Perfect 10

The Final Countdown

2010-06-30T20:40:00.001+01:00

Sorry that I've been away for a while. Things have been manically busy on the course I'm doing and I've not had the time to scratch my bum let alone blog!

I left you all with a lovely mental image of a cheesy cock a couple of weeks ago... Well it's time to move on from all of that.

It's almost my 30th birthday.

The Big 3-0.

Thirty.

Wow, I’m going to be old. Well, older.

The fact that my birthday celebrations start now is going to sound completely ridiculous when I tell you that I don’t actually turn thirty for almost a month. It’s all my friend Louise’s fault though so I’m going to blame her. I’m not the one who decided to have a “Birthday Month”. Why have a “Birthday Week” when you can stretch it out to a month instead?

Well, it is a landmark birthday so why not?

The reason why my birthday starts now is because Louise, as my best friend, wants to do something special for me and this weekend was the only weekend I am free. Next weekend I’m heading down to London with my university friends, the weekend after that is my Official Birthday Night Out™ with all my friends, and then I am heading off to Vegas for five days which is where I’ll be on my actual birthday (but more about that later).

Therefore this Saturday Louise has something planned and it’s all a very big secret. She is getting so giddy about it she must have planned something good. Bless her, I can’t wait! It’s Louise’s thirtieth birthday in a few months time so she knows she has to be nice to me as otherwise I will get her back... in the nicest possible way, of course...

My Murky Past(2): Cottage Cheese, Lances and Heartbreak

2010-06-15T23:10:00.000+01:00

Music: A Certain Romance - Arctic Monkeys

Now where was I? That's right, giving you the low down on my pathetic sexual past. If you liked Mr Nik-Nak Knob then cop a load of these bad boys. It's amazing that I've not given lesbianism a shot when I remember all these monumental f*ck ups. Well, apart from one of them.... :-) Ahh, c'est la vie...

In at number 5 we have....

5. Cottage Cheese Cock

I came face to er, face with Cottage Cheese Cock when I was still 20 and still single. It was during the summer holidays in between my second and third year at university. I worked at a pub in my hometown to earn a bit of money to see me through the year and that is how I knew Liam, aka CCC. Liam and I had worked behind the bar when I’d been back at home over Christmas, but at the start of the summer he’d left to get a “real” job. I’d always fancied him, but with my rubbish hair and unattractive uniform I figured the feeling wasn’t mutual. It turned out that it was.

One Saturday night he came into the pub with his mates and we ended chatting for ages while I pulled pints. He invited me back to his house after my shift, and as I already knew him I thought why not? In an effort to set the mood, Liam led me to his bedroom and lit one dingy little candle. Romantic. We kissed for a bit and inevitably our clothes started to come off. I removed his pants and was about to give him a blow job, when I saw what looked like lumps of cottage cheese. On his knob. Ughhh. I have never seen anything like that before or since, but I was not about to put my mouth around THAT. I made my excuses and left, laughing at his ultimatum that if I didn’t call him the day after I would never see him again. Thanks, but you can keep your cheesy dick. I didn’t call him.

6. The Hottest Sex of my Life

It was still summer and I was still working at the pub, and that’s where I met my next fling. For the first time in nearly a year my sex life took a turn for the better. His name was Stuart, he was a regular and he was loads older than me (relatively speaking. He was 28). He was gorgeous, with piercing blue eyes, a mop of shaggy brown hair and an athletic body. He drove a red Ducati motorbike (we're talking VERY sexy in leathers here people) and I fancied the arse off him. Never in a million years would I ever have the courage to ask him out and I never thought he would like me, but my workmate Duncan got so pissed off with me going on about him that one night he got chatting to Stuart and asked him if he liked me. The rest just happened.

Every Saturday night after my shift finished at about midnight, Stuart would be waiting for me. I’d drive us back to his house and we would have sex on his couch/chair/living room floor. He had the most perfect six-pack I had ever seen and he was amazing at oral sex. Definitely the best I have ever had in my life (true to this day). We carried on with our Saturday night romping rendezvous until I returned to university that September. Ahh, he was amazing. Perfect fling material. Absolutely perfect.

7. The Two-night stand

My sex life in my third year at university had an inauspicious start. I was still very much single and it was the beginning of December. I hadn’t had sex for a couple of months, and as a horny twenty year old I had an itch that needed to be scratched. (Not literally you understand. I was always careful). This is how I ended up having what I call my Two Night Stand.

I met Nick on a Friday night in the student union bar, we snogged and I gave him my phone number. He called me the day after and we went out the following week to a local pub for a few drinks. I was tipsy and horny so after our date we ended up going back to my place and having really, really bad selfish sex. Neither of us cared whether the other person was enjoying it or not and it was a really crap 'going through the motions' shag. It wasn't sexy in any way. To be honest, I don’t even think we really fancied each other that much on the date. I didn’t get his number and he didn’t call me again, hence the Two Night Stand.

8. The Virgin

It was only a couple of weeks after my depressing dalliance with Nick that I started seeing Adam who was on the same course as me. During the day he was painfully shy, but by night and with the help of beer he was chatty, outgoing and a great laugh. He was a bit of a challenge and was so nervous he could barely speak to me when we first started going out. Yep, he definitely was a challenge.

I also think Adam was a virgin. He rold me that he had only slept with one girl on a one night stand but I think this was a big fat lie. Either way, I like to think that I was the one who really popped his cherry. This meant I had a blank canvas and I could teach him exactly how I liked things to be done which was great, but it was such hard work at times. Sometimes I wished Adam had a few tricks up his sleeve like Stuart, but despite this we stayed together for the rest of our last year at university and for the whole year after that. In the end we had started to grow apart once and when it boiled down to it we were just too different. A few months ago I caught up with him on Friends Reunited and found out that he’s engaged now. I’m really happy for him as he was a nice guy. My parents hated him though.

9. Vlad the Impaler

After Adam, I had a dry spell that lasted for almost a year. I kissed a few men when I was out with my friends but nothing more exciting than that. The only reason why I got less action than the Jonas brothers is because I was completely smitten with Pete, my manager, and no-one else got a look in.

I was working at my first “real” job after university on an IT helpdesk. The job was pretty crap but everyone was about my age, including Pete who was a couple of years older than me. The social life was fantastic. I ended up getting together with Pete on a work’s night out and I spent the night with him in his bed, but nothing happened other than sleep and after that night nothing was ever said and the moment just seemed to pass. I didn't want to shag him on the first night as I wanted him to be my boyfriend and didn't want him to see me as a slapper. That plan worked remarkably well, as a month or so later he started dating another girl and my chance with him had completely gone. Tragically I was still head over heels in love with him so I remained single.

I was still looking for graduate jobs as I hadn’t been out of university for a year, when I found a role in IT that was offering three months all expenses paid to be trained up in Cape Town. The salary was a lot more than I was earning already so I applied for the role not expecting too much as competition was so fierce. After endless rounds of assessment centres and interviews, I somehow got the job and before I knew it I was waving goodbye to my parents at Heathrow airport and bound for South Africa.

The three months training was almost like being back at university – only better. I was one of thirty graduates who were sent over to Cape Town where we lived in a hotel. We were paid each week so we could afford to eat out every night and drink ourselves into oblivion as the exchange rate was so good. Relationships and sex were rife between the graduates, even though some people had boyfriends or girlfriends back home. I ended up getting together with a bloke called Calum after a month and a half. He was a totally bloke’s bloke - real jack the lad and it turned out that he had very little respect for women. Come to think of it now, he wasn’t even that good looking.

Calum did have a massive penis though, but sadly it didn’t make him any good in bed. Instead of ensuring that there was plenty of foreplay to get me turned on and ready, he would just try to lance me from across the other side of the room. I split up with him (before he succeeded in splitting me in half) after we had been back in the UK for a month as I’d decided that he was a bit of a twat. I’d also met Paul (who eventually turned into the Evil Cockbag) whilst I was working on a project over in Ireland. Even though Calum was a knob, I wanted to do the right thing by him, so I finished with him one Sunday night... and then got together Paul on the Wednesday. Close, but no overlap.

10. The Heartbreaker

Paul, the only man to ever break my heart and more familiar to you as The Evil Cockbag. We were together for nearly four years and he is the one man who I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. Sadly, he decided to pork a slapper from work which shat all over that happily ever after.

11. The Latest

Matt. My most recent ex. Together for just over two years, even though it felt like several lifetimes.

And yet I still keep on believing that the right man is somewhere out there for me.

But why have I started playing around with boys when I should be looking for a man...?

My Murky Past (Part 1): Shit, Dodgy Curtains and Nik-Naks

2010-06-08T11:02:00.001+01:00

Music: Every 1's a Winner - Hot Chocolate

Oh my goodness I have been so rubbish at updating my blog recently. So much has been happening that I've hardly had any time to write about it - but it's all coming, very soon!

But here's a quick update: I binned Stephen off. He of the drunken snog in the club. After ten minutes of swapping spit and 100 stalky texts from him later, our one-sided liaison was over.

It reminded me of a very valuable lesson: I should not give my number out to wonky-toothed weirdos with a penchant for collecting restraining orders.

Anyway... What is it they say about learning from your mistakes? I'm sure we're all supposed to learn valuable life lessons during the twists and turns of our complicated lives. Especially when it comes to love and sex.

Except I'm not exactly sure that I've learnt that much. All these years on, I'm still making the same lapses in judgement and ending up dishing out my number to undesirables.

But why? Why haven't I learnt anything?

It's time to delve into my romantic past to try and find some answers. Oh yes. Buckle up and prepare yourself for the most embarassing rides of my life. Part 1.

1. Ginger Buns

I was 18, still a virgin and I wanted to get some sexual experience before I went away to university. I worked weekends at a supermarket in the fruit and veg department and had been lusting over David from the bakery for months. In hindsight I have no idea why, as he was pale, ginger and a bit of a chubster. Maybe handling all those bananas had warped my judgement, but he had something about him: a swagger and a certain look. He loved himself, and that confidence was attractive to the young, inexperienced me.

After several halves of cider one Saturday night out I ended up back at his place. His parents were away on holiday, and we got naked and fumbled round for a bit. I didn’t have a clue what to do or how to give a blow job, so I just licked his cock like an orange ice-lolly and he half-heartedly fingered me. All the time I tried my best to ignore his ridiculous ginger pubes.

The next morning he gave me a tenner for the taxi home and I left feeling like a really shit excuse for a prostitute. Not a great sexual awakening.

2. No shit, Sherlock

My first real boyfriend was Alistair at university. We got together after the first two weeks of term, in those heady, alcohol fuelled days of zero responsibility. I lost my virginity to him after about a month, and from what I remember the sex was pretty good. He’s one of the few men I’ve slept with who knew where my clitoris was - but it wasn't all plain sailing. Alistair had a weird condition. Well, OK, he had a plastic stomach and arsehole. One time after we had just finished having sex, his man-made man-hole got a little bit too excited and he shat in the bed right next to me. I suppose you can’t have it all. We were together for ten months, tissues on standby.

3. Curtains

Now aged 19, my second year at university wasn’t the best year of my romantic life.
It started off with an ill-advised hook up at a house party held by me and my housemates. I ended up snogging a bloke called Mike who lived with my housemate Suzanne’s boyfriend. We ended up seeing each other for a couple of months, and I liked him because he had a clapped out Volkswagen Polo and drove me to the supermarket. He was a nice enough guy but we never really clicked. Mike was terminally boring and I couldn’t understand a lot of what he said due to his ridiculous southern accent. He wasn’t exactly a leader in the style stakes either. His hairstyle was worse than my pre-GHD frizzy mess and he insisted on sporting a centre parting and some really dodgy ‘curtains’. The sex was mediocre and he had a small penis.

4 Nik-Nak Knob

Now at the age of 20 and still in my second year of university, I was single for what turned out to be about six months. Six long, sexually frustrated months. One weekend I went to Liverpool to visit my best friend Nicola as she was studying at university there.

After a brilliant night out with Nicola and her friends I fell into bed with her housemate Luke. I was horrified by the sight of his dick as it was all knobbly and bent out of shape like a crusty scampi-flavoured Nik-Nak crisp. He tried to have unprotected sex with me, I said no, and then shat myself for a couple of weeks thinking that I was pregnant as his penis had brushed past my pubic hair. I was still pretty clueless at this point.

So far, so crud. Is it any wonder I am so f*cked up when it comes to men?

Next instalment, coming soon...

Wonky Snogging

2010-06-01T11:14:00.002+01:00

Music: Highway to the Dangerzone - Kenny Loggins

So there I was, out in town with my work mate Dan and his two friends, Gav and Liam. The boys were all having a lovely time as women were circling them like vultures, all hoping to find a juicy bone to gobble. I, however, was doing my best impression of a spare wheel. It was time for me to have some fun of my own...

To give him his dues, Dan spotted that I was being pushed to one side by the adoring ladies, and he came over to chat with me, leaving Gav and Liam to lap up the other female attention.

It’s weird going out with just a group of boys when they are on the pull. (Well, they were with the exception of Dan). Even though I'd seen a few blokes that I fancied in the bar, I didn’t have the backup of my girlfriends to help me get chatting to them and their mates. You see, we generally hunt in packs.

I tried to explain this to Dan, but he just didn’t seem to get it.

“You see that guy over there?” I said to Dan over the noise of the music which was blasting from the speakers.

“Yeah, what about him?” Dan replied.

“Well, I think he’s really fit, but I’m never going to just go over there on my own and try and talk to him. If I was with my girl friends it would be OK, as we could go and dance next to him and his mates, and I could try and catch his eye… But with you lot… Well, you’re all busy with your cheerleaders over there,” I said nodding towards Gav, Liam and the four girls who they were chatting up.

“Course you can go over there if you want,” Dan replied, not getting it at all. “Although he looks like a bit of a cock to me,"he continued.

Undeterred at his last comment, I persisted.

“Oh come on Dan, please help me out! He’s really fit!”

And he was. Tall, dark, broad shoulders, and a tapered waist. And he hadn't been hit with the ugly stick either.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Dan replied, blatantly not joking. “What do you want me to do? Go over there and chat him up for you?”

“Well, er, yes.” I replied. “Well, not chat him up exactly. Just make out like you think you know him or something and then you can introduce me.”

Despite his protestations I think Dan realised that he wasn't going to hear the last of it until he helped me out.

“OK then,” he sighed. “I’ll do it, but I still think he looks like a knob.”

Dan sidled on to the dance floor with me and ended up chatting to the object of my affections, asking him if he went to the game and if he played rugby. It was brilliant - like having a proper wingman, although I didn't tell Dan he looked a bit gay as he chatted up a random bloke.

After about a minute, Dan stepped aside as it was obvious that the guy I was lusting after had finally spotted me. I batted my eyelashes at him. Subtle.

“This is Greg,” Dan shouted above the music. “He went to the game tonight too.”

Greg. Gorgeous Greg.

“Oh right,” I said, smiling my best smile. “So what did you think? Close match...” I said, whilst checking out his gorgeous, muscular arms.

As I started chatting with him, Dan made his excuses and headed back over to Gav, Liam and their harem.

I ended up talking with Greg for a while, but it was blatantly obvious that Dan was right: he was a bit of a cock and he was also definitely not interested in me. I made my excuses too and walked back over to the bar, feeling slightly miffed.

“So, any luck?” Dan asked as he swigged his beer.

"Nah. You were right. He is a cock.” I replied.

I wasn't going to say that it was obvious he didn’t fancy me at all. That’s just too embarrassing in front of one of my work mates.

“Oh well never mind,” Dan said without sounding upset for me at all. “You don’t know if you don’t try”.

Dan wandered back over to Gav and Liam, and as my drink was dead I went to the bar to get another.

An afternoon and evening of drinking had made me nicely drunk. But it had also made me pretty damn horny. That's just not fair when you're a single girl stuck on a boy's night. Damn you alcohol. Damn you.

Yes, alcohol was my only defence as to why, only minutes later, I found myself locking tonsils with Stephen. That, and the fact that Greg blowing me off had made me determined to kiss someone to prove that I could. I'm a bit weird like that.

Stephen started chatting to me at the bar and he seemed pretty nice. OK, so he wasn't a stunner like Gorgeous Greg, and I seem to remember that his front teeth were a little wonky. But he was a good kisser, and that is exactly what I wanted: to be kissed, maybe with a cheeky arse grab thrown in there for good measure.

The only problem: a kiss was the only thing I wanted. A good snog and goodbye.

Sadly, Stephen had other ideas.

"So, can I get your number then?" he asked, after I told I needed to find my friends before they left.

Just say no, Kate. Or give him a fake number. Or...

"Yeah, course," I replied, never having learnt to say no properly. He handed me his phone and I tapped in my number.

"Great! I'll call you tomorrow!" Stephen said, smiling.

Please don't. I only wanted a snog and a quick feel up.

I wriggled my way free from wonky-toothed Stephen's grasp, and wandered back over to Dan who was standing on his own.

It was getting pretty late and we all had work the next day. I glanced over at the other boys and saw that Liam was snogging some bird at the edge of the dance floor and Gav was chatting to some girls and getting a phone number.

“I’m going to head off now,” I said to Dan as he finished his beer.

I saw Stephen looking at me as he talked to his mate from the other side of the bar. Just go away.

“Yeah I’m ready to go too,” Dan replied.

It looked like Liam and Gav would need to be prized away from the limpet like women who were stuck to at least one part of their anatomy or another.

“I think it’s best if we leave those two to it,” I said.

“Yeah definitely,” Dan replied. “Come on," he continued, "I’ll make sure you get a taxi OK."

Bless him, he’s a gent.

Thankfully there were plenty of cabs lined up outside. As I climbed into the back seat, Dan held the door open and smiled at me.

“Thanks for coming today. It’s been really good,” he said, as he leant in through the open door.

“Yeah I’ve really enjoyed myself,” I replied. “It’s good to go out and have a few beers with you and your mates. Gav and Liam are really funny, especially with all those girls surrounding them. I’m not exactly sure how that ended up happening though!”

Dan laughed as he knew exactly what I meant. Whilst Gav and Liam are both a great laugh, neither of them exactly have the gift of the gab with the ladies. Well, until tonight.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow then,” Dan said, and with that he shut the car door and waved to me as the taxi pulled away.

I had a really good night but it left me with plenty to think about.

I don’t want to be like those women who were desperately trying to pull Gav, Liam and Dan. The way they just started circling the boys all seemed pretty tragic. But I knew I wasn't a million miles away from being like them, thanks to the way I flirted with Greg and then snogged Stephen.

Do I look like those women when I’ve had a few drinks and I’m trying to get a bloke’s attention? I hope not. The thought of it made me inwardly cringe.

I stared out of the window as the taxi weaved its way through the city centre streets. As I watched weekend revellers pour out onto the pavements I couldn’t help but feel a bit down. It's nearly half way through the year and I'm still nowhere nearer in my quest to find Mr Right.

At that moment my phone vibrated with an incoming text message.

It was Stephen. Oh for f*ck's sake...

Bums, Spare Wheels and the Boys' Night Out

2010-05-28T00:13:00.001+01:00

Music: The Girls - Calvin Harris

So I went to watch a game of rugby with my work mates - and got the evil eye from Dan's girlfriend, Vanessa. Here's what happened next...

After 40 more minutes of rugby and beer drinking, the game was over. It was too early to call it a night so we piled onto the bus to take us into town.

It was time to hit the bars. For some of us.

“I think I’m just going to head straight back to the station,” Mick said as the overfilled bus carried its semi-sweaty passengers to the centre of town.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to give it a miss too,” Jason said as he played with his phone.

I wasn't surprised about Mick as he never really comes out, but Jason? He is usually a total beer monster. He must have been meeting up with one of his many laydeez. The man whore.

Despite her evil eye glaring from earlier in the evening, Vanessa seemed to be OK with me as we walked from the bus stop to the first bar. Was I just imagining things before as she seemed to be fine with me now? As we chatted about shoes and kittens (you know, girl stuff), I heard Gav absolutely wetting himself with laughter behind us.

“Oh shhh!” Dan said, whilst Gav continued in fits of giggles.

“What’s up?” I asked, turning around to see what all the fuss was about.

“Er, nothing," Dan replied with a smile.

Hmm. Whatever. They were up to something.

"We were checking out your arse!" Gav exclaimed.

"Oi, stop perving you too!" Vanessa laughed.

"Don't worry, we weren't looking at yours," Gav replied.

Vanessa blushed and didn't say anything. Gav and Liam giggled. Dan didn't leap to her defence. That annoyed me.

But I felt strangely pleased that they were checking me out - but a bit weird all at the same time. I was flattered I suppose.

"Er thanks," I said, pulling my top down over my bum a bit.

Vanessa remained quiet but she surprised me as she linked my arm as we walked on.

We ended up in one of the chavviest pubs in town. I was having a good night though, but my hair was starting to frizz ridiculously and I looked like a bit of a twat. We were in there for a while and when we decided to move on to the next bar, Vanessa stopped suddenly by the door.

“I’m going to go home,” she announced.

“Oh right. Why?” Dan asked not seeming too bothered.

“I’m really tired,” she replied, “and I’m not really up for a night out with all this...” She paused and looked at me.

“...I mean, I'm really tired.”

“Oh OK. Are you going to be alright?” Dan asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll get a taxi at the station. I’ll let you know when I get home,” she continued.

“OK.” Dan replied without putting up a fight.

Dan quickly kissed her on the cheek and she disappeared into the night.

Great. Now I was on a boys' night out.

Gav and Liam chose our final destination for the night: a pretty cool bar that plays laid back funk/dance music. As we all walked up the stairs I sensed that Gav was still staring at my arse.
Hey well, what's a girl to do?

The bar was busy and we were all up for a good night. Gav, Liam and Dan attracted a lot of female attention and soon women started to circle them, making it seem all too easy for them to pull if they wanted to.

I can see why. They are all good looking, strapping guys who were out having a laugh.

But I did wonder when the tables started to turn and when women started do all the chasing? Is this is what I look like when I am out with my friends? If it is then I’m going to stop immediately, as watching at those women dirty dancing and trying their best to pull Dan, Gav and Liam was slightly unsettling.

And I have to admit that during all this I felt a like a spare part. Even though I was dancing with the boys, the women around us either ignored me or gave me the evils, thinking I was their competition. The boys just seemed intent on messing around with their newly established fan club.

It was time for me to have some fun of my own...

(To be continued... again...)

Sun, Cider and Staring

2010-05-25T23:58:00.001+01:00

Music: Steal My Sunshine - Len

On Sunday I watched my first live rugby league game. It was great. The sun was scorching, the beers were flowing and the players' shorts were VERY short.

I went along with Mick, Dan and Jason from work, a couple of Dan’s friends, Gav and Liam, and Dan’s girlfriend Vanessa.

We all met in a pub in town and had a few pre-match drinks to start the afternoon. Well, with the UK in a mini-heatwave it was rude not to! I’ve met Dan's friends and missus a couple of times before and they all seem pretty nice, although when Dan gets together with Gav and Liam they do tend to end up giggling like five year old boys.

Vanessa and I get on OK, even though she can be a bit moody. Occasionally she and Dan will have spats in public which can be quite uncomfortable to be around but usually she is fine with me. Saying that, Dan did tell me she has accused Dan and I of being more than just good mates which obviously isn’t true. Despite this, Vanessa is friendly on the odd times that we do see each other and we get on alright even though we don’t have that much in common.

As for the match - it was pretty good as it goes. Not that Mick would ever admit to it.

During the first half I stood in between Dan and Mick and we engaged in our usual banter.

“This game is shit,” Mick stated in an obvious attempt to wind Dan up. “What is it, a game of chase the egg?”

Mick is a die-hard football fan. I only think he came along to drink in the sunshine.

“Yeah whatever,” Dan retorted. “The only crap thing about this game is the venue."

It's true. The open air stands were falling to pieces. Thank God it didn't rain.
“Will you two keep it down please,” I said as I tucked my increasingly flyaway hair behind my ears. The heat was turning it into a frizzy disaster. “I can’t concentrate on the foxy rugby players with you two going on!”

I smiled at them both, and Dan laughed.

“Yeah, typical bloody woman,” he replied, but did so with amusement. He knows that I actually do like the game and not just the players.

As half time approached I found myself thinking about Mick’s question about who I find attractive at work.
I still hadn't worked out if there was a hidden agenda in there somewhere.

The early summer sun was really hot and I fanned my face with my ticket to try and cool down. As I did this, Dan leant towards me so he could catch a bit of the makeshift breeze.

“It's bloody boiling," he said, "Or is it just me?"

“Ha! I think it's them," I replied, nodding towards the pitch.

The players were trotting about in the skimpiest shorts I have ever seen.

Dan looked over, before starting to fan us both.

“Well if you want to stay cool, whatever you do, keep away from Mick's moobs.” Dan said. “Those bad boys are like a hideous human hot water bottle!"

As he said this, Mick pressed his man baps together in an attempt to create a bit of cleavage under his t-shirt, making both me and Dan laugh.

Dan carried on fanning and smiled before casting me a sly wink. As he did this I felt my cheeks flush pink - and it wasn't sunburn.

What was that all about? Why was I blushing?

I was about to thank Dan for cooling me down when my eyes were drawn past him and along to where Vanessa was chatting to Jason. She was glaring me.

Oh.

Dan might be really good looking, but we’re just friends. Nothing more.

But Vanessa didn’t seem to think so.

The hooter blew to signal half time, which also made me snap out of my thoughts. I quickly dashed off to loo in the short interval, and when I returned I saw that Vanessa was standing next to Dan.

I hadn't really spoken with Jason yet, so I made my way over to him. Happily, he had just got the beers in.

“Ahh, Jason!” I said as I re-adjusted my sunglasses. “I see you’re still the man with the best bar technique!"

I don't know how he does it, but even in the busiest bar he always gets served in less than 2 minutes.
“Yeo, that's right!” Jason replied proudly. “Here,” he whispered, handing me a pint of cider. “This will keep you cool!”

“Cheers!” I replied, lifting the plastic glass to my lips.

As I took a drink I saw Vanessa watching me out of the corner of my eye. She had a firm grip of Dan’s hand which she yanked back towards herself after he smiled and waved at me and Jason.

Is it just me, or had I done something to piss her off?

(To be continued...)

If only Everyman could look like this...

2010-05-19T12:30:00.000+01:00

Music: Celebrity Skin - Hole

I've been in a bit of a fud for the past few days. It's probably because I've got exams at the moment and all my free time is being eaten alive by hours of tedious revision. As a result, my social life is about as exhilarating as staring at a blank wall.

However, a few things have cheered me up.

Firstly, and I know Fishy will whinge, but Cosmopolitan magazine has a steamy selection of male centrefolds this month - all to raise awareness of male cancer for the Everyman campaign. It's a great cause, especially when they snap hot rugby players who look like this:

Ben Foden, England and Northampton Saints full-back

Ugo Monye, England and Harlequins wing.

Acres of sexy male flesh somehow always manages to put a smile on my face. ;-)

But then, looking at this foxy pair made me kick myself all over again about Mr I Wish I Had. Damn it.

Anyway, on Sunday I'm going to watch a rugby game with my mates from work which should be a good laugh. A few drinks, a bit of gossip and watching some men in shorts will no doubt help to cheer me up.

Fingers crossed I meet a guy who looks like Ben or Ugo, eh?

Mr. I Wish I Had...

2010-05-14T08:32:00.001+01:00

Music: Be Mine - Ellie Goulding and Erik Hassle

Do you have one person who you feel like you missed out on?

One man or woman who could have been everything you wanted, but who you let slip through your fingers?

I do, and I still kick myself about it to this day...

Mr I Wish I Had was the rugby player I met one night in town. It's not an epic love story or a dating disaster - more a moment I will probably regret forever.

