37 The One and Only

Sometimes I love being single.

Of course it can have its disadvantages. And obviously the fact that I've recently done such things as join an online dating agency and go on a date with a fellow blogger, means that I do want to meet someone and not end up as a spinster whose idea of fun is a new packet of Werther's Originals.

But like I said though, sometimes life as a single girl is great. The freedom, the independence, the not having to shave your legs regularly.

Then there are the days like today. The days that the universe sends you little messages to try and tell you that being single is a big, fat, negative situation. That you aren't an independent women, you are just in fact, all alone in the world. You are an inhabitant of Lonelyville. Population: One.

It started when I went to a body pump class this morning. Was quite impressed with myself for dragging my lazy ass to the gym on a Friday morning. Especially as I was out on the razzle dazzle last night. Got to the class and to say that that attendance was low, would be an understatement. It was just me.

The teacher asked if I wanted to go ahead. I decided I would. I mean it had taken a lot of effort to go to the class, I'd be as well doing some exercise. And in actual fact, wouldn't it be a bit like having a personal training session? Just without the big payment? See, there is a positive side to every situation.

My plan would have worked were it not for the fact that the teacher was clearly still in I've got a class full of people mode and deemed it necessary to put her microphone on and regularly shout instructions like 'Come on everyone! Put some effort in!'

I can only imagine that the muscle men pumping weights just outside the studio must have wondered who the 'everyone' was when all they could see was me. Was she doing a class for someone special? Body pump for Schizophrenics.

Was heading home from the gym feeling a bit like a loser when my phone beeped with a text from my friend Darren.

Hi darling. Just wanted to tell you I had an amazing time with you last night xxxxx

Great. Except I didn't see Darren last night. Plus he usually texts me as though I'm one of the boys. No, this text clearly wasn't for me.

Now this isn't a story about sending a text to the wrong person, of which I have many. For starters, there is the time my brother sent a text to a family friend by accident asking if they 'fancied a shag.' A male family friend.

No this is about the fact that I was having a little laugh to myself about Darren's mistake and was just sending him a cheeky reply saying that I thought it was lovely he'd started calling me darling, when there was another beep...

Obviously that last text wasn't for you.

Obviously. Obviously I'm not worthy of a 'darling'. Or a 'xxxxx'. Or even a 'x'. Mind you it appears I don't even deserve a 'how are you anyway?'

Arrived at the Tower and checked to see if I'd received any post. There was just one solitary envelope in the mailbox. (Are you spotting a theme here?)

It was a circular, looking for donations to charity. I opened it up. There at the top of the page in massive letters is 'One is the saddest number' and then 'Dear Friend, this letter, as you'll have gathered, is about loneliness...'

Give me a bloody break universe! I refuse to let you piss on my single portion of chips from a great height. Sometimes it is great to be a single girl. Honestly. For a start it means that you are able to decide on a whim to go on holiday with your best mate!

Yep, me and Taggart are heading off to the sun next week. Adios!

70 Blog Off

BLOG OFF
Starring: Rapunzel and Fishy
Casting: Bamberio
Certificate: PG (some obscene language, some talk about nipples, but no actual sex scenes)


Hollywood has been rocked by the release of Blog Off. It is the film everyone is talking about. Never before has there been a movie like this.

Termed as a romantic comedy, it's actually so much more. It breaks all the rules by mixing lots of genres. Part comedy, part thriller, part adventure movie, part buddy film, part horror and part musical.

Think of Indiana Jones mixed with Mrs Doubtfire. When Harry Met Sally crossed with Airplane.

Ironically, the only genre really missing is the 'rom' to go with the 'com'.

Newcomers Fishy and Rapunzel are well cast as a couple thrown together in dramatic circumstances. Fishy is the likeable lad looking for love in Liverpool, while Rapunzel is the girl living in the Tower and waiting for her hair to grow. (Special mention must go to Rapunzel for her accurate attempt at a Scottish accent.)

From the outset, the viewers doubt this relationship will work out, but as we follow them on their journey, sharing the first phone call, the first date and witness Fishy becoming a man by losing his Skype virginity, we can't help but root for them.

