Autumn in London

It's Autumn again. My favourite season.
The days begin with glorious blue skies and sunshine streaming through my bedroom window. I wake up feeling instantly happy and inspired. Possibly because there is a man in my bed to my left who I feel happy with. We spend the morning in each other's company, enveloped in a dewy satisfied glow, until he has to leave to go to an exhibition, or meet a friend for brunch.
I pour myself a cup of Earl Grey and read a magazine before pulling on black jeans, grey converse, and dashing out to meet a friend for Bloody Marys and Eggs Benedict.
We gossip in a little cafe in Hampstead while the rain has started to fall heavily against the window we're sat next to.
I am always amazed at how different London looks in the rain. Melancholy and miserable. It makes me want to curl up in bed, listening to the sound of it falling, no matter how awake I am. But today I don't mind.
We gossip about the men in our lives and the ways in which they annoy us. We can't decide whether taking too long to respond to a text takes first place over not talking about how you feel...The latter is probably more important, and it makes me wonder how long you can date someone before you feel like you need more from them.
In the beginning, it's exciting to receive a text message out of the blue, or to see them one evening a week, but as time goes on, you find yourself getting more than just a text once in a while. Seeing them a few times a week becomes the norm, as does hanging out with their friends and meeting their family. You begin to predict their behaviour, and when things don't add up to your predictions, you begin to worry.
I have always been a true worrier. Pessimistic at heart, and constantly waiting for something to go wrong. Perhaps it's because I have been so let down in the past, but then again, the memories of good moments always become quickly overshadowed by anything questionable.
A friend of mine once told me that all emotions are good. It's what makes us feel alive. Even in the midst of a breakdown....Feel your emotions. They're raw and real and maybe it's what'll make you better understand them.
After all, whatever will be will be. Until then, be happy. Live in the moment, and don't wait for it to fall apart.

"After all, what is happiness? Love, they tell me. But love doesn't bring and never has brought happiness. On the contrary, it's a constant state of anxiety, a battlefield; it's sleepless nights, asking ourselves all the time if we're doing the right thing. Real love is composed of ecstasy and agony."
- Paulo Coelho, The Witch of Portobello

Goodbye Mr I (don't) LY

The last month has been a whirlwind to say the least.
After a month of intense dating with Mr ILY everything is over before it began, but we'll get to that shortly....

The week following the bbq saw him come over on the Tuesday. I bought a takeaway for us both as he never suggested anything for dinner and I was hungry. It was delicious, but I was disappointed when he didn't say Thank You. Basic manners should be automatically programmed in everyone, but for him it seems they were not.
Later that night, I suggested watching a movie. This in my head translated to 'watching a movie', but it seems he did not get the hint. We reached the end of Factory Girl, and it was only when I switched the lights off 10mins later that he made a move on me.
After incessantly texting/calling each other the rest of that week, he said that he wanted to take me out and surprise me. He told me to meet him in Covent Garden at 7.30pm, and all of a sudden I was overcome with excitement. I hadn't been treated for a long time and my mind began to race with what he could possibly have in store for me.
Upon meeting, it became clear that there was no surprise. He had nothing booked, but did have two Japanese restaurants in mind. Neither of which he'd been to, and as he awkwardly tried to locate them via Googlemaps on his phone, I decided to take the lead and guide us to one of the restaurants he had in mind. Upon arriving, It became apparent that all they served were noodle dishes, and since I didn't feel like that type of food, I suggested the great Thai place next door.
Dinner was great, and the evening was going really well although I was disappointed that there was no surprise. He asked for the bill, and as the waiter placed it down in front of him, I asked whether he wanted to split it. I was being polite! But with no hesitation he said yes. I guess that was the surprise!
When I found out the next morning that he'd been paid the day before and owned 4 apartments (where he charged the tenants double his mortgages), I was pretty annoyed, but decided to give him another chance.
The following week was hectic for me with moving home and a work trip away, so I invited him over to my new flat that coming Sunday. He arrived at 2pm and we spent the day lounging around chatting whilst the faint noise of Murray's tennis ball hitting Centre Court could be heard in the background.
It was nice and I planned to unwind and have an early night when he left.
As the clock approached 10.30pm, I started to wonder whether I'd have to eventually ask him to leave, so when asked me if he could stay the night, I felt bad but told him I wanted my own company. He'd been there for 8 and a half hours already. For me that was enough. He left an hour later.
The following day he text me telling me how happy he was and that he wanted to take me out somewhere amazing...Little old me was still hopeful, but when a few days later I enquired about our Saturday night date and he said that he had nothing planned, I silently rolled my eyes on the other side of the phone whilst wondering if I should make an excuse and not go.
Instead I decided to set him a challenge to organise the entire night, and crossed my fingers. On Saturday I was given a address in Notting Hill and told to meet at 7pm. A little early for dinner, and so I arrived 20mins late.
The restaurant was brilliant. Greek fusion with flavours I had never experience and quirky cocktails to die for. As the bill was once again placed in front of him, I subtly said that I was popping to the loo.
My plan worked, and we headed off for drinks before dessert at my place. The following morning he took me out for pancakes and although I felt happy, I couldn't shake my doubts about him. Needless to say, he continued being lovely, showering me with compliments and so I tried to persuade my heart to love him. It didn't work.
We decided to go to the cinema the following Thursday, but at the last minute I asked if we could go to dinner instead. I was having an early start on the Friday and suggested meeting in Soho so he could easily get the central line home.
We arrived at the restaurant and although I was a bit tired, I felt fairly happy.
An hour and a half into our lovely dinner, he asked me if I am where I thought I'd be a few years ago. I replied saying that a few years ago I was in a 6year relationship with a man I thought I'd marry, so it was a tricky question. He then stated that he "couldn't imagine me settling down ever", and the rest of the conversation went like this....