Mr. I Wish I Had played for the rugby team I support, and even though he was a few years younger than me I was a bit star stuck when I met him. I spotted him out with his friends in a bar one Saturday night, but being a total wuss I didn't dare to go over and say hello. Fortunately my friend Beth has balls of steel, and she went over to check that it was actually him. When I say check, she actually walked up to him and said:

"Excuse me, are you X and play for Leeds?"

Subtle eh?

But it was him. My vodka visor wasn't on the blink.

When I finally built up enough courage (aka did a couple of shooters), I walked over, got chatting to him, and offered to buy him a drink.

It was great and he was lovely. In fact, Mr. I Wish I Had and I were talking for ages. He was out with a few friends and his brother, and they were all genuinely nice guys. Thinking about it, he was probably flattered that someone had recognised him. After all, Leeds weren't exactly a fashionable team and didn't have millions of fans.

To make things even more amazing we kissed. It was very nice. Very nice indeed.

And then we full on snogged for 15 minutes without coming up for breath.

Everything was going great guns. And did I mention his ARMS? They were to die for, as was his arse - the finest I have ever grabbed to this day. Ever.

The only problem with the whole situation was that I was too drunk to think straight. Drunkety drunk drunk. So what could I possibly do to spoil my rugby player fantasy? Well, I left him to go and tell my friends just how lovely he was.

Genius.

But the best thing is, once I was back with my mates I didn’t have the courage to go back over and talk to him again. I just stayed with my friends and watched Mr. I Wish I Had leave about an hour later.

I was such a FOOL!

He probably thought I was being a total prick tease or that I just wasn't that interested in him. Damn it. I kicked myself as I didn’t even get his number.

There went my rugby player fantasy, right there.

The weekend after my sporting snog it was the first game of the season. I stood and watched Mr I Wish I Had play, half smiling about our game of tonsil-hockey and half kicking myself for not setting up a rematch.

At the end of the year his try secured a cup final win and the first silverware my team had won in years.

And I was still gutted.

I think it's something that will annoy me forever. I could have been in there - or at least got a shag out of it.

If only I’d got his number...

So do you have a similar story?

(By the way, he's not the bloke in the picture, but you get the idea...)

Hollow Little Profile

2010-05-11T17:03:00.002+01:00

Music: Had Enough - The Enemy

OK, so I've been a bit lax at keeping you up to date on my internet dating shenanigans with the recent distraction of Joe. I'm really sorry, and it's time to bring you up to date.
I've received quite a few messages but none from sexy cat guy. Hmm. I'm a bit disappointed as he did look pretty hot, but If I'm honest we didn't have that much in common.

Early favourite of you guys, Peter the rugby league fan, hasn't replied yet either. However, the stalker in me sees that he's not logged on again since I replied, so I'm not writing him off just yet.

Most of the messages I have received are from guys who are tedious/fugly/freaky/a combination of all three.

But there have been some more interesting ones too...

The first message is a reply from Graham. Remember him? He was the project manager who sent me a lovely opening message, but who looked a bit like Quasimodo's twin brother. I replied to him out of politeness.

Never again.

Here is what he sent to me one hour after my initial response.

Message 1

Hi!

Thanks for your message, and yes I know, supporting Leeds United is a pretty large cross to bear but someone has to do it!

I see from your profile that you love travelling. What was California like? I’d love to go to America but I’ve never quite got round to to/found someone to go with. The best place I’ve visited would be Greece I think. I went a couple of years ago and really enjoyed it. There is so much to see and so much history, and the people are really friendly. Gotta be careful of the Ouzo though! One day when I was there the funniest thing happened. I....

And he went on, and on and on...

To give you a quick overview so you’re not reading his message all night like I was, Graham discussed his holiday to Greece in great detail, including the food, drinks and what he did on almost every day. Then he moved on to a long list of where he would love to visit, swiftly followed up with a rundown on what seemed to be his entire music collection and love of modern jazz.

By the time I’d finished reading his message I felt quite exhausted.

TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

However, the thing that swung it for me in deciding not to engage him in further conversation was his signoff, which read:

Anyway, it’s been great chatting to you! Would you like to meet up so I can explain just why Steven Segal is undoubtedly the finest kung-fu actor in the world?

Graham

I don't think he was joking.
Next!

Message 2

Ah so I was right it was you! So you’re living up North now too? It’s been years since those days at uni. I went back with my mates last year to see how things have changed and you’ll never believe it but our old halls of residence have been bulldozed and replaced by some swanky new student apartments. No more skanky shared bathrooms and one kitchen between thirty people. Students don’t know they’re born these days!

So what are you up to now? I work as a Financial Advisor which is a little bit of a shock considering I did Geography at uni, but everything seems to be going pretty well. I live in Headingley with a couple of mates and still support Barnsley. Do you still any people from the old days? I still see Mikey (it was his stag do the other weekend – I’m best man- aagh the speech!), and occasionally I meet up with Chris, James and Ed when I’m down in London as they’re still all down there living the high life.

Anyway, got to go, work to do and all that. See you later,

Andy

I’m a bit confused by this message. You might have guessed that it’s from the guy I went to the same university as, and I can’t quite work out why he’s suddenly interested in finding out what I’m up to. We hardly said two words to each other when we were at college and I don’t think I even knew his real name back then as everyone always called him Barnsley - after the football team he supports.

The only reason I replied was my visions of him reintroducing me to sexy Mikey, but he's pissed all over that dream with his revelation he's getting married.

I sent Andy a message back letting him know what I’m up to and who I still see from the old days. I’m pretty surprised about our halls of residence though. That’s a real shame as I’ve got so many brilliant memories from that place... and so many that are a little bit hazy due to alcohol...

The big old 1960’s red brick accommodation blocks of our halls were so outdated but I bet each room could tell thousands of stories if the old cliché were true and that walls could talk. Security was so lax and you could break into each floor using an old credit card and a flick of the wrist. It seems like a million years ago...

The next message in my inbox is from James, the guy who sent me the initial stock opener. He seems to have perked up a bit now though:

Message 3

Hi,

Good to hear from you! Ah so you were at the Bloc Party gig last year too! They were brilliant weren’t they? The Academy is a fantastic venue isn't it? Much better than the uni. What’s the best gig you’ve ever seen? I think mine would be Sigur Ros at Manchester Apollo. It was a completely different kind of gig as everyone was sat down but it was one of those amazing concerts where all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end.

As for Australia, I travelled round with my mate for a month or so before we headed to America. In Oz we went to the usual suspects: Sydney, Melbourne, up the Gold Coast to Brisbane, Fraser Island then worked our way up to Cairns, stopping off at the Whitsundays on the way. It’s an amazing place and I’d love to go back. I agree with you that the Whitsundays are beautiful and I’m disappointed that we didn’t stay there for longer as in the end Cairns didn’t live up to my expectations. So have you got any hols to any exciting destinations planned for this year? You say in your profile that you’d like to visit Thailand? I’m desperately trying to save up to go to China as the place absolutely fascinates me.

Anyway, take care and hope to hear from you soon.

James

Aw that’s nice. He hopes to hear from me soon AND he seems really interesting and into his music and travelling. I send him a message back talking a bit more about music and gigs that I’ve been to (and the ones that I’ve got lined up. Oooh maybe he could be a contender to come and watch some with me in a few months...).

Message 4

Hello there,

I’m Tony, I’m 29 and I live in York. I liked your profile very much and we have quite a few things in common. I also support Liverpool but the less said about this season the better! I also like walking in the countryside and am quite an outdoorsy type of person.

I have to be up front and honest with you though as I am only partially sighted which means that I have to walk with a stick but I am very self sufficient and do most things that everyone else manages to do. I even managed to do a sky dive earlier in the year to raise money for the RNIB!

Please have a look at my profile and it would be lovely to hear from you.

Tony

I feel really bad now as Tony sounds like a really nice guy, his profile is great and he’s good looking too.

But he is disabled and as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I don’t want to get involved with someone who walks with a white stick (and not just because of the obvious jokes that I’ll get about only being able to pull a blind man).

It’s terrible, but I’m discounting him purely on his disability. If I’d met Tony any other way we might have really hit it off, got to know each other and his blindness might not have been an issue. On the internet however it’s so easy just to say “Next”, discount him and move on.

Is this any different to deciding not to get back to a man based just on his looks like I have been doing?

Somehow it all seems a bit too superficial now.

I’m still beating myself up about Tony and whether I should reply to him or not. I don’t want another Graham style sympathy vote but I feel so bad because of the reason why I don’t want to reply to him.

I get the feeling that signing up for internet dating might be signing up for the long haul - and it looks like it could be a bumpy ride.

Post-Joe Post-Mortem

2010-05-07T07:47:00.000+01:00

Music: Girls and Boys - Blur

I told my work mate Mick about the lingering kiss from Joe, but since it happened I am almost doubting whether it actually did or not. Did I imagine it to be more than it was or did Joe try to kiss me?

Oh I don’t know anymore. Either way, when I relived the moment and described it to Mick I could see his face light up and his eyes twinkle, partly because he had almost predicted it but mostly because he now had some brilliant material to wind me up with for months and months. The wanker. I suppose that as a married man he has to get his kicks from somewhere and I seem to be an easy target. If only he knew what happened with me and Foxy Scott!

On hearing my news, Mick went into overdrive.

“Ha ha! I knew it!” Mick exclaimed loudly so the entire office could hear him. “I knew that Joe always had a soft spot for you.”

I slid down my chair and inwardly cringed.

“Just imagine,” Mick continued as he stared into the mid-distance. “You and Joe start a passionate affair, and after only a couple of months you move into his palatial mansion and give up work to start podding out babies. I can see it now: baby Tarquin in one arm and baby Fifi in the other. Of course, you can afford to give up work as Joe earns so much he can probably afford to wipe his arse on £50 notes. It sounds perfect. Don’t forget who saw it all coming first. I’ll expect a seat on the top table at the wedding.”

“Ha ha very amusing Mick,” I replied, “But that’s not happening anywhere other than in the twisted fantasyland that is your brain.”

“Ooh, get you,” Mick chided in an overly gay fashion. “Well, let’s just see what happens with you two on the next work’s night out. You could share a taxi back to his maybe? A couple of drinks, who knows…?”

“Shhh, will you be quiet!” I whispered to Mick.

I didn’t want everyone to hear my business, let alone make them think that something was happening with me and Joe.

As Mick babbled on I could see that Dan’s ears had pricked up and that he was taking it all in. Fortunately, unlike everyone, else he knows what Mick is like (and is my friend) so I wasn't worried about him spreading any gossip. Usually he would be piling in with the wind ups but he kept out of it, I guess because he doesn't really know Joe very well...

But why did I decide to tell Mick about Joe when I knew he’d make me the butt of all his jokes? I’m struggling to remember. Oh yeah, it was to get a second opinion as to whether the lingering kiss on the cheek actually meant something. Not that Mick has any clue. Blokes are rubbish at that sort of thing, so I guess I’ve just embarrassed myself and received no real insight.

Great.

Must turn my attention back to internet dating. I can hardly wait...

Kiss Kiss

2010-05-05T10:03:00.000+01:00

Music: Kiss Kiss - Holly Valance

My friend Joe had never put a kiss on the end of a text message to me before and I’ve known him for a couple of years.

I read hs message again:

I can’t believe Leeds have stayed up! Sorry if I was a bit quiet after the game. I’ll look forward to seeing you soon for a few drinks :-) x

I had two choices:

1. Reply to his message and just be friendly, ending it without a kiss and hope that he got the subtle subtext. Do men understand subtlety?

2. Reply to his message and be friendly and end it with a kiss, therefore effectively encouraging him and potentially setting the creaking wheels of romance into motion.

As I drove home from the game I considered all the pros and cons of leaving that one extra character at the end of a text message. It’s amazing that one little ‘x’ can mean so much. It can turn a friendly message into so much more.

Pros of the ‘x’:

Joe likes rugby.
He has a good job.
He’s not that bad looking.
We get on well.
I’ve known him for so long that I know he’s not a wanker.

Cons of the ‘x’:

I don’t fancy him, and I mean really fancy him enough to put our friendship on the line.
He’s a bit older than I’d like my boyfriend to be.
It would be weird hanging around with him and my friends at the same time as they don't have much in common.
I don’t fancy him. I mean, I just don’t fancy him enough. I must learn from what happened with John for goodness sake.

But Joe is good on paper, so should I settle for that? I’m not getting any younger and on paper he is an excellent catch.

No, what am I thinking?

I didn’t start out on this experiment just to “settle” for someone because I think they might be the best I can get, especially if there’s no real chemistry between us. If I did that then I would feel like I had cheated myself despite everything I promised I wouldn't to do this time around.

To clarify my decision I matched Joe up against my Perfect 10:

The Perfect 10 Checklist: Joe

1. Looks

Joe is sort of good looking but more average I think – well, in my opinion anyway. As he’s a bit older things might have started to sag too... Put it this way: I don’t look at him and go weak at the knees/experience any dampness in the knicker region. So it's a no.

2. Sense of humour

I never really laugh that much with Joe and he certainly has never had me rolling around on the floor in hysterics. Mostly we have quite serious conversations, and even when it’s light hearted I don’t really get much from him humour wise. Therefore as lovely a bloke as he is, it’s a no in this section too.

3. Being Down to Earth

Joe works as an IT consultant so you might assume that he’s up his own arse, but this is so far from the truth and I couldn’t be friends with him if he was, so it's a yes here.

4. Loyalty and Trust

Yes, I think so. He’s definitely loyal to the team we both support, but when it comes to romantic relationships I’m not sure as we’ve never talked about his romantic past. I mean, I assume he's had girlfirends? He was always trustworthy at work though and I think it’s enough to earn a point.

5. Kindness

Sometimes Joe can be a little detached but on the whole he’s a lovely, generous man, so it's a yes here.

6. Have a strong sense of family

He holidays with his brother and his nephews and spends a lot of time with his family, so a definite yes. Bit weird holidaying with his brother though, don't you think?

7. Solvency

Definitely.

8. Ambition and a drive to succeed

He is self employed and is successfully running his own business, so yes.

9. Different interests

I’m not too sure. I know he loves skiing (which I’ve never tried as I’d probably kill myself) so that counts, as does golf, but rugby is his main love. I’d still say yes to this one and give him a point.

10. Romance

No idea as I didn’t get far enough to find out. As I’ve said, I’ve never heard anything about any previous relationships so this will have to be nul points for this criterion due to lack of information.

Marks out of 10: 7

Conclusion: I think that Joe is the typical “Mr. Looks Good on Paper” but in reality there’s still something missing. I think in his case it is the spark that lights up and shines when you really fancy someone. I’ve never felt that tingling sensation when he touches me and I’ve never felt my stomach flip when I see him. To me he’s just lovely, dependable Joe, who has dozens of amazing qualities but who just doesn’t set my world (or pants) on fire. I suppose that at least I learnt to step away this time before burning my fingers.

I’ve decided.

I sent him the following text:

It was a brilliant game - I'm still bouncing! I’ll definitely see you soon and I’ll remind Mick to get a night out organised. :-)

Friendly, funny and no kiss. Although, reading it back to myself was I a little bit too flirty? Oh well sod it, I sent it and it was too late to change it.

A few minutes later my phone buzzed with an incoming text message, again from Joe:

Great I’ll look forward to it. I’ve not seen Mick and the other guys in ages. I’m off to go and have a couple of pints and celebrate our win! See you soon. Take care :-)

Phew, no kiss and problem averted. I think.

I’m going to have a chat about this with my work mate Mick to see if he’s picked up on anything from Joe, but then again it will probably be very painful as Mick will undoubtedly whip his big shit-stirring stick out and have a field day.

I’m glad I screwed my head on firmly over this one as I’d hate to ruin another friendship, especially as it would mean that I’d have to find another willing soul to watch the majority of home games with next season.

Joe is a brilliant guy, but just not perfect for me.

I'm almost 100% convinced of that...

Mixed Messages

2010-05-03T19:03:00.000+01:00

Music: Be the One - Ting Tings

I had been to watch a crucial end of season rugby match with my friend Joe and we had shared a friendly hug. It was just friendly, right? Here's what happened next...

After we clapped the team off the pitch, Joe and I were swept along with all the other fans towards one of the many exits. We were both absolutely buzzing about the result and I'm pretty sure I bounced down the street with the biggest smile on my face ever.

Joe had parked his car in pretty much the opposite direction to mine so after a few minutes’ walk it was time to go our separate ways. All of a sudden things seemed a little awkward between us and I wondered if he was freaked out when I grabbed his arm during the last five minutes of the game. I really hoped not. I didn’t mean anything by it - I just felt so stressed and nervous and needed a bit of steadying. And what about our hug after the final whistle? It was just a friendly hug between two mates. Wasn't it?

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a month or so when Mick finally arranges a night out,” Joe said as he stood opposite me, his hands firmly in his pockets.

“Yeah definitely,” I replied. “I think I might just have recovered from today to go for a night out by then!” I laughed.

“OK then. It was really good to see you today," Joe said. “So I’ll see you soon...”

With that he moved towards me, put his hand on my arm and kissed me on the cheek.

Unlike when we met and he kissed me on the cheek before the game, this time he seemed to linger. His lips were gentle and and for a couple of seconds I thought he was going to kiss me on the lips. I felt myself blushing and I gently touched his arm and pulled my face away from him. Joe looked uncomfortable and like he was lost in no-man’s land.

"Er, would you like to go and grab a drink now?" he asked cautiously. His hands were back in his pockets and he was looking sheepishly at the floor.

Gulp. Suddenly it didn't feel like a friend asking a friend if they fancied a beer.

"Um, I'd love to but I'm really sorry, I can't," I replied.

It was true, I couldn't, as I had to drive over to my parent's straight after. But why did I say I would love to? Was that encouraging him - if there was anything to encourage?

"Oh, yeah, that's right. You did tell me you had to shoot off straight after the match," Joe replied.

I smiled at him.

“Right then. Well I guess I’ll see you soon,” I said quickly as I opened my bag and searched for my car keys.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll see you soon,” Joe replied in a fluster. “Bye then.”

As soon as he said goodbye he dashed off in the opposite direction, leaving me standing alone like a confused statue.

What was that? Did I just imagine it? I think something just happened back there. Did Joe try to kiss me as in properly kiss me? No, that’s not right. Joe’s my rugby friend. My friend! I know that I’ve flirted with the idea of what it would be if we got together in my head but I’ve never seriously considered it. I mean, I don’t even fancy Joe, do I? Well, maybe an ever so tiny little bit, but that’s not enough to put a friendship on the line.

And then there’s his age. I mean, he’s over forty and I am in my prime. Does age really matter so much?

I think that Joe and I are at different points of our lives. I very much doubt that he’s going to want to go out and party as much as I do and it would be weird socialising with him and my friends at the same time. I remember what it was like with John and the disaster that turned into. John was a friend who fancied me and because I felt so flattered I went along with it, even though I knew deep down that I didn’t really like him in that way and it wasn’t right. Why was I even considering doing the same thing with Joe? And more to the point, I might have got this all wrong and have completely misread the situation in the wake of our team’s amazing win.

As I walked back to my car, totally lost in my thoughts my phone vibrated in my pocket and snapped me out of it. It was a text message from Joe:

I can’t believe Leeds have stayed up! Sorry if I was a bit quiet after the game. I’ll look forward to seeing you soon for a few drinks :-) x

Oh, that’s new.

He has never put a kiss on the end of a text message to me before and I’ve known him for a couple of years.

Shit.

Does that mean what I think it means?
I think he likes me...

To be continued...

The Result

2010-04-30T08:09:00.000+01:00

Music: Game For Fools - Jamie Lidell

So there I was at the crucial rugby game having just met up with my good friend Joe. If my team won they'd be safe. If they lost they could be relegated. I was as nervous as hell and so was Joe. I could sense it when he kissed me hello on my cheek... My colleague Mick had been winding me up and saying that Joe could be the perfect guy for me, and on paper he is. But at 13 years older than me I just didn't know. And I wasn't sure if I fancied him - even with his villa in Spain...

As I'd arrived at the ground just before kick off there was no time for me to have a nerve-calming drink. Instead Joe and I headed outside and assumed our usual position in the South Stand, just to the right of the touchline and behind the mini-orchestra.

The drummer banged his drum and the crowd cheered as the team line-up was relayed over the tannoy. The tension was building and I could feel it in the air. The cheer leaders dashed out onto the pitch with flags waving and pom-poms bouncing as the players readied themselves in the bowels of the stadium. The butterflies in my stomach were flapping in anticipation as to what would happen next. Only eighty minutes separated my team from possible relegation and the desperate feeling of disappointment that it brings. Not even a couple of text messages I received from my work mates Mick and Dan with jokes about “going down” were going to make me smile. Well, maybe a bit.

The crowd roared and everyone was on their feet as the team ran onto the pitch. Flags waved and chants circled the ground before being whipped away on the wind. Joe looked pretty nervous too, and over the next eighty minutes we lived and breathed every tackle, scrum and lineout, cheering our hearts out for the team we both love.

The first half began. Three successful penalties for us in the first 25 minutes. A score for them. We almost get a try but ball is knocked forwards.

At half time we were winning 12 – 3. It was a lead but I was starting to feel stressed. The half time entertainment didn’t do much to lighten the mood and the entire crowd was on tenterhooks. Whilst I watched the cheer leaders bump, grind and shake their thang, Joe disappeared off to the burger van and returned a couple of minutes later with two polystyrene cups of steaming hot tea. It’s as if he’d read my mind.

We chatted about the game so far and how we'd been playing pretty well, just as the players started to run out for the second half. I could see in their body language that they looked really up for it. I said a little prayer under my breath.

The second half started like a whirlwind, with the opposition throwing everything at us. A stupid mistake let them run in a brilliant try, which was converted to take the score to 12-10. I was feeling really uncomfortable now. Ten minutes left. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Joe jigging up and down. I couldn’t work out if it was from nerves or if he trying to keep warm as it wasn't that chilly.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“Yeah. Well, no.” Joe replied. “This is torture. I can’t bear it."

“I know what you mean,” I agreed. “I kind of wish I’d just stayed at home and listened to it on the radio.”

Joe looked at me and pulls his most wounded face.

“No I didn’t mean it like that!” I exclaimed. “You know I love coming to watch the rugby with you!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Joe laughed.

We turned our attention back to the game.

“Come on Leeds! Get your tackles in first time!” Joe shouted anxiously.

I could tell by the look on his face that he was hating every second, so in an effort to try and calm him down I gently placed my hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze.

Joe diverted his eyes from the pitch and looked at me with a grateful smile. At least I think it was a grateful smile.

Five minutes of the game left and the score line was still 12-10. I could hardly bear it any more. The crowd cheered in time with the drum to try and lift the tired bodies of our players. If we could just hold on or score another penalty, that would hopefully be enough.

Just as I was silently praying for this, the opposition are awarded another penalty themselves. It was 55 metres out. Surely they aren't going to go for goal? The kicker pointed to the posts and the entire stand held its breath. A few people jeered in an attempt to put him off as he lined up his strike. He ran up, boot connected with ball..... And it was short! He missed!

The linesmen waved their flags to indicate that the kick was bad, leaving the score still agonisingly poised at 12-10 with just a couple of minutes left to play.

The butterflies in my stomach started to flip over and over and I just couldn't watch it any more. I turned to Joe and placed my cheek on his shoulder and linked his arm with mine, then faced the opposite way to the pitch.

“I don’t want to know what’s happening unless it’s another score for us,” I said into the wooliness of his jumper. “Please, please let us score.”

I really couldn't look.

One minute left and the crowd was still cheering and willing the team on, when all of a sudden the noise stopped and for a few seconds there was almost silence. I felt Joe’s body tense up before the crowd erupted into cheers.

“What just happened?” I shouted and span around to face the pitch.

Everyone is punching the air and the rest of the squad is running onto the pitch.

"It's over! We've won!" Joe yelled. "They tried to go for a drop goal, but we charged it down and kicked it out! We've won! WE'VE WON!"

I started leaping around and clapping and screaming. A few tears welled up in my eyes. Tears of pride. The atmposhere was amazing. Everyone was clapping and cheering. It was brilliant.

I looked at Joe and he smiled. Suddenly he stopped clapping and grabbed me for a massive hug. I was so caught up in the excitement of the victory it felt totally natural. And nice. It felt nice.

But it ended all too quickly when a drunk guy stumbled into us. Joe made sure I was OK then carried on smiling at me. I quickly turned back to the pitch and started applauding the players again.

What was that?

Was I imagining things or did he want to be more than friends? I was about to find out....

Game On

2010-04-27T10:19:00.000+01:00

Music: F.E.A.R. - Ian Brown

Last weekend really was action packed.

First up on Saturday was the much heralded Blogger's Night Out where I met up the lovely Tuppence, Rapunzel, Gingerella and Helen.

We all had a great time. We talked, drank copious amounts of wine and shared the blogging love. Well, something like that.

Happily on Sunday morning I woke up with no real hangover, and I got back to Leeds just in time for the main event of my weekend. (No offence ladies!).

The big game. The crucial game. The rugby game of the season.

The game that ended up with two results: one that I hoped for; the other that came totally out of left field.

And yes, one of those results involved a man.

In order to get there I have to tell you about the rugby first...

Call me weird, but I really love the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach as I walk toward the rugby ground with other fans on the day of a crucial match. It feels like there is a kaleidoscope of butterflies flapping around before they manage to escape and burst into a shot of pure adrenaline.

As usual, I was wearing my replica shirt and I was rushing to get into the ground as I was running late. There was absolutely no way I was going to miss kick off though. Sunday's game was so important as it was a dog eat dog relegation battle. If my team won they would survive in the Premiership and the other team would be relegated. If my boys lost, it would mean a tense final game of the season with the spectre of relegation looming large. I was as nervous as hell.

I really hoped it would be a big turnout to support the lads, as over the past couple of months the crowds had been dwindling. As I approached the ground and the number of fans increased I could see a sea of yellow and blue flags pouring in through the turnstiles. I sensed a buzz in the atmosphere that I only seem to feel on days like this. I smiled and felt thankful that the faithful were back out in numbers.

I was meeting up with my ex-colleague Joe to watch the game, as he’s also a season ticket holder and is one of my regular rugby match day mates. If Joe’s not around then I’ll either drag my Dad along (having learnt never to bring him when I’m going with a bloke, oh the embarrassment) or if he’s not up for it then I’ll go and watch the game on my own. I know, it sounds a little bit tragic but honestly it’s not. None of my friends like rugby but it's fine, as when I do go and watch games on my own I still feel part of a combined force of fans all willing the team on to win. I invariably end up chatting with the people around me and have a bit of a laugh.

Oh, and I silently drool over the players and any fitties in the crowd. Obviously.

Headingley Stadium is a fantastic venue but then again I am rather biased. As I finally reached the turnstile and heard it click when I scanned my ticket I could smell the unmistakable smell of fried onions and hotdogs wafting on the breeze. From the South Stand I could hear the trumpets and the banging of the drum which roused the supporters into song. Ten minutes to go until kick off and I rushed towards the bar which is where I was meeting Joe.

Joe and I used to work together until he left about a year ago to follow the more lucrative path of the self-employed IT consultant. We still see each other pretty regularly though at rugby games and on the occasional work night out. I really like Joe and we get on brilliantly well.

I’ll never forget the first time we had a proper conversation with each other when a few of us went out one Friday after work. Everyone had sunk a few shandies and I was busy mingling when I bumped into Joe and we ended up talking to each other for the first time. I knew that he liked rugby so we chatted about that for what turned out to be a couple of hours. At the end of the conversation he announced that he was really impressed: finally he’d found a woman who could talk intelligently about sport. I felt rather pleased with myself, but then grimaced slightly. I didn’t always like the tag of being “one of the boys”, but it was nice to meet someone with similar interests.