We empathise when a spillage makes Rapunzel look like she has nipple leakage. We cringe when Fishy starts serenading her with Lionel songs. We feel the tension as they both log on to see what the other has written in their respective blogs. We share Fishy's almost palpable joy when he discovers that Rapunzel also loves The Office. We delight in the fact that they wear nearly matching outfits on their first date and we are reminded of Britney and Justin wearing denim. We pray that Fishy and Rapunzel are the new them (prior to the break-up and break-down).

All too soon the cracks start to appear and there is a particularly dramatic scene where they argue about Rapunzel liking tuna and Fishy not. Emotions run high. Theirs and ours.

My only criticism of the film would be that it ends too quickly leaving you feeling slightly short-changed. Don't worry though, this is a pairing that is already being mentioned in the same breath as both Cagney and Lacey and Turner and Hooch so expect to see more of this twosome.

There are already mutterings of a script being written for Blog Off Part 2 where we see our protagonists as friends working together to help each other find love. It will allegedly be set in a minefield. Sounds like one sequel that will be worth watching.

Regardless, Blog Off is going to be this year's Oscar success after being nominated in almost every category.

Expect to see it take the statuettes for Best Actress and Actor as well as Best Supporting Role for Rapunzel's bra. It also looks likely to scoop the prizes in Best Original Screenplay and Best Foreign Language Film. It will fall down in the music categories as Fishy's rendition of songs by Dire Straits just don't cut it, though Rapunzel may win in Sound Editing for pressing the mute button.

Verdict: An unmissable triumph.

55 Skypetease

If Fishy tells you that he went to bed with me, you'll have to take it with a big pinch of salt.

It wasn't quite like that.

He did discover the benefit of me being an older women though. Yes, I showed him things he'd never dreamed of before.

I took Fishy's Skype cherry.

I was actually surprised that he hadn't used it before. I would have thought that being able to chat over the internet for free would really have appealed to his er..frugal side.

Turns out that despite being a novice, he took to it like a fish to water. Even started going on about using webcams. I wasn't so sure.

'Go on. I want Mildred to see the girl that has been taking up all my time recently.'

'I'm not putting it on just so your cat can see me.'

I was laughing at the absurdity of this suggestion when I knock a drink onto some clothes I'd just taken out of the washing machine. Seriously, why am I so clumsy when it comes to dates with Fishy? Virtual or otherwise.

I swear and explain to him that I've just spilt on my pyjamas.

'You've got your pj's on?!'

'No I'm not wearing them.'

'You aren't wearing anything?!'

'Of course I am! Just not my pyjamas!'

'I don't believe you. I think you're naked while you are talking to me!'

'I'm certainly not.'

'Prove it. Put your webcam on.'

Oh for God sake. I switch it on to humour him and am gutted when the little box springs up showing me what he can see. I look awful. I really don't give good webcam.

'Right put yours on then,' I tell him.

'I don't have one.'

Damn. I walked straight into that one. Curse myself for being so gullible.

Decide to take the opportunity to show him my view. I mean he's not likely to get any other chance. With his fear of heights I mean.

I carry my laptop up to the window so he can see the sights of Manchester. He seems really impressed.

Fishy suggests we make dinner together. What a bad idea. He may think it's a good one, especially as this is one meal he won't have to treat me to, but he doesn't know what I'm like in the kitchen.

Plus I was planning on having beans on toast and I'll have to do something fancy now. Bloody webcam.

What seems like hours later, we are ready to eat. I'd like to tell you in more detail what happened, but to be honest I've blocked it from my mind.

I was like something from Can't Cook, Won't Cook. Think Fishy was hoping for The Naked Chef.

He might not have noticed though, because he was pretty busy making every sausage innuendo possible while preparing his bangers and mash.

I suggest we have some wine. He says he's going to open a bottle of red. Merlot seemingly. He pronounces the 't'. Claims he did so on purpose but I'm not convinced.

He starts overcompensating for the fact that he doesn't have a webcam by explaining everything he is doing in great detail.

'I'm picking up my food now. I'm walking. I'm taking you to the living room. It's like carrying you over the threshold, baby.'

Actually now that I think about it I'm not sure whether he was talking to me or his meal.

We finish dinner and get on with a few things. It's the beauty of having a date on your laptop. Am able to do some facebooking, shop on Ebay, pay a few bills etc.

It's great until Fishy tells me he's had an email from some girl.

