Things have been going well with The Theatre Producer. So well that finding something interesting to say is a struggle. ‘We did this and it was lovely’ doesn’t make a good read. So I thought now would be a good time to revisit some dating disasters, namely The Columbian.
Setting the scene
It was around 2007 when we met. I was working at a rather silly magazine and living in North West London, near Hampstead Heath. Only six months previously my father had got in contact with me after years apart to let me know he had cancer and it wasn’t looking good.
Our first date
I was dating girls on MySingleFriend. A slightly grumpy but very pretty looking girl contacted me. She had really long black hair and was from Columbia. She listed that she smoked in her profile so I was a bit casual about the whole thing but she did appear to live only a couple of streets away so we met up for a date.
Our first date was a meal and then a walk on the Heath. It was pleasant.
She did something complicated in the city, she had come over to England when she was very young. So she remembered Columbia but had spent most of her life in London.
Her accent was interesting, sort of softly melodic. She was very pretty, tall and a brunette so well it was basically much all my weaknesses in one. After the walk on the heath we strolled into town stopping in bars on the way. We got quite drunk.
We had a few more dates after that. We went out for a lot of meals. They went well. So well that I sat her down and had a bit of a chat about the situation with my father. I felt it was important to let her know that there was some stuff going on.
On our fifth date I cooked for her. She liked my cooking and she stayed the night in my tiny single bed while my flatmate played loud punk music in the next room. I can remember that her thick black hair fell down to her waist. It made her look amazingly exotic.
We carried on dating. I was made redundant from my job which was a shock but also the right thing. On the day I was made redundant I had typed up my letter of resignation and put it on the desk of my boss. He called me into a meeting before reading it so I had to steal it back and got to leave anyway but with redundancy pay. Win.
I went freelance for a while. Freelance journalism is tough, especially when you are just starting out. Luckily I had a very good friend who gave me some names and helped me get going. She gave me three names to contact and pitch ideas too. Two of them became semi regular work and I was away.
I ended up house-and-dog sitting for a chum. I invited the Columbian to help me house sit for a week. It was fun and a way of testing if we could live together.
We got on great, although the dog got really angry if we touched each other in front of him. My Father took a turn for the worst and so we went to go and see him. It was a long exhausting drive but it was good to see him and after years of not talking we’d even sort of become close. It was also nice that she got meet my father.
The Columbian and I carried on dating, as in a proper relationship. I visited her extended family in South London a lot. This would involve dancing. There was always salsa dancing and the English boys (the women seemed to exclusively date English boys) would be taught how to dance in front of the whole family. It was quite embarrassing trying to clonk your way through dance steps while 30-40 professional dancers watched you and talked about your form but I did it because it was a relationship and that’s what you do.
A few months passed, she was looking for somewhere to live. I was sort of looking and a friend of mine who had a lovely place that he got for a steal was moving to Dubai. We decided to move in together.
The flat was tiny but perfect in a lovely part of town. Moving in was exciting. We had loads of some things (mostly clothes) and almost nothing of others (cooking equipment) for a while it was brilliant, if very expensive.
I would work from home writing and pitching ideas and then I’d cook an evening meal so she had something lovely to eat when she got back. I’d also make her coffee in the mornings while she was in the shower. She was very particular about her coffee so would be surprisingly angry if it wasn’t milky enough.
She started to get angry a lot. I was earning a reasonable wage, enough to cover the rent food and the occasional present for her but not as much as she did. Someone she worked with, a man, was starting to make her feel bad about going out with someone who earned less than she did and she’d sometimes return home so angry that even posh chocolate milk couldn’t cheer her up.
My father passed away. He suddenly got a lot worse and then was gone. It happened in 48 hours. The funeral was rushed and his second wife wrote me and my siblings out of his history. We sat in the front row and listened as the man doing the ceremony talked about our dad but neglected to mention his children. It was a tough time.
The next day I pitched for a book and got my first book deal. I didn’t mope around or anything like that, I threw myself into my work for the next few weeks.
My birthday came around. I got given money by my mum for a lovely coat that I had lusted after for years. I spent it on our gas bill. My birthday came and we went out and she got me a kebab, and I paid for us to go to the cinema. She didn’t give me a card but I didn’t want to make a thing out of it so didn’t say anything.
