone cheered some more. Then the newly married pair walked over to a big wooden log thing and set it on fire. It fizzled for a bit and then went.

BANG

Yes, they had fired a cannon to mark their marriage. Everyone jumped.

It was amazing, the only thing that would have made it better would have been if they had fired it again, or constantly for the rest of the evening. Bangbangbangbang.

More booze was handed out including Jagermeister which apparently is a completely acceptable afternoon drink in Serbia rather than the ingredient for a cocktail designed to make you sick. We had some ‘sipping vodka’ accept no-one told us it was for sipping in time so we downed it.

Yes we are that classy.

We went inside it was much cooler, which was actually quiet pleasant. Not that I like being cold, I just felt less like I was going to burst into flames at any moment.

The meal

The table we had been assigned to was called ‘batwing’ and was the furthest away from the top table, but incidentally right by the bar. WIN.

I wasn’t sure what The Theatre Producer had done to get put on this table but I’m sure she is very sorry.

A band started playing. They were pretty good doing covers of wedding favourites, but they were SUPER LOUD. So loud I couldn’t really have a conversation with anyone.

Toast: Hello, how do you know the newly weds?

Guest: I can ask, but I’m not sure if this restaurant does have any beds.

Toast: The family are lovely, I wouldn’t go so far as to call them fat heads. Anyway would you like some wine?

Guest: Tuesday, we fly back on Tuesday.

Toast: This suit? Oh I bought it while mashed one time.

Guest: You’re going for a climb?

And so on. I gave up even nodding politely to things I couldn’t hear properly after I accidentally implied I was pro-bear baiting.

Let the meat begin!

Food started to arrive. The opened with the classic meat and cheese starter. It was a good one too and served with apparently unlimited bread. I ate my roll and it was immediately replaced with another loaf by a little man with silvery hair.

After the starter most people indicated they were full (through the medium of mime of course) but the meal had just begun.

We had a lovely meaty soup with more bread before the serious business of meat could begin. There wasn’t just one course of meat, or two. Three would have been an insult to the auspicious occasion and four some how lacking.

No this Serbian wedding feast was to feature five, yes five courses of meat as it’s main dish.

Each meat sub-course was big enough to be a main dish at any other event. It was jolly tasty but also physically and mentally exhausting.

Half way through there was a little break for speeches, and all the ladies were ordered up for a special ladies dance with the incredibly loud band playing Serbian music.

The ladies danced. The song ended, but before they could return the band started playing another song just for them. All of the men were stood around watching while increasingly ‘glowing’ ladies danced to accordion music.

The song went on.

And on.

It lasted at least two beers and a gin and tonic before The Theatre Producer and her fellow naughty table girls escaped and returned. Some less brave women were still dancing away though.

Before anyone could relax more meat was poured on our plates.

The final course was meatballs which most people couldn’t face. That is their loss because it was the best and I felt a sense of achievement that only mountain climbers will understand when I finished the final bit of meat.

We drank a lot of booze. There was a bit of dancing but the dance floor didn’t fill until the band took a break and someone put on their iPhone. You’ve not seen joy until you’ve seen a whole family mime jazz flute to Paul Simon.

The loud Serbian band seemed a little bit miffed by that.

Slice of cake anyone?

Some cakes appeared, the wedding cake was wheeled into porn-style disco music.  One of the other cakes was made out of pancakes and had a top like a Crème brûlée.

It was amazing. I could have eaten that all day but annoyingly I had been eating vast amounts of meat for most of the afternoon. Fool.

There was more dancing. Then out of no-where a brass band appeared and started stomping around and playing honking tunes while everyone shouted at each other about ‘IT’S A BRASS BAND’ and ‘WHY WERE THEY HIDING IN THE KITCHEN FOR MOST OF THE NIGHT?’

We danced.

We drank.

And at about midnight we piled back into the coach (looking slightly more crumpled than before) and went back to the hotel.

*This might have happened later, but I was terribly drunk so I missed it.

Read Part 1 and Part 2 of the Serbian adventure.

Serbian Wedding: Part 2 Nikola Tesla’s amazing house of DO NOT TOUCH

Toast

The Theatre Producer and had eaten ourselves into a stupor the day before. An actual stupor. Previously I had never eaten so much that it had lowered my I.Q. I have to say I was a little bit proud.

In Serbia the meat eats you!