Since then Joe and I started to watch games together and when he left the company we stayed in touch. My colleague Mick takes great pleasure in winding me up about my friendship with Joe and pointing out that he would make an excellent Sugar Daddy. It’s true, Joe is thirteen years older than me, is quite attractive, very single and from all accounts very comfortably well off. The problem is I just don’t fancy him and I’m not sure if I ever could.

I have thought about it though. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if we did get together: amazing sex (with age comes experience after all); fantastic holidays; great lifestyle, and maybe he would want to have children reasonably soon (he’d definitely be able to support a family with his income).

But then again he probably has a saggy arse, is incontinent and struggles to get it up.

However, all that aside, I’m not sure if we would have anything to talk about other than rugby...

Mick does make a very good case for Joe, painting the picture of spending a month chilling at Joe’s Spanish villa or swooshing down the slopes with him in France (as Joe goes on at least one skiing holiday a year) but there’s something missing. A spark maybe? Or is it because he’s so much older than me?

Either way, I tried to put all these thoughts out of my mind as I swept into the bar and caught Joe’s eye. I worked my way through the scrum of people and we said hello and kissed each other on the cheek.

To be continued...

The Office Fit List

2010-04-23T12:14:00.000+01:00

Music: Fit 4 U - The Young Knives

It was a slow morning at work yesterday so I had plenty of time to slyly check my emails and see if I’d received any more messages or winks from potential online suitors. By lunchtime I had been sent two more messages and had been winked at three more times. As I pressed Ctrl+Alt+Delete to lock my computer to walk to the sandwich shop I felt positively upbeat.

I mean, I hadn’t actually read the messages or seen who they were from (as that would involve logging on to an internet dating website at work and running the risk of everyone seeing what a loser I am) but that didn’t matter. Some men out there thought I was pretty and interesting enough to take the time to get in touch with me, and that alone was an ego boost.

I was in my own little dream world as I put on my coat and grabbed my bag, so I was a bit startled when my colleague (and very good friend) Mick interrupted my thoughts. It resulted in a very interesting conversation.

“Oi! Slapper!” he shouted across the office.

Charming.

“Are you off to the sandwich shop?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a smile.

Not many people can get away with calling me a slapper, but Mick is one of them.

“Can I come with?” Mick asked, already slipping on his coat.

“Yeah, of course,” I replied, knowing full well that a walk to the shop with Mick meant a full on gossip and slag off session of some of our other work “mates” who we loved to hate.

Mick is a few years older than me and is very happily married with a young son and another baby on the way. He’s got a wicked sense of humour and has the amazing ability to make me crease up with laughter over the most stupid things. We used to sit next to each other before he got moved as we were told that we talked too much and apparently had “too much fun at work”. Now we have to chat over email and synchronise our breaks.

My other really good mate at work is Dan. He works on the same team as me and has only been with the company for about a year. Mick, Dan and I have such a good laugh with each other and sometimes that’s the only thing that keeps me going. Dan isn’t married but he lives with his girlfriend and they’ve been together about five years or so. His favourite way to wind me up is to slag off rugby union he is a die-hard rugby league fan. But Dan’s not the only one with the wind ups as we all take the piss out of each other on a daily basis. This usually involves jibes focussed on Mick’s ever increasing moobs, my beard (which is a LIE as I do NOT have facial hair) and Dan being a Manchester United glory supporter.

My team leader once said that Mick, Dan and I are like the three amigos of the office, and I suppose that it’s true. If it wasn’t for those two then the office would be a much duller place (especially now that Foxy Scott has moved on to pastures new and I can’t while away my time flirting with him).

On the way to the sandwich shop Mick and I chatted about the weekend's football and rugby fixtures and the usual sort of stuff. On the way back he steered the topic of conversation in a completely different direction which took me totally by surprise.

As he munched on his tuna baguette Mick asked me who I thought the best looking blokes in the office were. What a question.

“So come on then,” Mick asked through a mouthful of sandwich. “As a young - well youngish - single woman, you must have given some thought as to who at work is hot and who’s not whilst you lean seductively against the photocopier?”

“Ha, ha, very funny Mick,” I replied, trying my best to evade his ridiculous line of questioning.

It’s not that I hadn’t considered this before, but why on earth did he want to know?

“You’re only asking as you’re desperate for a quick ego boost because you’re careering headlong into your mid-life crisis!” I teased.

“No I’m not,” Mick said as he picked bits of tuna mayonnaise off his sandwich wrapper.

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied. “I’m not going to massage your ego so you might as well just put yourself out of your misery and buy that impractical red sports car you’ve been eyeing up on the internet.” I continud.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Mick replied. “I’m not buying that car as it goes, and as for my question? Well, I’m just interested in who you think the resident office bog-creatures are. So go on, tell me,” he persisted.

Er, OK then...

“Well, Scott would have been top of my list but he’s left now so I can’t really count him...” I said thoughtfully.

“No you can’t count him”, Mick replied, as he rammed the last bit of baguette into his mouth. “So who would be your number one?”

That was a difficult question. Undoubtedly Mick would rush off and tell whoever I chose straight away, but at the same time there was no point in lying about it.

“Number one would be Dan I think”, I said quite decisively after a few moments of thought. Mick looked quite surprised.

“Don’t look at me like that!” I said hurriedly. The expression on Mick’s face had changed to that of a schoolboy who had discovered pictures of naked women in his science text book.

Shit, I had to qualify the statement before his mind started whirring.

“What I mean is, Dan is unquestionably good looking and has a lovely smile but obviously I don’t actually fancy him as he’s my mate and is more like a brother. Oh, and he has a girlfriend.”

Phew, good save. It's true though, he just just a mate. A very good mate.

But Dan is good looking. Very good looking. He’s not especially tall but he is taller than me. He has broad strapping shoulders and is quite stocky, and his short dark hair is sexily flecked with grey at the temples. Oh, and that gorgeous, winning smile. He used to play rugby for a local amateur side, and yes, he does have rather lovely arms under his work shirts (from what I can make out).

“OK then,” Mick said, wiping his mouth with a serviette. “Who’s number two?”

“Ha! I should say you as you are a total shit for asking me this!” I joked. “Er, number two would be Sean I think”.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Mick replied.

Sean is a trainee in our department and is pretty fit, but he really knows it and is a bit of a slag with the ladies.

“Again,” I continued, “I think Sean is good looking but I don’t fancy him as I know what he’s like. Number three would be Tim from next door,” at which point Mick and I both stopped walking to do a really bad impression of Tim’s strange nasal inflection.

“I know he’s got a weird sounding voice,” I said, “but he is good looking and I could always gag him or something!”

We had almost arrived back at the office and I had reeled off numbers four and five as one of the team leaders and the new guy Jason. Mick looked surprised and said

“Jason? But I’m better looking than Jason!”

“Ahh, so that’s what this was all about! It was an ego trip for you after all!” I said with a slightly mocking tone. “Oh well I suppose that I’m starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel now so you’d be number six”.

Mick looked quite put out.

“I’ve been told before that I could have been a male model you know,” he said despondently as we climbed the stairs.

After I’d peeled myself up off the floor and stopped laughing I sensed that he might have felt a bit hurt.

“Well I’m sure you could have been... in your day! At least you’re above doddery old Malcolm.” I laughed again, before continuing, “You know me - I like my men young!”

Mick laughed and we went back to our desks. As I ate my sandwich I heard him muttering “Jason?” under his breath.

Male model my arse! But what was all that about? Was he just being nosey or is he trying to set me up - either with a bloke from work or for a fall? I can't work it out... What do you think?

Mixed Bag

2010-04-20T23:07:00.002+01:00

OK, so my internet dating profile has been flirting away in cyberspace for a couple of days now. But has my painstakingly crafted sales pitch ensnared any desirable men?

Well, why don't you have a look at a selection of messages I've received.

Oh, so they make sense, I should tell you that my profile starts off with the "Do you look good in shorts?" line and goes on to say how I love rugby (Leeds Carnegie), football (Liverpool), a bit about the bands I like and where I've been travelling. Mindblowing stuff people.

Message 1

Hi!
Yes I do look good in shorts (or so I’ve been told!). I also support Liverpool, but I’m more of a rugby league fan than rugby union. Have a look at my profile and if you like what you see then I would love to hear from you.
Peter

Message 2

I think you have a lovely smile. Would you like to go out for a drink sometime?

Message 3

Hi, and I’m really sorry if I’ve got the wrong person, but did we used to go to University together? I think we were in the same halls in the first year?

Message 4

Hello,
Great profile, I really enjoyed reading it. My name is Graham and I work as a project manager. I share a lot of the same interests as you, although I have to admit that I support Leeds United but please don’t hold that against me! It was a great win for Liverpool yesterday. Anyway, if you would like to get in touch it would be great to hear from you.
Take care,
Graham

Message 5

Hi there!
Fancy going out for a meal with me? We could go to that new French place in town?
Gary

Message 6

I think you very sexy.

Message 7

I only wear shorts on holiday but apparently I have very good legs! The question is, do you look good in shorts?!

Message 8

Hi there, I see from your profile that you don’t like Thunderstorms. Why ever not? They’re amazing!
Will

Message 9

Hi I’m James,
I enjoyed reading your profile very much. If you like what you see in mine then send me a message back!

Message 10

Whatever are you doing on here? A gorgeous, single girl that loves football, rugby and cricket AND has a great taste in music? I’m off down to the gym to go and work on my legs to make sure I’m not embarrassed if I put a pair of shorts on!
I’m Tom, I support Liverpool too and love the Leeds Rhinos (wrong type of rugby I know). I’m 28 and live in Sheffield. I get to most Liverpool home games as I’m lucky enough to be a season ticket holder. Do you get to Anfield much? Anyway I’d love to hear from you!
Bye for now,
Tom

There’s a few promising looking messages in there and I’m pleasantly surprised.

But what about the blokes who sent them?

Time to be brutal.

I discount messages 2, 5 and 6 straight away as I don’t like the look of them and we don’t have much in common, especially the man who wrote “I think you very sexy”. Er, cheers, but you’re about 5ft 2” tall, look a bit like Gollum and seem to have issues with basic grammar. Oh, and you’re old enough to be my Dad! World of wrong.

I send a reply to Peter who sent me message number one. He’s 30, works in sales and lives about 5 miles from me. He’s not bad looking and has very short, shaved blonde hair and a nice smile. Not drop dead gorgeous but he is quite good looking. Well, worth a squirt at any rate.

Next up is University boy. And wow, yes I did go to college with him. He used to hang around with some of the people I knew and I spent the first year lusting after his mate Mikey. I send him a quick message back confirming that yes I do remember him and ask him what he’s up to these days. I’m not sure if he’s got in touch with me just out of curiosity and to catch up or if he actually does fancy me. Oh well we’ll see.

Message number four from project manager Graham is a nice message to receive, as it shows that he’s read my profile and has taken an interest in some of the things that I like. I check him out and discover that he is 34, lives about 15 miles away, and is a minger. I send a polite reply as I don't want to be rude.

The guy who sent me message number seven is hot, but from the way he’s written his profile I think that he knows it. He’s 6ft1” tall, and has short curly jet black hair, broad shoulders and a gleaming white smile. He has classed his body shape as “Athletic and toned”. So far so good. But after reading his profile I see that we don’t seem to have too much in common. I’m not sure if the fact that he’s only commented on my “shorts” tagline is a good thing though. Has he actually read the rest of my profile, and if he has did he realise that we have nothing else in common? I decide that I’ve got nothing to lose and he is the best looking one yet, so I send him a quick reply saying: “Yes I look great in shorts! As you can see from my profile my legs are my best feature!” It’s getting a bit late and I can’t be arsed to think of anything else to write, especially as he didn’t say much to me.

I ignore message number eight from Will. Why on earth would he pick up on an answer I’ve put in the wanky internet dating section rather than anything else in my profile? Plus, he’s student with ginger hair with a profile so far it’s own arse that I’m surprised I didn’t need a torch to be able to read it. I can’t be bothered with that. Next.

I think that James from message number nine has just sent me a stock message that he must send to everyone that he gets in touch with. I suppose it’s a good time saving device but it is a little bit lazy. James looks quite cute from the one photo on his profile and I also learn that he is a commodity trader (whatever that means). It sounds pretty posh though and also pretty lucrative. Ker-ching! I reply to him and ask him about a trip to Australia that he mentioned in his profile.

Tom from message ten has loads in common with me, but he’s about twenty stone and I just don’t fancy him. I send him one of the stock “Thanks for your message but I’m not interested” replies and then log out.

So all in all a bit of a mixed bag.

I got a load of "winks" too from men who were too lazy to send me a message, but I’m too tired to deal with them or do any searching for myself tonight.

I hope I get some replies to the messages I have sent, but I'm going to bed quite positive about the whole internet dating thing for the first time in my life.

No hot rugby players yet, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time. Please let me know what you think of the first batch of contenders!

P.M.A: Positive Mulberry Attitude

2010-04-18T17:24:00.001+01:00

It is a gorgeous day and it’s my favourite kind of weather. The sun is bright, the sky is blue, but the air is still crisp and slightly chilly.

Perfect weather for a day trip, and I knew exactly where I was going to go to cheer myself up and take my mind off internet dating.

York is a beautiful city, especially on a glorious day like today. I love how you can wander along the city walls and past the castle, ending up amidst the bustle of tourists and shoppers who navigate the maze-like cobbled streets that are filled with curio craft shops and boutiques which gleam with jewel coloured dresses.

But there is one very important reason for my visit. York has one of those truly magnificent shops that if I actually lived in the city my poor pay cheque would be spent before I actually received it. Tucked away from the hoards of shoppers on the main shopping streets and in the shadow of the impressive York Minster is one of my favourite places in the world: a Mulberry Factory Outlet. Mulberry handbag heaven, and my one major weakness. A trip there always puts a smile on my face, and sometimes I can even manage to come away empty handed. However if I do go, I know I have to be prepared in case I fall in love and have to flex my credit card.

A few years ago I didn’t even know about Mulberry or the love affair that I would be embroiled in only a few years later. Now I am a total handbag slut.

Today, York was resplendent in its cloak of glorious spring sunshine. The bright sun bounced off the city walls and made the aged old yellow Yorkshire stone of the castle glow as if it were summer.

I watched the familiar sights go by as I sat on the bus until it was time for my stop. I came on my own as unlike a lot of people I enjoy the experience of shopping alone. I like how I can wander around the shops and drink in the history and the atmosphere at my own pace.

I got off the bus and headed towards Stonegate and in the direction of the Minster. This is where the more interesting and unique shops can be found. I love looking in shops that sell nik-naks and crafts and also in the small boutiques that sell curious clothes. There also seems to be loads of shops peddling deliciously calorific handmade fudge, designed to tempt the tourists and shoppers alike. I tried my best to avoid these though, as otherwise I’ll woof a slab of double chocolate fudge faster than you can say “Get your arse to the gym”.

A few doors down and past Fudgetastic is a new Cath Kidston store, full of chintzy fabrics, bags and vintage home wares and I can’t help but have a look inside. Last year I was desperate to revamp my kitchen in a retro 1950’s style with pastel coloured crockery and utensil pots. However Matt, my now ex, said it would be a waste of money as when we lived together the kitchen would be one of his rooms and he had decided upon a sleek modern look. Wanker.

I love all the vintage floral patterns and colours, and I moved around the store touching the patterned oil cloth bags and cute egg cosies thinking how I could quite easily spend a fortune in here. I tried on a pair of blue floral pumps, but to the dismay of the friendly shop assistant with strangely drawn on eyebrows they didn’t fit me as I’m an awkward half size. Oh well, no matter as now I could head off to the shop I’d actually come to visit.

As I reached Low Petergate I could see the towering Minster bathed in sunlight through the alley in front of me. It is such a beautiful building and as I wandered down the street in its shadow I completely missed my turning for the Mulberry store as I was distracted by the sound of music coming from somewhere close by. As I walked a little further I saw a piano in the street being played by a middle aged lady in a hounds tooth checked cap. Ah yes, you get a better class of street entertainment in York! I backtracked and saw my destination up one of the quieter side streets, so took a deep breath and walked in.

The shop is exactly how I remembered it from last time. Dark wood shelves hold bag after beautiful bag in a rainbow of colours and styles. I won’t bore you with the details, but I feel, touch and swoon my way around the store a couple of times. However, nothing really grabbed me.

I feel pretty disappointed, so I go back to the shelves for another look and to see if there is anything that I have missed. It's then that I catch sight of the bargain bin by the door. There’s not usually too much in there but today it was different. In the bin towards the back is a bag that I have never seen before. It is such a pretty, vintage-style and here it is all lonely in the bargain bin. I rushed over to the mirror to try it on. It was perfect and I knew instantly that it was coming home with me.

As I paid for my brilliant find, I mused at how I had discovered it where I had least expected to: tucked away from sight and hidden away at the back of the bargain bin.

Maybe this was a sign that sometimes you find things where you’re not expecting to, and one person’s cast off bargain is someone else’s perfect find?

Maybe this could be applied to my attempts at internet dating?

I smiled to myself, as this rare find made me feel much more positive about everything. As I walked back through the maze like streets in the sunshine I must have been deep in thought, as I didn’t even realise that I’ve walked past all the fudge shops until I found myself back at the bus stop.

Maybe internet dating won't be too bad after all...

Thank You!

2010-04-16T07:58:00.000+01:00

Thank you to everyone who helped me with my dating profile headline! With your ideas I had a flash of inspiration.

Ideally I am looking for a someone who is a bit of a sportsman. OK - a rugby player. So here it is:

Do you look good in shorts?

Yes, I think that will work.

I know, it’s totally lame but it will have to do as I’ve got a mental block and I can’t think of anything better for now.

I've written the rest of my profile and it's online now. I have to say that I still feel totally embarrassed about the whole thing.

God, what will it be like if someone I know sees me on there? I think I would die. But then again, anyone who sees my profile must be on the website for exactly the same reason as me. Unless they take some sort of perverted pleasure from cruising dating sites.

I hope that my ex Matt doesn’t see me on there as that would be disastrous. In a way, it will be like I am admitting that he is better than me, as I have to resort to internet dating to meet anyone.

Tragic, internet matchmaking.

Oh God, I can’t think about this anymore as it’s starting to upset me. I figure that as I am now effectively flirting in cyberspace 24/7 and I’m starting to get stressed even thinking about it, I will leave my crappy profile to get on with it whilst I do something much more interesting than watching my inbox and waiting for random men to send me creepy messages.
(Mental note to self: not everyone on there is creepy. Probably. I’ve got to give online dating a chance.)

One thing is very evident though. There seems to be a very fine line between sounding happy, positive and up for a laugh in your profile to coming across as a little bit mental. Also, is it just me or does writing “I like staying in and watching DVDs with a bottle of wine” make you sound as thrilling as a wet weekend in a crappy caravan with only a chemical toilet for company?

Sure, I love doing that too (that’s watching DVDs and drinking wine by the way, not sleeping in a glorified tin can with only a cupboard to shit in). However, if that’s all you can think of writing about yourself then you really should give up now and consign yourself as another soul lost in the dating wilderness.

Needless to say I didn't put that in my sales pitch. Because that's what it is, isn't it? A sales pitch. I feel a bit dirty - like a prostitute flaunting herself in a window in Amsterdam

Agh I can't think about this anymore! I'm off out for the day.

Headline Act

2010-04-13T10:57:00.001+01:00

Help! I need your help!

Why did no-one tell me that setting up an internet dating profile is such a minefield?

I’m really struggling for inspiration for my profile headline. This is a one liner that will be displayed under my username and next to my picture. What the hell should I put that doesn't make me sound like a borderline mental patient?

According to the tips on the site apparently this is a good way to entice people to look at your full profile. Either that, or it’s an easy way to make yourself look like a total freak.

I’ve decided to check out my competition. Here is a selection from some of my fellow female online daters, along with what I think of them:

Girl seeks knight in shining armour to whisk her off her feet!

- Classic, traditional and a bit boring. Also, I bet this poor girl will be inundated with messages from knights in tarnished armour all offering to prod her with their rusty lances. Romantic.

Georgeous wee lass

- ...who cannot spell.

Where are you?

- Let’s be having you! Is it just me or does this sound like a desperate plea? I’ll tell you where all the men are: they’re dying a slow and painful death in IKEA whilst harbouring a not so secret desire to be down the pub watching the football with their mates.

Hi

- Zzzzzzzzz. Not a very promising start. The name of the game is to try and grab someone’s attention and encourage them to read on. This is dull, dull, DULL!

Fun loving, tall, slim brunette

- Not bad. This is nice and descriptive but not very intriguing. I can see how this will appeal to all the men out there, but they’ll probably just use her profile photo for a cheeky five knuckle shuffle whilst waiting for the five minute freeview on Playboy TV.

Wanted: Testosterone

- She might as well have just written 'Wanted: Cock'. I guess she must be happy for geeky blokes called Colin to send her pictures of their knobbly penises. (Or is the plural penii? I never did know...)

Can you keep up?

- How? Sexually? With a football?

Blonde and buxom

- The picture of the lady whose profile this belonged to suggested peroxide and a few too many extra pounds. Mental note to self: I must be aware of false advertising.

Looking for an adventure?

- I don’t think this too bad an opener and I reckon this could be good conversation starter. I like how it is phrased as a question and I can see how this would appeal to a bloke. That is, unless the lady in question’s idea of an adventure is a battle through the scrum of rabid shoppers in Primark on a Saturday afternoon.

New to the market

- Are you a used car that’s been around the block a few times? Yes, and that’s why you’ve found yourself floundering around the internet equivalent of a backstreet scrap yard. Not a good analogy.

HAVE A LOOK!!

- OR ELSE!!!!!!

From looking at other profiles on the site it seems that I’m not the only one who is struggling with what should be a simple opening one liner.

I am thoroughly depressed.

Any ideas?

Help!

My Wanky Internet Dating Profile - Part 2

2010-04-11T17:34:00.000+01:00

Music: Still haven't found what I'm looking for - U2

Right, so I've filled in the wonderful "About Me" section on my Match.com profile. Now I get to fill in the section of what I am looking for in my ideal man.

This should be easy. I mean, after years of perfecting the art of finding what I don’t want in a man I’m pretty sure about what I do want. I can choose more than one option in each section to maximise my chances when searching, so here goes:

Hair: Black; Blonde; Dark blonde; Dark brown; Light brown; Salt and Pepper

(Auburn a.k.a. ginger (mingers) are out. I’m not a fan of slapheads, so baldies don't make the cut either)

Eyes: Any

(Ideally he would have some)

Height: 5’10” (177cms) to 6’7” (200cms)

(Shorties need not apply. I would love a man who can pass the heels test, but I can cope with 5’10”. Hopefully this will rule out all those freaky ‘petite’ men who have bodies like 14-year old boys)

Body Type: About average; Athletic and toned; Stocky

(Mmm, athletic and toned please! However I am realistic. As an average bodied kinda girl I maybe should expect an average bodied kinda guy? Plus, some men are modest and claim to be average when actually they are ripped. Maybe. Well, unlikely.)

Languages: English

Ethnicity: White / Caucasian

Faith: Any

Education: Any

(If I'm honest I want to meet someone who is intelligent, but certificates aren’t the be all and end all. As long as we can converse in real words and not shorthand text message talk I’ll be happy)

Job: Any

(Having one would be a good start. And no, trying to get on ‘Deal or No Deal’ doesn’t count.)

Income: Any

(And so the lies begin. Cards on the table: I want to find someone who earns a similar amount to me as I don't want to be somebody else's meal ticket. I daren't say this though as it feels a bit rude, and I don’t want to give the impression that I’m a gold digger. I’ve decided that I can assess a bloke’s income when I find out more about him.)

Smoke: No way

Drink: Any

(Yes please! Going out with a teetotaller would be a bit of a bummer, but on the positive side there would always be a designated driver.)

Relationships: Never married

(In an ideal world I would want to be his one great love. An ex-wife equals a whole load of baggage that I’d prefer not to have to unpack. But I am realistic and I know that there is a good chance that a man in his late twenties/early thirties could have this sort of relationship history. I am prepared for it but would like to avoid it if possible)

Have kids: None

(Again it’s not ideal but I know it’s a possibility. I really want to have children one day, and if I do I would like it to be a first for both myself and the man I have them with.)

Want kids: Definitely; Some day; not sure

Turn-ons: Candlelight; Dancing; Flirting; Public displays of affection; Sarcasm; Skinny dipping; Thrills

(Groan. It’s the wanky internet dating section again)

Turn-offs: Body piercings; Long hair; Thunderstorms

(Well I don’t mind this section. I hate long hair on men and body piercings just leave me cold. As for Thunderstorms? Well I hate argumentative relationships and I think this is what it means, or does it just literally mean Thunderstorms? I give up)

Right, that’s the easy bit done.

Now all I have to do is fill in the difficult wordy sections where I have to sound bright, interesting, amusing and the kind of girl that Mr Perfect Rugby Player has been searching for all his life.

Hmm. I can't be arsed. I'll do that tomorrow...

My Wanky Internet Dating Profile - Part 1

2010-04-09T09:45:00.001+01:00

Music: Binary Love - The Rakes

OK, so first things first with this internet dating malarkey. I have to create a profile for myself.

Easy.

Or so I thought. It really is a lot harder than it looks. I have to find a clear photograph of myself looking straight at the camera and it has to be a headshot. Right then...

(An hour or so later….)

I’ve been looking though all the photos of me on my computer and Facebook and out of hundreds I can only find two that I’m happy to have linked to my online dating profile. Two photos! The rest are group shots, long shots or photos from drunken nights out. I thought I might strike lucky with some of my holiday photos, but then I realised that my hair straighteners didn’t work in America (so those ones are a no-no), the photos of me in Italy were taken when I was a bit porky and in the rest I look a bit greasy because of the sun cream.

I’ve settled for a photo of taken in London a few months ago (one of the few photos I think I look quite pretty in) and a picture taken at the start of a night out before too many glasses of wine were consumed. I’ve submitted the photos knowing that it will take at least a day for them to appear on the site, so I might as well give some thought to what I’m going to write in my profile.

Awesome.

I’ve quickly realised that this is even harder than searching for a passable photograph. There are so many sections to complete, and all the time I’m conscious that I have to make it interesting and witty enough for the kind of guy I’m looking for to want to read it.

Sod this.

I decide to fill in my basic information, as this bit is easy.

Age: 29

Relationships: Never married

Want kids: Someday

Ethnicity: White/Caucasian

Body Type: About average

(I’m a UK size 12, so as much as I’d love to I think I’d be lying if I say I am slender, as I reckon that’s a size10 or under)

Height: 5’8” (172cms)

Religion: Christian / Protestant

Smoke: No way

Drink: Social drinker, maybe one or two. (Ha! Well I socially drink one or two bottles of vino…)

Hair: Blonde (ish. Dark blonde I suppose)

Eyes: Blue

Best Feature: Legs

Sports/Exercise: Gym; Weights/Machines; Aerobics

Exercise habits: 2-3 times per week

Daily Diet: Keep it healthy

Interests: Coffee and Conversation; Dining out; Movies/Videos; Museums and art; Music and concerts; Nightclubs/Dancing; Playing cards; Shopping; Travel/Sightseeing; Watching sports

(Just how lame is this section? This is why internet dating makes me feel like a loser. Coffee and Conversation? Seriously?)

Education: Bachelors degree

Occupation: Technical/Computers

Languages: English, French (basic)

Politics: Liberal

Star Sign: Don't believe in that nonsense

My place: Live alone

Pets I have: Fish

Pets I like: Cats; Dogs

OK good. That will do for now.

I'm off for a cup of tea and a lie down in a dark room. I'm sure internet dating isn't supposed to be such a harrowing experience...

The Final Taboo

2010-04-07T09:53:00.001+01:00

The General Election has finally been called here in the UK, and now it's time for me to start doing some campaigning of my own.

At the beginning of the year I said I would try anything once in my search for my Perfect 10. With this in mind I’m going to dip my toe in the murky pool of internet dating.