Excuse me, who is this trying to muscle in on our date? Stop trying to cut my grass.

We have a game of Scrabble. I'd imagined that it would be good playing with someone that is so good with words, but Fishy seems to be participating in a different game from me. Adults Only Scrabble.

I suggest we watch Grey's Anatomy together. After half an hour he tells me my time is up and we've to turn over and watch Question Time.

He can't be serious? Leave McDreamy and McSteamy half-way through?

I start to debate this with him but he shushes me. I continue to watch my drama and don't think he's any the wiser. This relationship could work well.

Maybe not. Because for some bizarre reason, he decides it would a good idea to serenade me by singing and playing his guitar.

Thank God for the mute button.

I turn on the volume again ten minutes later and he's still at it.

He starts yawning loudly. I tell him he should go to bed and he seems to think that is an invitation.

I'm about to protest until I remember that he isn't actually with me. I decide it might be nice. And maybe I can persuade him to read me a bedtime story?

Get all cosied up and ready to continue our chat when the Skype line starts going crazy.

All I can hear is 'uh..uh..uh..uh.'

At least I think it is a problem with the connection....decide to end our date just in case it isn't that.

He asks me to blow him a kiss. I comply. Of course as the only thing I can see is the webcam box with my face in it, it's like I'm kissing myself.

I feel like a loser.

Click here to read about Fishy's skype date

40 D-Day

I've been on a few dates in my time. Probably more than the average person. Yet after you read about my date with fellow blogger Fishy, you could well wonder whether I've ever been on any.

It all started fine, albeit early. Alarm went off at 7am. Pressed 'Snooze' while cursing my bright idea of going to Belfast. Who has to get up at Ridiculous O'Clock to go on a first date?

Once I'm in the shower though, I feel excited. Like I'm going on holiday or something. I suppose I am. Sort of. Just a weird sort of holiday that only lasts a day. And I'm going with a stranger. But still.

Get dressed in pre-arranged outfit. Give myself an imaginary 'high five' for choosing a day-date. No need to worry about whether to wear heels and run the risk of looking over-dressed. Casual all the way. I've opted for jeans and boots and a grey jumper (it's off the shoulder though in case I want to look a bit sultry.)

Dither over jewellery. I like weird stuff. Should I tone it down? Decide to be the real me. Wear my current favourite earrings - a miniature knife and fork. My friend's 3 year old daughter Summer told me they were horrible and asked why I'd want to wear a knife and fork in my head. I'm sure Fishy will like them though. Particularly if I tell him I made them myself for little over a £1.

Do my face and hair. Decide that my eyebrowist has got a bit over-excited in my last threading session. She's made me look a bit surprised. Put on my make-up. Subtly. Wish I could say the same about my hair. Feel that I've got a bit carried away with products.

Get my stuff together. Purse...check! Passport...check! (Decide I looooove saying 'Passport - check!' Particularly when going on a date.) New tube of Lucky Lipgloss - Check!

Oh yes, my Lucky Lipgloss. Fishy can keep all his elaborate techniques to get a snog. I have a secret weapon. Not only does this lipgloss plump up your lips and smell lush, it also never fails to get me a kiss. Never fails. Never.

Am just congratulating myself on my light 'packing' then something weird happens and I seem to think I'm actually going to the Antarctic on a date. I put in a scarf, a hat, gloves and a cardigan. My bag suddenly looks huuuuge. Worry that Fishy's going to think I'm hoping to move in with him.

Make my way to the bus station. Am really, really nervous. What is wrong with me? Might be all the texts from friends wishing me luck. Never before has a love story generated so much interest. Feel like 'Brangelina'. Decide I'll reply to them all when Fishy goes on one of his long toilet breaks.

Have been a bit over-eager and arrive at the station early. Have a mooch around the shop. Flick through magazines. Am paying for some sweets when a man comes into the shop singing 'Old MacDonald Had a Farm'.

The shop assistant isn't amused. Tells me she wish he would 'Piss off.' She needs to take a leaf out of my 'Good Mood Book.'

As I leave the man starts talking to a packet of Jacobs. Tells them that he is the same as them, crackers.

Have a sweet. For reasons unbeknown to myself, I've bought Werther's Originals. It's 8:30 am for God's sake! There should really be a law against that. If only to stop people like me committing a dating faux pas - they really stick to your teeth.