This day was going to be different, oh yes. No more podge for us! We had a day to hang about in Serbia and see the sights and by jove we were going to see them!

The first sight we saw was the breakfast bar.

I resolved to only eat a couple of bits of melon and perhaps half a prune.

This resolve lasted until I saw the selection of excellent pastries they had available. Damn you pastries and your seductive call.

The sour cherry ones were a bit of a disappointment (but I had three just to check) but the apple and cinnamon ones were amazing.

I remember them fondly and occasionally look at photos of them while listening to sad music. Goodbye my friends…

With breakfast out-of-the-way we decided to go and explore the sights of the White City. There are basically two things to see in Belgrade.

A Huge Castle

In the middle of the city is a massive castle, it’s like properly gigantic.

It’s well old and pretty smashed up but enough of it remains to make you wish you’d packed a wooden sword and shield. It’s free to get in and the only thing to stop you climbing all over it is a sign saying you might die, which everyone ignores.

In the middle of a castle is basically a park, so you can walk among the trees admiring the tiny lizards and looking over the two mighty rivers that meet in Belgrade. There is also an ice cream van, and that isn’t even the best bit.

The castle is full of tanks! Mostly World War 2 tanks, but ones in all shapes and sizes. If you like looking at tanks (me) this will keep you amused for a very long time trying to pick your best tank.

After you’ve looked at tanks a lot you can go to a little cafe (I’m v glad the castle’s builders realised visitors would need refreshments) and have an ice-cold drink.

Everyone in Serbia drinks Bitter Lemon as their soft drink of choice, so if you order it you feel all cosmopolitan and Eurasian. Yeah, I’m totes a local don’t you know.

There is also a mock-Tudor house in the park at the top of the castle too. I don’t know what that was about but since it wasn’t a tank I didn’t care.

To surmise: Tanks = awesome, weird mock-Tudor houses = mega lame.

Oh and there are some mines and torpedoes to look at too. We wandered around for quite a while admiring canons and things that go bang. The Theatre Producer even picked her favourite cannon, it was terribly romantic.

For some reasons some of the moats of the castle have been filled in with tennis courts, I assume filled in, I can’t imagine they would have served much of deterrent to invaders when the castle was functional, unless the invaders were terribly polite.

‘Take the castle!’

‘We can’t Sir, they are in the middle of a game of tennis.’

‘Tennis? This is war!’

‘But Sir, they are half way through a set!’

‘Oh, okay Crispin, wait till they change ends and then we will run past quietly, see if you can steal a ball too.’

After looking at the castle we had lunch in the ‘touristy area’ of Belgrade.

This is a special area with, well some restaurants and some shops that pretend to sell pirate costumes but don’t actually and make people like Toast very angry. If you don’t sell pirate gear, don’t put it in the window. I HATE THEM.

One of The Theatre Producer’s male friends and I sat down and had a beer while TP and her lady chum bought more earrings. I got a little bit drunk.

I am blaming this drunkenness on the fact I ended up buying an authentic pair of ‘Bay Ran’ sunglasses from a man with a bum bag.

I think he must have been some sort of shop-owner that had got lost and couldn’t find his shop, to explain why he had lots of sunglasses for sale that he was trying to get rid of cheap.

We ate lunch. I don’t know how I managed it, but I stuffed lots of food in my face once more and proudly waddled off to the second thing to see in Belgrade.

Nikola Tesla’s house

If you don’t know about Nikola Tesla, he is a dude. Like proper cool. Go and read about some clever stuff he said and the amazing inventions he came up with.

David Bowie played him in a film once and everything.

Nikola was from Serbia and his house has been converted into a museum. You can see his experiments. If you time it right (on the hour or at half past) there are tours where his fantastical devices are fired up for your amusement and wonder.

Time it wrongly, like just miss the tour and be with people who don’t want to hang around for another half an hour waiting, and you in a room of exciting looking brass and wood things that you MUST NOT TOUCH.

NO PLAYING WITH SCIENCE.

It wasn’t that good, but I’m sure it can be good, you know given the chance.

Eating massive trainers

We went back to the hotel, quite tired and took a nap. When we woke up we went to the restaurant in the hotel and had supper.

It was very strange. The Theatre Producer had a long bit of pork that sort of looked like the sole of a giant’s shoe. She said it was nice, I think she was lying or trying to impress the waitress (or the giant who had donated the shoe).

