128 Tales of a Real Life Romance - The End

I'd asked him, 'Will you still encourage your children to like football even though you don't?'

He'd replied, 'I don't want kids.'

A short and seemingly innocent conversation to anyone listening, but one that changed things forever. It was the beginning of the end of Hands and Rapunzel.

Jeremy Kyle informed me that it was my own fault. He said I'd scared Hands off by asking if I could have his babies so soon in the relationship. I tried to point out that it was a general query about children that had revealed this news. There was no second part to the question where I'd asked '...and also can I be the mother of these kids that may or may not like football?' I hadn't even said it under my breath.

Perhaps Jeremy was right though and it was too early to have that talk, even if it was unwittingly. It was definitely too soon to know whether I'd want to invite Hands to a breeding party, but when is the right time to know whether it's a guest list he'd ever even want to be on? We were on Date 8. How many more dates until it would have been acceptable chat? My friend was adamant that as we were at a certain age he should have mentioned it straight away, perhaps on Date 1 when he said that he'd never wed or bred he could have added that he didn't fancy the latter in the future either. 'Then you would've known if you were on the same page from the outset,' she added wisely.

Perhaps, because several dates on and just as I was really falling for him, I felt sick to discover that we weren't, and in fact were reading from completely different books.

We didn't discuss it anymore and just continued having a lovely evening. We didn't need to talk about it. We both knew that there was no point carrying on when we wanted different things. We both knew it was the end.

As Hands drove me back to Manchester the following day I spun my ring round my finger trying to concentrate on not crying.

'I'm going to miss your big rings,' he said.

'I'm going to miss big you,' I replied.

He pulled up at the Tower, we said a quick goodbye and I got out of the car.

A group of guys in a taxi waiting at the lights nearby rolled down their window and shouted at me.

'Hey gorgeous! Come with us!'

So I did. And cheekily blew a kiss at Hands as off I went to party with my new friends.

Nah I didn't really. I was too emotionally drained. I just went in to my apartment block. But secretly prayed that Hands had heard what they'd said.

He texted me later to see how I was and added that from what he'd witnessed when he dropped me off, he didn't imagine that I'd be single for long.

Maybe not but I'll never forget my short-lived, but lovely, real life romance with the guy with the big hands.

THE END

69 Tales of a Real Life Romance - Chapter 22

Now where was I?

Ah yes. In chapter 21 I'd hoped surmised that Hands and I were in a Relationship because we'd been ticking lots of the 'Things you do in a Relationship' boxes. Things like arguing and having him cook for you. I was just about to tell you about us putting a tick beside 'meeting the parents' when all manner of things got in the way of me blogging. If anyone is still reading then this is what happened.


Meeting the Parents

By 'parents', I mean concierges. And by 'met', I mean, 'encountered'.

His arrival to my apartment had been pain-free. I'd buzzed him in and up he'd come. The concierges probably thought he was just a regular good-looking guy on his way to visit some lucky lady. I knew things would be different on the way out though, when they'd put two and two together (or in this case, one and one) and they'd realise that the fortunate girl was me.

I wondered how on earth I could sneak a 6ft 5 bloke past without them noticing. I contemplated asking Hands to go commando (and crawl along the floor like a soldier, as opposed to not wearing underwear) but realised that was a ridiculous idea. He'd end up filthy and I didn't want people to think I was taking a tramp out for dinner. Instead as we exited the lift, I whispered to Hands that as we walk past the front desk he was to keep looking straight ahead and leave the rest to me.

I thought we were doing quite a good job. We'd both got the nonchalant walk down pat despite having no time to practice. I trilled 'Hi' as we passed so as not to arouse suspicion. We'd almost made it out the door when...

'Er, wait a minute...'

Damn.

'Where do you think you're going?'

'I'm going out,' I replied, feeling like a teenager.

'But it's a Saturday night...you're not allowed out.'

'Says who?' I replied starting to sound a bit petulant. I was at the risk of being grounded.

'Says you!' they laughed.

They were referring to a comment I'd once made when I'd come home from an evening out and announced that I was too old for Saturday nights and they were only for young people. Young people who don't mind music so loud that you can't hold a conversation. Young people with stamina for lots of queues (the queue to get in, the four people deep queue at the bar to get a drink, the queue for the ladies etc, etc.) Young people who don't feel the cold and therefore don't need to wear jackets.

I then said that if they ever saw me heading out on a Saturday they were to stop me and tell me no.

Obviously I didn't mean it. I'd only said it once. I was a bit tipsy at the time so it really shouldn't count.