I struggle to prise open my mouth when my friend calls to ask how I am. Tell her I'm nervous. She says nervous is good. I believe her, even though I don't really know what she means.

Bus to Liverpool arrives. I struggle to find my purse amidst all the guff in my bag. Bus driver tells me I'm like a typical woman with my big handbag. Curse myself for being a cliche.

Get to the airport and head straight to the ladies to sort myself out. Give myself a pep talk. Not out loud. Don't want to be like Mr Jacob's Crackers. Apply my Lucky Lipgloss and I'm good to go.

Wait at the pre-arranged spot and I realise my nerves have gone. I'm just feeling excited. Maybe cause I'm in an airport. I like airports a lot.

Then finally...after all the days of phoning, texting and blogging, Fishy appears in front of me.

Finally we meet.

Finally he's here and uttering the words every girl wants to hear...

'I'm not going to kiss you by the way.'

Eh? But what about my 'Never Fail Lucky Lipgloss'? Am I hearing right?

It's clearly faulty. I decide never to buy from eBay again.

29 Rapunzel's Dating Rules

Rule 1 - If your potential love interest volunteers to arrange the date, let him. Just sit back and enjoy...

Since our first phone call, Fishy and I have been texting and texting and texting. He gives really good text.

In fact if that's all a relationship was based on, I'd have him take me up the aisle straight away.

I start getting excited about meeting him. So much so, that I really want our first date to go well. We just need Fishy to come up with a good plan.

I ask a few people for date suggestions. Just in case.

I only ask my friends...and my mum...and the concierges. And I mention it to my work colleagues. And I ask the cleaner of the Tower, when I'm in the lift with her. And the barman of my local. But that's all.

I mean I've left the decision up to Fishy anyway and I'm sure he'll do a great job...


Rule 2 - The man likes to feel that he is the man. Let him have the final say on everything.

I call Fishy.

'I've had a great idea! What do you think about seeing if we can get a cheap flight and go somewhere new and random for the day?!'

'Absolutely not.' he replies.

He explains that he doesn't like 80% of people that he meets and it is unlikely that I will be an exception.

'Therefore,' he states, 'I will not, under any circumstances, be stuck with you in a plane. Or a train for that matter. Or a car either.'

I take on board his concerns.

I tell him to research flights and destinations and that I'll call him in an hour.


Rule 3 - Most men will want to pay for everything on the date. Offer to go Dutch, but if they don't let you, don't push it.

When we reconvene Fishy claims that he didn't know where to even start looking. I tell him not to worry and that I've found us dirt cheap flights to Belfast. He balks at the price.

'£18?! I'm not paying that.'

I remind him it would cost him almost that just to come and see me in Manchester. He agrees and asks if I'll book his flight. He says that he'll give me the money when we meet.

Clearly Fishy thinks I've just fallen off a turnip truck.

I'd feel a right idiot if he didn't turn up.

I tell him we'll both book our own.


Rule 4 - Be a little bit mysterious. Men like that.

We decide to get booked immediately. Both tap away at our respective computers inputting our info. Keep having to wait for him to catch me up.

Choose what flight we want. Put in our payment details. Names and addresses. He asks me my middle name. I promise that I'll tell him on the date. He'll definitely not stand me up now.

Do you want travel insurance? Is anyone carrying sports equipment? Does anyone in your party require special assistance?

'Well, do you require any extra help' Fishy asks. 'Perhaps for your wheelchair?'

'Your party is just you.' I tell him. As for whether my party needs special assistance...that'll just have to be a surprise..'


Rule 5 - Feign indifference. Act like you are always going on dates and doubt that this will be anything special.

We both finish booking and..ping!..get the email confirmations. I am beside myself with excitement!

'Ohmigod we are going to Belfast. I cannae wait!!! 3 more sleeps!!! I'm just going to go and tell my friends what we are doing. Then shall I phone you back? You can decide what we do when we are actually there. Ooooh Ive heard there's a great pub we must go to. We could go on a bus tour? I think we should go on the wheel. Oh how exciting!! Call you soon! Byeeeeeeeeee!'

53 The Foreplay

Receive my first text from Fishy.

Is it too late to call you?x

He wishes!

