Were you aware that the United States had royalty, now living in London? And did you know that Lithuania had a royal family that bestowed upon us unsuspecting Londoners a fair princess? No, neither did I until I dated such royalty. It all started when I arranged a date via Match.com to meet what seemed to be an attractive and amiable American girl who seemed genuinely interested in me.

I nearly didn’t make it as I was hungover from the night before and I was worried that I may have to introduce her unexpectedly to my friend, Captain Chunder. And no-one would want to see that. But I manage to perk up a little and made it on time to be met with a girl; American – yes, but who looked absolutely nothing like any of her pictures. I couldn’t help but squint at her, wondering if I had been the victim of a stitch up. Continue reading →

I’m not a lover of online dating, having spent a few months (okay, a year) on one particular site (rhymes with ‘snatch’) with varying degrees of horror. But a friend convinced me to try another site (rhymes with ‘die stupid hen’) for a month and, after a quick look at the attractive ladies on the site, my instant reaction was that it had some potential (okay, ‘Little Stewie’ was doing the ‘thinking’ – my boxer shorts must’ve been too tight).

Think about it, online dating is doomed to failure. You spend an hour looking for half decent photos from five years ago, painstakingly writing a profile that ends up looking the same as everyone else’s. Then you exchange 50 messages, finding out that you both like to go out sometimes and stay in sometimes, and that you like travel, music and films.

I tried to make my profile stand out from the norm, stating that my interests were football, pulling funny faces in the gym, badger baiting, dwarf tossing (inter-continental) and stalking. Continue reading →

Before the more curious among you wonder if this is a post about a hideous growth deformity, have no fear; I assure you that it isn’t. It is merely social commentary on the unfortunate habit that many of us have experienced of saying the wrong thing in our myriad of social interactions.

As a single man negotiating the pitfalls of London’s dating and bar scene, I have learned that sometimes it’s better to say nothing at all, than feel obliged to say something to cover an uncomfortable silence. It isn’t necessary to chat constantly without pause. Unless perhaps you are a horse racing commentator.

My main ‘partner in pulling’ the ladies (or not)  is a mathematician, who by his own admittance spends his days in academic geekdom and is something like an uncaged Tasmanian devil when freed from the formulas, bouncing enthusiastically between girls with the impatience of a speed freak in the toilet queue; frequently to be heard saying: “I’m not getting anywhere, she’s hard to talk to”. After five minutes. Continue reading →