To many people internet dating is still seen as one of the last dating taboos and the preserve of the more socially inept losers out there in Singlesville. I have to admit, rather judgementally, that I subscribe to this line of thought, and I agree with the common belief that internet matchmaking websites are like dating graveyards.

I am of course talking from a position of total ignorance. But surely these depressing places must be inhabited by sad and desperate mingers masquerading as someone altogether more attractive? You know, people who use a photoshopped picture of an overly coiffed David Hasselhoff for their profile picture.

I’m probably being unfair, but it’s got to be a last resort if you have to look for a partner online, hasn’t it?

I know, I know, this isn’t strictly true, and I do know a few people who have signed up to various online dating websites with successful results. However there is still a part of me that doesn’t want to admit that I’m giving it a try.

In my eyes internet dating is still tarnished with the stigma that you really must have exhausted all the other options of finding a bloke. It can't be good if you have to resort to spending hours on the internet, cruising pictures of men sporting Borat-style mankinis in their dodgy holiday snaps. That's before you even start to read their tedious profiles.

But, fortune favours the brave, and not being one to back away from a challenge I'm going to give it a whirl.

I’m going to tell a few of my close friends that I’m signing up to the world of internet matchmaking heaven so I can get a bit of moral support. I'm also going to get them to check out any potential finds so I can have a second opinion.

You know, things like: He looks like a serial killer.
Or: I've dated him already and he has rabies.

My best friend Louise is already signed up with Match and has been out on a few fairly successful dates, so this is the one I decide to plump for.

I've paid my registration fee and I’m ready to go.

Well, just not yet. I have to carefully craft my profile and hone my weirdo-rader first...

No Great Shakes

2010-04-05T13:34:00.001+01:00

Music: West End Girls - The Pet Shop Boys

Last night I went for some bank holiday drinks with my friends Amy and Nikki. Miraculously I woke up this morning with no hangover and a full memory of the evening's proceedings. I know, quite an achievement, right. Here's what happened...

Destination: Wakefield, West Yorkshire.
Drink of choice: Vodka lime and soda.
Men: Pretty hot, as it goes.

Bar 1

First up, it's a cheesy 80's bar. Duran Duran and Bananarama all round. All the normal Sunday drinks offers were off (robbing bastards) which made my first round a bit expensive. Hmm, not impressed so far.

When I got back from the bar, Amy and Nikki were talking to a group of blokes. They were OK. Mid-thirties, not beaten with the ugly stick and they looked pretty friendly. But then one of them came out with possibly the weirdest chat up line I've ever heard.

Bloke 1 (to Nikki): "Hi you alright?"
Nikki: "Yeah thanks."
Bloke 1 (looking at Nikki closely): "Bloody hell love, you've got really hairy arms."

He then pinches Nikki's arm hair as if to demonstrate his point. We all laugh. Ace line, but it didn't get him anywhere.

Bar 2

An old man pub turned into a bar with blaring dance music. But things are looking up. I spot a really fit guy. And I mean really fit. Tall, dark, broad shoulders, great arms, slightly tanned. He was wearing a turquoise t-shirt that hugged his body in all the right places. To top it all off he had a cheeky glint in his eye. Nice.

Sadly, he was at the other side of the bar and I'd only had one drink. There was no way that I was making a move on him sober.

But we did meet a guy with the best hair I have ever seen in my life. Amy, Nikki and I had been debating whether his curly white-man afro was real or if it was a wig. Think Seth Rogan with a head of massive bouncing curls. He was quite cute, in a slightly geeky way.

Me (beckoning him over): "I've got to ask, is your hair real or is it a wig?"
Curly Wurly: "What do you think?"
Amy: "Wig."
Nikki: "Real."
Me: "Wig".
Curly Wurly (laughing): "Well, touch it and see."

Amazingly it was real. Soft and bouncing curls. He must have loved it: three girls running their fingers through his hair. And do you know what? I kind of liked it too. Not enough to pull him though. He wasn't that fit.

Bar 3

A slightly cooler bar. Now we're talking. Plenty of muscle bound hot guys roaming in packs. That's one thing I love about going out in small towns - the undiscovered talent. However, there were also plenty of young, primped and preened 18-year old girls which made me feel about 100 years old.

To make matters worse, one (slightly drunk) bloke decides that I have an encylopedic knowledge of the drinks prices, just because I'm standing at the bar.

Drunk bloke: "Alright love, how much are Jagerbombs?"
Me: "I have no idea."
Drunk bloke: "Yeah you do. Come on, are they £3?"
Me (sighing): "I don't work here."
Drunk bloke: "Or is it £3.50?"
Me (getting annoyed): "Yeah, probably."
Drunk bloke: "Will you get me one?"
Me (really annoyed): "No."
Drunk bloke: "Oh go on."
He then thrusts £4 into my hand. Fine. Anything to get rid of him. I jiggle my boobs and get the attention of the barman.
Me: "How much are Jagerbombs?"
Barman: "£3."

Nice one drunk bloke. The extra quid will buy my winning lottery ticket next weekend. I give him his drink and keep the change. Ha.

Bar 4

We grab a table and another round of drinks. We've been there for a few minutes when fit turquoise t-shirt guy from the earlier bar strides in with his mates. Excellent, a nice bit of eye candy. I consider doing the oh-so-not-very-subtle brushing past him on the way to the bar technique, but then I see that he's the wrong side of drunk and is ogling a group of girls who are about 10 years younger than me.

Arse.

Maybe this cougar in training needs more work...

I decided to leave it. More drinks all round.

Bar 5

Several double vodkas down the line and we're all a bit drunk. That's probably why we ended up having a stupid girl row over where to go for takeaway.

We quickly leave after necking our drinks, and half an hour later I am safely tucked up in my bed, alone, with a belly full of cheesy chips.

Conclusion

As nights out go it was OK. No great shakes. If I'm honest it was a bit of a weird night out. Maybe I'm just used to going out in the big city? Wakefield is, well, it reminds me of the small town where I grew up and where I went out drinking when I was 16. I felt old, really old, being out in the same places as a load of teenagers. It doesn't feel like that in the city. I don't feel like a crusty old fart.

Maybe I've turned into a city girl? Eek, I never saw that one coming...

Delicious Dylan and Time to Get Shaky

2010-04-04T12:46:00.001+01:00

Music: Get Shaky - The Ian Carey Project

So yesterday I watched my beloved rugby team, Leeds Carnegie, take on Northampton Saints - the team of my current crush du jour, Dylan Hartley.

Delicious Dylan wasn't named in the Saints squad because of his injured leg, bless him.

BUT, Dylan was on the pitch before the game and was sexily trotting around in a pair of shorts, helping out with the team warm up.

Even though Leeds lost 14-7 after a very close game (which was GUTTING!) I came away with a very well stocked visual wank bank.

Sadly I didn't see Dylan (left), or his team mate Ben Foden (right) in a state of undress...

Hehe.

Anyway, moving on.

Today is Bank Holiday Sunday, which can mean only one thing: No, not Easter eggs - a big night out.

Tonight's glittering destination is the wonder that is Wakefield. Cue plenty of scary women with way too many tattoos, a smattering of middle-aged men trying their luck with teenagers, and me and my (much classier) friends.

It should be interesting.

If I survive then of course I will tell you all about it. Vodka and cattle-prods at the ready...

100% New Zealand Beef

2010-04-01T08:39:00.000+01:00

I have a new crush.

He is a 6ft 1", 17 and a half stone hunk of pure New Zealand beef.

And I think he is gorgeous.

Allow me to introduce you to Dylan Hartley, Northampton Saints rugby star.

Dylan and his Northampton side are playing my team, Leeds Carnegie, this weekend. Needless to say, I am VERY excited at the prospect of watching him trotting up and down the pitch in a pair of thigh hugging shorts.

But here's the thing. Is he good looking?

I ask the question for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, I told a couple of my friends that I had a bit of a soft spot - OK, a raging wide-on - for Dylan and they laughed in my face. You see, when he plays, Dylan looks a bit more like this:

Hmm, not quite as hot.

Secondly, I need to know if my man-radar is a bit iffy. You see, I'm thinking of dipping my toe into the dreaded internet dating pool, and I need to make sure I'm not going to inadvertantly stumble into Minger Alley.

Oh and one last thing. Dylan is only 24. I am a bit older than that. Does this make me a Cougar in Training?

Agh.

Whatever. I'm going to Headingley Stadium nice and early on Saturday to watch him warming up. And maybe do a spot of gentle flirting with him. If I'm lucky... ;-)

The Break Up

2010-03-30T17:42:00.000+01:00

Music: Boys Don't Cry - The Cure

On Christmas Day morning, I crept into the spare room and into the spare bed next to Matt.

Despite everything I had built up the courage to say the previous night, Matt’s manipulations were still inside my head, and overnight I had convinced myself that maybe it would all be alright and maybe there was nothing really that wrong with us after all.

As we lay there and I looked at Matt so lost and upset, my heart went out to him and I felt so guilty for making him feel that way. I lay behind him and put my arms around his waist, and after almost an hour of stillness I was the one to break the silence.

“We can try again,” I said in a whisper. “Please don’t be upset. We can get it back to how it was before. Just say you want to try again and we can.”

For the first time, Matt had listened to the worries I had about our relationship, and even though deep in my gut I knew things could never be the same again I still offered him that chance.

“OK,” Matt replied as he fought against his tears. “OK, we will try again.”

Looking back now, I think I did this as self esteem was so low and I really didn’t want to hurt him. It was Christmas Day, and it’s too awful to break up with someone on Christmas Day isn’t it?

Even as he said yes, half of me was kicking myself for letting him back into my life after everything I had finally managed to say, whilst the other half was relieved that we might be able to salvage our relationship.

We talked for about an hour, and I said I would really try to get things back on track, all the time knowing that I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. But I wanted to save the remnants of Christmas. I never wanted to split up with him on Christmas Day but my feelings after finding the present at the start of December ate me up inside to a point where I couldn’t see any other way out.

We finally got up and went downstairs and sat on the sofa.

“Well, I might as well give you your presents as I’ve already paid for them,” Matt said in a detached voice, as he lifted a small pile of gifts onto the coffee table.

Who said romance was dead eh?

I didn’t expect to see the box that had been neatly wrapped by the jewellers as he would never propose to me after what had happened the night before, would he?

However, the box was there, on the top of the pile.

Matt passed me the presents one by one. A DVD. Some vouchers for a spa. A new purse. And then he handed me the neatly wrapped present. The one I had been dreading.

“I hope you like it," he said in a flat tone.

I carefully untied the bow and lifted the paper at one corner. Breathing in slowly, I opened the other corner. The paper came away in my hands and I held the box nervously in front of me. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was inside.

I lifted the lid and there it was.

It was a silver bangle. The one that I had circled in the jewellery catalogue. The knocking noise on the side of the box when I had shaken it was the bangle hitting the side, not a ring box. It was beautiful: silver, with a white and black mother of pearl inlay.

I felt so relieved, but also so stupid. It wasn’t a ring and I wasn’t engaged but Matt and I were still together despite everything I had built up the courage to say.

We had an OK Christmas together. I think we put a brave face on it for each other, especially when we went over to my parents on Boxing Day.

We eventually split up a few days later after a disastrous New Year’s Eve. Matt had finally realised that things were different and my feelings had changed but the truth was really hard for him to take.

I still feel bad for how it all happened but I don’t think it could have happened in any other way as my self esteem had been at an all time low. Maybe I was a bit depressed (something which Matt suggested as I was constantly tired and feeling low) but who knows.

As for Foxy Scott...

On our return to work after the Christmas break our email flirtation picked up where it had left off. We were arranging to meet up and go out for a drink, when at the end of the first week back, Scott and a few other salesmen were called in to see their manager and were made redundant.

It was a total shock, not just to Scott, his colleagues and me, but to the entire office. Quite understandably Scott’s priorities changed from organising to go out for a drink with me to looking for a new job, although he kept saying that we should definitely go out. He even suggested getting together on a night when he was supposed to be going to football training, cheekily saying that he could tell his footie mates that he was going for a massage.

We never did meet up.

I told him that I had split up with Matt but that he was not a factor in my decision (and honestly, he wasn’t), and whilst the emails continued for a while after he left the company they did start to fizzle out.

The final email that I received from him said that his fiancée - shit I thought she was his girlfriend - had read one of our messages on Facebook. He had been forced to lie and say he had been organizing leaving drinks with everyone from work and not just trying to arrange a date for me and him to meet up.

Whether this is true or not I don’t know. Part of me thinks it might be, but a bigger part thinks that he enjoyed the flirtation but when it looked likely that we would take it to the next level his conscience got the better of him.

Either that, or he just wanted a bit of harmless fun and enjoyed the thrill of the chase but never actually wanted to cheat on his girlfriend.

Whichever way it was, I don’t mind. If anything more had happened between us then I would have been cast as the “other” woman which is horrible when I stop to think about it.

It’s weird, but in all the time that Scott and I were flirting with each other, I hardly stopped to think about his poor, unknowing girlfriend - I mean fiancée - even though I know I awful it would have been for her if she found out. I feel terrible about this now and can’t believe that I acted in such a way.

I think I’m going to stop calling my ex the Evil Cockbag now, as whilst I can’t forgive him for sleeping with someone else behind my back, I can understand how he felt and how easily it can happen.

I know all this might make you think I'm a total bitch but I promise you I'm not. I've never cheated on anyone physically and I don't intend to start now. Through this I learnt just how easy it is to cross that line and whilst I can never justify having an affair I can understand how they can start oh so easily.

So that's how I became single. A bit of a mess eh?

Happy F*cking Christmas

2010-03-26T16:21:00.000Z

Music: Happy Christmas (War is Over) - John Lennon

The plan for last Christmas was very different to the norm. Unlike every other 25th December, I was only going spend the day with my boyfriend, Matt.

Just the two of us.

Together.

Alone.

Usually I go back home to my Mum and Dad’s on Christmas Day morning, but Matt was adamant that as his parents were overseas and we couldn’t see them, that it wasn’t fair to see mine on Christmas Day either. His wonderful idea was for us to spend the day together, just the two of us.

And I hated him for that.

Now you might think this arrangement was nice, romantic and reasonable. I saw it as controlling.

It was just another way of Matt stamping his authority on my life and stomping all over what I wanted and how I felt.
Also, in a change from the norm, we stayed in on Christmas Eve, which was the first time I had stayed in on the night before Christmas since I was about eighteen. It was always a tradition for me to go out with my friends, but not this year. I can understand that this makes me look like a complete doormat, and yes you would be right, but that’s what years of Matt wearing me down had done to me.

So it was Christmas Eve and Matt and I were staying in, drinking wine and watching the television. Rock and roll. During an advert break, Matt put his glass down on the coffee table and turned to face me.

“So are we going to start seriously looking for a house together in the New Year?” he asked with his usual steadiness.

Oh no. Not this conversation again.

“Er, maybe,” I replied as half-heartedly as I could.

I had been side-stepping this issue for months. Due to the way I felt about Matt I didn't want to sell my house so we could buy a place together. My dithering on the subject had finally taken its toll.

“What does ‘maybe’ mean?” Matt asked more aggressively. “It’s always ‘maybe’ or ‘in a few months’ with you. Do you actually want to buy a house with me?”

I couldn’t say yes as it would have been such a big fat lie. I sat there for a few seconds, staring at the carpet, before I found the courage to look at him.

“No. No I don’t want to buy a house with you,” I said quietly.

I couldn’t stop myself and everything came spilling out along with gallons of tears.

“I’m really sorry, but I can’t,” I sobbed. “I don’t feel the same about you anymore. I’ve not felt the same about you for months.”

The tears rolled down my face, and all the while Matt just sat there, calmly staring at his wine glass on the table with an almost icy detachment. I think he must have been letting everything sink in. After all, even though I'd tried to tell him a thousand times, he didn’t realise anything was wrong.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you about it for months,” I continued as I wiped the saltwater from my face, “But every time I tried you just brushed me aside and didn’t listen to me.”

“Like when?” Matt replied angrily. “Not once have you EVER tried to talk to me about this. And why didn’t you tell me sooner? You said you’ve felt like this for months and you only tell me now? Well, happy f*cking Christmas!” he shouted angrily as he threw a cushion against the wall.

He was always good for a bit of dramatic effect, although at least he only chucked soft furnishings around.

“I couldn’t tell you about my feelings back then as I didn’t know how I felt.” I continued. “You always seemed to convince me that it was all in my head, when it wasn’t. I can’t carry on. I can’t buy a house with you. I don’t want to sell my house....” my voice trailed off.

Matt was upset and very, very angry.

I decided not to mention Scott, as he was a recent distraction and I knew it would crush Matt. My feelings towards Matt had changed long before my flirtation with Scott began so I didn’t want to bring this up and cloud the water.

Despite that we still had plenty to talk about, and we stayed up until the early hours. Matt drank bottle after bottle of Prosecco which we’d bought for Christmas Day, whilst I just sipped on glasses of water. I needed a clear head.

We slept in separate beds that night.

Cold Hands

2010-03-25T09:53:00.000Z

Music: With Every Heartbeat - Robyn

So was Scott being serious?

I read his email again:

I picked up a bit of a groin strain at football practice last night. If you’re available for a spot of massage and would like to rub it better then that would be most appreciated! :-)x

What about his girlfriend?

We never spoke about her or my boyfriend Matt in our emails, but we obviously both knew that they existed.

Up until this point we hadn’t done anything wrong. Had we?

Physically, no. But mentally? Yes. Definitely yes.

I thought about Foxy Scott constantly at work. When I got home to see Matt I constantly compared him with Scott, and Scott always came out on top.

The email communication between Foxy Soctt and I had been getting increasingly flirty, and the way my heart pounded when I saw him couldn’t be attributed to anything else except that I fancied him. And I really fancied him. I imagined having sex with him when I was having sex with Matt. I imagined having sex with him when I was on my own.

I’ve heard people say before that having an affair in your head is much worse than cheating on your partner with a one night stand. I’ve never really understood what this meant before but now I got it.

A one night stand is more likely to happen after a shitload of alcohol in a weaker moment, not to be forgiven but probably not to be repeated either. In my head with Scott it was different because I had been getting to know him. I wanted him, but more so because in finding out about him I had started to fancy the person and not just his looks, as gorgeous as they were. I can now see that if you fall in love with someone in your heart, then you can betray them in your head, and this is what was happening now with me and Scott.

My relationship with Matt was nearing its natural end which is why I think I found it so easy to slip into it, but what did this mean for me? Was I no better than my ex-boyfriend the Evil Cockbag who shagged that woman from work? If I said yes to Scott’s indecent proposal and went anywhere near his groin then I would definitely be in the same category of cheating scum.

The Evil Cockbag started his dirty affair after working closely with a colleague. Did they start off their smutty liaison by emailing each other and getting increasingly flirty and close? Are the feelings I’m having for Scott and Matt the same feelings that the Evil Cockbag had about the woman from work and me?

Oh my God. I bet they are.

I bet I was his version of Matt.

And there it was. The realisation that I had come full circle and that I was exactly the same as my ex, the one who broke my heart and shat all over it.

Except I’m not though, am I?

I might have strayed in my head but I still hadn’t slept with anyone else. This didn’t really console me and I knew right then that Matt and I were over.

I knew that we could never get back what we once had before, and now there was a real reason to end the relationship as soon as possible: To stop me from sinking to the level of my cheating ex. If I sank to the same level as him then I couldn’t complain the next time a bloke messed me around, and I would probably deserve it.

I responded to Foxy Scott's request for a sexy massage by saying that I would love to rub his groin but my hands were cold and they would need to be warmed up first. I know I was being way too subtle for him to understand this meant “not now, but when I’ve sorted out my boyfriend mess and if you become single then I would love to.”

Scott said he would hold me to it at a later date.

Work finished for Christmas, and I had to finish my relationship.

The Proposition

2010-03-22T23:08:00.000Z

Music: Signs - Justin Timberlake & Snoop Dogg

I don’t think I have ever looked forward to going in to work on a Monday morning as much as I did after my work’s Christmas do. After all, it was the Monday morning following the Saturday night when I kissed my colleague Foxy Scott. Accidentally, of course...

I arrived at just after half past eight, logged on to my computer and sorted myself out with a cup of tea. My desk overlooks the front of the building and the car park so I can see all the comings and goings, the deliveries, when the sandwich man arrives and most importantly who is blocking my car in. It all sounds remarkably trivial, but staring out of the window was quite a pastime of mine at work, and I found it much easier to dream about sexy rugby player Dan Carter whilst gazing out of the window instead of staring at my computer screen.

I’d already checked out Foxy Scott’s desk and seen that he hadn’t arrived yet. Was he in today? Oh God I hadn’t even considered that? No, don’t be stupid. In the text he sent to me yesterday he said that he’d see me today. Maybe he was ill?

I needn’t have worried. Five minutes later as I was waiting for all my emails to filter through, I caught sight of him walking from the bus stop and across the car park. I couldn’t believe it, but my heart flipped a beat. I felt the nervous excitement of butterflies in my stomach and all because I’d just seen him. You might think how ridiculous, but I had been counting down the hours until I saw him again from about 2am on Sunday morning.

I gave Foxy Scott a good twenty minutes to arrive, log on, and read his emails before I made sure he was at his desk and sashayed over.

Deep breaths. Come on girl, be calm. Look sexy.

I stood up and smoothed my dress across my thighs whilst breathing in slowly and steadily. I’ve been told that when I wear heels my bum wiggles, so I made my best effort to gently emphasize this as I walked towards him without looking like a bimbo-esque cartoon character. It seemed that the rest of the sales team were enjoying a well earned lie in, meaning that Foxy Scott was on his own.

“Ah, good morning,” he said, flashing me a perfect smile. “My ten pounds I presume?”

“Yes, here you go,” I replied, feigning disappointment but smiling all the while. “Don’t go spending it all at once!”

Fernando Torres: You have a lot to answer for.

He laughed. “I’m really going to enjoy spending it. It’s a pleasure doing business with you!”

After the cash handover we didn’t make any more small talk. In fact, he seemed quite shy.

Maybe that’s the way that Sober Scott is, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to me?

I have to admit that I felt a bit deflated on the walk back to my desk. I’d pictured us picking up where we left off at the Christmas party, all hidden looks and flirty banter. Maybe I wasn’t such a fanciable proposition in the cold light of day? Either way, I felt like a bit of a tit for working myself up into such a state, and I could have spent an extra half hour in bed instead of agonizing over what to wear.

After about fifteen minutes of feeling like an idiot and not really concentrating on work, I thought f*ck it and sent him an email. Nothing racy or suggestive, just something about me killing him if I found out that he bought anything related to his rubbish football team with my money. I decided that football was a safe area, and it’s how we had started talking in the first place and it might just get the conversation flowing again.

It was as if the floodgates had opened.

He emailed me back within a couple of minutes, and then we sent emails back and forth for the rest of the week. And the week after that. After two weeks we had become friends on Facebook and were sending each other messages outside of office hours.

In the couple of weeks before Christmas it all started off very innocently. We talked about sport a lot, and he told me more about the football team that he played for and sent me jokes about Liverpool FC. All this time, my heart beat faster when I saw him. We smiled at each other if we walked past each other’s desks, but we never spoke to each other face to face, which for some reason didn’t seem strange. I had no reason to go over to see the salesmen and he had no reason to come and speak to me. It would have looked odd if we had started chatting to each other and the rumour mill was something I was desperate to avoid.

All this time, I didn’t think really about my boyfriend Matt at all. Well, with the exception of the dreaded Christmas present and everything it meant. Somehow I pushed all that to the back of my mind.

Foxy Scott and I were emailing all day every working day, and from my experience with boys if they’re not interested in you they won’t make an effort. The fact that he was writing (often very flirty emails) meant that he was interested. He was such a distraction and it made me feel great. I loved how it felt when my stomach flipped when I saw him, or the uncontrollable smile I got when another email pinged into my inbox. The way I felt over these weeks was something that had been sorely missing from my relationship with Matt for well over a year. To say Matt and I had only been together nearly two and a half years: well, that wasn’t a good sign.

Then, just before work closed down for Christmas, the emails between Foxy Scott and I changed. It was the day after his football training and he started off by emailing me in his usual way, with some form of gentle piss taking and some flirty chit-chat. After my initial reply, he sent me a message that totally shocked me.

From Foxy Scott

If you see me walking a bit funny today it’s because I picked up a bit of a groin strain at football practice last night. If you’re available for a spot of massage and would like to rub it better then that would be most appreciated! :-) x

Wow. He wanted me to tickle his trouser-snake.

The line had now well and truly been crossed.

This wasn’t flirty banter anymore. It was a proposition.

The Game

2010-03-20T07:03:00.000Z

Music: Temptation - Heaven 17

The day after the work's Christmas party I had a hangover which felt like a slow and painful death.

The previous night I had got very, very drunk on tequila slammers, flirted unashamedly with sexy sales guy Foxy Scott from my office and made a bet with him about the outcome of a football match. Oh and I accidentally kissed him and got his phone number - all whilst my knob-jockey of a boyfriend was just around the corner.

After my rather eventful evening I woke up with a disgusting taste in my mouth.

It wasn't guilt. Weirdly I didn't feel bad about anything that had happened the previous night.

On the contrary, I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I would have to end it with my boyfriend, Matt.

No, the taste in my mouth was definitely alcohol related.

In fact, it was so bad, I was convinced that when I was asleep a hairy gorilla had sculpted me a bum banana and left it in there for me to suck on. Either that or I had fallen out of bed in the middle of the night and spent a few hours inadvertantly licking the carpet.

I was looking and feeling crud.

I stayed in bed for most of the day, especially as Matt’s horrendous drunken snoring had kept me awake for the majority of the night. When I finally peeled myself out from under the duvet it was about four in the afternoon, and I plonked myself down on the sofa - just in time for the football.

Ah, the football. Happily the game being shown was Liverpool v Arsenal. Come on boys and win me a tenner. Foxy Scott, your money will be mine.

That night, in between fitful sleep I’d gone over and over in my mind everything that had happened:

Foxy Scott telling me that he fancied me.

The flirting and the conversation.

The kiss.

It was weird, as I knew he had a girlfriend and I was pretty sure that they lived together and were happy, but then again people would think that Matt and I were happy so what does that say? After everything that happened to me when my previous boyfriend (the Evil Cockbag) slept with that woman from work I have always said I would never, ever cheat on anyone as the pain is just too much to take for the other person.

So what on earth was I contemplating now?

Foxy Scott and I both had other halves so nothing else could happen.

Could it?

Would I want it to?

Was I just flattered by the attention or was there something more to it?

Is this how affairs start? Is it this easy?

As I settled down to watch the game my mind wandered. Matt was sitting on the other chair, but happily when the football was on I wasn't not allowed to talk to him, so my quietness was taken for me just watching the game instead of mulling things over:

I was the one who initiated the kiss. I had asked Foxy Scott for his number.

I knew that I wasn’t happy in my relationship but I had never even contemplated doing anything like this before. Not that I knew what “this” was. The one thing I was starting to realise was that I couldn’t ignore my feelings for Matt much longer as it wasn’t fair on either of us.

I picked up my phone and started reading through the text messages that I’d sent and received the previous night. I felt butterflies in my stomach and smiled to myself. Ouch my head. As I curled up on the sofa my phone vibrated with a new message:

From Foxy Scott:
Are you watching the game? Your team are going down! :-) x

Oh my God. He’s texted me. And with a kiss at the end!

He must have sobered up by now? I didn’t reply straight away – a girl doesn’t want to look too eager. I wondered if he was embarrassed by the messages he sent me last night. I mean, we shared an innocent(ish) kiss and then he sent me a string of text messages which basically said that he wanted to drag me back to his house and shag me silly.

I read the message again. The tone was quite flirty:

Your team are going down! :-) x

I suppose that a text about the football was a good ice breaker after last night’s antics, but the kiss was surplus to requirements if he was just being friendly. Was he?