Me: "Actually, I'm happiest when settled. I just haven't found anyone I'd like to settle with."

Him: "No, I just said that because you seem to go out a lot. You date a lot, and I can't imagine you with anyone".

  Me: "I go out a lot because I was in a long relationship and had never dated. Dating still freaks me out and I am always really careful who I choose to have a serious relationship with because I go into it hoping that it wont end".

Him: "So what do you think in terms of me? Us?"

Me: "It still freaks me out, and I feel in control the whole time which I hate. I feel like I lead everything we do."

Him: " I disagree. I think I'm just more flexible whereas you're quite set in your ways. Y'know, I mean, I don't feel like I can call you up and ask if you wanted to chill in a park or something".

Me: "Why not?"

Him: "Because you only seem to like going to expensive places. You're very set in your ways"

Me: "That's bullshit. One of my favourite things to do is to sit in a park on a sunny day, or lie in bed all Sunday. I treat myself yes, but I don't care what I do when I'm with someone because I usually enjoy their company, and being with them is all I care about, not how expensive the restaurant we're in is. You obviously don't know me very well at all".

Him: "Yeah. I guess I don't".

As we made our way outside, it was clear that everything had been destroyed in a split second. He seemed uncomfortable and awkward as we tried to say our long winded goodbye. He said he couldn't figure me out. For years he hasn't been able to figure me out.
I asked him if I should cancel the reservation I'd made for our double date on Saturday. He didn't say anything so I said I would. He said yes.
The last thing he said was "Ok." as we instinctively turned our backs to each other and began walking in opposite directions. In my daze I walked from Soho to Chelsea, and luckily avoided getting hit by 4 cars.

I knew I would never see him or hear from him again.

Mr I Love You

I had heard that a past fling had recently become single again, and so I contacted him asking him whether he was attending a mutual friend's BBQ later that day. When he said he was, I felt excited to see him, but also a little nervous.
You see, we had dated briefly a few years back, and he had always wanted more from me. I was in love with someone else at the time, and after a couple of dates told him that I just wanted to be friends. In the months that followed, my behaviour was pretty unreasonable.... Getting drunk and kissing him in front of all our friends, leading him on constantly and rejecting him numerous times. He'd halted all communication with me and rightly so. Not long after, he began dating a colleague of his, and upon bumping into them earlier this year, it seemed fairly clear that they were very much in love and happy together.
You could imagine my shock when mere months later he ended the relationship after realising he wasn't in love with her and couldn't continue...She was devastated.

