19 Textuality

Beep! Beep!

It was a text from my mum.

Hi luv. Me and your dad have been talking...

Hmm that sounds ominous...

...and we were just wondering...

Maybe not. Probably just want to know how to do something on the computer or ask when I'm going to pay them back the money I owe them.

...are you gay?...

What?!?!

We will still love you no matter what...

Oh well that's aright then! But still, what on earth? Why would they think that?

Ok, I have had my hair cut quite short. And I had been moaning to my mum about a particular guy only a few hours before. It wasn't code for 'I don't like men in general' though. I haven't started dancing on the other side of the ballroom.

There was more...

Also we've decided that your brother is our favourite child x

Ah right.

It was at this point that I knew there was definitely something suspicious going on. There is absolutely no way that they like my brother best. It's me that always calls them and sorts out their birthday presents, not him. Plus I've caused them far less trouble. It wasn't me that was brought home by the police one night because they'd caught me pissing against a wall.

No, something was occurring. I just wasn't sure what. It was actually as if my brother had sent the text from my mum's phone, but as she's in Edinburgh and he's in Southampton I couldn't fathom out how that could have happened.

I phoned my mum. As I waited for her to answer I realised how ridiculous it was going to sound that I was phoning to ask if she'd texted me enquiring whether I'm a lesbian. This resulted in me laughing after saying hi. One of those laughs where no sound comes out so my poor mum thought I was crying.

I finally managed to pull myself together and ask if she had texted me. She hadn't.

Curiouser and curiouser.

"So you don't think I'm a lesbian then?"

"Er, no."

"Good cause I'm not. I need to find out who thinks I am though..." and off I went, leaving my mum to panic about being a victim of identity fraud.

Next call was to my brother. "So how did you do it?"

After ten minutes of him saying he had no idea what I was going on about, and how he was 'far too busy' to be sending texts, I managed to get a confession out of him.

I'm afraid dear reader that I have to inform you that you can no longer believe any text you receive.

Your friend suggests meeting for lunch. Really?

Your local salon confirms your hair appointment. Pfff!

Your boyfriend thinks you should both have an early night. Whatever.

From now on you'll have to take everything with a pinch of salt because the worst phone application ever has been invented. One that lets you type in a 'to' number and a 'from' number and then whatever message you choose and off it pops to the recipient to appear in their inbox...

How evil is that?!

So be warned. I was lucky and there were no real consequences but you might not be so fortunate.

Of course there is the odd occasion when knowing that such an application exists could come in handy. When you wish you weren't the sender of a text.

Like when Taggart sent me a text after her third date with a nice man...

Loved up, loved up, loved up - that's what I am!x

Except she sent it to him instead...

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!

30 An Open Email to Fishy

From: Rapunzel - moderndayrapunzel@googlemail.com
To: Fishy - pmfoutofwater@yahoo.co.uk
Date: Tuesday 26 January 2010

Oh Fishy,

You had to go and spoil things didn't you?

It was all going so well. Bamberio suggested we go on a date and being a reader of your blog and finding you hilarious, I thought/hoped that you were a man after my own heart and nothing could go wrong.

And nothing was going wrong. Even our first phonecall, which you were dreading, was better than we could both ever have hoped. We both got excited about our date. Everyone else got excited too. A friend even texted me to say she was going to buy a hat.

Now unfortunately my friends aren't so sure. All because of your last post.

It doesn't matter too much about the fact you've acted very blase about this date, because you and I both know that isn't true. The constant texts say otherwise. In fact I've been told that if you'd sent just another couple more I would have had reasonable grounds to take out a restraining order against you.

Yes I know that you love my accent, and that you think I look lovely in my facebook picture, but there are only so many times that a girl wants to hear it.

No, that isn't the problem though. The problem is that my friends know that I'm very fussy and they are actually questioning my sanity in agreeing to go out with you since you made your little confessions. Some are even a bit worried for my safety. They'd hoped that you would be an improvement on Mr Trafford Centre, not worse.

Despite my own concerns, I'm a woman (albeit young-looking) of my word, so I will still go on this date as planned.

You can dream on about trying your tricks in order to get a kiss though, as they won't wash with me. I've promised Taggart that I will carry a personal alarm and you really don't want to hear the noise that makes.

love Rapunzel x

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 >>

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.

34 Mr Not-So-Hot-To-Trot

I haven't updated my blog in a while, because I've been far too busy in a bubble of love with Mr Hot-to-Trot.