All these thoughts going around in my head along with the background noise of the football lulled me back to sleep. I woke up with about half an hour of the game left and rubbed my eyes so I could focus on the TV screen. Arsenal were leading by two goals to one.

“Oh you’re awake then,” Matt said snidely. “I thought you supported Liverpool?”

“Yeah, I do,” I replied. “For some reason I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think there must have been a pig or something in the bedroom, and it didn’t stop snoring all night.”

Matt snorted and crossed his arms before turning his attention back to the television.

Well he can f*ck off.

I rubbed my eyes and checked my phone. No new texts, but then again I hadn’t replied to Scott’s first message so I wasn’t surprised. He doesn’t want to look too eager either. I thought about it and rewrote the message about five times before I sent it. It read:

To Foxy Scott:
I hope you’re not spending my ten pounds yet...
There’s still half an hour left. Come on Liverpool! :-)

After much internal debate I didn’t put a kiss at the end. I figured that the smiley face would show that I was being friendly or flirty depending on how you look at it, and if he chose to respond then whatever he wrote would be a good indication of whether he was just being friendly or not.

One minute later.

Buzz.

From Foxy Scott:
Your money is mine! I’m looking forward to going
into work tomorrow to collect my winnings! :-)x

OK. So I think I know what’s going.

Flirting. Definitely flirting.

Our Little Secret

2010-03-18T08:50:00.000Z

Music: In the Middle - Sugababes

So Foxy Scott and I kissed at our office Christmas party and swapped phone numbers in the space of a minute. My boyfriend Matt was just around the corner in the bar, but did I feel guilty? Did I hell. Matt was a manipulative arsehole who was going to propose to me on Christmas Day.

But what was I doing?

The fact that Foxy Scott had a girlfriend didn’t even enter my head. I know, I'm a bitch right?

Well maybe. I was drunk and caught up in the moment. I felt attractive and desired again by someone who had been listening to what I had to say without rubbishing what I thought. The fact that he was drop dead gorgeous and told me that he fancied me as well made me feel fantastic.

I also felt the thrill of the illicit: No one else knew what had just happened. It was our little secret.

I left Foxy Scott and returned to the bar where everyone seemed to be getting ready to leave. Time had flown and it was about half one in the morning. Wow, I must have been a bit more drunk than I’d realised.

I stood chatting and saying goodbyes to my work mates as Foxy Scott walked past me. He didn’t say goodbye and he didn’t even look at me. Part of me wondered if it was because Matt was right there or if it was because he was embarrassed about what had just happened.

Before I could get too upset, I felt my mobile phone vibrate in my bag. Matt was busy arranging a night out with the team leader, so I unzipped my bag and saw that I’d received a new message:

From Foxy Scott:
I want you.

My heart started pounding again, and I clutched my phone to my chest in case anyone caught sight of the screen.

I glanced around but I couldn’t see him, but then out of the corner of my eye I spotted him waiting for a taxi outside. I was standing slightly away from everyone else, so I immediately sent a reply:

To Foxy Scott:
Oh really? When?

Quite where I was getting this bravado from is beyond me. I can only think that after months of feeling like the inferior person in my relationship and due to a whole load of sexual frustration it bubbled up from under the surface. The sex life that Matt and I had was no more than a once a week going through the motions quick pump-pump squirt, and I hadn’t feel my whole body tingle like it was now in so long I couldn’t even remember.

My phone vibrated.

From Foxy Scott:
Come back to mine tonight x

No.

No that wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t just going to run outside and jump into a taxi with him, leaving my boyfriend behind. Although it was so very tempting. I decided to play along thought as I was enjoying the buzz of adrenaline.

To Foxy Scott:
Sorry I can’t. I would have loved to though ;)

Buzz.

From Foxy Scott:
OK. Speak to you tomorrow x

Ahh yes, the football game was tomorrow. We had made a drunken wager on the outcome of the game, and the winner would pocket the princely sum of £10. Yes, we're talking big money here folks.

I put my phone back in my bag and smiled contentedly to myself. Knowing something that no-one else did even though they had only been metres away made me feel like I had electricity flowing through me.

Matt finally came over as he’d finished organizing his social calendar and we went outside and jumped in a taxi. Fortunately Foxy Scott had already left so there was no awkward goodbye between the three of us.

“Did you have a good night?" Matt said whilst stifling a yawn. "I thought it was alright. A bit shit though.".

“I thought it was really good actually," I replied. "Much better than last year.”

And I really, really meant it.

But what the hell was I thinking? Foxy Scott wasn't single and neither was I.

That was the problem: I wasn't thinking. Well not about that anyway.

Crossing the Line

2010-03-16T11:27:00.000Z

Music: She Wolf - Shakira

So there I was at my office Christmas party, flirting unashamedly with Foxy Scott, a man who wasn't my boyfriend. The fact that Matt, my boyfriend, was only metres away didn't bother me at all. I mean, he was a total wanker and was going to propose to me on Christmas Day...

But back to the party...

Despite all the flirting I knew that Foxy Scott had a girlfriend as she came to the work's do last year. For some reason she wasn’t with him tonight. Or had they split up?

“So how come you’ve come on your own tonight? Did your girlfriend not fancy it?” I asked, glancing at Matt who seemed to have realised that Scott and I had been chatting for quite some time.

A large part of me hoped that Scott would say he was single.

“Oh, she’s off visiting her family this weekend and she left early,” he replied.

Oh. Never mind.

I was glad that she hadn’t been able to make it though, as I was enjoying the attention and the flirty exchanges. I very much doubt we would have been having this conversation if his missus had been in tow.

Despite this, everything was all very innocent. True, there might have been some gentle flirting going on, but that’s what office Christmas parties are for, right?

Before tonight Scott and I had only exchanged about two words with each other, but now I was learning all about his favourite bands, the football team he plays for and what he wanted for Christmas.

I wasn’t the only one asking questions and he seemed really interested in me too. It’s almost like we were on a first date but without the expectation of a dodgy kiss at the end of the night. He was being really lovely.

And did I mention that he’s sexy?

Foxy Scott and I had been chatting for about forty five minutes when Matt stumbled over, having completed his monologue on effective management styles and patronising one of the team leaders. He pulled a chair over and sat next to me, and much to my annoyance I was obliged to introduce him to (Foxy) Scott.

“Matt, this is Scott. He’s one of the sale guys at my company. Scott, this is Matt. My boyfriend.” I sighed.

I knew full well that my lovely ego-boosting flirtatious conversation was now over.

After about ten minutes of sitting there watching Matt and Scott needling each other as they talked about football, I could tell that the atmosphere had changed so I excused myself and went to the loo. When I returned, Matt was sitting on his own.

“I don’t think Scott liked it when I came over,” Matt said, sounding quite pissed off.

“Oh why? How come?” I replied, knowing full well what he meant.

“He just seemed annoyed that I was interrupting your conversation. I’ve been watching you both and I think he was flirting with you,” he said.

Yeah. And?

Of course I denied it to keep to peace as I didn’t want to start having a row in the middle of my work’s Christmas party. However I was secretly pleased that Matt was pissed off. My self-esteem had been given a massive boost too. I didn’t think Foxy Scott even knew I existed, and yet he had spent the best part of an hour flirting with me and talking with really good knowledge about the teams that I loved. I was having a really good night.

Desperate to avoid just sitting with Matt, I persuaded him that we should go and mingle as I didn’t want to appear anti-social. We headed back to the bar where Round 15 of tequila slammers was in full flow.

I talked to some of my team for a while and Matt picked up his earlier conversation about how to be an effective manager. Yawn. By this point everyone was pretty drunk – it must have been about midnight but I’d totally lost track of time. I was lucky in a way as no one commented on how I’d been talking to Foxy Scott for so long as they’d all been distracted by the big reveal of new couple in the office.

We’d all known that Sean and Charlotte been seeing each other for ages, but it had never been confirmed until tonight when they were all over each other like a pair of frotting Bonobo monkeys. I was relieved in a way, as my colleagues teasing me would just have wound Matt up even more.

After a couple more drinks I needed the loo again, so I excused myself and started walking round the bar. The loos were hidden from the entire bar area at the other side of the room.

I checked my face in the mirror, and despite the several tequilas and all the wine I was still looking quite good. No smudged mascara, face not too shiny. A quick blot of powder and I was ready to go.

I was still putting my makeup back into my bag as I opened the door back to the bar so I wasn’t really concentrating. As I walked out of the door I practically fell over Foxy Scott who was just leaving the gents.

“Oh sorry!” I said, all apologetically. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” he replied. “I was having much more fun earlier though,” he said with a cheeky smile.

“Oh yeah? Is that right?” I laughed.

Usually I would feel so awkward in a situation like this, but for some reason I felt über-confident.

“You know,” said he said, suddenly sounding really nervous, “I’ve always really fancied you.”

WHAT!

Whoa! WOW! Wow. Wow. Wow. No way.

“Really?” I said, not even attempting to mask the surprise in my voice. “Well I think you’re really good looking too.”

The words had barely left my mouth and without thinking I pulled Scott towards me and passionately kissed him.

I still remember the look on his face as my lips withdrew from his. We only kissed for a few seconds, but his expression displayed his total disbelief. I mean, my boyfriend was just around the corner and anyone could have wandered over caught us in the act.

I just felt completely exhilarated. My heart was pounding and I could feel my cheeks flushing red. I hadn’t felt such a surge of adrenaline in years.

“Anyway,” I said, trying to regain a little composure, “You’ll have to give me your number so I can take mick when Arsenal get stuffed by Liverpool tomorrow and I win our bet!”

And do you know what? He did.

Football really did have a lot to answer for...

Foxy Scott

2010-03-14T10:37:00.000Z

Music: Are 'Friends' Electric - Gary Numan

So there I was at my office Christmas party, when Foxy Scott, a gorgeous sales guy, caught my eye and started to walk over. The fact that Matt, my boyfriend, was only metres away didn't bother me at all. I mean, he was a total wanker and was going to propose to me on Christmas Day...

Only two people in the whole world call sexy sales man Scott from my office Foxy Scott.

They are me (obviously) and my team leader (who is gay).

We coined the name at a work’s conference earlier in the year as it was better than hobnobbing with the management with a fixed grin plastered across our faces. It’s not often that we all get together as a company and this was one of those corporate nipple-twisting days when all the offices from across the country meet up to be bored to tears listening to wanky management presentations.

The whole day had been pretty tedious so by the time we got to the evening and had sampled the delights of the free bar, my team leader and I were pretty tipsy and we decided to survey the company’s male population and gave them rankings. Scott came out at the top of both our lists, so the name stuck.

Scott (a.k.a. Foxy Scott) is twenty eight and has worked for the company in the sales team for just over a year. Looks wise, he is about 5ft 10” tall, medium build with light brown hair, a gorgeous smile and bright blue eyes. He plays football for a local amateur team so he is pretty athletic, he supports Arsenal and that is about all I knew about him.

He sounds really plain, but believe me he is undeniably handsome. Sometimes I’d hear him on the phone on my way to a meeting and swoon as he worked his sexy suave salesman voice. It wasn’t smarmy or the usual salesman slick, but deep and lilting. I wonder if he won a lot of business from women. Well he would if they arranged a meeting with him I’m sure...

Anyway back to the Christmas do...

I was sitting at a table near the bar after one too many tequila slammers when Foxy Scott came and sat next to me and started chatting. I could tell that he’d had quite a few beers himself as he was always relatively quiet at work (for a salesman anyway) but now he started to jabber away.

“Well hello,” he said as he pulled up a chair. “What are you doing all on your own?”

I have to admit I was surprised he knew who I was, never mind the fact that he was sitting down next to me for a chat.

“I’m just having a breather from all the tequila slammers,” I replied, laughing.

And a break from my overbearing boyfriend.

“Yeah I know what you mean,” Scott continued. “They’re absolutely killer. So are you having a good night then?”

“Yeah not bad,” I said as I took a sip of my vodka lime and soda. “It’s a pity we’re not in the centre of town. It would have been loads better to move on to some bars.”

“Definitely,” Scott replied as he eyed me with his twinkling blue eyes.

We started to talk about a lot of random stuff and we sparked up a brilliant conversation. I think Scott must sit at work and take everything in, as he knew which rugby and football teams I support and talked with great knowledge about them both. Purely by coincidence, my football team (Liverpool) was playing his (Arsenal) that weekend, so there was lots of friendly and flirty banter going back and forth.

“I bet you ten pounds that your team loses on Sunday,” I said confidently as Scott sipped his pint.

“Are you sure about that?” he said laughing. His face was animated and gorgeous, and he looked great in his casual black jumper and jeans.

Sexy great.

“Definitely,” I replied.

No, no, no! Never bet on anything when you’re drunk.

I couldn’t back down now though. This was fun.

“OK then, you’re on,” Scott said, offering me his hand so we could shake on the bet.

As he held out his hand, a tantalizing smile played on his lips.

I took his hand and he shook it firmly before he leant back in his chair and smiled at me.

The conversation. The bet. His twinkling eyes.

He was flirting with me. He was definitely flirting with me.

I think...

Honk if You're Horny

2010-03-12T09:36:00.000Z

Music: Lovers in the Backseat - Scissor Sisters

After finding out that Matt was seemingly going to propose to me on Christmas day, I did what any messed up girl would have done in that situation: I pretended like it had never happened and threw myself into the festive spirit. Which in my case, was called vodka.

The following week after Presentgate it was my office Christmas party, and whilst everyone else was draping themselves in tinsel and positioning themselves under the mistletoe, I was quiet and withdrawn. Despite my best efforts I just couldn’t stop thinking about the present and what it meant.

I couldn’t split up with Matt just before Christmas but I couldn’t bear the thought of opening our gifts together on Christmas Day morning and just how awful it was going to be. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him and I didn’t know what to do.

I decided the best course of action was to go to the office party and get leathered. Which is exactly what I did.

Work’s dos are usually naff where I work, although in previous years there’s been the saving grace that the venue has been in the centre of town. This means that after you’ve eaten the rock hard Brussels sprouts and slab of Christmas pudding you can F-off somewhere else before the embarrassing dancing starts.

Not this year.

Due to the “late booking” (read cost savings), the Christmas party was at a hotel in the middle of nowhere. It was miles away from anything and there was absolutely nothing to do nearby. Well, unless you class dogging as a great way to spend a few hours. The park just up the road was apparently a bit of a hotspot for sexual deviants, and with a quick flash of your headlights you would be up to your eyes in spunk filled tissues faster than you could say "honk if you're horny".
(In case you’re wondering, I have a friend who is a policeman and he told me about it. I've never been there myself - honest).

As getting jiggy with it in my car with sleazy old men peering through the sunroof and wanking themselves off really wasn’t my thing it looked like I was stuck in the hotel.

It was OK though as we could bring our partners, so hurrah, Matt was with me. Pass the wine please...

The meal passed without event and I was actually having quite a good time, although I admit that the free-flowing alcohol did help.

After the meal we all migrated to the bar area, where there was an open fire and plenty of tables. One of the team leaders and his girlfriend were pretty big drinkers, so tequila slammers were soon being ordered for everyone and lined up on the bar. I didn’t complain as he was he probably earned way too much, and no-one stopped him as he bought round after round and refused to let anyone else pay. Fair enough.

One.

Two.

Three.

Lick.

Gulp.

Slam.

Suck.

Ugggh.

I’d lost sight of Matt by this point as I think he was talking to/at someone about different styles of management. I figured that he was probably in his element as he was giving his opinion to others, so I sat down at one of the tables round the corner from the bar.

The office where I work is mostly filled with my direct colleagues but there are a few sales men that sit at the far end. The sales guys are all a really good laugh and I always chat to them on my way to the kitchen.

Well, I chat to all but one of them, who from now on I shall refer to as Foxy Scott.

As I sat down and massaged feet which ached from standing in my heels, I glanced across the room and saw Foxy Scott leaning against the bar, looking at me.

I smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Then he started to walk over...

Things were about to get very interesting...

The Ex-Files

2010-03-09T14:34:00.001Z

Music: Heartbreak - Magistrates

I know I've started dating now but I think it's time for me to get something off my chest.

Before I split up with my now ex-boyfriend I was a bit naughty.

I guess you could say I had a bit of a rebound before I actually split up with him.

Well kind of... It’s halfway between that and the push I needed to realise that the relationship was over.

Yeah I know, I'm a terrible person, but as with most things in life - it was complicated.

I’m not proud about it but the feelings I had were something that I hadn’t felt in a long time, and they jolted me to do something I’d been putting off for months: end it with my boyfriend and leave me where you found me in my first post: Tragically fantasising about rugby players.

Matt is my latest ex and we were together for two and a half years before we finally split up. I don’t want to go into too much detail about the ins and outs of our relationship as unlike the random dates I did care for him.

However the big problem we had was that he was a complete and utter arsehole.

Well, maybe that’s a bit harsh...

As our relationship progressed it turned out that his opinion was the only one that mattered. Great eh? The foundations of a happy and healthy relationship, right there... I tried to talk to him on several occasions about how I felt and how things weren’t right, but it started to emerge that if he thought there wasn’t a problem then there wasn’t a problem. I would be patted on the head and brushed off to go quietly mad, wondering how he managed to manipulate me so easily.

Of course, that was after I’d stood behind his back, furiously flicking him with the V's.

Quite often if we were out with other people and I made a statement, Matt would step in with the line:

“No dear, that’s not right.”

It was a proverbial patronising pat on the head. There, there, run along and stop being such a silly girl.

Cock.

I kept hoping that my feelings for him would just click back into place and I would feel like I did for the first year of our relationship, but it just didn’t happen and the months passed by.

I know what you're thinking, why did I put up with it? Well the answer is, I let the relationship continue because Matt was an expert at manipulation. By the end I felt like I was losing my identity and I didn't know what I thought about things anymore. But he did it in a very subtle way, which made me question if he was messing with my head or not.

As I said, it was complicated.

If I hadn’t found the Christmas present that he’d bought for me then I don’t know if I’d have got the wakeup call which pushed me to call it a day...

I knew that Matt had bought my Christmas present as he smugly announced it one day in early December while we were having lunch. Now I’m not the best at surprises, and if someone tells me that there’s a present for me hidden somewhere in the house then it's guaranteed I’ll turn the place upside down until I find it.

So I waited for him to go out and then I accidentally ransacked his room.

I was hoping that he’d paid attention to the jewellery catalogue I’d left open on the coffee table and he’d take the hint and have a look. I’d circled some bracelets and necklaces and written “I really love this one” in a subtle effort to guide his purchase.

After about half an hour of rummaging around in his bedroom (and carefully placing everything back exactly as I found it) I stumbled across the beautifully gift wrapped present stuffed at the back of his sock drawer.

He had definitely bought me some jewellery as I recognised the wrapping paper they use in the shop. The present was wrapped in a small box about 10cm x 10cm and about 4cm deep. I studied it for a few seconds to try and work out what he could have bought me based on what I’d hinted at, and then I gave the box a shake.

Something inside knocked against the wall of the box. Odd.

I shook it again. Same thing.

I couldn’t think what it could be.

Was it a box within a box?

Oh f*ck. It sounded like a smaller box within this box.

Shit.

The only box smaller than this is a ring box.

Oh my God.

Had he bought me a ring?

Shit.

Please God don’t let it be an engagement ring.

Oh shit shit shit.

At that moment my heart sunk to the floor.

Matt proposing to me on Christmas Day was the worst thing that I could possibly imagine happening to me.

I sat on the bed holding the perfectly wrapped Christmas present in my hands. I looked at the dainty snowflakes on the wrapping paper and its pretty gold ribbon with a massive lump in my throat.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What was I going to do?

I didn’t want to marry Matt. I didn’t want to pledge my heart and soul to such a pompous wanker.

It had been going on for months. Matt wanted us to buy a house together, but because of the way I felt I didn’t want to go down that route at all. I owned my home so I would have to sell, whilst Matt was renting so it was easy for him. I would have all the risk and I just couldn’t see the reward. I had been putting off house hunting for months but now with the prospect of him getting down on bended knee I knew I couldn’t take it anymore.

I put the present back in the gift bag, covered it with socks and closed the drawer.

Then I drank a whole bottle of wine and cried.

(To be continued)

The Magic Number

2010-03-07T09:55:00.000Z

Music: Sex and the City Theme

I’ve never really played the field before in my life. Never ever.

Well, maybe a bit but not very much when compared with everyone I knew when I was younger.

Even when I was stumbling around my university campus, drunk and horny after £1 a pint night I was never that promiscuous. I snogged plenty of gorgeous shaggy haired indie boys but that was generally as far as it went.

The only men I actually had sex with were my boyfriends (with only a couple of exceptions), and I was always ridiculously serious about them as that was all I knew and was everything that I wanted.

Looking back, I now know that my lack of self-confidence as a naive 20 year old stopped me from whipping through a long line of blokes. Not that I consider myself to be a man eater now you understand.

Saying that, the creation of GHD straighteners is nothing short of a minor miracle as far as I'm concerned. The stupid frizzy blonde hair of my youth is definitely a thing of the past, which helps when I'm trying to flick my hair around and look seductive. For a start, I don't look like I'm wearing a bird's nest on my head or like I've been shagged through a hedge backwards.

All this all leads me to my question for today: Just how many is too many?

I'll be honest with you. I've slept with eight men.

Yes eight. I don't think that's too many for eleven years of sexual history, do you?

OK so I'm not exactly Mother Theresa but I'm hardly a whore of Babylon either. And yes I've done "stuff" with other guys too (which I'm not counting by the way...).

The thing is I've always been a bit tradtional and only slept with guys I was way to serious about or gave my heart to all too freely.

Well, most of the time. There are a couple of notable exceptions, namely Craig and Sexy Motorbike Guy (who I will tell you about one day, I promise).

I just think that I suck at being a slut.

Yep, as Serenityville said, I think I'm a relationship kind of girl...

Is that a bad thing? And eight's not too big a number, right?

Ray of Sunshine

2010-03-06T22:07:00.000Z

Lovely Lottie over at Lottie's Lot is a little a ray of sunshine and she has ever so kindly given me the Sunshine Award.

Thank you Lottie!

This means it's my turn to pass the award on to six bloggers who always brighten my day.

They are:

Jassy Onya'e at http://confessionalsofonyae.blogspot.com/
Serenityville at http://serenityville.blogspot.com/
Nancy at http://www.f8hasit.com/
Fishy at http://plentymorefishoutofwater.blogspot.com/
Ally at http://allytales.blogspot.com/
Kate at http://secretofficeconfessions.blogspot.com/

x

The Perfect 10: Craig

2010-03-05T00:11:00.001Z

Music: Average Man - Turin Brakes

I know that Craig isn’t the one for me and as horrible as it sounds, he has served his purpose.  I really don’t think that the sex side of meeting someone new is going to be an issue now, all thanks to my dalliance with him.

I also didn't set out to match Craig up against my Perfect 10 list, but as it seems that I’ve been considering his merits all day I might as well...

1. Looks

Craig is as fit fit FIT as a bag of chips and twice as sexy. So it’s a tick in this category.

2. Sense of humour

Sort of. We had a bit of a laugh but more often than not it was when we were hideously drunk. The rest of the time it was really awkward and I wanted to set fire to my hair just to give us something to talk about.   No point here.

3. Being Down to Earth

Craig works in the building trade and is very down to earth so it's a yes here.

4. Loyalty and Trust

No idea as I didn’t get to know him well enough.

5. Kindness

Er, no. He drops a point as he didn’t seem to care at all about how I was feeling during my Grandma’s funeral. Wanker.

6. Have a strong sense of family

He works for the family business and he still lives with his parents.  LOSER. But that'll be a yes in this category...

7. Solvency

Craig has a job but still lives chez Mummy and Daddy, so I’m not sure where he falls in this category. Maybe half a point?

8. Ambition and a drive to succeed

He did tell me that one day he will take over his Dad’s business, so it's a tick in this box.
Still, it would be nice if Craig had the ambition to break out of the shackles of his family and strike out on his own.
When I write everything about him living with his parents/working with his Dad/aspiring to take over the family business, to me it's starting to sound like some f*cked up Lancastrian version of the Waltons.
Goodnight Craigy-kins! Goodnight Jim-Bob!
Kill me. Kill me now.

9. Different interests

He likes cars and motor sport and doesn’t like rugby, so it’s a yes for different interests.

10. Romance

Not really. Nope, not at all.

Marks out of 10: 5.5

Conclusion:

Overall a bit of an average contender but not a bad starter for ten.

Craig is VERY strong in the looks department and is very physically attractive, but he is lacking in so many other areas.

I fancied the arse off him physically, but we just didn’t click. And he was a bit shit in bed.
Still, I don’t think 5.5 is a bad score to start with though, especially as he was supposed to be a fun fling.

And on the most part he was...

All that aside, I can't believe the year is flying by so quickly and we're already into March!

Still there was a very big positive to come out of my first dalliance as a single girl: I know I've definitely still got it!

Onwards and upwards people, onwards and upwards...

Game Over

2010-03-03T11:37:00.000Z

Music: Lovelight - Robbie Williams

So my weekend with Craig wasn't going exactly as I'd hoped...

Last week when he suggested coming over to see me I thought it would be a good idea to take him to watch a game of rugby. When I asked him if he fancied it he was really positive, especially as Sunday's opposition was a strong team and he’s never been to see a live match before.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well after our less than fantastic second date, the answer was plenty.

The game started at 3pm so Craig and I had plenty of time to enjoy all the difficult silences and awkward moments in between waking up and kick off.

We were just about ready to set off to the ground when my phone started to ring. I fished it out of my bag whilst Craig leant against the kitchen table.

“It is my Dad,” I said to Craig. “I really should take it, just in case”.

“Yeah, no worries,” Craig replied.

“Hi Dad,” I said cheerily. “I’ve got to be quick as I’m just about to set off for the rugby.”

Craig smiled at me, before motioning that he was going to nip to the loo before we left. He bounded up the stairs as my Dad replied.

“Hiya love, the rugby is why I’m giving you a call.”

I was at a loss.

“I just wanted to arrange where we’re going to meet at the ground today,” he continued.

Oh shit. I had completely forgotten.

Sunday was the game that my Dad had arranged to come and watch with me, my Uncle John, and his friend Roger.

Shit, shit, shit.

I had to meet up with them as it has been arranged for months.

Shit. How could I have forgotten? And what was I going to do about Craig?

“Are you still there?” my Dad asked.

His voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” I replied.

Upstairs I could hear that Craig was finishing up in the loo and was washing his hands. I needed to think quick.

“Erm, I’ll meet you outside the bar under the south stand,” I said to my Dad. “Oh, and it’s a little bit awkward, as I’m bringing Craig. You know, the guy I went out on a date with the other week.”

“Oh are you now?” my Dad replied in a teasing tone.

“Yeah. I totally forgot that you were coming today....” my voice trailed off as Craig bumped down the stairs.

“OK then love,” said my Dad sounding distracted. I could hear Roger chatting away in the background. “I’ll see you there in about half an hour.” And then he put the phone down, leaving me smiling uneasily at Craig who was now standing at the bottom of the stairs.

I smiled back at him nervously and said:

“I’m afraid there’s been a slight change of plan.”

I knew that if I told Craig just minutes before the game that my Dad was going to be there he would freak out (and quite rightly too) and it would look like something I’d been planning all along. All of a sudden I was about to be cast in the role of a Sharon Stone-esque bunny-boiler.

Wonderful.

There was no getting out of it though. I explained the situation to Craig and apologised profusely, and despite looking like a total idiot I think I managed to convince him that it wasn’t an elaborate plan for me to introduce him to my Dad.

Or maybe not.

Craig and I would spend half an hour or so with my Dad and chums then go and watch the rest of the match on our own. It would all be fine and it wasn't going to be an issue.