It's not like they remember all my drunken chat. They've never mentioned the time pre-Hands that I asked if they'd find me a boyfriend and I insisted the only criteria I had was that he be able to drive and swim. They've never mentioned that. And in actual fact they should have mentioned that. They should have taken me aside for a little word the next morning and said that a nice girl like me could aim a bit higher when searching for a man. Perhaps look for someone that can ride as well.

'We're only going for dinner' I said, as if that would make it better and suddenly they'd forget it was Saturday.

'It's still Saturday night,' they said.

'I won't be late.'

'Ok we'll let you go just this once. Back before midnight though or we'll be locking the doors,' they jested.

At least I think they were joking. I didn't find out because despite having a lovely meal Hands and I were more interested in each other than our surroundings, and decided we'd be as well going back to mine.

'Look I've brought her back before she turned into a pumpkin!' Hands announced to the concierges as we entered the Tower at 11:45.

'Well done lad. You can come again.'


The Doubts Start

My concierges may have approved of Hands, but I was starting to have some concerns. I may have given the impression that everything was going hunky dory with my hunk, but there was an issue. One big issue. I'd tried to ignore it, but when I went to work on the army base during the week it became more and more obvious, and more and more of a problem.

Hands doesn't give good phone.

Our texts were great, our emails were even better and we were fluent in body language but our phone conversations were below par. We just didn't seem to know what to say to each other. I know you could say that it takes two to maketh a conversation and I should shoulder some of the blame for our crap chat, but I've never had this problem with anyone else. I think I'm quite good on the phone. I've certainly had lots of experience over the years. Once I even did it for five hours with an ex. No, it must be all Hands' fault.

During one such chat (for want of a better word) I decided to fill an awkward silence by recounting an incident that I'd had earlier in the day. I told Hands about how when I'd gone to take the radio mic off a soldier we'd been filming, he'd obviously got confused about why I was moving in to his personal space and kissed me. I couldn't stop laughing as I explained how embarrassed I was, and how embarrassed the guy was when he realised the real reason that I'd approached him.

Hands reaction? 'Oh right.'

'That's all he said?' Taggart asked me. I'd made some excuse to Hands to get off the phone and had called her straight away for her opinion.

'Yes,' I said miserably. 'Maybe we just aren't meant to be? Everything else is great but it's just hard work on the phone. And we clearly have a different sense of humour. He didn't even find that story slightly funny.'

'I thought it was hilarious!' Taggart said. She had. She'd been practically wetting herself when I told her. Unfortunately it wasn't Taggart that I wanted to bump uglies with.

The next day I had an email from Hands.

Sometimes I find your Scottish accent really difficult to understand, particularly when you are laughing. I have no idea what that story was you were trying to tell me last night! We obviously need to spend more time together to practice so I thought we could go away this weekend. I've already booked us in to a hotel. You just need to say yes!

What on earth had I been worried about? Talking on the phone is overrated anyway right?

Yes, Hands! Yes! Yes! Yes!

22 Tales of a Real Life Romance - Chapter 5

Date day dawned and I don't mind admitting to you that I was really excited.

I love that feeling when you don't know what is going to happen. Yes, it could just end up being a crap date (of which I've had a few and have written about on here. The soiree at the Trafford Centre being a prime example...) but it could also be amazing and potentially life-changing. Deep, I know, but if he was 'the one' it would alter things. I just think it's a shame that you can't bottle the feelings you have at the beginning, and can get them out at a later stage in your relationship, when the things you used to find endearing about your partner now get on your tits.

Hands and I still hadn't actually spoken. I'd stuck to my guns and hadn't called him back. Ok, ok, I'd actually stuck to the Goddess's guns and not called him back. It seemed to work quite well though, so does it matter whose guns they were?

He'd sent a text a few hours after he'd first called me, to say that he couldn't speak now as he was going round to his friend's house (are you sure Hands? You're off to see a mate at half 10 on a school night? I doubt it...) but if I was still ok for going out the following day, he'd come to me for about 8, but would call me first to properly arrange it.

As you know, I'm not one for analysing, but, if you forced me to, I'd say that Hands had expected me to call him back and it had confused him that I hadn't. But then what do I know? This is men we are talking about. Even the males that comment on my blog can't seem to agree on the typical behaviour of the species.

Anyway I digress. It was the evening we were going out, and I got out of the shower to find a missed call from Hands. This time there was a voicemail saying that he was uncertain what to do as he hadn't spoken to me. Were we still meeting? And if so where?

I decided that even The Rules would allow me to return this call. I rang back. After a bit of chit-chat he told me that he'd be driving and asked whether he should pick me up, or should he meet me somewhere.

'Well where is it that we are going?' I asked.

'Dunno. I hadn't thought about it. Where do you fancy going?'