The next day she returned from work laden down with presents. Huge bags full of gift-wrapped boxes. I was shivering with excitement but waited a few hours before politely enquiring if they were for me. She said no, she’d got them for her aunts to cheer them up. I ask if she’d got me a card, she said she had but that she hadn’t given it to me because I was acting weird and didn’t deserve it.
A few days later she came back from work and said ‘I was talking to my friend at work, he says a parent dying isn’t such a big deal and you should just get over it’.
It was such a horrible thing to say I didn’t even know how to react. I walked out to cool off. Forgetting my wallet, phone or coat. So I just stood by some bins shivering in the rain until I came back. She started sleeping on the sofa some nights but wouldn’t explain why.
What makes a date?
The guy at work who had been pouring poison in her ear asked her out on a date. Well she said it wasn’t a date but they went to Notting Hill for the day to go to the market and then for a meal. Inside I was uncomfortable but didn’t make anything out of it. She was the only girl to ever meet my dad and that meant something to me in a weird sort of way.
We had a pregnancy scare. She didn’t read the instructions for the pill and so we had a very tense evening with those little tests with thankfully turned out to be a false alarm. I tried to remain calm during the whole episode which she would later list as a reason she broke-up with me.
A friend of hers came down to stay, and spent the whole time being deeply unreasonable. She would fly into a furious rage with her boyfriend (also staying) over nothing and then stomp around for the rest of the day. The Columbian was confused by this behaviour and was not amused when I mentioned that she acted a bit like that sometimes.
I had a big weekend of work. I had to review a night club, go on a stand-up course for a feature and then re-write 3000 words on poker. I warned her that I would be chained to my desk so she went out with her friend and her boyfriend.
After the club night I was home for 20 minutes before I had to shower and go to the stand-up course. I did the course, and my first ever stand-up performance, wrote the words and then on the Monday she said ‘we need to talk.’
I knew what was coming and I had decided it was for the best.
If I gave in again I’d spend the rest of my life being mentally badgered by her. So we broke-up. If anything it was quite amicable. I asked if I could have the flat for a week to finish a book and she said yes and stayed with her parents who had a spare flat nearby.
I ate some bad mushrooms and so was violently ill for a few days and then got stuck into the book. We were still Facebook friends so I got to experience her joyous Facebook updates about being back on the dating scene until I did the right thing and un-friended her.
She counter-acted by writing a long email to my mum listing everything that was wrong with me.
A week or so later I moved out to a friends house and resolved to have nothing to do with her any more, apart from getting my half of the deposit on the flat back. That took six months and involved several emails from her saying she wanted to get back together.
We’ve not spoken since.
Since I’m sort of in dating limbo I thought I’d share some more stories of my chums who have found and caught the perfect person for them.
- See previously The Viking love story.
Jessica and the Boy
This one is about Jessica and her now husband. They first met when they were children up in the North of England.
She was a few years older than him, I think she was about ten but she thought he was quite cute little boy and once gave him some money for sweets. He still remembers this.
It started a crush that hasn’t stopped since. They parted ways when they were teenagers. Both moving out of their home town and down to London via university.
Years passed and then Friends Reunited appeared (remember that?). He sought her out on it and she invited him to a party at her house.
He of course went with not one but two girls and Jessica was seeing someone too. It was a faintly prickly reunion because both of them felt a little tingle of interest.
The boy had very clear views on what to do next and pretty much the next day started pursuing her. He was rentless, charming and an absolute gentlemen at all times.
The Dating begins
She was a bit shocked really because she had only previously dated bad-boys and so didn’t know how to act with a man who was being so nice. It probably helped that he was, and is almost sickeningly good looking but doesn’t really realise it.
Jessica had some wobbles but he resolutely and calmly told her that he was going to date her and that was just how things were going to be. He once told me that sometimes you just have to tell ladies how things are going to be.
I have followed this advice twice, it has failed both times.
Also it’s worth noting that she isn’t a feminist because she says she is from the North and ‘We don’t have feminism up there because women have always been in charge’. She is not a shrinking violet in the slightest.