Craig looked really foxy as we walked towards the rugby stadium. He was wearing a black Ralph Lauren jacket and jeans, and I think he must have had his hair cut since I saw him the other weekend. It was super short on the nape of his neck and it looked so delicious that I just wanted to stroke it.

In the same way as when he arrived yesterday, the sober Craig was proving difficult to speak to. He was very quiet and didn’t want or seem to have much to say. It couldn't all be down to nerves about randomly meeting my Dad, could it? No, I didn’t think so, as he was like that before he started on the beers last night and also this morning.

I tentatively took hold of his hand, and we walked along holding hands for a while before he commented that he was freezing and they are firmly placed in back his pockets. OK then.

I called my Dad and I met him next to the bar area as Roger and John were getting a beer. Craig disappeared off to the loo, probably to shart himself and look for an escape route whilst I had a word with my Dad and ask him not to give Craig a hard time. As Roger and John arrived back with beers, Craig appeared from the gents.

Great. Here go the introductions.

Just as I was about to introduce Craig to them all, simultaneously my Dad, John and Roger all held out their hands and said in unison:

“Hi, I’m Kate’s Dad, John.”

Oh my God I just I died on the spot.

I didn’t know where to look and neither did Craig as my Dad and the others all laughed heartily at their hilarious joke. Let’s just go into the ground please so I can die amongst the other fans.

What then occured I can only describe as the most toe curlingly awkward eighty minutes of my life.

The game itself is great as for once my team were unstoppable. I couldn't enjoy it though as I was stuck in between Craig and my Dad, and I wasn't entirely sure what to do with myself.

Craig fully retreated into his shell and only peeked his head out a couple of times to ask why a decision had gone the way of the other team. All the time my Dad worked the intimidating strong and silent look (albeit unknowingly) which I think made Craig feel even more self conscious.

To make matters worse I couldn't bring myself to abandon my Dad after he'd come all the way over to Leeds to see me. Guilt is a wonderful thing, isn't it?

This of course meant that I felt like a total tit for the entire duration of the game. Craig was practically mute.

What a brilliant idea this was.

I have never been so relieved to hear the final whistle before in my life as it meant that the torture was over. (Happily my team were fantastic and clinched their first home league win of the season. That really was the only positive of the day, and I'm gutted that I couldn't really enjoy it).

My Dad, uncle and Roger headed off in one direction and luckily as my car was parked at the other side of the stadium Craig and I left via another exit.

“I’m really sorry about that,” I said again as Craig and I walked back to my car. “I honestly totally forgot that they were coming along today.”

“Yeah, I know. You said that already,” Craig replied sounding distinctly annoyed.

My apologies were becoming embarrassing. Craig must have thought that I was a total nutter.

As we walked in silence it was really obvious that there was nothing between us. He was quiet, the scant conversation stilted and it felt like such an effort on the drive home that we didn’t really say much and just listened to the Top 40 on the radio instead.

When we got back to my house Craig immediately rushed upstairs to collect his things. Five minutes later he is in my lounge giving me a peck on the cheek and telling me that he would speak to me soon. Two minutes later he was in his car and heading off, the engine of his car growling loudly as he drove away.

What a f*ck up.
What a total and utter disaster.

I’ve got a not so funny feeling that Craig and I won’t be seeing each other again.

I’m a bit disappointed if that turns out to be the case, but deep down I know that the past couple of days have proven that we don’t actually click and there’s no real spark between us apart from when we’ve both consumed a few units of alcohol.

It’s funny, but after our weekend together I do feel slightly disappointed. Craig was only supposed to be a bit of fun and the guy to help me get over my fears of sex and being naked: my Getting Back in the Saddle Guy as it were - but I still feel a bit deflated.

I’m really doing my own head in about Craig as I just can’t see it for what it is, or was.

Why is it that even now I’m looking for more? Maybe it’s just the way I’m programmed and maybe I just don’t do being single very well?

Or maybe it’s because in the back of my mind I’ve got the Perfect 10 list just waiting to be started on. I think it’s probably all of the above.

Agh!

FAIL!

The Second Date

2010-03-01T23:44:00.000Z

Music: Cuddle Fuddle - Passion Pit

When Craig eventually does arrive at my house in his noisy car it is just before 5pm.

On hearing his car engine switch off, I leap up from the sofa and do a quick check of my reflection in the mirror.

Deeps breaths. This is all going to be fine.

Craig walks along the small path in front of the living room window and knocks at the door.

I open it with slight trepidation.

“Hi,” I say breezily, hiding my slight annoyance that he hasn’t turned up when we arranged.

“Hi,” he replies.

We kiss each other on the cheek and then he dumps his bag on the carpet.

“Do you mind if we put Soccer Saturday on?” he asks immediately. “The footie results are coming in.”

How romantic. Nice to see you too.

Usually I am be the first one to request that the channel gets changed to Soccer Saturday. Yes, I am one of those weird women who really love football, but this is just a little bit rude don’t you think? He’s only just arrived and he’s more interested in the football than he is with me.

Hmm, that's another clue that he's only come to see me so he can see me and come.

As we sit on the couch and watch the scores roll in, Craig is quiet and really introverted. I slyly check him out from the corner of my eye. He is still foxy though, and his plain white t-shirt hugs his arms nicely.

Foxy yes, but he looks really uncomfortable and not quite sure what to do with himself.

As the final football scores filter through, I decide that the best course of action is to get ready to go out, as at least this will give us something to do. We both head upstairs and get changed: me in my bedroom, him in the bathroom. We might have seen each other naked already, but somehow it doesn’t feel right for us to watch each other strip off and tart ourselves up.

After half an hour of primping and preening I am ready to go, so I head back downstairs where Craig is already waiting for me, watching ‘The A-Team’ on some obscure satellite channel.

“You look nice,” he says as I enter the lounge.

OK so that's one brownie point back.

“Thanks,” I reply, and feel my cheeks flushing slightly.

I have made an effort tonight as I’m wearing one of my nicest dresses, with black opaque tights and glossy black patent heels.

Maybe he is just being shy?

I’ve booked us a table at a bustling and popular Italian restaurant tonight, as during our text conversation in the week Craig let slip that Italian food is his favourite.

The taxi arrives promptly and whisks us off into town. Craig has never been to Leeds before and I am determined to show him what a brilliant night out it can be.

We arrive at the restaurant, and it is busy and buzzing with a really lively atmosphere. The swish waiter takes our drinks order, and as Craig is drinking beer it looks like I’m having a bottle of wine to myself.

Well, it is much cheaper than ordering it by the glass...

As opposed to our first date this time the conversation is a bit more stilted, and at times it feels like we are running out of things to say. I try my best, and eventually I have to resort to talking about Preston North End football team to keep the conversation flowing.

I know. Things were that bad. Luckily for me I’d done a bit of research.

This seems to work though and things start to pick up. Or is it because we are a bit tipsy now? Either way, I figure that as he is here we might as well try and have as good a time as possible.

The meal is delicious, and I can’t get enough of the butternut squash risotto and rocket and parmesan salad. Craig opts for a Toscana pizza, which is piled high with Parma ham and wild mushrooms. We are getting on OK, although I’m sure the Pinot Grigio has something to do with it.

I take Craig to a couple of bars, and the night follows a similar course to our first date:

In the first bar we chat and drink politely.

On the way to the second bar we hold hands.

By the time I’m pressed up against the wall being passionately kissed in bar number three, we decide it’s time to head back to my house.

We have sex, but this time it is distinctly lacking in fireworks and the movie style ripping off of clothes. Craig does the weird closing of the eyes thing again and it feels like we don’t connect at all. If I’m honest it doesn’t really do anything for me this time, and as attractive as Craig is, it is starting to become a bit of an effort to spend time with him.

He is a quiet bloke whereas I am an extrovert by nature, and sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I read too much into the silences. I wouldn’t mind if the quiet times felt easy and relaxed, but they don’t. I can almost feel them hanging in the air like a flashing neon sign which says: “You two have no spark”.

I look at Craig as he falls asleep about five seconds after coming and realise that even though he is young, fit, and sexy and is perfect fling material, that maybe this fling needs to be flung.

Sunday confirms this for me though...

Lost on the Sexual Highway

2010-02-27T15:06:00.000Z

Music: M62 Song - Doves

After everything that's happened over the past couple of weeks I need a bit of cheering up.

When Craig suggested coming over to see me in Leeds for the weekend at first I was dubious. But then I thought - why not?

True, he seemed a bit funny over the text after my Grandma's funeral but since then he's been back to his normal, flirty and fun self.

And plus, I always find that going out for a few glasses of wine is a great prelude to a night of fantastically distracting sex.

We'd arranged for him to turn up in the early afternoon, but so far he hasn’t arrived. I wasn't sure if this meant he'd blown me out, or if he’d been delayed or something, so I decided to send him a message to find out what the hell was going on. You know, subtly, without sounding like I'm sitting on my sofa waiting for him to grace me with his presence.

Like I am.

Hi, hope you’re OK. What time do you reckon you’ll get to mine, as I might need to pop out and want to make sure that I’ll be in when you arrive? x

Craig might be many things, but he is good at sending instant replies to messages.

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later:

I’m just at my m8s at the mo’. Still on 4 bein round at urs 4 about 5. Lookin 4ward to tonite! x

Oh. So he’s only getting here at 5pm. And his grammar still sucks.

I feel like such a knob. I’ve been leaping off my sofa every five minutes for the past two hours when I’ve heard a car outside.

I thought we arranged for him to come over just after lunch?

Maybe it’s my mistake...

Oh hang on. I think I know what's going on here.

Craig's parents are back from their villa in Spain.

Craig is looking for an action replay in the bedroom department.

Craig isn't arsed about seeing me this afternoon. He's just interested in shagging me this evening.

Ah. It's amazing how far a bloke will travel for sex.

What's the furthest distance you've ever travelled for sex?

I've driven hundreds of miles to see boyfriends before, but just for sex? That's probably only about two miles.

OK, so it wasn't exactly a journey of epic proportions but the trip really was worth every inch. :-)

I'll have to tell you about him someday. He was fantastic.

But back to Craig...

I guess I'll just have to see what happens on our second "date" tonight.

It looks like sex is definitely on the agenda though...

Daffodils

2010-02-25T13:51:00.000Z

Music: Time to say Goodbye

It is a bright and crisp late winter’s day. The sky is cobalt blue and there are no clouds in sight. It is the kind of day that my Grandma loved, which seems very appropriate as it is the day of her funeral.

Despite the chill in the air I feel the glow of inner warmth. Arriving at the church in the funeral procession I see all the faces of everyone who has come to bid my Grandma a fond farewell. My Grandma was loved by more people than I realised. St. George’s church is very large, and it is almost full which means a lot to my Mum.

My Mum, Dad, brother, uncle and I sit in the front pew of the church as my Grandma’s tiny coffin is carried up the aisle and placed in front of the altar. It is a short, quite emotional service with a few hymns and a few words from the vicar. My Mum had written a lovely eulogy and my poor Dad had been psyching himself up to read it in front of everyone, but the vicar just ploughs on and reads it regardless.

Everyone is OK and I don’t think anyone cries, but my eyes do well up when I see just how small her coffin is and as I realise that my Grandma is inside. As we leave the church after the ceremony, I glance across the churchyard and see the first yellow bursts of daffodils praising the pale winter sun.

Regardless of everything, life is still flourishing around us.

During the course of the day, my brother does an excellent job of keeping my spirits up.

In the church he laughs at me when I kneel down and miss the prayer cushion and yelp as my knee whacks the floor. He also produces an absolute classic as we approach the crematorium in the funeral cortege.

The crematorium is at the end of a long, sweeping driveway set in beautifully landscaped grounds. The entrance for the funeral party is covered by a glass tunnel. On sight of this my brother elbows me in the ribs and whispers:

“Is it going to be a drive-thru cremation?”

Oh yes, my brother is quite the comedian.

I can’t help but laugh. My Mum overhears his comment too and has to stifle a giggle as she is sat next to the funeral director.

It might be a day of sadness but it feels right to have as smile, as my Grandma always used to look on the brighter side.

We all get out of the car and made our way inside. The crematorium is a new building, and I am surprised as it is very bright and airy.

The service itself doesn’t last long, and I have to stifle my giggles again as my Mum tells me a story she heard about another cremation. Apparently, when the funeral director at this other ceremony pressed the button to send the coffin on its way, it decided to pop back up again. Up and down, up and down, up and down it went, like a morbid jack in the box.

Fortunately this doesn't happen and everything goes without a hitch.

After the service we head off to the Sea View pub for the wake. My Mum chose this pub as my Grandma once commented that they put on a good spread after she attended someone else’s wake there.

By now it was about 5pm and I still hadn’t received a text message from Craig all day. I know that this is by no means the most important thing, but it did bother me a bit as it would be nice to know that he is thinking about me. Maybe he doesn’t even remember that it is the funeral, although I’m sure he would as I told him the other day? It’s just common courtesy to ask me how I am, isn’t it?

In between last Sunday morning and today we have still been sending each other text messages but they haven’t been as frequent as before the night I stayed over at his house. I’m not sure if I should read too much into this, as I’ve been preoccupied with other things and he has been very busy looking after the business, but I do wonder if he’s losing interest after our night together.

Not that I'm bothered of course. Craig is only a bit of fun.

As the wake is drawing to a close I sneak off into a quiet corner and send him a message.

Hi, how are you? You still working hard? The funeral was really lovely today – well as lovely as a funeral can be I think. Hope everything is OK with you. x

I’m lucky in that I’ve never been to a funeral before, but I think I would class this as one of the better ones, as no one was really upset and we all celebrated my Grandma’s life.

I receive a reply from Craig a few hours later, and if I’m honest his reply leaves me cold.

Glad today went OK. Work was well borin. Just off to the pub x

I read his text message over and over again.

I can’t work out if he is bothered about what is happening to me but just doesn’t know how to express it (which would explain why he didn’t get in touch during the day), or if he has completely forgotten about the funeral and isn’t arsed about me whatsoever.

I know I am reading way too much into the whole me and Craig thing again, as surely I should only expect a sensitive and caring response like that from someone I am seeing a bit more seriously?

No, actually I don’t think that’s true. I think it’s just nice manners to ask, especially as we have been arranging for him to come and see me in Leeds this weekend.

What is it that stops me from just living in the moment even now when I’ve set myself the task of having no strings fun? I’m hoping it’s just because I’m feeling a little more emotional than usual due to my Grandma’s death and not because I feel the need to cling on to every man I bump into.

The rest of the day passes in a blur and before I know it I'm back home.

No Goodbye

2010-02-23T00:05:00.000Z

Music: Sunrise - Norah Jones

My hand trembles as I hold the phone as I know what is about to come. I sit myself up and pull Craig's thick white duvet up under my chin.

“Hello, Dad?” I say cautiously.

“Hiya flower,” my Dad replies, but not in his usual cheery voice.

“Is everything OK?” I ask, knowing deep in my stomach that it can’t be.

“No love, no it’s not,” my Dad replies sombrely. “It’s your Grandma,” he continues. “Sadly she died this morning at about 7am.”

Oh no. Oh no that can’t be right.

“Oh Dad!” I exclaim. “Oh no, it can’t be. The doctors said the treatment was working.”

I don’t know what to do with myself and I sit up in shock as I listen to what he has to say.

“She passed away very peacefully,” my Dad continues. “Me and your Mum were with her in her last few moments.”

Tears prick the corner of my eyes before one splashes down my cheek.

“How is Mum? How is she doing?” I ask.

I can’t imagine how awful it must be for her. And here I am, naked after a night of stupid, meaningless sex when I should be there, with my family.

“Your Mum is upset, but she’s holding it together. She’s strong. That’s where you get it from.”

I sniff back the tears as my Dad continues.

“Just before she died, your Grandma quietly whispered that she was ready to go to heaven. She wasn’t in any pain at the end so don’t worry about that. She just closed her eyes and slipped away peacefully.”

“And how are you? How are you Dad?”

It must be so hard for him too. He got on really well with his mother-in-law, and now he has to be there to support his wife whilst he deals with his own grief.

“I’m doing alright,” he says. “The thing that upset me the most was the last thing that your Mum said to her before she died. She took hold of your Grandma’s hand and said ‘You have been so brave.’ Your Grandma passed away only a few seconds after.”

“Oh Dad!” I say.

That’s all I can say. I can tell that my Dad is as upset as I am.

“I’ll come straight home,” I say to him, whilst realising that might be slightly more difficult a task than I really want it to be.

“OK love. No rush though.”

Even now my Dad doesn’t want to feel like he is imposing.

“I’ll be round as soon as I can,” I reiterate.

“OK love,” he replies. “I’ve got to get back to your Mother now. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, see you soon. Bye Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too flower,” he replies, and then hangs up.

With the phone still in my hand and the duvet tightly wrapped around me, I just sit there and stare at the blank wall in front of me.

I feel so upset and guilty as I didn’t go and see my Grandma again before she died. My Dad said it was best not to visit her again. During the past couple of days she had been slipping in and out of consciousness and it would have been very upsetting to see her. I was going to ignore him and go and visit her again anyway, but now I can’t and I feel terrible.

I also feel so exposed. I am in a strange man’s bed, not exactly sure where I am, and I am naked.

I need to get back to my friend Nicola’s house as soon as possible so I can get changed, pick up my car and get to my parent’s house.

I hear the sound of someone bumping up the stairs, then the bedroom door opens and Craig walks in smiling and carrying a steaming cup of tea for me. I smile at him weakly as he places the mug on the bedside table, before taking off his T-shirt and getting back into bed.

“I’m really sorry”, I say, “but I’m going to have to go very soon”.

“Oh, OK. How come?” Craig replies, not sounding particularly bothered.

I know he has to leave for work so he is probably relieved that I want to head off.

“My Dad’s just called me. My Grandma died this morning and I need to go home”.

Craig’s face softens as he registers what I have said.

I don’t know why, but I feel so lost.

“Can you just hold me please?” I ask.

Craig looks like he is in shock too, but he duly obliges and opens his arms. We lie down in silence, and he snuggles up behind me and holds me for a few minutes. It is a very strange experience. If I was with a boyfriend then it would have felt comforting and intimate, but with Craig, a man I hardly know it just feels so wrong and out of place. How can I be consoled by a man who I have only just met?

I don’t want to be here anymore.

I feel Craig starting to get restless behind me so I turn around to face him.

“Would you be able to give me a lift back to my friend’s house please?” I ask him quietly. “I need to pick up my car so I can go home and be with my parents.”

Craig is still holding me in his strong arms.

“Of course,” he replies. “Give me two minutes to get dressed and I can take you.”

I smile at him gratefully and Craig kisses me on the forehead before he climbs out of bed.

I don’t even bother to have a shower. I just want to leave.

I think that Craig understood how I felt. He seemed to make all the right noises at least. In his own sweet way he tried to make me laugh by putting on an oversized pair of paint splattered overalls which were way too big for him and kept falling off. I hurriedly get dressed and then Craig drops me off at Nicola’s in his car. (It was the sporty one on the drive, and he drives me there very fast, partly because I was in such a rush and I think partly to try and impress me. It doesn’t but I am very grateful for the speed).

His car pulls up outside Nicola’s house.

"Are you OK?" Craig asks gently. "I mean, will you be OK?"

"Yeah. Yeah I think so," I reply.

I just want to get home and see my Mum and Dad.

“So, do you fancy meeting up again. You know, when everything’s alright. No rush or anything, but...” Craig asks as he leans forwards in his sporty car seat.

He looks at me earnestly as his voice trails off, and I feel happy that despite everything that’s just happened he seems to like me.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” I reply.

“I’ll call you,” he says, before leaning over to me and kissing me gently on the lips.

As Craig drives away he looks over to me and waves as I wait for Nicola to answer her door. I lift my hand and wave back, and he smiles at me supportively before his car roars up the road.

I only stay at Nicola’s for about ten minutes so I can have a quick wash and get changed, then I drive to my parents as fast as I can. My Mum seemed to be OK and I haven’t seen her cry, but I think she had been for a bit before I arrived.

All this has put my shenanigans with Craig to the back of my mind as my family is definitely the most important thing right now. It’s at times like these that I wish I had someone waiting at home who would wrap me up in big strong arms and look after me.

As it is, I don’t, but I know I will be fine.

Just as long as my Mum is.

The Morning After the Shag Before

2010-02-21T12:57:00.000Z

Music: In the Morning - Razorlight

The morning after our first date sex-a-thon, Craig’s alarm goes off at 8:00am. Sadly, he has to get up and check on his team of painters and decorators in the absence of his holidaying Dad. I always wake up early when I’ve been drinking and partly because of this and partly because of the strange location I’d already been awake since 7:00am.

Craig stretches, then rolls over and turns to face me.

“Good morning,” he says, half-heartedly rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning,” I reply.

I can tell that things are slightly different now. Of course they are bound to be, as we are both now sober(ish) and are lying in bed together with the cold light of day streaming in through the curtains.

In the harsh morning light there is no attempt to cuddle and I feel a bit awkward. Craig starts to mess with his phone as he has a few missed calls from the blokes on site. This doesn’t bother me too much at first, but after his phone rings for the fifth time I politely ask him if he wouldn’t mind putting it on silent mode. I understand that he has to go to work, but manners are manners and he still has a naked woman in his bed to deal with first.

I am conscious of my morning breath, and I’m sure that the Alsatians downstairs had sweeter breath than me after a night out. Therefore, before Craig had woken up I nipped into the en-suite and rubbed toothpaste on my teeth with my finger to try and freshen it up. I don’t think it really worked as my mouth still tasted like I’d been sucking on a turd, but this didn’t seem to matter to Craig as we kiss for the first time when sober.

The kiss is nice, slightly awkward, but nice. Our bodies move closer together and as Craig pulls me towards him I let myself relax. We start to touch each other again, and after a few minutes of kissing and groping we start to have sex. Without alcohol coursing around our veins, it isn’t quite up to the levels of passion from the night before. I know I am not looking as good as before we went to bed (despite my best efforts to freshen up with the bits of makeup I’d stashed in my bag), and we end up having face over the shoulder sex:

In the missionary position, with my face over his right shoulder and his over mine.

We don’t look each other in the eye.

He comes.

He climbs off.

He gets up to make me a cup of tea.

Now that was the first time experience I'd been expecting.

Samantha Jones eat your heart out.
I did it. Or more accurately, we did it.

The first time it was drunk and great. The second time it was sober and a bit shit. But I don’t care, as I had a brilliant night, some pretty good sex and all with a younger, good looking man who I wouldn’t mind seeing again for an action replay.

I am proud of myself that I didn’t freak out when it came to being naked and I must be OK at sex still as I made him come twice. Hurrah for me.

As I lie in bed pondering this, I can hear Craig talking to his brother downstairs and banging around in the kitchen. I pull the duvet up around my chin and am about to doze off to sleep again when my phone starts to ring.

That’s odd. Who on earth is calling me this early on a Sunday morning?

I reach out to the bedside table and pull my phone out of my bag. I check the caller display.

It’s my Dad.

Oh shit.

This can’t be good.

To be continued... (sadly)

The Paint Job

2010-02-18T21:59:00.001Z

Music: Let's Make Love and Listen to Death from Above - CSS

I can’t actually believe I suggested that Craig and I go back to his place. On our first date. I know I said I wanted to be all Samantha Jones-like about the whole thing, but at that moment I felt surprisingly calm and confident. It was weird.

Craig tells the taxi driver his address and takes hold of my hand. I wonder if he's nervous too, or if since his recent break up he takes girls home for sex pretty regularly?
(Thinking about it now I doubt it to be honest. He lives with his parents and if they’re anything like mine, as lovely as they are, their presence in the house is such a passion killer).

The taxi pulls up outside his house a few minutes later. As I climb out, Craig pays the taxi driver which gives me time to take it all in.

The house is pretty big, I think it is detached and it is on a newish estate. I see Craig's white van (that he crashed) and its gaffer-taped wing mirror and smirk to myself, and then catch sight of a sporty looking car which I assume to be Craig’s. I hear the taxi drive off, and feel Craig wrap his arms around me from behind before he kisses me gently on the neck.

“So here we are then,” he says, then takes me by the hand and leads me through the door at the side of the house.

We walk into the brand new kitchen which is all gleaming white surfaces and shiny chrome fixtures and fittings. Before I have chance to take off my coat I am promptly attacked by his two dogs, both old Alsatians who seem desperate to lick me to death. Craig finds this endlessly amusing.

“I think they like you,” he laughs.

Great. I'm going to stink of Alsation and dog hairs are so not sexy.

“Can I get you a drink or anything?” Craig asks politely.

“Just some water please,” I reply.

I’m already feeling nicely tipsy and I don't want to tip myself over the edge.

We stay chatting in the kitchen for a while. His dogs attempt to shed all their fur on me whilst Craig busies himself by making sure the house is securely locked up.

I can tell that Craig is nervous now as he is jabbering away for England and seems to be a lot more on edge than earlier in the night. After about ten minutes of fending off the dogs and making nervous conversation, I figure that if I don’t make a move then we will be standing in the kitchen all night. As he finishes his drink, I touch him on the arm and gently say,

“Let’s go upstairs”.

Craig looks at me and pauses before he replies.

“Yeah, OK. Let’s go upstairs.”

Here we go.

I follow Craig up the staircase and he leads me into his bedroom. It is quite a big room and facing the entrance there is another door to an en-suite bathroom. Wow, I am impressed. At least this means I won’t bump into his brother during a mad dash to the loo at 4am. The room is very plain: magnolia walls, white bedding and not a lot in the line of “things”. The only exceptions are a TV on a chest of drawers facing the bed, and a picture of Craig driving a Ferrari which was taken on a track day. I did think this was slightly odd, but then again Craig hasn’t been living back here for very long and he said that he’d recently swapped rooms with his parents. Fair enough, the décor is the least of my concerns right now.

I put my bag down on the bedside table, then turn and move towards Craig who is standing awkwardly at the end of the bed. We start to kiss, and then start to kiss really passionately. He takes off his jumper and I feel his toned body through his shirt underneath. God he has a great body. We rip each other’s clothes off, hands touching everywhere, desperate to feel each other. It feels like how sex looks in the movies. It is so passionate, and so different to the calm and collected removal of clothes before-slipping-under-the-duvet preamble to sex that I experienced with my ex-boyfriend. Craig has a fantastic body. He isn’t too muscular, but he is really toned. His arms are strong and his chest is smooth and sexy and I am really turned on.

We have sex that lasts almost an hour, in different positions, fast and slow. I thought I would be bothered about another man seeing me naked, but as it turns out I didn’t even give it a second thought. I am so wrapped up in the passion and feel so sexy that the fact that another man is staring at my tits doesn’t even enter my head.

As first time sex goes, wasn’t bad. It wasn’t too bad at all. It's true what they say: tradesmen are very handy. Craig did a slightly weird thing where he closed his eyes occasionally, but I’m hoping this is because he was in sheer ecstasy and not because he was imagining shagging someone else. For me it was good, and I was pleasantly surprised that Craig ventured down south on me too, although bless him, it didn’t really do that much for me. When we’d finished, Craig put his arms around me, and when I didn’t think it could get any better, it did.

He spooned me.

I wasn’t expecting a display of closeness like this, but it was nice.

“Wow,” Craig says as we lie there together. “Thanks for a great night.” And with that, he kisses me on my cheek and nuzzles his face into the back of my neck.

What a great night.

I fall asleep drunk and quite literally knackered.

I had officially been painted and decorated.

Thanks!

2010-02-18T21:28:00.001Z

Aw shucks.

Tuppence over at Tuppeny Tales has awarded me with a Beautiful Blogger award.

This is my first blog prize, so thank you very much Tuppence!

Also thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my ramblings, and I hope that I put a smile on your face from time to time!

The rules for an award winner are to say thanks to the person who gave the award, link back to them and then to pass it on to another 15 bloggers who they think are fantastic.