I had a kebab thingy with lots of cucumber. It was basically some meat on a plate. Most Serbian meals are like that.

The meal was nice, I like eating outside and the couple behind us were swearing in French in an amusing way. Oh those crazy French eh?

Since we are brave explorers who live life to the max, we ordered a bottle of the local wine.

It was, well after the second bottle it was pretty okay. It definitely tasted very winey. Yes, it was white and tasted of winey grapes. I told the waitress this and she was clearly impressed by my knowledge of fancy wines.

We retired for the evening, quite drunk.

The next day some people were going to get married so we needed to be ready for that.

Read Part 1 on the Serbian Holiday with The Theatre Producer

Serbian Wedding: Part 1 The Meatening

Toast

The day of the wedding arrived. I was nervous and tired in equal measure.

This was mostly due to getting drunk the night before the trip instead of packing. I started off carefully picking out my outfits and finding my flip-flops and then I accidentally poured a lot of  cider in my mouth.

I don’t know how it happened, I also ended up mysteriously playing computer games with Biscuit. The Theatre Producer arrived and wasn’t as impressed by the progress Biscuit and I had made on Borderlands as we had hoped.

I wasn’t that packed in the morning. I’m not saying I wasn’t packed at all, I just wasn’t as packed as I could have been.

The Trip

The flight was super early at City Airport, we were early for it because I’m bad at being late. We were like zombies, ones that smelled faintly of cider.

Check in didn’t take long and soon we had nothing to do apart from eat too much breakfast and think about all the items I’d forgotten to pack. Honestly it’s not such a big deal, I mean who really needs shoes anyway?*

We had to connect in Switzerland to another flight. There isn’t much to say about it apart from Swiss Air give you a chocolate before landing and quite a lot of leg room. Two flights, two chocolates. WINNING AT LIFE.

Serbia (Fuck yeah)

Serbia was HOT when we landed. It was proper summer hot, not like ‘oh gosh I could probably get away without wearing a jumper, what what?’ but ‘OH MY GOD I’M ON FIRE’ hot.

Actually it wasn’t that bad, I just suddenly found myself regretting my choice of cardigan even if it did have sexy leather elbow patches. I am sad for Serbia that they didn’t get to see me wearing that as much.

A man with an excellent moustache was waiting for us at the airport and took us to the hotel for free. My opinion of Serbia (already good after their strong Eurovision entries) was rising all the time.

The Hotel

The hotel was nice. It was on the far side of Belgrade, functional and clean.We had a room with a balcony and an en-suit mosquito**.

We dropped our bags off, shouted at each other about how we were on holiday and that was exciting (god knows what the people in the room next to us thought) and then went off in search for food.

The food quest didn’t go well. We found a shop that sold pencils, one that sold academic books and a cafe that didn’t do meals. We thought about trying to survive on pencils (the coloured ones have flavour right?) but instead got some funny shaped crisps (Hurrah for weird Euro-snacks) and walked sadly back to the hotel.

It was when we were about 30% through the crisps that we noticed the rather large and  swish restaurant that we had cunningly ignored before.

So we did the sensible thing. We hid around the corner eating crisps until we were finished and then walked in.

Food

The Theatre Producer asked politely if the serving lady spoke English, she replied ‘of course’ and then sat us down in the corner. The restaurant had a big outside bit with sprays that pumped out water to lower the temperature a bit.

We ordered some bubbles and quite a lot of food. Far too much food really. We had a starter which was smoked meats and cheeses and then they brought out more food.

Serbians like meat. They really like meat, a lot of it. We bravely ate through it while  Sealed with a Kiss (the Serbian version of course) played on an endless loop.

I’m going to recreate that for you by typing in Sealed with a Kiss every now and then so you get the experience.

After the starter (which we shared) we were full. Not just ‘oh gosh I’m fine, no I won’t eat another biscuit’ but ‘PLEASE KILL ME NOW’. I didn’t want to eat any more.

Sealed with a Kiss

More food arrived.

Sealed with a Kiss

The Theatre Producer had a turkey and cheese thing that had four turkey breasts in it I had a sort of chicken Kiev. One where everything that wasn’t meat had been replaced with pork.

Sealed with a Kiss

It was some meat, wrapped in a sort of purse made out of some other meat, with a meaty sauce and some meat on the side. It was also huge, bigger than my head.