So there we were at the BBQ, slightly awkward and trying to sustain conversation as though nothing had happened. It was going pretty well. Mr Captain Morgan was certainly helping, and I was trying to send obvious signals to no avail. When a small group of us decided to bail and go to a house party in a lavish Canary Wharf apartment, I felt like I had the chance to let him know I was interested.
Upon arrival, I immediately felt under dressed in my grey converse skinny jeans after seeing a full room of girls dressed and made up to the nines. I saw his eyes light up and silently said "SHIT" over and over to myself in my head.

He started chatting to a pretty girl and I began to sulk, stating to my friends that I wanted to go home. One friend reassured me, and after speaking with her I decided to talk to him.

Bringing up the past, I started to apologise and he asked me to talk with him outside in the hallway. We made our way through the sea of skinny legs, and false eyelashes. Once outside, he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me. I finally felt that perhaps I had got through to him, but once we were back in the party, he started chatting with a blonde girl. All very flirty- punishing me perhaps?
I began getting more and more annoyed until I finally marched up to them, sarcastically apologised for interrupting the conversation and asked to have a word outside.
He apologised and I accepted. It it always difficult to protest when you are being passionately kissed against a wall.

We decided to leave and headed back to his place where our clothes were quickly lost and I experienced a higher dose of passion than that of the hallway earlier. As we drifted in and out of sleep, his arms were around me all night, pulling me into the concave shell of his body while dotting my back and neck with kisses.

In the morning we slept together again, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
He was above me. Staring at me, looking into my eyes. I started feeling a little self concious from the intensity of it all. When all of a sudden, he looked as though he might say something, but stopped himself at the last minute. But then, whilst our eyes were still interlocked, he uttered very softly "I love you".
I immediately wondered whether he'd really said it or whether my mind was playing tricks on me. But then for the second time, in a whisper, he said it again. I was shocked, and his admission was met with silence.
We just continued as though nothing had happened, and shortly after I left to meet a friend for brunch despite him asking me numerous times to stay a little longer.
He walked me to the tube (I was now very happy that I was wearing my converse and not heels!), and we kissed goodbye.

Another date is on the cards, but if those 3 little words are uttered again, it may be time to run...

Nice Stalking to You

I have dealt with many mentally derranged human beings in my life, and a few have factored into my love live. A a couple of weeks ago, another routine 'crazy' cropped up. It was about time. The previous crazy (who you can read about here) had been around 9 months ago, and it seemed that the world was throwing me another for good measure.

What was supposed to start out as just a quiet dinner with a friend on a Friday night, turned into a chatty dinner followed by expensive Gin and Tonics at a Chelsea bar and then onto a slightly more expensive club where the g&t's tasted like they contained quadruple shots of Gin. This would have contributed to my rather large beer goggles when I started talking to a gentleman shortly after. Having established that his friends weren't nearby (or perhaps they were never even there...), I felt quite mean to tell him to leave... So I took pity on the short, average looking man, and may have treated him with a smooch before regretting it and telling him I was off to the ladies whilst already half legging it out of the club.

Once outside, my friend and I were trying to hail a cab home to no avail. Two guys next to us were doing the same thing, so naturally we got chatting.
I started teasing them after assuming that the two girls staggering away from them were originally being taken back to theirs and had changed their minds. The two guys found this amusing, told me I had good banter (I try), and invited me to their housewarming party the following night. We shared a cab that dropped them to their residence on The Kings Road, and headed on home where I blissfully collapsed into my heavenly bed.

The following day was naturally a write off, but that evening I'd agreed to have drinks in Camden with a friend who had been away for a month and a half.
It was a easy, chilled evening and I strolled home to bed at the ripe old time of 10pm, only to be woken up by a text from Taxi Boy at 3.35am.

"Hey...how was the rest of your cab last night? Are you out tonight?"

Now I'm no grandma, but it was 3.35am! What planet was this guy on!?
I replied the following day, and we engaged in a text conversation. It became clear early on that he was wanting to arrange some sort of meet up, but there was one little problem.... I couldn't remember what he looked like. At all. Nor was I sure I wanted to see him. He asked what my Bank Holiday plans were, and I said I was heading off to a spa. He then invited me to his friend's house for a BBQ that coming Tuesday.
Strange. No drinks, no dinner, just a casual meet and greet of ALL of his friends.
I text him on the Tuesday and politely declined. At this point in time I had made the decision not to contact him again, and had structured my text so that he need not reply, but then...