I know he's not a fan of the pre-date call, but I'd like to chat to him before we meet. For a start to tell him that I'm Scottish. Just incase he has a thing against haggis or something. I already know that he'll appreciate my tight-fisted side.

I'm really short on free minutes, but I worry that it will look particularly stingy if I text back and say he can call me now. Plus he probably won't. Grudgingly I phone him.

He's laughing when he answers. Probably in delight. Tells me that he could call me back but doesn't imagine this converstion will last very long anyway.

I realise that there is a distinct lack of a scouse accent. Fishy isn't originally from Liverpool. I'm not from Manchester. We are like two big internet dating frauds. I just hope that I haven't been fooled in other ways, and that he is in fact 67. Or blogging from jail.

I was going to tell you what a lovely voice he has. That's until he started doing crap impressions of my accent. Wouldn't mind so much if he'd gone for the Sean Connery, 'Mishhh Moneypenny' version, but instead he sounds more like Mrs Doubtfire.

We start talking about what we are going to do on the date. Says he'll decide. He says it is the man's job. Good boy.

I find it hard to give up the control completely though, so start tossing around a few ideas. Suggest we do something a bit unusual, maybe like bungee jumping.

Bungee jumping?! What the hell did I say that for? Sometimes I need to tape up my mouth. I'd never want to go bungee jumping on a first date. I pray he doesn't go for that...

He doesn't. And the reason he doesn't, is because Fishy is scared of heights.

'Houston, we have a big, fat problem.'

I live in a tower. My apartment is about 460ft in the air. Two of my walls are windows.

Well...looks like if this works out between us there will be no slumber parties at mine.

He starts trying to find things that we do have in common. Asks me the names of my parents. Says his have the same names. Yeah right! Wonder if he'd be playing that card if I'd said Ermintrude and Goliath?

Chat flows really easily. There's a lot of laughing on both sides. We talk about our bad habits. He says something rude. I laugh. Ask him to write that I didn't find it funny. Just incase my mum is reading. He promises he will.

We talk about our online dating experiences. He laughs about the guy emailing me to tell me about his small appendage. Fishy says he doesn't mention his itchy anus until at least the third date.

We start to say our goodbyes. Don't think either of us want to. Just have to because the time has become Stupid O'Clock.

I check how long we spoke for when I get off the phone.

1 hour and 19 minutes!!

My 1 hour and 19 minutes bill. He's so buying the drinks when we go out.


Read Fishy's (no doubt innacurate) version of our chat here >>

48 Something Fishy

I really need to to have a little word with myself.

I've just been on one of the worst dates I've ever had. The only good thing about it, was that I gave you all a laugh when I vented about the arse that was Mr Trafford Centre.

Why on earth then, did I think it would be wise to agree to go on a date with fellow blogger Fishy ?

Oh yes, I'll still be able to write about the date. Difference is that this time, not only will I be blogging to you, but to him as well. How can that ever be a good thing?

And worse still, he'll be writing about me too.

I couldn't be like those celebrities that say they don't read their own press. They never buy newspapers or google themselves. I hate not knowing things and hate being the one in the dark.

An ex discovered that after 'accidentally' putting his tongue down the throat of a Julia Roberts lookalike. My female intuition sensed that he was acting differently and I made it my business to find out why. Of course when I did know, I wish I didn't. I couldn't watch Pretty Woman for months.

Fact is I won't be able to stop myself reading Fish's post about our date. Even if I sit on my hands.

I'm worried that he might describe terrible habits that I have, that I'm currently blissfully unaware of.

What if I end up not wanting to go on dates with me either?

There is also the small matter that we have been match-made by Bamberio. She is a regular reader of both our blogs but has never met me or Fishy. Is she really in the position to do a credible Cilla?

And to be quite honest, Fishy isn't even my type. And that's despite the spec for my ideal man being fairly concise...

Mr Ideal is tall.
Mr Ideal is funny.
Mr Ideal has no dependents. And that includes pets.

Now before you think I'm some animal and child-hating witch, I'm not at all. I'm just a spontaneous person and would like to be able to travel to Timbuktu with my significant other at a moment's notice.

It's not the same when they have to be back in time to feed the budgie.

I did have a different list recently. After one too many Ribenas I asked the concierges to find me a boyfriend. When they asked what I look for in a man, I only had two criteria.

He must be able to swim.
He must be able to drive.