It was meaty.

Sealed with a Kiss

A band turned up and were about to play for us, but more food appeared so they went away again. The band was mostly made of accordion players. Everyone in Serbia can play the accordion, fact***.

Since they didn’t play for us the restaurant helpfully played Sealed with a Kiss again.

We carried on chomping through our food. I felt felt so full that my stomach was tight, but we couldn’t leave any food behind, otherwise our Serbian hosts would have thought less of us. Brits are made of sterner stuff.

We ate on, Sealed with a Kiss.

There was a long period of very slow eating, with a lot of wheezing and sipping of wine. I had a plan, if I got drunk the pain of being so full would be reduced and I could eat more. It didn’t work.

Eventually we gave up, paid about £1.26**** for the meal (Sealed with a Kiss) and wobbled back to the hotel.

We then fell asleep, it was about 7pm. Rock and roll.

To be continued…

*I had packed some shoes.

**Or some other insect that would bite us during the night.

***Not actual fact.

**** Roughly

The Eight Sexing Rule

Toast

I’ve got a male chum who has just come out of a long relationship. He was going out with this girl for about five years, they were living together and now it’s over.

He seems fine about the whole thing. They were one of those couples that snipe at each other all the time. He finally broke it off after yet another huge fight. It was coming for a long time.

Anyway. He is back to being single and is determined to stay out of a relationship for a while, which is why he has instigated The Eight Sexings Rule*.

The Eight Sexing Rule

My chum, let’s call him Geoff, is only going to have sex with any girl a maximum of eight times. He has decided this is the point when things start to get a bit like a relationship and so any more could be dangerous.

An evening of nude fun counts as one sexing and if something in the morning happens, well that doesn’t count as a new one either. So it’s probably more eight sex-dates rather than sex eight times. I know this because all his friends have been quizzing him on the rules after he made such a bold statement.

It is working out for him so far. He is dating a few ladies but keeping them at a distance and building up what he calls ‘a rota’. Or as I like to call it ‘a tragedy waiting to happen’.

What do you think? Is this a sensible plan?

*Yes I know it’s grammatically wrong but that’s what he calls it.

Being a plus one at weddings.

Toast

A few weeks ago Penelope invited me to be her plus one at a wedding. I’d never been a plus one to a wedding so it seemed like a fun thing to do.

The had day finally arrived and so I selected a good suit, polished my most sensible shoes and chose a slightly risqué tie.

Penelope and I met at the train station and got the train together to the depths of the countryside. Penelope was wearing a cream top with a black pencil skirt and strappy silver sandals. She had just got back from visiting friends in the Mediterranean so she was looking very tanned.

The train journey was fairly long but we chatted away catching up about little things. This also gave me a bit of time to learn a bit about the bride and groom before we arrived. After the train we had a short cab ride to the venue. It was a strange wooden building that looked really old.

We were a little bit late but luckily nothing had started yet so we just sat near the back near someone who knew Penelope. He said hello and then started asking when we were getting married.

My slightly startled look and Penelope attempting to change the subject completely passed him by and so we had 30 to 45 minutes of wedding related questions, jokes, jibs and enquiries before the bride turned up and he wasn’t allowed to talk anymore.

The ceremony was lovely, a combination of Dutch and Vietnamese. I didn’t know much about Dutch weddings before but they are excellent. Here are some traditions of Dutch weddings

Whenever the groom leaves the room, all the men in the room rush over and queue up to kiss the bride.

Whenever the bride leaves the room, all the women in the room rush over and queue up to kiss the groom.

The bride and groom can be forced to kiss at any time by the guests. If the guests strike their plates or glasses with their cutlery, the bride and groom must step up on their chairs and kiss. If the guests stamp their feet on the floor the bride and groom must go under the table and kiss.

These are excellent traditions.

We sat down for our meal and between forcing the newly wed couple to kiss about a dozen times met some of the other guests. They were all paired up couples. Deeply in love couples so there was a lot of touching going on. They had some very sweet stories about how they all met. One of the men kept asking me if I was married and when I said no when I was going to get married. I didn’t feel comfortable in ‘blowing our cover’ so I sort of gave neutral answers.

Then some lions turned up.