"No worries. How was the spa?"


I didn't respond. A few days came and passed and I thought he had got the message, so you could imagine my amazement when I received another text 4 days later.

02:34am: "Are you on The Kings Road tonight?"

Again I didn't respond. While I thought it was strange that he'd text again ( I wouldn't do so myself), I put it down to the weekend and the fact he may have been out drinking... Until the following night when I received this...

01:49am "Hey..."

02:17am 

Yes that's right. He text me a photo of some food. With no explanation!

The following day I received a full stop as a text from him, and since then, nothing thankfully! I am praying that I wont hear from Taxi Boy The Stalker again, but I have to say I'm fairly thankful that when life gets a little serious, the powers that be will always throw in something to tickle your funny bone.

Kiss from a Stranger

It was a Friday in mid August 2011 and little did I know that evening would turn out to be the most fun I'd have that year.
My friend and I decided to start our night off at a cool Kentish Town Pub, as we did most Friday evenings during the summer of 2011.
Marlboro Lights were smoked and double gin and tonics were sunk in the bustling beer garden, and after a few drunken shapes were thrown on the small dancefloor, we set off in pursuit of more space and better music.
We made our way to a Salsa Club in Camden and having persuaded the doorman to let us queue jump, we were debuting our Salsa moves in no time.
Another cigarette break in the outdoor area and we got talking to a few guys. We spent the rest of the night hanging out with them (on a platonic level) and dancing in that free, careless wild way you do when no one is watching you.
Before we knew it, the lights were on, it was time to leave, and despite the suggestion from a guy we met (who we affectionately christened 'Miguel back to mine') of a party back at his place which would consist of just us three, we left.
As we set off to find yet more cigarettes, there was no suggestion of retiring to bed.

Walking through the warm summer night air (made warmer by the alcohol content in our blood), I stumbled upon a guy who was walking in the same direction with his friends. There was something that instantly drew us towards each other, and we were dragging along slowly behind our friends. His name was Donald, which I instantly took the piss out off (apologies to any Donalds that may be reading!), and thus he was known as Donald Duck from that moment on.

A mere three minutes later we had lost our friends so decided instinctively to cross the street. When it became clear that we had no idea where we were going, we stopped walking and he kissed me.

The world stopped for a minute and we were frozen in time. He cupped my face in his hands and as his soft lips gently brushed against mine, I melted inside.
If ever I had had a 'movie-like' moment, this was it.

We were alerted by my friend loudly calling my name from the opposite side of the street, as though she feared I was gone forever, and slowly we made our way back to our parties.
His friends were waiting for him in a taxi and I declined his invitation of continuing my night with him. After a final goodbye kiss, we looked at each other in a way that was electric and indescribable, and with that he was gone.

I have kissed a fair few frogs in my time, but this kiss still remains as the best. Even now as I write this, I have butterflies.

All that, and it was a kiss from a stranger.

(Fun fact: The photo above was taken minutes before I would meet the kisser)

Home via Pimlico

As I strolled home from dinner on a warm May evening, I was overcome with sadness. Two days had passed since I found out that the flat I was due to move into in just shy of a month's time had fallen through. I had just managed to visualize myself there, and all of a sudden I now had to start from the beginning.
I cut my budget and decided to move out of my neighbourhood.
Lovely lovely Pimlico. My part of town for the last 4 years. I found myself strolling even slower; savouring each step through the grid.

These streets reminded me of the West Village in New York. I had gone there 3 summers before with a person who was now a stranger to me. We had strolled up through Perry Street on a hot summers day, seeking shade beneath the trees that lined the edges of the pavements.
And we'd had dinner outside on 259,West 4th Street, sheltered from the sudden heavy rainfall. It was still warm, but the rain brought on a slight panic to the city, and all of a sudden everyone seemed to be running for their lives. I felt calm, safe, happy, sitting next to the man I loved as we watched a lady with a short-haired daschund trying to get her stubborn dog to walk faster through the rain.