They started properly dating, then moved in together and got on brilliantly because he refused to be daunted by absolutely anything.
In the evenings he would come into the office and bring her food. She often had to work really, really late and so he would bring in romantic meals for her so they could still get to spend quality time together in snatched moments.
There were candles involved on more than one occasion.
This continued for months during a project when Jessica would rarely leave the office before midnight. He would appear, make her some food and then quietly work on something else. Or help her with her work.
It was only after they left that everyone realised quite how much work he had done for her. He had his own job with pressure and things, a proper serious grown-up job too.
Eventually they got engaged, had a lovely wedding and are now living together in a different country. She had to move their for work and so he went with her. They are stupidly happy and the both realise what catches they both have.
So there you go. Sometimes it really pays off to give sweets to small, interesting looking boys who are a few years younger than you.
I first moved to London almost a decade ago. I didn’t know anyone here so I ended up chatting away to anyone I bumped into, which is sort of how I met The Lady.
I’ll call her that because she was and is amazingly posh. She actually has a title, a more impressive one than that but that’s not important. The most beguiling thing about her was her exotic good looks. She had really lucked out in the gene game.
She was six-foot tall, with long silky black hair, large brown eyes and skin that was just lightly dusted with a touch of colour. Her figure was amazing, she had done some modelling but when I met her she was in a band and being filmed for a reality TV show.
I’d never met a woman like that before, she was, well formidable.
Our first date involved meeting in a pub on Sloane Square. I’d bought an entirely new outfit to wear, I remember it because I’d spent about three hours with a personal shopper just to get the look right.
We had a couple of drinks and then went on to see a friend’s band. I watched the band whilestealing the occasional glance at The Lady, she really was so mesmerizing.
For reasons I don’t really recall we ended up in a club, Funky Buddhas. It’s the sort of place footballers get caught out with aspiring models. We were in the VIP area. The Lady had got us in because she knew the people, I was suitably impressed.
I can remember ordering some cocktails, the club was very loud so we had to almost whisper into each other’s ears to be heard. Her perfume was intoxicating. We kissed. My knees wiggled a little bit. We kissed some more.
Some time later we got a cab home. I dropped her off home and then collapsed into bed. It was an excellent first date, my first date in London actually. I was bewitched.
The next meeting was with her friends at a party. I turned up with a vast bottle of champagne as a gift and chatted away to all her friends. I was on a massive charm offensive and it worked. I left the party to pick something up – I can’t remember what – and The Lady came home with me.
In the kitchen of my flat we kissed some more. Then my housemate appeared in his underpants. He was very hairy so it was quite a shocking sight, it made us giggle. We ended up in my room. Some clothes were removed but nothing rude happened. She wanted too, but she was far, far more drunk than I was and I said that wasn’t right so I got her a cab and sent her home.
I would come to regret this, but I’m also glad I did the right thing.
We met a few more times for dates and parties but she was always a little strange around me afterwards. We emailed each other a lot, I think because we both had jobs that weren’t that mentally engaging.
She holds a high honour of being the most expensive meal and date of my life. It was a lovely place in St James. We had moroccan food and ran up a £350 bill which I paid with-out even wincing. I just could not resist her.
I found her completely spellbinding when I was near to her. I couldn’t concentrate or even think straight, it made me sort of miss the less good stuff. I sent her flowers, I arranged amazing things to do, I even sent her jewellery on her birthday (a custom-made charm bracelet with the day we first met engraved on it – that went down well). This sort of worked, but if anything impressed her mother more.
She had a bit of a coke habit, which I ignored. It wasn’t bad at first. If anything it had a positive effect, some of her friends were such arses on coke that I was never even tempted to try it.
In the later dates would be fun but then she would get a strange look in her eye. Make a phone call, get something delivered and disappear into the loos.
I used to live near a jazz club and she would often call me from inside and invite me out. It was a tiny, painfully cool place that served red wine in shot glasses and you got told off for talking. It was very dark inside so it was often hard to see who you were talking with.
One of our final meetings was in this club. She had invited me out and was already fairly ruined but functional. She would often skip to the loos so I ended up having quite long conversations with people on her table.