Not actual lions of course, these were sort of pretend ones. They were like Chinese dragons but shorter, like the most awesome pantomime horse you’ve ever seen. They larked around jumping and doing tricks before leaping up to pick bits of paper up that were suspended on polls. It was really cool and supported by the loudest drumming I’ve ever heard in my life.

They also spent the entire time hitting on ladies. It was amazing. One the paper bit was over both lions harrassed ladies by jumping all over them and in the case of one of the bridemaids, pinching her arse. I’m not sure if that is traditional or just because the men being lions were a bit naughty.

We returned to our tables with our ears ringing and got some more drinks. Everyone was sozzled and it was only then that Penelope finally announced to the table that we weren’t going out. It felt like a great weight had been lifted.

More drinking happened. Then there was the first dance between the bride and groom. This ended with the groom having the tips of his socks cut off (again I’m not sure why). Then the guest were invited to dance too. Penelope wanted to dance and so we danced.

It was a very slow song and the dance floor slowly filled with couples snogging while I awkwardly slow danced with Penelope. Our faces were really close. More close than I felt comfortable with.

The song went on. It was being performed live. The singer was excellent but they also sang it at about half speed.

There was more slow dancing. A slow clock-wise circle where I didn’t know where to put my hands and I tried to avoid our faces getting too close. Penelope was looking at me really intently.

The song went on. There was more soulful gazing from Penelope and me going ‘Oh gosh, erm, well yes, erm, this is nice, erm, gosh.’

The song went on. Everyone else on the dance floor was now passionately kissing or worse. Leaving only Penelope and I slowly rotating while I tried to avoid looking her in the eye.

The song went on. It was the longest song of my life. I tried to make light of the situation by making jokes, Penelope just looked at me.

After what seemed like a decade the song ended. We returned to our table and drank some more. Some time later I got a cab to the train station alone. Penelope wanted to stay with her friends so she did.

Marriage percentage: 20%. Penelope is nice and all that, but I think the time when something could have happened with us was about five years ago. At the time I tried it on a few times and then sort of put her in the friend space.

Plus like I mentioned I’m rather taken with someone else who was arriving later in the week.

Biscuit is a sucker for girls with purple hair

Biscuit

On the Tuesday before the May 5th B-day* Jen was in town for work so came to stay for the evening. During the day she had been giving me a running commentary on her recent hair dying attempt.

She already has a kind of burgundy red hair but a hairdresser friend of hers had promised to dye it permanent bright red. Regular readers will know that I have a serious weakness for short cute girls with coloured hair. Actually, ‘weakness’ is probably not strong enough. ‘Total mental handicap’ would probably be a better explanation; mouth part open, tongue half out, powerless arms limp at my sides.

The appointment with her friend fell through (due to having an actual paying client, how selfish!) so Jen had decided to dye her own hair with a home kit instead. She did dye her hair but also died a lot of other parts of her too. In her own words: “It looks like I’ve been wanking off a Care Bear”.

Amazing.

I demanded pictures of the final results expecting usual camera phone closeups of her head. Instead I was treated to some rather well posed risqué ‘myspace’ shots. Blimes!

When she turned up that evening I couldn’t keep my hands off her hair. The plan for the evening was to watch The Human Centipede (true romantic fodder). Unfortunately despite two attempts to  *ahem* ‘borrow’ the film from the internet we gave up in the end and watched a couple of episodes of “The Tick” followed by Casino Royale. This was an appropriate mix of macho and ridiculous, although the lack of German scat fetish was lamented.

After all the ridiculous drinking and partying dates this was the most ‘couply’ thing that we have done so far. It kind of feels a bit like we’re dating backwards, starting on drinking, dancing, gigs and boxing shows and finally finding time for a quiet night in, which feels more like a third date than a 8th (or whatever we’re on).

In celebration I promised Jen that next time I’d take her out for a ‘second date’ meal and then next date we could make smalltalk and exchange a slightly awkward ‘edge of mouth’ misjudged kiss at the end.

Of course, the next date was decision time, so if there’s any time to go out for a lovly romantic meal it was then.

Naturally, as I am such a spaz, any attempt to do anything romantic will probably result in me accidentally taking her to a Star Trek fans’ regional meet or the filming of ‘Shemale Bukkakke 3′.

Marriage Percentage: 61%. Still solid and a good run up to our 3 month dating anniversary.

*Boyfriend day

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.