I remember calling my mother two days into my week long trip and telling her that at some point in my life I would live here. It had exceeded all of my expectations and in a strange way it instantly felt like home.
I had since stopped missing the man sitting next to me in that restaurant, but I yearn to walk those streets again.
Pimlico had been my replacement. My little apple, and it scares me thinking that I might pine for it when I'm gone. For my flat. My home. My big marble fireplace with candles scattered all around and floor to ceiling windows. My florist around the corner, who I go to to pick up bunches of Anemones, Ranunculus and Peonies on a Sunday. Of course that all sounds silly since I can return any time I like, but this era is ending whether I like it or not, and I don't know if I'm ready.

Last night I sat on my balcony in a sleeveless shirt with a mug of peppermint tea in my hands and I decided that an outdoor space really is essential. I breathed in the musky polluted London air, and wondered why I was the only one in my street to be enjoying it.
As I looked around, I could see glaring tv screens and drawn curtains. Everyone seemed to be shutting themselves in, away from the warm evening and views of the streets. I was baffled.

As I sleepily retreated to bed, I lay and looked around the room. All it was was bricks and a lick of paint. A door here, a window there. A few paintings on the walls. A pigeon grey jug of light pink peonies on the side. Two books on my bedside table next to two gold rings and Geranium and Orange Neals Yard hand cream.
All replaceable things. Suddenly I wasn't so worried, and as I drifted off I realised that my home would always be wherever I was.

Cupid in Disguise

It was last spring and I was dating a guy (read about him HERE) who lived with a very attractive flatmate. I used to jokingly say that I found his flatmate more attractive, except I wasn't joking. Throughout our short 3month 'relationship', we discussed setting up the flatmate with my pretty friend, but unfortunately we went our separate ways before that could ever materialize.

Around a year later, the girl in question and I decided to spend a sunny Saturday drinking Coronas in Hackney, and whilst discussing the men who had previously been a part of our love lives, the flatmate came up in conversation.
After a bit of persuasion from me, she said that she'd be interested in possibly going on a date, and I decided to send a rather random email to a virtual stranger asking him to date my friend.

Surprisingly, he said yes! A blind date is set for Friday evening, and if this should become the start of something very special, I think I may have to change my career...

Goodbye Old Friend

In less than 2 months I will have to leave the place I've called home for the last two years.

It is a place that became my sanctuary after a sad break up with a man I had spent 6 years of my life with. 3 months after I had moved in to my beautiful Georgian townhouse flat, I got a teeny tiny little black and white kitten who would emit high pitched miaows and crawl on to my stomach to have a little sleep.

The kitten is now a cat who no longer crawls onto my stomach for a sleep, and I am no longer the person I was 2 years ago.

When I look at how my life has changed in that relatively short space of time, I wonder who I will be in another 2 years time...
New and old friends have come into my life, and new and old friends have left it. My oldest and best friend of 20 years is no longer a part of my life, nor I hers. 2 years ago, we had conversations about having children at the same time so they too could grow up together being best friends. These days, I don't miss her any longer, but I do wish her well.
I met someone over a year ago, who I didn't realise at the time would become a very good friend of mine today. She is an incredibly strong, funny and kind-hearted soul who will become a mother very soon.

As I lay in my big bed typing these words, I realise that this flat has become somewhat of a friend. It has always been here for me, and never judged. It has provided me with warmth and comfort and has been somewhere I have made many treasured memories.
I am sure that my next home will become that in time, but until then...

Goodbye Old Friend... I hope you find someone who will love you just as much.

Happy Birthday to Me

A few weeks ago it was my birthday. I turned something on either side of my mid twenties, and decided that I wanted to have a big celebration, and so it was all planned.
An early dinner with good friends who lived out of London, drinks at mine for 20+ guests before jumping into cabs that would take us to a nightclub where we could shake our tail feathers for the rest of the night.

Arriving at the restaurant at 6.30pm, I felt somewhat overdressed in my cleavage exposed, fitted red dress and a face full of 'evening' make up. A few glasses of wine later, I had opened my first (and best) presents of the night, and as we left the restaurant and headed back to mine, I was pleasantly tipsy.