I ended up chatting with an older American chap who was very proud of his son. His son was a guitarist, who was playing in the band we were watching. It was a nice chat punctuated by The Lady reappearing every now and then to whisper some garbled nonsense in my ear. She was so mashed I couldn’t really understand it.
It got late, well actually early and I had work in the morning so I said goodbye to the table and finally found out everyone’s names. The American chap was called Clint and it was only then I realised I’d been chatting to Dirty Harry about passport control and where to get a good coffee in London.
Someone must have had a word with The Lady because she arranged to go off to Thailand to detox and clear her head. I went to her fair well gig but didn’t stay long.
She was always a bit strange to be with, sort of remote until you were leaving and then really attentive. I think being that good looking, wealthy and clever must ruin you as a person a little bit.
Almost a year later she returned from Thailand. She was a lesbian now, with a burley lesbian girlfriend who looked like a man. We had a coffee but the spell was sort of broken.
She wasn’t in England for long, she ended up moving to LA to work in films which is where she has been for the last five years, I don’t think she is a lesbian anymore.
She returned last week and invited me to a cocktail party at her mother’s place. So of course I went, but that is another post…
“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‘
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‘
A very long time ago I had an almost thing with a porn star. Well it was a thing but it never really became a thing.
We met at a party when she was seeing someone else. She dumped him and went after me. We had a couple of ridiculous dates, no seriously ridiculous (they are worth a separate post) and then we drifted apart because she was seemingly unable to actually meet up to do anything, ever. She was a bit of a stoner, and would appear at my door at 3am and make demands in a rude way.
It sounds quite exciting, but it got a bit dull quite quickly.
I once bought her a very nice present for Valentine’s Day from Tiffany’s, and booked a restaurant and she just didn’t show up, which became one of my top ten all-time-tragic-moments (maybe there is a post in that?).
You’ve not known tragedy until you’ve spent a week inveigling a very special table at a very special restaurant. Turned up early, dressed to the nines with one of those pretty little turquoise boxes and then sat for two hours waiting for them to appear for them never to show.
This girl and I were never really friends but we sort of stayed in touch in a weird sort of way, mostly thanks to Facebook. If she heard I was having some sort of bash or event she would demand to be allowed to come and then never show up.
She got pregnant about a year ago, and so was posting about that every twenty seconds. I hid her from my news feed because I didn’t really care, but thought she would flip out if I actually deleted her.
Anyway, a year has passed and then out of the blue I got the following message:
‘Slightly shocked by you toast, I always considered you a close and dear friend especially since we have so many funny stories. However, it seems that since I hav had a lil one i’m too boring to talk to or invite out. You’ve never replied my texts, you never wished me happy birthday nor did you congratulate me wen my baby was born. Boring as babies are to you we were told I could hav lost her but hey thats just YAWN…Boring. Friends are friends even when their paths go in different directions. Thats how I see it so if because i’m Mum now or cause i’m not out hanging wit the z listers i’m of no interest to you then delete me from your friends. I tend to only have friends who are friends, not to notch up the amount I have on fb! And yes I have just had my first period in over a year but still it was on my mind!’
Maybe I should just remove her from Facebook
My last date was a bit of a wash-out, so I started thinking about better dates I had been on.
You know the sort of dates that seem almost unreal because they are so magical.
I tried to think of five really good examples, but since four of them ended with a first kiss I thought I’d write that up instead.
So here are my top five first kisses, in no real order.
She was the friend of someone I worked with. One of those painfully cool East London types who worked as a jewellery designer. She had a way of standing that was sort of childlike but also cocky at the same time. Her hair was dark and short, in a 1930s bob and she always had amazing accessories for every outfit. I fancied her instantly and spent months making sure we bumped into each other.
She asked me to a Great Gatsby themed party at her house. I spent ages working on my outfit and even bought some vintage champagne glasses to complete the look.
The party was excellent, a perfect summer’s day and a house full of jolly types drinking cocktails and discussing the book. The next day, we were lying on the lawn reading the Sunday papers and giggling while drinking frozen cocktails out of jam jars.