So thanks again to Tuppence!

Here's my list of Beautiful Bloggers:

Tales from the Tower: http://www.talesfromthetower.co.uk/
Tea Breaks: http://tea-breaks.blogspot.com/
Kiss 'n' Blog: http://kissnblog.blogspot.com/
Lupus in Flight: http://shaistatayabali.blogspot.com/
Made You Blush: http://hendersons01.blogspot.com/
Resolution Romance: http://resolutionromance.blogspot.com/
Snafu: http://snafuliving.blogspot.com/
The 3 Sisters: http://the3sistersblog.blogspot.com/
The Loves and Life of a London Girl: http://thelovesandlifeofalondongirl.blogspot.com/
The Single Mum Life: http://www.thesinglemumlife.co.uk/
The World According to Donut Girl: http://bookywookie.blogspot.com/
Life Begins at 30ty: http://lifebeginsat30ty.blogspot.com/
You Make My Date: http://youmakemydate.blogspot.com/
The Journey: http://my-happily-everafter.blogspot.com/
Chelsea Talks Smack: http://chelseatalkssmack.blogspot.com/

It's just a shame that I can't put it on my mantlepiece...

The Date

2010-02-16T10:45:00.000Z

Music: Sexy Boy - Air

I feel surprisingly nervous as I get changed for my first date with Craig in Nicola’s spare room. In an effort to stop my entire body from shaking I down a couple of shots of sambuca to calm myself down before my taxi arrives. Hmm, not sensible.

I can’t believe I feel so petrified. I’ve dated before, so why am I so worried? On the advice of my friends I’ve decided to wear a sexy semi-sheer black shirt, indigo skinny jeans and heels. I think it’s an outfit that isn’t overtly “Come and get me” but ticks the all the right boxes: it shows off my legs and the little cleavage that I have without being too revealing. Well, that is the plan anyway.

My taxi into town arrives ten minutes early, which is annoying as of course it means that I end up arriving in town ten minutes before I should. I don’t want to be the first one there and have to stand outside waiting like a total loser, so instead I wait around the corner and busy myself by calling my Mum.

Yes, that’s right. I’m about to go on a date with a man who I fully intend on shagging in less than six hours time, and there I am making small talk with my Mum. With everything that is going on with my Grandma's illness, the comedy value that is my love life is the only thing that seems to cheer my Mum up at the moment. She is so excited about my first proper date since my ex, especially as she never liked him. At all. If only I had listened to her back then.

Whilst I’m chatting away to my Mum I see the figure of a man who I vaguely recognise walking towards me. Happily, the flashback snapshot images that I captured of Craig in my mind finally click into focus. It’s him, it’s definitely him. And he is very, very sexy.

I have to get rid of my Mum immediately. She is still babbling on at the other end of the phone, bless her.

“Have a lovely time!” she says again. “I hope your date goes well. Have a great time...”

“OK. OK Mum, I will”

“Don’t get too drunk now...”

“Yes Mum.”

“Enjoy yourself!”

“I will Mum. I’ve gotta go..”

“Spea..”

And much to my shame, I cut her off, just as Craig walks up to me.

“Hi,” he says, smiling broadly. “So you’re early too!”

I am so relieved, as he is not only good looking, he isn’t ginger and he does bear a passing resemblance to sexy rugby playing God Brian O’Driscoll.

Result.

“Only by a minute,” I reply casually. “For once my taxi arrived early.”

“Shall we go inside?” he suggests, to which I smile and follow him around to the bar’s entrance.

In the sober light of early evening Craig is looking good, and I mentally pat myself on the back for an excellent effort. Craig’s shoulders are broad and his arms look great under his jumper. In fact, come to mention it I think he is wearing the same outfit as he did on the night we met.

I’m sure he’s washed it in the meantime though. I hope.

Either way, he is pretty God damn sexy.

As it is quite early we manage to grab ourselves a table, which I am pleased about as I don’t know how long I would be able to stand up in my towering heels. Being a gentleman Craig insists on buying all my drinks but I refuse, as fair’s fair, and after all I plan on using and abusing him later. We chat really easily on a whole load of topics, from the usual suspects of sport and films to where we wanted to travel to and about ourselves in general.

“You know, I don’t actually come out to Preston very often,” Craig says as we sip our third drinks of the evening. “When we met I was out celebrating my birthday.”

“Oh really?” I reply, sounding surprised.

Shit. Did he tell me it was his birthday the other weekend? I was so drunk I can’t remember anything.

“I’m sure I told you that the other Saturday?” he says.

Bollocks.

Craig shrugs.

“Maybe not. After all, I don’t think we actually talked that much,” he continues, with a cheeky smile playing across his lips.

I smile, and find myself batting my eyelashes at him as I look away coyly. What the hell am I doing? Fluttering my eyelashes?

“You really made my night,” he continues.

Well that’s it. Now you’ve just made me blush.

He’s either being a bit of a sweetie or he is a total charmer, and right then I couldn’t decide which one it was.

Craig then goes on to reveal that he managed (more successfully than my friend Nicola) to take a sneaky photo of me.

“Here it is!” he laughs, as he hands his phone over to me so I can take a look.

It is absolutely horrendous. And I mean awful. I am drunk, my hair is all over the place and I look like I’m singing. Badly.

“Oh my God, that is so embarrassingly awful,” I say to him. “Please delete it!”

Craig just sits and laughs as I squirm. But it is as nice laugh. He’s not laughing at me, he’s laughing with me. (I think).

“I can’t believe you actually wanted to see me again if you thought I looked like that!” I cringe.
“Please delete it!”

I’m practically begging him. This is so embarrassing. I’ve seen zombies in low budget horror films that look better than I do in that hideous photograph.

It is all very good humoured banter and we are getting on great, especially when Craig finally stops teasing me and deletes the photo.

Through our conversation I find out that even though he’s only twenty five, Craig is six months out of a nine year relationship. Blimey, he’s got staying power. He tells me how he had been with his ex since school and they had been living together, however when they split up he moved back in with his parents just until he can get himself back on his feet. I don’t think that’s too bad and it all sounds very sensible, but I have to stop myself from considering his long term potential again, especially now I know he’s not scared of commitment.

Especially on a first date for Christ’s sake.

The night continues and we move from bar to bar, still having a good time, still getting progressively more tipsy. As the drinks and conversation flow, I decide that I really do quite like Craig. He really is rather sexy. By the time we reach bar number three we are holding hands, and in bar number four we start kissing each other like horny teenagers. At about 1:30am we head off to a club for a bit of a dance, but it is pretty quiet inside so the decision is made to call it a night and head off.

As we walk hand in hand towards the taxi rank, nothing is said about where we were going and we just carry on chatting away about random stuff. I definitely want to go back to his place and I desperately want to rip his clothes off and see him naked. Through his top, his body and arms feel amazing, but I want to feel them skin on skin.

There are a few taxis lined up as it hasn’t reached kicking out time at the clubs yet, so we jump into the first one in the queue and it drives off.

The taxi driver turns his head to look at Craig. “Where to mate?” he asks.

Craig looks at me, and I look back at him expectantly. So here it is: decision time.

I take a breath, and then calmly say:

“Your place”.

(To be continued...)

T minus 12 hours

2010-02-13T07:38:00.000Z

Music: Big Calm - Morcheeba

That's T minus 12 hours until my first date with Craig.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The bare facts are:

Craig and I are going out for drinks.

Craig has the house to himself this weekend.
(Well, if you don't count his younger brother).

I know I’ve got my friend Nicola’s spare bed reserved for the night, but I’m kind of hoping that we end up back at his place...

I never thought I’d hear myself saying that, but I’m determined not to get freaked out by the whole sex thing this time around, and I'm seeing Craig as just a bit of fun. My "back in the saddle" guy, if you know what I mean.

The last time I was single after splitting up with my long term boyfriend, aka The Evil Cockbag, I was pretty much petrified of the thought of any other bloke seeing me naked. I suppose that's what happens when you've been with someone for nearly four years. Well, that's what happened with me anyway.

I know it’s officially our first date, but I'm not ruling anything out. If it happens, it happens and I won't make myself feel bad about it.

Sex and the City's Samantha Jones eat your heart out. Or something like that...

AAAAAGGGGGHHH! Sod that. I am freaking OUT!

(Note to self: Must remember to buy some condoms. You know, just in case. Oh, and shave my legs).

The Call

2010-02-10T23:01:00.000Z

Music: Hanging on the telephone - Blondie

There’s not much going on in my uninspiring hotel tonight so I’ve been lying on my bed and absent mindedly channel hopping through the paltry selection of TV on offer. So far there isn’t much that grabs my attention and they don’t even have Sky Sports. In a word: crap.

I ended up settling on a documentary about the life of giant anteaters on an obscure channel. Not exactly my bag, but it was preferable to a snoretastic programme about cowboy builders or John Nettles solving yet another grisly murder in the sleepy village of Midsomer. I was starting to consider a spot of bean flicking to pass the time, when my phone skipped along the bedside table as it vibrated to life.

It was a message from Craig.

So did u get lost runnin again 2nite? Haha! Do u fancy meetin 4 a drink on Sat if ur not doin anythin? X

See what I mean about his grammar?

But that aside, he has just asked me out ON A DATE! Eek!

As it happens I’ve not got anything planned this weekend apart from visiting my poorly Grandma again, so I sent him the following reply:

I’m visiting my family on Sunday but other than that have no plans. I’d love to go out for a few drinks ;-) x

Then, about half a minute after sending that message my phone rings. I look at the caller display and my heart leaps into my mouth.

It is Craig.

Gulp.

I answer my phone.

“Hello,” I say cautiously.

“Hi,” says the male voice at the other end of the line. “I just thought I’d give you a quick call to see how you’re doing.”

His voice is warm, with the thick Lancastrian accent that I love.

“Oh I’m good thanks. Just a bit bored in this hotel room all on my own!” I reply.

Believe it or not, this is me flirting. Craig had already expressed his wish to ‘keep me amused’ in my lonely hotel room after I sent him a saucy photo of me just wearing a bra the other night. He’s not so brazen on the phone though.

“Oh well, you’ll be out of there soon,” he replies.

Oh well, I tried.

We make small talk for about ten minutes, and I manage to hold myself together to have a semi-normal, semi-giggly-with-nerves conversation with him. I think it took some guts on his part to call me, as so far teenage text messages have been the only method of communication. The conversation flows easily enough and he actually sounds really, really nice.

I can sense that the conversation is coming to an end, but before it does, the real reason for his call becomes apparent.

“So, this Saturday night...” Craig ventures, “are you OK to come over to Preston again? I know it’s a pain, but my parents are away and I’ve got to work on Sunday morning and check up on all the sites.”

“Oh that’s fine,” I reply. “I was coming over on Sunday anyway so I’ll just come over on Saturday instead.”

“Oh great!” Craig replies. “I really want to see you but I was worried that coming over here again would be a pain.”

Bless him, but does he not read his text messages? I’d already told him about my trip back home. One black mark for lack of attentiveness.

“Yeah, it will be good to see you too,” I reply.

I don’t have the heart to mention the fact that I have no idea what he looks like.

“So, where shall we meet then?” he asks. “It might be best if you pick,” he continues, “as I don’t really go into Preston that much.”

Ah, that old chestnut: the bloke ‘thoughtfully’ letting the woman pick the venue.

“Oh, er. I don’t know.” I say.

I haven’t lived in Preston for years, so how am I supposed to know where’s cool and where’s crap? The only places I know are all the dodgy places I used to go about ten years ago.

“Er, how about Revolution bar?” I suggest.

It’s a safe bet I think, as it is tucked away on a side street but is still busy enough without being too packed.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Craig replies. “Shall we meet there at 8?”

“Yes, 8 o’clock is fine,” I reply. “So I’ll see you then!”

“Yep, see you then!” he replies.

“Right then.” I say.

I want to say something suggestive or flirty, but somehow I just can’t manage it.

“See you Saturday.” Craig replies. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight.” I reply, before I end the call.

Phew.

That was surprisingly easy.

I’m pleased that Craig and I have spoken to each other before we meet up, as it has put some of my fears to rest. He sounds really down to earth on the phone. A little bit shy and nervous maybe, but in a direct contrast to his text messages he is eloquent and well spoken, and sounds very, very sexy.

I just hope that I recognise him when I see him. I’m sure that some part of my subconscious mind will remember him and be able to pick him out in a crowded bar. I hope so, as otherwise this might well be the shortest date of my life.

Oh shit. It's Valentine's weekend.

Titillation

2010-02-09T20:06:00.000Z

Music: Shoot the Runner - Kasabian

Work has sent me away on a course for this week and I am staying at the exhilarating location that is London Heathrow airport. Yes, that’s right - I’m stuck in a hotel full of sweaty businessmen and Air Asia flight attendants: a lecherous mix of sexually frustrated testosterone and high pitched girlie giggles. Lord, get me out of here.

With the course finishing late in the evening and with only the meagre delights of the shops in Terminal 1 to amuse me, I am bored. So very, very, bored. The hotel doesn’t even have a gym, so last night I decided to go for a run around the airport perimeter instead. Never again, as despite the whacking great landmark of landing planes and twinkling runway lights, I still managed to get myself lost and nearly ended up getting bummed in a dodgy looking housing estate. Still, it was great exercise as I’ve never run so fast before in my life.

The only thing that is keeping me entertained is the daily textathon between me and Craig. During our daily text marathons I’ve found a few other interesting things out about him:

• He goes to the gym at least three times a week. This is good, as hopefully he’ll have a fit bod under his overalls.

• He drives a white van. This amuses me no end, especially as he had a crash in it yesterday morning. He wasn’t hurt (and fortunately nobody else was either) as he reversed into a wall and destroyed his wing mirror. He’s now desperately trying to get it fixed before his Dad gets back from his holiday...

• He has one younger brother who also works for the family business.

• He isn’t on Facebook as he claims not to know how to switch a computer on.
(Damn, so no potential stalking/vetting opportunities there).

• His favourite sort of music is pop/R’n’B. Hmm...

• He’s really looking forward to seeing me again. :-)

As well as finding more out about each other, our texts have been getting much flirtier over the past couple of days.

Oh, and whilst I was bored in my crappy hotel room last night I sent him a picture of me in one of my sexy lacy bras.

I know, I know, it’s unashamedly slutty, but in the past couple of days I’ve realised that I was starting to get ahead of myself in what I hope might happen with Craig. One of my friends recently described me as a serial monogamist, and as much as I don’t like the label it’s true. I’m terrible at being single and I always look for something more.

Therefore, I’m trying my best to ignore all the thoughts I’m having about Craig potentially being a good boyfriend, and instead I’m embracing my inner Samantha Jones and remembering what I wanted to achieve from my first spell of singledom: to have fun and to get laid.

Slutty? Moi? Yeah, maybe...

Wot am I doin?

2010-02-07T12:09:00.000Z

Music: Some Kinda Rush - Booty Luv

Craig and I have been flirting quite a bit over the past week, and in true teenager style it's all been done via text messages. Oh yes, romance is well and truly alive. Well, as long as it's within 160 characters. Craig is definitely putting a big fat smile on my face, and a bit of gentle flirting is just what I need.

However...

I can’t help but be put off by the way he writes his messages.

Argh. Please don't hate me for saying this.

Craig’s use of spelling and grammar (or, the lack of it) does worry me slightly. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that I’m a grammar nazi, but I just don't understand why ppl feel da nd 2 tlk in txt spk. Am I being too picky? Maybe it’s because he’s a bit younger than me? Or maybe the English language was never his strong point?

I've discovered that Craig works with his Dad in the family painting a decorating business, and from the casual Google stalking I’ve done today it looks to be very successful business too. Maybe this means he didn’t try too hard at school? I almost feel a bit shallow in being put off by grammatical errors, especially as Craig is only meant to be a bit of fun. I thought that kissing him on a night out would be the start and the end of our little liaison, but as we're now starting to get to know each other I fear that I'm looking into things too much and I’m skipping along ten steps at a time. I’ve got to calm down. We are only texting each other and this is only a bit of fun....

Is it?

The Sex Nations

2010-02-05T23:13:00.000Z

The Six Nations tournament starts tomorrow, and I am VERY excited.

If you're not aware of this feast of rugby, basically England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, France and Italy battle it out for six weeks to be crowned rugby kings of the northern hemisphere. Oh and it is packed with hot, handsome rugby men.

Therefore, to celebrate the Six Nations (and maybe to encourage some of you to give it a watch), I have handpicked a sexy selection of players.

1. England: Jonny Wilkinson

So lovely. The boyish good looks, the healthy tan, the sandy blonde hair. I've been a little bit in love with Jonny for about ten years now.

2. Wales: Jamie Roberts

Wales' scorching centre. He can tackle me any day, and as he's training to be a doctor he can kiss me better when we play doctors and nurses afterwards.

3. Scotland: Thom Evans

If you like Thom then check him out in the Dieux Du Stade calendar. Basically it's a calendar packed full of naked rugby players. It's ~~top class lady-porn~~ art.

4. France: Frederik Michelak

Bonjour...

5. Italy: I couldn't just pick one player.

Check out the Dolce and Gabbana campaign featuring several Italian rugby stars:

Sergio Parisse, Denis Dallan, Ezio Galon, Andrea Masi and Gonzalo Canale.

I am moving to Italy.

and last but by no means least...

6. Ireland: Rob Kearney

I am lusting after the seriously smouldering Rob Kearney in a big way at the moment. Oh the things I would do to this man given half a chance...

Therefore I have a weekend of men in shorts to entertain me. Bliss!

Have a good weekend everyone!

"Trade"

2010-02-04T12:23:00.000Z

Music: Team Mate - Kaiser Chiefs

It's just another tedious Thursday at work, except this Thursday I have a little secret that no one at work knows about. I do feel a little bit ridiculous as it’s almost like I’m acting like a schoolgirl with an overwhelming crush.

Craig and I are sending each other loads of text messages, and my phone is pinging with a new message every few minutes. He is really sweet, and is asking me loads of questions about how my day’s going, what sort of films and music I like and just general chit chat. It’s ace and I’m loving all the attention, especially as work is pretty dull at the moment. I love how I feel when my heart leaps every time I receive another message from him. I’ve not felt this way for such a long time.

It's just annoying that all my work mates have noticed...

“So what are all these messages you keep receiving?” my colleague Mick asks after my phone beeps for the fifteenth time in an hour. “Are you running some sort of sordid chat line or something? ‘Text 07790 FLIRT to receive smutty messages from horny girls in your area,’” he says laughing.

“No,” I reply whilst trying to hide my blushing cheeks.

“So who is it then?” Mick persists. “Did you meet some hot young stud last weekend? You did, didn’t you!” he announces loudly.

“Well, er, I met someone, yes,” I reply quietly.

“Ooh! Spill!” Mick demands as he wheels his chair over to my desk.

“Well, it’s just a guy I met. He seems nice,” I reply. “He’s a painter and decorator.”

“How old?” Mick quizzes.

“Twenty five,” I reply.

“Ah so he is a hot young stud!” Mick says with relish.

I feel my cheeks burning red whilst Mick demands that I furnish him with all the details.

“So are you going to see him again,” he asks, idly flicking paperclips across my desk.

“Er, maybe.” I reply. “Well, I think so...”

My voice trails off as I see my team leader’s ears have pricked up and he is spinning round in his chair to face me.

“What’s this?” my team leader asks across the office. “Have you been knocking about with a tradesman?”

“Yes. Yes she has,” Mick replies in a voice so loud that the entire office can hear.

Oh please leave me alone the pair of you.

I sink lower into my seat in an effort to deflect the attention, but it completely fails and I end up having to repeat all the salacious details of my sambuca-fuelled rendezvous to my team leader. He absolutely thrives on gossip, especially when it involves sexy young men. Well, he is the only gay man in the office.

“Well then, you’ll have to let me know how it all goes with your new man,” my team leader states once I’ve finished recounting my story. “I think from now on I’m going to refer to him as ‘Trade’,” he says with a pompous tone.

He is such a snob.

I don’t care what they think. Craig is nice.

Craig

2010-02-01T23:20:00.000Z

Music: I Remember - Deadmau5 & Kaskade

When I say I remember Craig (the man who I met on Saturday night) I do. Sort of. It's all very hazy though. Very hazy.

I’m not even sure how I ended up talking to Craig let alone how I ended up snogging him. Yes, that's right, I kissed a boy on Saturday night. Well, a man. The reason why I don't remember the finer details of our bout of tonsil-hockey is because I was far too busy being an advertisement for the dangers of binge drinking. Oh yes, I am a classy girl. If I'm being totally honest, I don’t even remember much of what Craig and I talked about. In fact, my first memory of him is when Nicola came up to us on the dance floor mid-snog, tapped me on the shoulder and asked:

“Are you OK mate?”

Er, yeah. I think?

This is terrible but even if I really concentrate now I can’t really remember what he looks like. He definitely has short hair, I know that much. I think it was blonde or sandy. I’m pretty convinced that Craig is taller than me and had some quite good muscles going on under his sleeves. This must be true, as even the drunk me wouldn’t forget a detail as important as that. I’ve half convinced myself that he looks a bit like Brian O’Driscoll who captains the Ireland rugby union team, which is not a bad thing if it’s true. Not a bad thing at all.

What I do know is that we swapped numbers at some point during our dance floor snogathon, as at 10am on Sunday morning I was woken from my pool of drool on the couch by my phone pinging with an incoming text message:

Craig:

Good morning and how’s you today?

Blimey 10am? I was really pleased to hear from him and I must still have something going for me after all, but at 10am after a night out I am barely alive. I can’t drink like I used to. Well, I can drink like I used to, but now it takes me a couple of days to recover from the alcohol abuse as opposed to a couple of hours’ worth of drunken sleep.

Craig and I have been playing text message ping pong during the past couple of days, and he even asked me if we could meet up on Sunday morning before I went back home. Er NO! Not the way I looked! The vamped up sexy look I was working on Saturday night was replaced the morning after with a washed out version of Marilyn Manson, complete with darkened bags under my bleary eyes which resembled two piss holes in the snow. Attractive is not the word. It was sweet of him to ask though.

However...

I replied to his message and said that sadly I wouldn’t have time to meet up, but that it would be good to go out for a drink the next time I go over to Preston… to which he said definitely yes! Whether that will ever happen I have no idea (I very much doubt it) but I will see.

As a result of our text conversation yesterday and today I’ve found out quite a few things about him:

1. He is called Craig.

2. He works with his Dad for the family painting and decorating business.

3. He is twenty-five.

4. He supports Preston North End football team.

5. He doesn’t like rugby (boo).

6. He loves motor sport (zzzzz).

And that’s about it. I’ve been wracking my brains and been trying to force myself to remember what he looks like, but all I get is the occasional glimpse of his face like in a snapshot. My friend Nicola tried to take some photos of him for me, but the flash didn’t go off in the first one and in the second all I can see is the back of his head. The only thing I can determine from this is that he’s not going bald, and he was wearing a charcoal grey jumper with a shirt underneath and some jeans. Which looks good from behind.

Still, I’m glad that I’ve got my first kiss as a single girl out of the way though but I just wish I could remember more about it. I know that looks wise I’ve got the thumbs up for Craig from Nicola, but knowing how kissing men whilst drunk has worked out for me before I’m not holding a great amount of hope that Craig is any better than any of them.

I’m just going to see how it goes... Watch this space...

The Girlie Night Out

2010-01-31T20:03:00.000Z

Music: U Sure Do - Strike

So how was your Saturday night? Mine was pretty eventful as it goes. Well, from what I can remember anyway...

After umming and ahhing and fannying about, I finally decided to take up the offer of my best friend Nicola for a good old fashioned girlie night out around my home town.

I arrived at Nicola’s house at about six o’clock on Saturday evening after spending a lovely afternoon with my Mum, Dad and Grandma. It was really good to see everyone and my Grandma was in good spirits which I was really happy to see after her latest round of chemo. After chatting away the entire afternoon and drinking copious cups of tea, I set off for Nic’s and I was the first one of the girls to arrive. There was only one thing to do: crack open a bottle of wine and chill out on her squishy leather sofas whilst we waited for our friends Jayne and Aarti.

A few hours, several bottles of wine and too many shots of sambuca later, we were all present and correct and piling into a taxi to whisk us off into town...

Our taxi pulled up on Preston's main street, just outside of the legendary Yates’ Wine Bar at just after 10pm. Such a classy place. Most of the bars and pubs line the main drag, which is very helpful when you’re tottering about on your heels after one too many sambucas.

“Right then ladies!” Nicola announced as we stumbled into the bar. “What are we all having?”

Inside it was dark, the music loud and the place is packed with young girls in towering heels, groups of men drinking pints and eyeing up the women, and the dodgy DJ that Aarti had a bit of a fling with a few months ago.

“I’ll have my usual please mate,” I say to Nicola, who promptly orders me a vodka lime and soda.

“Half a lager for me please,” Jayne says before disappearing off to the loo.

“I’m a bit nervous about tonight you know,” I say to Nicola as the foxy barman bends down to get a bottle out of the fridge which shows off his taut arse, a sight that doesn’t escape either of us.

“Nice.” I comment, to which Nicola agrees.

“I’ll say. Anyway, what you on about being nervous for?” Nicola laughs. “You’ve got nothing to worry about at all. It’s going to be a great night, just us girls,” she says as she digs her purse out of her bag.

It’s not that I don’t believe her. It’s just that she’s said that on a night out before, just before she cornered me with the ugliest man in the world.

Who am I kidding? I don’t believe her.

“Please just promise me that you’re not going to try and set me up with some hideous munter,” I say, as Aarti motions that she’ll be back in a minute and then wanders off.

“You know I can never promise you that,” Nicola replies with a devilish glint in her eye.

Oh great. That’s just what I need: a night spent fending off weirdos and serial killers.

“Nah, I’m only joking love,” Nicola continues. “If you do meet anyone tonight I think for once you deserve for him to be nice.”

Ah well, we’ll see about that. I’ll be quite happy to have a few drinks and a good laugh with my mates. Hang on, is this just a ploy to throw me off my guard and into the arms of a random minger?

“Where’s Aarti anyway?” Nicola asks as the barman hands us our drinks.

“Over there,” I reply. “She’s chatting up DJ Dickcheese again,” I say, nodding over to Aarti who is leaning into the DJ booth.

Maybe calling him DJ Dickcheese is a little unfair, but he's like a walking ball of Edam with uber-gelled slicked back hair, with a penchant for making ridiculous gun slinging gestures with his hands in his feeble attempts to look 'cool'. Idiot. Oh and he's a total arsehole too.

“Oh God, not again,” Nicola replies. “I think we need to go and grab her.”

Having wrestled Aarti back to the bar, we end up having another drink before deciding to head off for a dance before Aarti tries to pull the hideous DJ again. Our destination is the wonderful *cough* Squires, which is one of the handful of clubs in Preston that specialises in sticky dance floors, overpriced sugary drinks, and a clientele that ranges from pissed up students, stag and hen dos, big groups of blokes, young girls dolled up to the nines and everyone in between. Unlike some of the other clubs the majority of people that frequent Squires are usually a little older than the barely legal brigade so I don’t feel ridiculously old as we make our way to the dance floor and start to dance much less sexily than we probably imagine. It doesn’t matter as we are all having a great night.

It is exactly how I remembered it: the dark dance floor is a mass of people flailing about to the anthems of yesteryear. The place is filled with a mixture of people: some fit, some fat, and some just God damn fugly.

“Come on mate!” I hear Nicola shout behind me. “We’ve got to go and dance to this!” and in one swift move she grabs my hand and her drink and drags me to the dance floor.

It feels like I’ve been blasted back to ten years earlier when I first embarked on vodka-fuelled nights out with my now very best friend. The lights flash and the music blares and I realise I am having a great time as I dance and drink and catch the eye of some cute blokes on the dance floor.