At my flat, guests started steadily arriving, and while trying to be 'the hostess with the mostess' I was finding it hard to relax. I was trying to divide my time between everyone, and therefore felt as though I hadn't spent much time with anyone.
As the clock struck 11pm, the first taxi arrived, and as I bundled groups of people out, I realised that the friends I'd had dinner with had opted to take the long journey back to Oxford despite my protests. At least our mutual good looking friend, A, was staying...

Arriving at the club, I remember feeling really happy and as the barman handed me a free shot, the night began to get pretty hazy.
I got talking to a cute guy (although the conversation is pretty patchy in my mind, it started off well), and when we established that he worked in finance, I asked him whether he thought it was boring (fun fact: I happen to think that working in finance is incredibly boring). When he told me he found it interesting, I decided it was time to leave, and was intent on finding A. Mr Finance told me he'd be there waiting for me, but I knew I wouldn't go back. As I turned around, my friends were nowhere to be seen, and so I wobbled towards the dance floor to find them.

After two drunken circles around the club, my efforts were in vain, and as I stumbled into the toilets, luckily my friend came out of the cubicle. I asked her where A was. She said that she thought he'd been getting on rather famously with her friend, and I decided to find them and see for myself.
They didn't look too close to me, so I decided to step in (it was my birthday after all). Within the next half an hour, my two friends left, and I decided I'd had enough, and wanted to go home.

The intention was never really for anything to happen with A, but back at home, one thing led to another...twice. In the morning, we got up and went to go get some coffee in an attempt to stop the world from spinning. Over a strong cappuccino, we decided that nothing more would happen, and it got me thinking... A was very handsome, very smart, had a great job and would no doubt make a very good boyfriend (in the bedroom department at least), but he lacked in charisma, wasn't charming and wasn't funny.

I realised then, that actually none of it matters.... All I really want is for a guy to make me laugh, and if he looks like Johnny Depp...Well then that's a bonus.

The Mid April Mistake

It is now mid April, and something has changed. I feel a magic in the air, and I know it's definitely there because 3 men said hello in the street and I looked like shit. The day after I received 2 offers of drinks, and the weekend before? Well...

I had just returned from Dubai where the beach seemed to be mainly littered with 'Arab Jersey Shore-alikes'. I would lie on the soft sand and people watch (my favourite activity) as they strolled up and down- their bulging biceps causing their arms to hang four inches away from their torso, sigh and then lower my head back to dropped dent in my towel.

A week of this, and I was back in London and dying to go out. The last few months had been difficult and as dry as The Sahara.

Upon my return, I called a good friend, and a plan was set in place. Sunday Night. Shoreditch.
We had planned dinner initially, and so I had kept myself waiting. In the end, it was a liquid dinner, and we all know that alcohol causes you to do some audacious things.
A few bar hops later, I found myself talking to a charming man. He wasn't my usual type, but was intelligent, nice and a gentleman. My friend had by this point sloped off with 'denim jacket guy'. Needless to say, that didn't end up quite as well, and she called to tell me about it while we were in the taxi on our way back to mine.

Stepping through the front door, it quickly became apparent that this guy was a freak and in a good way. I would have never been able to tell from his tweed jacket....

He took over, and my clothes we gone. I finally felt alive again.

He picked me up and carried me to the living room, and in a blur I could feel the thick, hard wood (no pun intended!) of the coffee table underneath me. After a whirlwind tour of my living room and kitchen, we were back in my bedroom, and both slowly drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, after a long conversation we both established that we knew the same person. In fact, they were very good friends. This person was the last man I had dated (you can read about him here), and he was the first guy who I had really felt something for in a while.
When Shoreditch Guy proclaimed that he'd seen him the previous weekend, and "does he have a girlfriend?....Uh yes, yes I think he does", I died a little bit inside, and immediately wanted him gone.

As he was on his way out, he left me with the promise that he'd take me to a little pub in Chelsea (In fact, the same pub I had gone to with his friend for our first date, although he didn't know it). I smiled, knowing it would never happen.

2 days later I received an invite to said pub. Needless to say- I declined.

Can Men and Women Just be Friends?

