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
I was just about ready to go to work, so I leant over the bed to give my girlfriend a goodbye kiss. “GRRR!” she growled in a high-pitched, insane angry cat tone, as she turned her face away from me, causing my lips to slither, snail-like across her cheek. Not the kind of kiss I was expecting, I said out of the corner of my mouth. I quickly scanned the previous day’s memories in an attempt to ascertain what heinous crime I had committed.
No results found
Okay then, you win. What’s wrong? “You woke me up by talking in your sleep.” Is that all? “You shouted: ‘QUICK, PUT THE PHONE DOWN, HE’S COMING!’ It gave me a fright and I couldn’t go back to sleep.” Oh… that’s weird.
Having been suitably admonished for my unconscious misdemeanour, I trudged off to work. Well, I actually jogged, but ‘trudged’ is more apt description of my running style. A passing colleague once told me that I “looked terrible”. Enough said. And thanks for that. Continue reading
No-one looks this good at singles parties. Ever.
So you’ve decided that you will take the plunge and give a singles party a try. If you’re a lady, you’ll no doubt opt for the safety-in-numbers approach and ask (or beg, or possibly have to pay for) some of your closest friends (or anyone who you know that is female and single) to go along with you.
If you’re a bloke, then it’s more difficult. If you take a friend, then it has to be someone who is fairly normal, but not someone who can steal the attention of the nicest girls. Or maybe you should just go on your own and try not to give off the impression that you’re a loner who stays in on Saturday nights to watch the Twilight movies with his mother. Continue reading
100% gay. Quite possibly 100% stalker too
I’d been seeing my girlfriend for a few months and things were going okay. Nothing earth moving… but then if I wanted that I’d rent a small JCB. As I love travel, it seemed a great idea for me to suggest a holiday with my girlfriend, especially as we found it hard to spend enough quality time alone together. We opted for the sun, sea and superb nightlife of Ibiza, one of Spain’s Balearic islands.
The plans were left open. There was no reason why we couldn’t invite others. A group holiday would be fun. So I sent out some Facebook invites and left her to speak to her friends, whilst I went on a pre-planned trip to Iceland. She had some concerns about whether she could afford it, but I thought that wouldn’t be a problem. Continue reading
Hello! Me again.
We were a few drinks into a night out one balmy February evening, at a massive outside bar in Cha Weng, Koh Samui, one of Thailand’s southern islands. The music was pumping and the hordes of tourists were enjoying the best that Thailand’s nightlife has to offer. Which invariably for some, involves encounters with ladies of the night. But not me. That doesn’t float my boat and I consider if cheating.
So when I was approached by yet another local girl, I kept the conversation brief but civil. I wasn’t interested. She was just after my money, like all the others. I had no intention of spending much time feigning interest just for the sake of it, especially when her English was of the stereotypical south east Asian type. Continue reading