I've no idea what that was all about either and as these things didn't seem so important in the cold light of day, I didn't bother adding them to my must haves. Surely Fishy can swim anyway?

He doesn't fare too well with the rest of the list though...

Short Fishy lives with his depressed cat Mildred.

He is absolutely hilarious though and I love a man that can make me laugh. Is it a case of one out of three ain't bad?

There are various other good things I've discovered about Fishy from reading his blog. Like that...er...

What I meant to say was there are various other things I've discovered about him.

Like that he has small nipples and doesn't like morris dancing.

He is a fan of Feargal Sharkey and sees no shame in dancing along to A Good Heart on dates.

He once had a job as a dinnerlady (not sure how that works? Is he a pre-op transsexual I wonder?)

He likes The Smiths, but doesn't like tuna. I'm the opposite - does that mean we are doomed?

He's been propositioned by his gay neighbour.

He wears socks with the days of the week on them.

His annual spend on haircuts is a mere £96, whereas I pay that in two visits.

He is appalling at flirting, yet thinks nothing of trying to pull the waitress while on a date with another girl.

He's definitely an interesting one is Fishy.

I can probably overlook all of those problems, except the last. My concierges are very protective over me. If they hear that he has flirted with another girl on our date, Fishy can dream on about ever being buzzed into my building, let alone being allowed up to see my view.

36 Mr Trafford Centre - Chapter 2

So there I was walking through the Trafford Centre with a stud muffin. A hunk of spunk. A hot piece of ass. Basically the most gorgeous guy you have ever seen. Phwoar!!

Well you would think so, wouldn't you? The fact he abandoned girls because they weren't up to his required standard, must mean he is something special himself?

If truth be told he was packing a few extra pounds. Being a guy though he'd get away with saying he was 'stocky.'

As for complaining about his dates not looking like their photos, I couldn't tell from his photo that he had a slight squint in one eye. Or a limp for that matter.

I realise that it could sound like I was on a date with Captain Hook. Please don't imagine that though, because inevitably when you start thinking of pirates, Jack Sparrow will pop into your head. I can assure you that Mr Trafford Centre was no Johnny Depp.

I was actually a bit concerned about his limp. It seemed like it was a new injury and he was still working out how to walk on it. I asked him how he got it.

'I did it years ago when I was mountain biking.'

'Oh right.' So not new at all. 'Does it affect you when you mountain bike now?'

'I don't know, I haven't been since.'

'Oh. What about when you ski? You said in your profile you love skiing. I used to go skiing. I went to France and Austria...'

'Yeah I went skiing once a couple of years back. On a dry slope..it was great!'

Couldn't believe I'd actually questioned whether I was outdoorsy enough for this guy. My walk to Harvey Nicks to participate in my hobby of cocktail drinking, probably means I'm more active than him. Liar, liar, your bum's on fire.

I ask him whether he wants to go for a drink first or go straight to a restaurant.

'You decide. The girls I've been out with before couldn't make decisions and it got on my nerves so I decided that on this date I'm leaving everything up to you.'

He was really getting on my wick.

I decide we should go straight for dinner. Get this date over as quickly as possible. (See some girls can make decisions. Wise decisions.)

We order and start chatting. The usual stuff. He tells me that his ambition is to go to America. I presume he means to live. No, he just means on holiday.

Now maybe I'm wrong but isn't an ambition something that you have to strive to achieve? Something you have to put blood, sweat and tears into? Something that you might never happen unless you work at it? (Like mine, which is to be able to do chin-ups. Ain't never gonna happen...)

Surely if you want to go on holiday to America, you just save some money and go? I mean, I've fulfilled his ambition three times.

I suppose there's always the possibility that he is a criminal...

'We're having a great time aren't we?' he says. 'Aren't we having a right laugh?...What about when we first met and I pretended to be a fat guy? Ha ha!'

I make a mental note that I must stop that bad habit I have. That habit of making the best of a situation and always trying to enjoy myself, because it seems to be giving him the wrong impression.

He tells me that he's checked the trains between Manchester and his town and they're frequent so I'll be able to see him easily. He suggests I go to his next weekend. Says I can stay over if I want.

Not in this lifetime.

Asks me if I have any pets. Quite glad he's moved onto safer chat territory but realise he hasn't paid much attention to things I've said though.