Come on! You don't seriously believe that do you?

Don't you know me at all? For a start if there was anything to report, I would have told you first.

It didn't actually go very well at all. In fact 'go' is probably over-stating things a bit...

You agreed in your masses (at least two of you anyway) that I could ignore my own pre-date rule, so I accepted Mr Hot-to-Trot's invitation to go for a bratwurst and a gluhwein at the Christmas markets.

He said he couldn't do the next few days but that we should arrange something for the following week and sent me his number to contact him to arrange it.

I don't think so Mr Hot-to-Trot.

I'm not that keen on having the ball in my court. Not in that situation anyway. I emailed him right back with my number. Ha! That showed him!

He then texted me. Keen. Good.

I texted back. Ball back over to him...

Next day...another text. Asking me how my day was. I said it was great or something. Think in actual fact it was pretty shit but you can't say that to someone you don't know. Best they don't find out you are a real person that has bad days until at least date two.

A few more texts.

Fair enough but this wasn't going as planned. What had happened to our date? Why had we become text buddies instead? I wasn't even enjoying it that much. Call me weird but I prefer to text people I've met.

Then it got worse. He texted me on a Saturday. At night. Asked if I was out.

What on earth was I supposed to say to that?

Of course I wasn't out. I was watching X-Factor. And more to the point, I was enjoying it. I couldn't tell him that though could I? What impression does that send out? Should I lie and say I was out? What if he then said he was also out and that we should meet up?

What a dilemma.

In then end I sent one saying something about having gone out most school nights that week and I was having a quiet one, but if he was out to have a drink for me.

Good answer. I thought.

He obviously didn't think so. No reply for ages. Damn. Why didn't I lie?

Then...Have just made a cup of tea and am settling down to watch Match of the Day.

Hurrah! He's as sad as me! (Actually I'd say sadder, but I suppose that's debatable.)

A few more texts over the next few days.

Eventually he sends one about meeting up. Finally! Didn't he realise I had people wanting to hear about a real life date, not about texts between two strangers.

He suggests a night. I can't do it. I suggest a night. He can't do it.

Oh for god sake.

Then next day he texts to say he can actually do the night I suggested...

Great! Except I had no battery and didn't get the text till hours later...

I reply eventually and tell him I can still do it. Ask if he can.

No reply...

No reply for a bit longer...

No reply for a couple of days...

What the hell?!

Why would you ask someone out and then change your mind a few hours later?

It isn't even as if this is a one-off situation. Oh no. It's happened loads.

A girl can get a complex. I mean I'm not quite at the 'nobody likes me, everybody hates me, think I'll go and eat worms' stage...but close to it.

Send him a text..A simple 'no', would have sufficed. Where are your manners?

And that is how our 'relationship' ended.

With him probably thinking 'she's a stroppy madam, thank god I didn't go on a date with her.'

And me thinking 'what possessed me to agree to go an date with a man whose profile picture showed him wearing a cardigan on a night out anyway?' (Oh it wasn't the cardigan I objected to. It's the fact it was pink. And he wasn't wearing anything underneath it. Poser.)

So if you have any advice for a girl failing miserably at online dating, let me know, and in the meantime I'll consult my copy of 'If I'm So Wonderful, Why Am I Still Single'* and see what that suggests.

Or I might just eat worms...


*Every good home should have a copy of this. Next to the Ikea catalogue.

20 It's a Joke

I have bad news.

On Thursday I told you I was going on a date this week. Six foot plus man had asked me out. His profile was nice, his photos were nice and the mails he had sent me were nice, so why not? Finally! A real date!

You could have come round to help me get ready if you'd wanted. I could even have filled you in on how it was going when he nipped off to the toilet. It would have been like you were there with me. We were all going on a date!

Then he sent me a text. A text containing a joke.

Now call me old-fashioned, but when you haven't actually met someone I'm not sure you should be sending jokes to them (or photos of your bits for that matter, but that's another story...)

It was one of two jokes I heard this weekend.

One was from my cousin's 4 year old, while the other was from my date.

One was...funny, while the other...was from my date.

One was...repeatable, while the other...was from my date.

One was... 'what do you call two robbers? Answer - a pair of knickers',
while the other...involved bonfires and muslims.

So we are now, no longer, all going on a date.

So far the dating website has provided me with old men, men who look like serial killers, men with stunted appendage growth and now racist men.

I'm going to ask for my money back.