I still wasn’t sure if we were ‘just friends’ at this point. She was reading me something from the fashion pages, I gulped twice, leaned in and kissed her. She kissed me back.
I’d just moved to London, I’d been there perhaps a week or two. We met through a silly website and agreed to go for a drink on Sloane Square (V. posh area of London). On our first date we went to a gig and then ended up in the VIP area of a nightclub in Mayfair. She was six-foot tall, with long dark hair and beautiful.
I ordered us some drinks, I can remember it was three vodka and cranberry juices. We talked for a little while. I struggled to keep up because she was just so attractive I found it hard to concentrate near her. I’d never met anyone like her before.
The music was loud, so we had to lean into each other to talk, this evolved into almost touching our faces together to talk into each other’s ears. I can remember my knees going a bit wobbly. My heart was racing and then we kissed.
The Travel writer
This started off by accident. We met over lunch to discuss work things a couple of times, and the lunches got increasingly more boozy and less about work. She was tiny with sparkly eyes and thick dark hair.
I invited her around for supper. Butternut squash soup with freshly made bread rolls. Roast duck with a selection of roasted vegetables (duck and veg from my mum’s farm) and strawberries.
I lived in an amazing flat at the time that was on the river. We took the strawberries and champagne out to the harbour. It was a little bit chilly but we’d both drunk enough to not really feel it.
The view across the Thames was amazing, it was a full moon. I loosened the lid off a bottle of champagne. Just as the cork popped off and bubbles went everywhere, we kissed.
We worked together for six months, and had lunch together almost every day. She was tall with dyed red hair, that sort of fake red that is more of a maroon. We danced our way around the party circuit and a quick drink after work would often turn into an evening of misadventure. Nothing even vaguely naughty happened even though the chemistry was amazing.
She had a boyfriend, but split up with him and then through chance we both happened to be in the same part of the country visiting friends. She came over for drinks and food with the friends she was visiting. I made pasta, from scratch with my brother.
After supper we walked to the forest and sat in a huge hammock. I’d suspected this might have happened and so arranged for a light post-supper picnic of champagne and chocolate truffles to be stashed behind a tree in a hamper.
She was terribly impressed, we fed each other chocolates and after months of lusting after each other we kissed.
This started off as friendship, so when she invited me to a party at the last-minute because her brother had bailed on her I thought nothing of it. It was fancy dress and I had a Spiderman costume. She was dressed as the lady from the Birds, she was tiny and blonde so completely rocked it. Her costume was a 1960s frock with a range of fake birds pinned to it and fake bite marks.
The party was at a house in the middle of no-where, well in a tent outside a house in the middle of no-where. I didn’t know anyone else at the party but Spiderman made lots of friends.
It was raining outside, and for some reason we ended up having a duel with party poppers on a bridge. I won the duel (although I can’t remember how this was decided) and my reward was a kiss.
I’ve been thinking about my changing tastes in women. About ten years ago I wrote a list of what I want my dream woman to be like. It was long.
Can I recommend you never do this, ever, unless you want to spend the rest of your life lavishing attention on a pet.
No one will ever match up and you will have long angry conversations with your pet about how you can never meet someone who is more than an 70% match.
The list was fairly long and contained some very specific items, that seemed important at the time.
I can remember a few.
- Must not like the cartoon strip ‘Peanuts’ – This one is almost worth keeping. I’ve never understood the appeal of this but some people adore it. Weirdos.
- Must like olives – They are good, how can anyone sensible hate them?
- Must posses good underwear – There is no excuse for this.
- Not a fussy eater – I’m so bored of being around women who are weird about food.
- Should be obsessed with at least one trashy book series and slightly shy about it – People who only read Chaucer need to relax.
- Play a musical instrument well enough to teach me – Any musical instrument is fine.
And so on, the list got longer and longer until it was pages of requirements no one could possibly meet. And why should they meet them? It’s really selfish to make demands like this.
I was talking to a girl a few days ago who said she could never date anyone who uses PCs instead of Apple macs. Really? Really? It’s just a computer.
These days I have three requirements
- I have to fancy them
- They have to be nice
- They have to be interesting
And I’m now starting to wonder if that might be a bit too demanding.