I had always had a very definite opinion on whether two members of the opposite sex can really just be friends without one or the other developing some sort of romantic feeling. In short, I never thought this was possible, until I recently started hanging out more with an old colleague.
I forgot how much fun it was to have that much banter without the usual side of bitching, obsessing about weight, dissecting celebrities, and analyzing relationships. Men are generally far more chilled out, and it has been rubbing off on me.

A few nights ago, we went to a pub in a part of London that I had never been to before. Balham. That's where he lives, and obviously I would go there for no other reason. We settled down with our drinks on a comfy faux Chesterfield, and began talking about relationships and dating. It became very apparent very quickly that (most) men are really very simple and do not read the subtle signals that women send out.
For example, he has recently started dating a pretty Indian girl who was clearly very scarred by a previous relationship in which her ex cheated on her. Understandably she has said that she wants to take it slow, so much so that she has labelled their dates as 'non-dates'.
He started to think that she wasn't interested in him at all, and when a pretty girl struck up a conversation in a bar a few nights later, there was no hesitation on his part to indulge in a bit of a flirt.
The pretty Indian 'non-girlfriend' clearly became enraged with jealousy and started spouting over obscenities to the poor girl. In the end he had to apologise for her embarrassing behaviour, and rather surprisingly this did not put him off her!

They are now practically on the verge of 'making it official' and he regularly comes to me for tips and advice on how to make her happy, and what he should do in the event that he needs to make it up to her.

What continues to baffle me, is that after all this time men and women still struggle to understand each other. It seems as though men clearly fail to spot the signals and obvious signs, but then women analyse things far too much. The answers are generally in front of our eyes, yet we seem to love complicating things and inventing reasons that simply aren't there.
Ladies, if you're wondering why he hasn't called you, he's probably not interested- no matter how amazing your date was. And guys, if she says she doesn't care, doesn't mind or that she's fine, she probably does care, seriously does mind, and most definitely is not fine.

After all, it's obvious isn't it?

West London Goes East

I decided to venture out to Hackney on a chilly Friday night to see my best friend and have a few drinks in a cute little pub overlooking London Fields. I arrived at her and her boyfriend's flat and we all set off on the short walk there.

Once there, a few of his friends joined us and after a short conversation I felt a possible teeny tiny glimmer of a spark with one of them. We were getting on well and he suddenly decided to buy a shot of tequila for us all. I suppose it was a good thing that I had the shot in my hand when his girlfriend walked in. She was lovely though, and it was clear that they were very much in love, so I started my usual scan of the room for hot guys.

We moved to an area downstairs where there was a birthday party taking place and joined the group. I began to notice that the room mainly consisted of couples and started planning my getaway. That was until I was thrust into a conversation with my friend and a French girl. Now; I am a very open person, and quite often find myself sharing personal details and life stories with strangers. However, if I am 10, she was a 100 on the scale of forward/ inappropriate conversation. Having just learnt her name, I also learnt that she had a nonexistent libido. She was in a relationship with her boyfriend of 7 years who she clearly loved and respected very much, but had no desire to sleep with him. My friend and I tried to offer advice by comparing previous relationships, but once she told us that no man had given her the big O, we started scraping the barrel. 

From there, the conversation moved into a slightly sinister area, whereby she told us that she had developed an obsession for one of her boyfriend's friends. She was so overcome by her desire for him, that in order to get over it, she told everyone about it, so that she could KEEL IT, KEEL IT! (This was repeated many times). Guess what kids, the man in question was there too. I had briefly attempted a conversation with him earlier on in the night which soon fizzled out due to the copious amount of mdma he'd taken (this became apparent when he declared in front of a small group just how fucked he was and that he adored Mandy. I assure you, his girlfriend had a different name).

Shortly after, we all left and I found myself analyzing the night and my life on the taxi ride home. I remembered stating in my first post of 2012 that I would be going on a man detox for the duration of January (you can read about that here). 
Well, now that the man detox has officially seeped into February, March and (so god help me if it lasts for the whole of..) April, I have actually started to focus on other things in my life, which I don't think I have ever done before. Of course there are times that I want to stroll down a sun kissed street hand in hand with someone, get dolled up for a nice dinner or have the kind of banter that only occurs between two people who have been dating for a few months, but life is generally pretty good otherwise.
I suppose I have a lot to be grateful for, and after all, good things come to those who wait.