'Well no, because I live in an apartment, am a freelancer and am often working away. Pets wouldn't really fit into my life.'

You know how there is that myth that its always the girls that are the keen, clingy ones that move too fast? Not in mine and Mr Trafford's relationship...

'I'm thinking of getting a dog but don't worry, if we go away together for a weekend, I'll get my brother to look after it.'

A weekend away? Together? Hardly!

The bill comes. He pays. Good. At least there was one positive point to the date.

He gets up. 'I'm just going to the toilet. Don't worry, I will come back. Ha ha!'

Now was my chance. To do it for my sisters. To leave him, like he left those girls...

I'm sorry. I just couldn't.

I had to do something though...something to make him feel even a little, like they must have felt...

I shout at him across the restaurant, 'Actually now you've paid the bill I'm not too bothered whether you come back or not.'

So he didn't.

The End.


I wish! Of course he came back. He's so thick-skinned he thought I was joking.

And then since the date there have been plenty of texts from him. Texts saying what a great time we had. Texts reminding me what a hilarious joke he played on me. And texts asking me if I want to go over to his on our second date.

I have replied to him, but I can only presume his phone is faulty cause it seems like the 'n' and the 'o' letters just aren't registering.

41 The Date Date part 2

It's a very strange experience going out with someone you've met online.

You don't have a mutual friend to discuss to start you off. Like you would if it was a blind date.

In fact you don't actually know if you have anything mutual to discuss.

You don't even get the chance to have a proper look at your date...

I know that sounds a bit weird, but think about it... when you are out in a group you can give them the proper once over while they are in conversation with someone else. You can even make licking motions to make your friends laugh if you think your date is lovely.

When someone is sitting in front of you though, and it is just you two, you can't properly look at them. It just comes across as staring. Then they think you are weird.

Instead, in online dating dates, you have to look at them without looking at them. All the while trying to fill that space that is meant for conversation. Silences do not work on internet-born dates. They are more than just awkward...they are excruciating.

So, feeling slightly unfeminine after taking on the role of the man, and being the chattier of the two of us, I decided to take the opportunity to be the girl and satisfy that weird fable that females talk a lot...

So, I talked. Ohmigod, I talked. I talked for Britain. No subject was out of bounds.

'Could somebody please get a gag for the girl with the builder's haircut. She won't shut up.'

I talked so much I tired myself out.

I got respite thankfully, (or maybe he did?) when Mr Third Base went to the toilet. I took the chance to check my phone. There was a text from my flatmate. Well?

I was still replying when Mr Third Base came back from the toilet. I apologised for being on my phone. He said it was ok and he'd take the opportunity to check his phone.

Oh, he had a text too.

Ohmigod please don't let it be from my flatmate.

Yes, my flatmate had insisted I leave Mr Third Base's number for him. Although I'd made him swear only to use it if he thought I'd been murdered, I knew his promises were empty.

I mean this is the guy that walked into the living room, saw me sitting with a male friend and despite not knowing who he was, or his relationship to me, asked if he was one of my internet dates.

Subtle is not a word I'd use to describe my flatmate.

Please don't let him have texted my date.

Please!

Phew. The text wasn't from him.

Finished dinner. Had another drink. Had been all very pleasant. What a nice guy. I was ready to go home though. It was a school night after all.

'What time is your train?' I asked.

'Not for another hour.'

Damn.

Get through the next hour. Walk him to the train station (well may as well keep to the theme of the date, with me taking on the role of the man...) and bade each other farewell.

Get home. Tired and drained from talking so much.

Flatmate wants all the gossip.

I didn't really have any.

Wants all the details.

I didn't really have any.

Asks me what my date was wearing (I don't think in a weird, 'what was he wearing?' leery, way, just in a curious, way. I hope anyway....)

I had no idea.

I realised he can't have made that much of an impression if I didn't even remember what he had on.

Also realised I'd just spent a very long evening with a stranger. And apart from not being very memorable, the only thing I had to show for it, was a lighter purse.

Decided there and then to invent a new dating rule...

1/ Always, always, always go on a pre-date first - It won't tire you out as much, and at least the most you will lose is the time it takes to have a cup of coffee.

2 And the Award Goes to...

The 'Best Positive Spin of the Week' award goes to the guy from the dating website who mailed me and said...