As Nicola plies me with drinks and we keep on dancing, the night melts into an alcohol laced blur. What follows I can’t exactly be sure of as the sambuca flowing through my veins combines with the deadly alcopop that I’m drinking causing my memory function to disengage, instead leaving a gaping black hole.

Now in the cold light of day I’m trying to piece together the missing hours from last night where I lost (amongst other things): my memory, most of the contents of my purse and undoubtedly some of my dignity. I can remember everything until just after midnight, and then? Well, then I can’t remember much at all.

Well, that’s not strictly true as I do remember Craig...

Brace Yourselves... It's ON

2010-01-29T15:52:00.000Z

Music: Push The Feeling On - Nightcrawlers

OK, so I've been weighing it all up and taking all your comments on board and I've decided that I am going to go out with my very best friend Nicola this weekend. I've not exactly been a recluse for the past month but it's been pretty close, and I could really do with a proper girlie night to brush away the cobwebs. I'm visiting my family and my Grandma on Saturday afternoon, then it's all aboard the Nostalgia Express as I head off to my old stomping ground from my college days: the wonder that is Preston, Lancashire on a Saturday night.

Preston is many things: a northern working class university city; home to one of the oldest football clubs, Preston North End; birth place of sexy England cricketing hero Andrew Flintoff and rather randomly it is one time home to the parents of the legendary outlaw Butch Cassidy. Preston is also perfect if you’re looking for a great, alcohol fuelled night out, especially if you don’t mind pubs and bars that are a bit rough around the edges. The same can be said for most of the people drinking in them. I love it. It’s where my friends and I went out drinking when we were all underage, painted with lip gloss and wearing micro-mini skirts. The height of late 1990s chic - or not. All the old places from those days are still there: Yates’, Wall Street, Revolution, Takkies, Squires – the list goes on and there are far too many others to mention, but every time I return to these places I feel the glow of nostalgia and I wouldn’t change them for the world.

It's payday today so after work I’m going to buy myself a killer new outfit and some sexy, spiky heels to make sure I feel über vampy and alluring for my first proper night out as a newly single girl. Who am I kidding? I know I’m going to be tottering round after one too many vodkas, then heading off to the tackiest nightclub with the stickiest floor to get chatted up by mingers. Just a typical night out round my home town then...

In spite everything else that’s going on I think it’s just what I need to put a spring back into my step.

I'll let you all know what happens!

Mr. Friend of a Friend: More Than Friends?

2010-01-28T17:56:00.002Z

Music: We Are Your Friends - Justice vs Simian

Whilst I'm deciding whether or not to go out this weekend, I thought I'd treat you to the final dating disaster from the last time I was single. This one still makes me cringe to this day...

I think that some men are best left well alone. These men include members of your family, weird men that sit alone on park benches, and friends of friends that are mildly obsessed with you.

I’m not blowing my own trumpet but I’d kind of had the feeling for a few months that Beth’s friend John liked me, and even though I didn’t fancy him I didn’t exactly discourage his attentions. In all honesty I found it all extremely flattering, and sometimes I’d sit and daydream about him in a way that almost convinced me that there might be something there. It’s a big ego boost for a girl who’s had her heart bruised and her self-esteem squashed by the love of her life to have a guy always asking after her, blushing when she talks to him and being fascinated by every word that passes her lips. I’ve never been an object of desire like that before and it felt good. I put to the back of my mind the fact that I didn’t fancy him remotely as I figured it wasn’t something that I’d have to deal with. Instead I could pretend that I was wandering round in blissful ignorance about the whole thing and laugh it off if anyone dared to even suggest that he might have a bit of a thing for me.

The flirting had been going on for months, and John had developed a sudden interest in rugby and had started to support the same team as me. Hell, he even came to matches and bought a replica shirt. All the signs were there, but I just played along thinking that he was just being sweet and that there was nothing serious going on, all the while enjoying all the attention.

It was on a night out with some of my friends from university that things all came to a head. John sent me a text to ask if I was out in town that night, and the half tipsy me replied :

“Yes, why don’t you come out....”

I’d been telling my friends all about him, and wanted a second opinion I suppose. I knew deep down that I didn’t fancy him, but with a few vodkas pumping their way round my system he was starting to become an increasingly more attractive proposition. I can see how wooing used to work in the old days, as I think perseverance really can wear a girl down so that she eventually yields to the most persistent of suitors. Well, when she’s half-cut at least. John met us in the club that we were in, and I introduced him to my friends and we all danced for a bit.

After a while, my mate Amrit pulled me to one side and warned me to be careful as she sensed that he definitely wanted to be more than just a friend.

“Do you think so?” I slurred....

“Yes. Definitely,” was her response.

Why I did this I will never know, but I marched right up to him and said:

“You fancy me, don’t you?” and looked at him straight in the eye.

The poor f*cker didn’t stand a chance.

“Er, yeah,” he replied, and before he had a nanosecond to register what just happened I launched myself at him and was slobbering all over his face. (I was drunk. I wasn’t being alluring).

We locked tongues for about ten minutes (I might have been pissed, but he wasn’t a great kisser by anyone’s standards) then it dawned on me what I was doing:

Shit. You are snogging a friend of a friend that you do not fancy at all. He’s not just a random bloke that you can hide from in the loos until he goes away. You are going to see him again. It is going to be toe-curlingly embarrassing. He is going to think that you fancy him. He is going to want to TAKE YOU OUT ON A DATE.

F*CK.

F*CK.

F*CK.

So what did I do?

I ran off to the toilets and hid.

I had been avoiding John by skulking about in the Ladies for a good thirty minutes when my friend Amrit eventually came and found me.

“You know, John’s wondering where the hell you’ve gone to. What the hell are you doing? Why did you kiss him? You don’t even fancy him!”

I know. I KNOW!

Amrit and I headed back to the dance floor, and I strategically placed at least two people in between John and me at all times for the rest of the night. I thought I might have got away with it, until we were all getting in a taxi at the end of the evening, as John assumed that he was invited back to my place and tried to climb in with us. I can only thank my lucky stars that the taxi driver (for once) was on my side.

“Only 4 in the taxi mate. No room! No room!” Joe le Taxi yelled at John as he tried to squeeze in.

Phew. Thank God we didn’t hail a 5 seater. I pulled the door shut and John waved us off, looking slightly pissed off. (Cheeky bastard. Did he think I was going to shag him that night? Charming.)

The next day I think that even an intravenous drip would have failed to rehydrate me I felt so rough. I lay in bed until mid afternoon, piecing together all the hideous bits of the night before. It must have been about 4pm when my phone pinged with an incoming text message:

John:

Hey how are you? Great night last night. Can I take you out next week for a meal or something? Jx

AAAAAGGH! There it was. How on earth do I play this one? I decided that the best course of action was radio silence, so I ignored it.

The day after.

Ping.

John:

Hello hope you’re OK. Didn’t hear back from you yesterday... So which days are good for you next week? Jxx

Two kisses this time. Hmm, slightly more insistent. I thought it best to reply as I couldn’t ignore him forever. Let’s blame the alcohol. Yeah, good idea...

Hi, yeah I had a good night thanks. Really enjoyed catching up with my uni mates and I was so drunk! Sorry I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. Think it’s best if we just stay friends.

I felt like such a bitch, and I know that I probably was. However, I didn’t see what was about to happen next and none of my friends did either. I thought that John might lie low for a couple of weeks and lick his wounds, maybe not come out as much to start off with and definitely stop going to watch the rugby, but what actually happened was unprecedented and might I add completely weird. John fell off the face of the earth for six months. SIX MONTHS!

No-one heard from him. He went down to London to work for a bit and stayed with family and didn’t get in touch with anyone. Even Beth couldn’t get hold of him and they’d been really good mates for years.

When John eventually came back, he met up with Beth and told her that me messing him around had been the last thing in a long list of things that had gone wrong and he just needed to get away for a while. Fair enough, I thought, we’ll at least be able to be civil to each other when we meet, and I’m sure he’ll understand that I still wasn’t 100% after splitting up from the Evil Cockbag (even though we’d been separated for about five months when John and I kissed). Hey it was a good reason and I was sticking to it!

I was round at Beth and Rob’s one night just for a bit of a catch up, and we were sat in the lounge when there was a knock on the back door and a “Hello” as it opened. We all looked at each other as we knew it was John, and this would be the first time I’d seen him since he’d been back. Beth and Rob were sat on the sofa, and I was on the chair facing them. As John walked through the kitchen he saw me, and stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway to the lounge. I said hi, and he responded, but he couldn't look me in the eye. He focussed on Beth, and even when I asked him a question he replied whilst looking at her. Very strange. You won’t turn to stone if you look at me you know! John must have stayed all of two minutes before he made an excuse and left. As soon as the door shut we all burst out laughing.

Jesus, is that the effect I have on men? Beth and Rob assured me that John was just being weird and all I’d done was kiss him. Even though he’s a friend of a friend and therefore should come with a gold stamp of approval, it just goes to show that some people have a little too much crazy in them. He’s back living up north now and has a new girlfriend who he’s been seeing for a couple of years, however if we ever bump into each other it’s always really awkward. I don’t want to think that I had such an impact on someone but maybe I did? Or maybe he’s just a bit weird and can’t get over any kind of rejection. Who knows...? Either way this whole situation left me feeling like such a cow and I don’t want to go down the route of leading someone on like that again just to make myself feel good, so sorry John, you know who you are.

Points to note

• An ego-boost is all well and good, but I shouldn’t be so wrapped up in it that I stomp on other people’s feelings

• I should follow my gut instinct as it’s almost always right

• Alcohol AGAIN makes snogging people seem like a good idea. Damn it.

January Sucks

2010-01-27T12:26:00.000Z

Music: January Rain - David Gray

I'm glad January is almost over. It's always the worst month of the year for me. It's cold, dark, and this year was even worse as it's been horrendously snowy here in the UK. I'm always skint in January after being paid early in December, and after splitting up with my boyfriend a couple of days after New Year's Eve I've not really been in the mood to socialise. This is why my blog posts have so far have been about my previous dating disasters and not about what I've been up to, which is because in reality, I've not really been up to much.

January has been especially shit this year for another reason though.

Unfortunately before Christmas my Grandma was diagnosed with cancer. Her radiotherapy has been going really well though and she seems to be feeling a bit better. Therefore I'm going home this weekend to spend some time with my family, although my Mum is encouraging me to take my best friend Nicola up on her offer of a girlie night out. I wasn't going to go out as it doesn't feel right for me to be heading to pubs with my mates and getting drunk when my Grandma is so ill, but my Mum keeps telling me that life goes on regardless and my Grandma wants the newly single me to go out and have a good time and forget all about my evil idiot ex-boyfriend. She never liked him from the moment she met him. If only I'd listened to her. She's a wise old lady is my Grandma.

So what should I do? I'm going back home to visit my Grandma on Saturday afternoon. It's weird, but I think a night of letting my hair down with my friends might be just what I need after everything that's been happening. I'm feeling loads better after the end of my last relationship (although I'm not quite ready to tell that particular story yet). Oh I don't know. What do you think? Should I get dolled up and hit the town with my friends?

Mr. Side Parting: The Brush Off

2010-01-26T11:56:00.000Z

Music: Sad Story - Plain White T's

So despite all my reservations about our date, Mr. Side Parting and I met.

When he was walking towards me, he only vaguely resembled the man I’d swapped spit with a few days before. Damn vodka. He looked much older than I remembered too, late thirties I’d say, and a bit unkempt. The “indie” look which I’d fancied on Saturday was actually just general scruffiness.

His hair was long and a bit shaggy which I usually like, but he hadn’t even been arsed to wash it. He was wearing a “white” t-shirt which was now off white at best but closer to “grubby” after one too many outings, and as he approached me, the slight breeze didn’t do him any favours as it blew his manky top against his chest and showed off his moobs somewhat spectacularly. Not a man who looks after himself too much then. We headed to a quiet bar, and as we took our seats I told him about the situation with the project, all the time noting that his fingernails were chewed and dirty and that he hadn’t even bothered to shave. I played the potential for receiving an emergency phone call down, willing myself to give him a chance.

Ten minutes passed, and it felt like several lifetimes. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so difficult to talk to in my whole entire life and we did the exact opposite of click. We’d already covered music, sport and TV in that short time – topics that I can usually talk about with someone for hours. Still, it was early days so I persevered...

"So do you go out in Leeds often then?" I asked as I took a sip of my diet coke.

I know, such a lame line but I was running out of inspiration.

"I only moved back up here from London a couple of weeks ago," Side Parting said as he started picking his fingernails.

"Oh really?" I replied. "How come?"

It was an innocent enough question, but I wasn't prepared for what was coming next. Let's just say it was Classic Dating Gold.

"I'd been living with my girlfriend in London but she moved back up north for a job, so I followed her," he began.

"Oh right." I replied.

Eh? Did he stalk her up the M1 or something?
Side Parting must have noticed the quizzical look on my face, as he quickly moved to allay my fears.

"Don't worry, we're not still together or anything!" he 'reassured' me. "I'm not cheating on her with you, if you're worried about that!"

Well no I wasn't, but I was keeping my fingers crossed, as it would have been an excellent Get Out of Date Free card.

"You see it's a bit complicated," Side Parting continued.

Great.

"I mean, I did move up here to be with her... But when I got here she dumped me in less than a week," he continued, looking totally tragic.

Marvellous.

Cue a five minute (one sided) conversation about his ex-girlfriend, how he felt about her, what he thought they were going to do in the future and where he thought it all went wrong. I'd say it was your manky T-shirts and chewed up fingernails for starters mate.

Still I decided to try and appear interested in him and steer the discussion away from exes, so I attempted to change the topic of conversation.

"So where are you living now?" I asked as I sipped my drink. "You must have been lucky to find a place to rent so quickly after only getting back a couple of weeks ago?"

"Oh no", Mr. Side Parting said, "I’m back living with my Mum and my Grandma and I'm sleeping on the sofa bed in the spare room."

I thought he was joking, but alas he was being deadly serious. Man, I wish I could have a beer.

So to summarize, I was on a date with a totally unattractive, tediously dull bloke in his late thirties, who’d just told me all about his evil bitch of an ex-girlfriend and how he'd stalked her from London before she dumped him, leaving him to live with his Mum and Grandma in a small box room. Oh, and did I mention that as he left London so quickly he didn’t have to foresight to line himself up with a job, so he spends most of his days watching Jeremy Kyle and QVC but still doesn’t find the time to wash his t-shirts properly.

What a catch. This was now officially the worst and most painful date of my life. Not only was he unattractive, but he was blatantly not over his ex and nothing in his life seemed to be going for him. Except for when Beth rang, as I hot footed it out of there faster than a cheetah with its arse on fire, therefore saving both myself and Mr Side Parting from any more stilted conversation and very awkward silences. He knew that the date was terrible too, and happily I never got another stalky (or any sort) of text message from him again.

Post mortem:

• Seriously. Learn the lesson that alcohol in vast quantities does not help you meet nice men.

• Text stalking = text stalking. You can be keen and still manage not to harass someone in 160 characters.

• I was quite obviously this guy’s rebound date, and didn’t I know it. It really made me realise that talking about exes in any way, shape or form is bad news when you’re meeting someone new.

• To reiterate: alcohol is not my friend.

Mr. Side Parting: The Tangled Web

2010-01-24T17:56:00.000Z

Music: The Great Escape - We Are Scientists

The aftermath of my date with Chris (aka Mr Blind Date) put me back a bit on the whole dating game, as everything had looked so rosy but it still fell all flat on its face. I was starting to feel a bit sorry for myself due to my recent run of bad form in the dating stakes, and I think my date with Mr Side Parting was a direct consequence of that.

I still hadn’t learnt from my previous mistakes, as I met him when I was very drunk in a very cheesy club, wearing my thickest beer goggles. Looking back, the venue, my inebriation and the fact that he thought I looked like Drew Barrymore (I don’t, wishful thinking on his part) should have given me all the warning signs I needed to figure out that the foundations for our date weren’t exactly the best. If that wasn’t enough, the day after we’d met I was out with my friend Louise for lunch, when she told me that he had a big, fat side parting and possibly wasn’t as fit as I remembered. To make matters worse, Mr Side Parting then started to text stalk me…

Louise and I had gone to a pub next to a park so we could stuff our faces with greasy food then wander round the park very slowly to nurse our hangovers and gulp in as much fresh air as possible. What was meant to be a relaxing afternoon stretching out in the early summer sunshine turned out to a stressful full on text assault. I didn’t reply to one of Mr Side Parting's text messages within an hour as Louise and I were having a bit of a nap on a grassy bank, and as a result I received another message from him asking me if I was ignoring him. No, I’m suffering and I wish you would BACK OFF.

Still, he might just have been keen so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and we arranged to go out on a date that Tuesday.

Now, due to the factors I’ve mentioned: the side parting, the stalking, the beer goggles, I thought it prudent to put a few measures in place for the date so I could get the hell out of it as quickly and painlessly as possible if required. Deep down I must have known it was going to be shit, but practice makes perfect, and you never know I might have lucked out this time despite the dozen bottles tropical reef and the sinking feeling I was starting to experience.

I am slightly ashamed to say this, but I created the ruse that the project I was working on was about to go-live and I was on call in case there were any major issues. Cunningly, this also meant that I couldn’t drink so therefore my getaway would be relatively easy as I could just leg it back to my car. Genius. The final part of my Great Date Escape Masterplan came in the form of my friend Beth, who was briefed to call me after 45 minutes. If everything was hunky dory then I’d ignore the call and continue in doey-eyed bliss. If I was praying for a small natural disaster involving the ground opening up and swallowing me then I’d take the call, go outside, then return pretending there was a massive issue at work and I had to leave immediately.

I felt a slight twinge of guilt at the web of deceit that I was weaving, but on the whole I couldn’t help smirking at my Machiavellian planning. I mean, the poor guy, he didn’t really deserve all that even if he did possibly have the dodgiest hair seen on a man since 1983…

For legal reasons I'd like to clarify that I didn't pull Ben Affleck as the photo with this post might suggest. I just liked his rather splendid side-parting.

Mr. Blind Date: The End?

2010-01-22T09:51:00.002Z

Music: Too Fake - Hockey

It was a strange feeling, looking forward to going into work on a Monday morning, but I was so excited about picking up where I’d left off with Chris, my blind date, that I sang all the way down the motorway and even got in early. For some reason (and I really can’t think why now) we hadn’t exchanged phone numbers on our date, I think because we’d been so happily communicating by email that the thought never crossed our minds.

It was about 10:30am, and I decided that this was a time that wasn’t too early to look over eager, but was reasonable to expect me to have picked up any new work and have a bit of time to craft an email. So I emailed Chris, asking about how his weekend had been and all the usual friendly/flirty chit chat. I also told him a bit about what I’d been up to, all the while keeping it nice and breezy.

Now up until this point I’d usually get a reply from him in about an hour or so, sometimes pretty much straight away. It was really hectic at work, so I was busying myself with all my tasks. Before I knew it, 2pm had crept up, and still no reply from Chris. I was getting a bit worried. Had I said something to offend him? Had I come on too strong? I didn’t think so, as I’d only sent him a casual email, just as we’d both been doing for the past week or so. Had he met someone else he liked more at the weekend after our amazing first date, or had he decided that he really just didn’t like me that much after all?

At just after 3pm my computer pinged and the new mail icon appeared. It was from Chris. Without even taking a breath I clicked on the icon and his message appeared full screen.

To summarize:

Chris had a good weekend and spent a lot of it watching the cricket. He’d gone out into town on Saturday night but it had been a bit of a quiet one as his mates were skint. He poked fun at where I’d been out and asked me how my day was going. Then he kicked me in the proverbial nuts. I’m paraphrasing what he said, but here’s the gist:

As you know I had a brilliant time last Thursday when we went out, but I’ve got something I need to tell you. I was singing your praises to all my mates over the weekend and telling them all about you, but that made one of my female friends come to a bit of a realisation. You see, we had a bit of a thing a while back but she decided she just wanted to be friends. I think that hearing me talking about you got her thinking and she wants to try and give it another go before she decides if she’s going to live in New Zealand. I’ve still got really strong feelings for her and I’m really sorry as you are great and it almost feels a bit like wrong time wrong place. I hope you understand and don’t think that I’m a total bastard.

Would love to stay in touch, as it’s not often you find a girl that knows so much about sport and can almost(!) beat you at pool.

Sorry again…. Chris

F*cking great.

The girl doesn’t want him, then someone else arrives on the scene so she decides that even though she’s not entirely sure if she wants to be with him that no-one else can have him in the meantime. Grrr.

I send a short and to the point reply, which I do remember word for word:

That’s a shame as I thought we got on really well. I hope things work out for you, as you seem to be a nice guy. Take it easy.

And that was that. The best first date in my life, and I didn’t even get a second date out of it.

Things I learnt from this fiasco:

• Blind dates have the potential to work, provided that both parties are truly looking to meet someone new.

• Blokes can have baggage too, even if everything seems to be hunky dory on the surface.

• Sometimes even if you do everything right and things are going brilliantly, try not to get too carried away as things can still go wrong.

Now I do have a bit of a postscript to this story, as two and a half years after our one and only date, I put Chris’s name into Facebook and up pops his profile. I decided to poke him to see if he remembered me, and within a day he’d requested me as a friend. Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to send him a message to see if it ever did work out with his “friend”. Here’s what he said:

Me
1:17pm Jan 16th
Well hello, fancy bumping into you on here.

I bet you don't remember me, but you kicked my arse at pool at The Elbow Room after we'd been set up by our mutual friend Ian.

How's things? Still following the cricket?

I hope that all's well, and that you got it together with the girl that was going away (to New Zealand I think?).

Chris
3:09pm Jan 16th
Course I remember you! In fact I was thinking about you just yesterday strangely enough.

I ended up flying halfway across the world to tell Sarah I loved her: at the Orangutan sanctuary in the jungles of Borneo, alas she didn't feel the same, she decided to stay in NZ although we are firmly best of friends and she's at home visiting at the minute.

I feel cheated by the national cricket team these last few years! They are appalling bad!

Chris

Me
9:51am Dec 17th
Blimey you're an old romantic devil aren't you? I'm sorry things didn't go to plan, but at least you've stayed good mates.
I'm really not impressed with the English cricket team at all at the moment either…

Anyway on a different note, are you back living in Leeds now? From what I remember you'd gone back home (and weren't too happy about it) when I saw you.

Chris
11:19am Dec 17th
Ah well after a lot of umming and aahing I thought it's better not to have any regrets over the matter so off I went. Had a bloody good holiday too.

I am back in Leeds, this time right in the middle of the city, moved back in April after a winter in the wilderness.

I've just checked the cricket score, I feel sick!

Interesting, no? So they didn’t end up getting it together, but notice how he doesn’t ask me any questions about myself. Therein signifies a man who is not at all interested. However, Facebook tells me that he’s not in a relationship at the moment, but that could mean anything. I have to admit though, that recently I have been contemplating asking him for a rematch at pool but so far have chickened out as I think it would be a bit out of left field and also look a bit desperate. We’ll see…

Much to Ian’s annoyance I think I’ll mull over that one a bit more.

Mr. Blind Date: Will We? Won't We?

2010-01-21T08:13:00.001Z

Music: Hard to Beat - Hard Fi

Chris (aka Mr Blind Date) and I were meeting at 8:30pm and I arrived fashionably late by ten minutes. Having seen photos of Chris I knew that I’d recognise him, so I scanned the bar area to see if he was there already. Nope, not a sign. There was no way he’d go off and get a pool table without meeting me first so I concluded that he wasn’t here.

Great. Be calm, be calm.

(I’d already been to the toilet five times in the half an hour before I’d set off, which was all due to nerves and this wasn’t helping).

A deep breath and I was good. I walked around the bar (just to check he wasn’t hiding) then pulled up a seat facing the door and ordered a vodka lime and soda. And waited.

And waited.

I played with my phone for a bit. Lord knows why as we didn’t have each other’s numbers… Just for something to keep me occupied and make it look like I hadn’t been stood up.

I checked my watch. I’d been here ten minutes. I started to wonder exactly how long you wait for someone before you know you’ve been stood up. Half an hour? Longer? It’s never happened to me before.

Another few minutes passed and it was just after 8:50pm when Chris strode through the door and straight up to me, all apologies.

"Hi, I'm really, really, sorry I'm so late. The taxi didn’t turn up so I had to order another one and then the traffic through town was terrible," Chris said as he simulataneously got the barman's attention.

Blah, blah, the usual.

I know taxis are notoriously bad at turning up on time, so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially as he did seem to be genuinely sorry. Chris ordered us both a drink (as I’d pretty much necked mine with nerves), then turned to me and said:

"You look really nice by way."

OK, so that's one brownie point.

After the initial panic of being stood up, as soon as we started playing pool I was put at my ease. Chris and I clicked instantly, and he had loads of really amusing stories to tell. I liked his dress sense: converse trainers (snap), baggy jeans (Diesel), a t-shirt of a band that I’d not even heard of (they were up and coming and later turned out to be pretty big), all topped off with some tousled sandy hair. He was of slimmish build but had big, broad shoulders and had the odd muscle knocking about here and there. By the time we’d finished playing pool (gutted, he beat me 3-2) I was having a fantastic time and had completely forgotten how he’d been late. He later told me that he was impressed with my choice of venue as he goes there quite a lot on Saturday nights, whereas if I go then it’s usually midweek or on a Friday which is why we’d never run into each other before. Things were going great guns.

We decided to move on, and even though he tried to make me pick I insisted that Chris choose, which he did, and we ended up going to another bar just around the corner. We both got a drink (raspberry beer for me, rum on ice from him – only allowed as he’d just come back from a trip to Barbados) and sat at a corner table, lit by a single tea-light.

I was glad we went for a drink there as we could really talk instead of taking the mick out of each other in between magical bits of pool wizardry and it was at this point I realised I really liked Chris and wouldn’t mind meeting up with him again. Our body language, whilst relaxed was still careful so that we wouldn’t touch each other inadvertently, as I suppose we were still sussing each other out. It got to about 11:30pm and I hadn’t even realised it was so late as we’d been talking so much about anything, everything and a whole load of bollocks in between. As we both had work the next day we reluctantly thought it best to call it a night and go and get taxis home.

So off we walked to the taxi rank at the train station, not holding hands, no bodily contact allowed. As it wasn’t a weekend there were loads of taxis queued up waiting for fares and we walked straight up to the front of the queue. Thinking back, I wish there hadn't been any taxis and that we had to wait, as what happened next would definitely not have happened if we hadn’t been rushed. I hate taxi drivers for being so impatient, and from this point onwards for ruining the end of the best date I’ve ever had in my life.

We were going in separate directions so were getting two separate taxis. Chris did the gentlemanly thing and offered me the first one. The stupid taxi driver, rather than giving us a moment, leant out of the window and yelled:

“So where are you going to love? Do you want me to get that door for you?”

I could have killed him.

Chris and I were just doing the obligatory thank yous for such a lovely night and a goodnight kiss was SO on the cards, but taxi man completely ruined it with his immaculately timed interruption. I looked at Chris and he looked at me, and for the first time on the date there was a second of awkwardness. I think we both wanted to kiss each other but knew that the moment had been lost. Chris smiled at me slightly uncomfortably as the taxi driver continued with his bout of verbal dirhorrea, and as I climbed in the taxi Chris motioned for me to wind down the window, which I did.

"Thanks again, I've had a great night," Chris said, as the cold night air poured in through the open window.
"Yeah, me too," I replied.
He really was rather lovely.
"I'll email you tomorrow," he replied just as the taxi whisked me off into the night.
I spent the journey home smiling to myself but also kicking myself for not just kissing him anyway.

The next day was a Friday, and true to his word I got an email from Chris thanking me for the night before and saying he’d had a brilliant time. All was good, and I left work that night very happy about life in general.

So far, so good, but little did I know that everything was about to go very, very wrong...