Way Back When

It was the end of April 2011 and I was dating a blonde haired, slightly strange looking man who I had met at a friends party. After having a drunken smooch he asked for my number. Ever the cynic, I doubted he'd get in touch , but lo and behold, having strictly followed the three day rule, I received a very well written text asking me out for a drink.
I was reluctant because I didn't find him conventionally attractive, but he seemed nice, and so I accepted. We went for a drink at a trendy bar that he chose and the date went well. So well, that we ended up dating for around 3 months until one night.
He offered to come over to my place and cook dinner for me, however the night before (a Thursday), I received a drunken phone call at 2am from him. He'd gone out to a strip club with work, was hammered into oblivion and asked if he could crash at mine. Although I was mad at the late night call (not so much at the fact he'd gone to a strip club...I'm not exactly prudish), the prospect of some good lovin' made me feel better. But no. Oh no. He arrived and promptly passed out on my bed fully clothed.
I contemplated dragging him out of my apartment by his ankles, but before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.

The next morning, as he left for work, he told me he'd see me that evening and off he went.

I had just finished cleaning my apartment and was wondering where he was when I received a text from him telling me that he "had thrown up 3 times today, and was feeling awful, so he'd call me tomorrow". I responded telling him that it would have been nice if he'd let me know earlier, considering it was 8.30pm, I was starving and it was now too late to make other plans. He simply responded with "soz".
Later that evening, I found out that he ended up going out with friends, and ended things (albeit, only in my head).

The following day, I hit Camden with a friend, and while feeling quite shitty, I tried not to let it bother me.
After a couple of hours shopping, we settled in at bar where I met the hottest man I would sleep with.

5 days later, I finally received a text from Mr 'Soz' asking when he would be cooking for me. I nipped that idea in the bud immediately, and suggested he took me out to dinner to make it up to me instead. I was already over it, but thought I may at least get a free meal, and intended to make it as expensive as possible.
We met at the restaurant where I ordered fillet steak and an expensive bottle of red. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. His eyes said it all.
And when the dinner was done, so was the fling. After all, I had already embarked on my passionate romance with the bartender...

Guest Blog

This week I did a guest blog for Jimmy Jacob. He's a brilliant writer who documents his various dating escapades from a male point of view.
He clears up many many things about men that us ladies spend hours, days, weeks and years analyzing, and his posts are a must read if you like honestly written, thought-provoking and hilarious accounts of modern day relationships.

Go to his site, to view my latest post. (And have a read of his stuff too!)

http://www.personalsfacts.com/

The Dinner Party

After the horror of my -4 oC Eastern European weekend away, something had to be done to cure my disappointment. I was dying to feel the sun on my back again, and so I booked a holiday to Dubai.
Feeling inpulsive, I also decided to change my number for the first time in around 5 years, as I had recently received yet another phonecall in the middle of the night from the same moron ex and had unfortunately also recently cut ties with my longest and best friend. I needed a change.

I decided to throw a dinner party for my closest girlfriends. I was desperately in need of a girly atmosphere, but when 9 friends RSVP'd yes, I knew I'd have my work cut out.

Fast forward 9 hours and I had just managed to tear myself away from the kitchen, having made the main and prepared the starters. As my guests started arriving (some with presents in hand!), I began to relax and felt grateful that I had so many wonderful women  (many of whom had never met each other) in my life and that they were getting on like a house on fire.

One person was more than an hour late with no explanation, and one never showed up at all. This disappointed me, but none-the-less, I didn't let it ruin my evening, and as the night went on, the music got louder and the alcohol count dropped. At around 2.30am, we noticed some boys popping their heads out of the window at the apartment opposite and in my drunken state, I called them over.

An hour later, we were still dancing away in my living room, and as friends started leaving, I noticed one of the boys looking very comfortable in my bed. I'm not sure what exactly he expected, but I'm pleased to report that I declared loudly that 'we wouldn't be sleeping together tonight', and after a little smooch we both passed out.
The following morning, after playing me awful songs by an awful singer on his iPhone, I said that I really had to get on with cleaning the bomb site in my kitchen/living room, and the boy in my bed was gone.

Overall, it seemed that the dinner party was a success... However, I doubt I shall be repeating that for quite some time...