'I'm fat, but I'm loaded'

While the 'Most Unneccessary Positive Spin of the Week' award goes to the creator of the poster on the noticeboard that I sit facing at work...

Mouth Cancer. It could happen to you!

8 Illicit Rendezvous

I could have been working yesterday but instead I had an illicit rendezvous (for 'illicit rendezvous' actually read 'coffee') with proposal guy.

We'd first met in Tampopo while both out having dinner with our respective friends. It's a noodle bar where you sit on benches like at school so it makes it easier to chat to random strangers. He laughed when the waiter knocked over my glass of wine and then saw his chance to swoop in, give me sympathy and then get my phone number (it happened so quickly, I didn't question it and just did as I was told!)

He invited me out on Sunday and we had a great date. A get-to-know-you chat over coffee, then a get-to-know-you-chat over dinner (which he paid for and even better he told me straight off he would be paying for it as he had invited me out - take note guys - girls love this as it saves lots of awkwardness when the bill comes) and then a we-feel-we-know-each-now chat and laugh over drinks. I really enjoyed and we got on well. What was the catch? He only lives in blimming Australia!

So we met for the second and last time yesterday in his hour window before he caught a flight to Thailand on his way home to Oz. Said we were glad to have met each other and I thanked him for doing his bit in reminding me there are decent blokes out there (that don't look like serial killers and aren't a couple of decades older than me). He said he'd felt a bit miffed he'd put in that groundwork only for some 'Pommie' to swoop in and reap the benefits. Ah if only it were that easy.

We bade each other goodbye and I sent him off with advice concerning pad thai and ping-pong shows. And that was the end of that.


p.s. Incase you are wondering...he didn't propose. I like to think though that as he said I had been his best date in years, that it was more to do with the fact he lives in Australia and me in Manchester than the fact he thought I was unproposable to (if that isn't a word, it should be!) I suppose it could also have been down to the fact that he'd got the impression I must be 'well to do' because of where I live and then on meeting me discovered that I'm more fur coat and no knickers.*

p.p.s Don't worry the waiter replaced my glass of wine. With a full one which was a result as I'd almost finished the one he knocked over.

* That wasn't my outfit for the date by the way.

2 Modern Day Rapunzel

You could say I'm like a modern day Rapunzel. Ok I'm not trapped and I'm not waiting for a prince to rescue me. Nor do I have long hair. I do live in a tower though. A tower in Manchester that is the tallest residential building in the UK to be exact. According to my friend's 3 year old that makes me Rapunzel and as someone that is clued-up on fairytales I'm sure she knows what she is talking about....

Allegedly I have quite an unusual life. Not just because I live in this tower but also because I'm a freelancer so never know when I'm working next or whether I will have enough money to pay the expensive rent for my lovely apartment. People tell me that would be their idea of hell but I thrive on it. A well-meaner once said that it was ridiculous to live the way I do and it would be better to rent somewhere cheaper and save money for a rainy day. Apart from the fact it is forever raining in Manchester, it seems illogical to me to live somewhere I'm not as happy with, so I can save money in order to live somewhere in the future, somewhere like....where I live now.

As well as that I'm also single at 33, which may not be that unusual in today's society but in amongst my group of mostly married or attached friends it is. They tell me I'm fabulous and they can't understand it which is very nice and is the kind of thing supportive friends should say. It does suggest though that they think it's something I'm doing wrong and doesn't take into account that it may be through choice, which to a large extent it is. Admittedly the Kingdom of Singledom is a difficult place to live - there are some weird residents and weird laws but as well as that I'd much rather be happily single than unhappily attached to the wrong person.

As I'm forever the optimist though, I've just joined a dating website in a bid to meet that elusive Mr Rapunzel and in order to entertain my friends with stories from my side of the grass. I've also got a brand new flatmate - a guy whose surname I can't remember and can't say even if I could. And I've started a new fitness regime at the gym after over a year of my only exercise being the walk to the shops.

So quite an unusual time in general. Maybe even more so because I had my first marriage proposal today. Sort of. It was by text and the guy in question didn't actually ask me but said he may 'just have to propose.' That's almost the same though isn't it? It's promising as he's currently only spent half an hour in my company. Not sure what my answer would be if he did, will judge after our planned date....