Sharp intake of breath from me.

We ended the conversation agreeing that he'd meet me outside my building, and then we'd decide what to do. Was I happy that the wheels were finally in motion? Nope, I was actually gutted. I went to check with the Goddess that it was reasonable to feel like that though, and that I wasn't being high-maintenance.

'So let me get this right? Not only is he driving on your date...though I suppose we can allow that as he doesn't live in Manchester...but he hasn't even planned where you are going? That is terrible!' she said.

The Goddess had concurred. I was right to be upset. Hands had committed a big no-no. A no, no, no, no, no, in fact. If you ask a girl on a date, you should at least make sure there is a 'date' for her to go on. 'Date' is the operative word here. (Single men - Please try and learn from Hands's mistake and not make the same one!)

'You know I'm not sure I want to let you go and meet him now,' the Goddess continued. 'He clearly doesn't realise that you are a 'creature unlike any other' and that he's lucky to have an evening of your time. To be honest, he doesn't sound good enough for my girl.'

'I'm not sure I want to go,' I agreed. 'I was really looking forward to it, but now I just feel disappointed.'

What I was quite enjoying, was the bonding that the Goddess and I were doing. We'd only lived together for a few weeks, but we were fast becoming like Cagney and Lacey. And Thelma and Louise. Or Ant and Dec.

What should I do? In the end we decided that as I didn't have to exactly go far (only down the lift in the first instance) that I should still go, but, importantly, under no circumstances, was I to enjoy myself.

We congratulated ourselves on this fool-proof plan.

A short while later as I left the Tower, my concierges asked where I was going. Now I must stress that it is not a rule of residing in the building that you must check with the concierges whether you are allowed to leave it, and what time your curfew is. Nor do you need to give a password. There are no 'Open Sesame!' moments.

No, I'm just very chatty with them and they pretty much know everything that is happening in my life. Perhaps a bit too much. Like they could probably even tell you when I've got my period by the times I'm stroppier than others. (That's actually not true. I'm a ray of sunshine all the time. They'd never work it out.)

Anyway, I replied that I was going on a date (my tone of voice suggesting that I was actually going for a bikini wax) and that I'd tell them about it later.

I got to the door and there was Hands waiting for me. 'Hey you,' he said smiling with his perfect white teeth and kissed me on the cheek.

Damn. He was looking fine. This was going to be harder than I thought...


-------------


And if you want to know how it went, check back here tomorrow where I'll reveal all...

And men...you are welcome for the advice in this post. Don't mention it.

12 And on the Sixth Day...

...God created Manchester.

When I was just a wee lassie at school and had the chance to do a weeks' work experience, rather than do it in the local bank or factory like others did, I opted to do a stint in a kindergarten in Munich.

Then when I was studying at university, I'd spend my three month summer breaks waitressing in the Canaries.

When I had the chance to spend the last year studying in Canada, I jumped at the chance.

And so it continued. I lived and worked in various other countries as well as going on holiday at every opportunity.

Put it this way, I was constantly going away and by away, I mean abroad, because I was never convinced that the UK was for me. I wasn't sure where I wanted to live but I just knew for sure that it wouldn't be in Blighty. We just didn't fit.

That's until I discovered Manchester.

I'd always had a bit of a soft spot for it. Particularly for shopping. A trip down here to see the English relations was never complete unless I'd spent my pocket money in Afflecks Palace.

It wasn't until I decided on a whim to give it a shot living here that I fell well and truly in love with the place.

Almost eight years later and we still haven't fallen out. We haven't even had any arguments. I still get a buzz about living here. To me it has everything. Not only that but it is so central that it is incredibly easy to get to everywhere from Manchester - including my home town in Scotland which I have a lot more respect for now that I've left - meaning that I still get to do my trips away. Unusually compared to before I also look forward to coming back.

The fact that I live on the UK's tallest residential building and two of my walls are windows that overlook this amazing city is a bonus. I love when new people come to visit the apartment and hear them squeal when they first see the views of my spiritual home.

So you can imagine how proud I felt to discover that I've been shortlisted as one of Manchester's best personal blogs. I feel like I'm one of Manchester's own. I've passed my initiation and am now in the club!

And obviously I'm over the moon about even being considered for the award in the first place. Thanks to the lovely Tuppence a fabulous girl that I got to know through her blog and now consider a friend.

OK, I do feel slightly cheeky as I haven't been the most prolific of bloggers recently but that has been down to working abroad and not having much time or access to post, rather than a case of disinterest or lack of things to write about.

Anyway am back in the Tower now where I belong and will be continuing to write about my life as a single girl in Manchester. (And actually, even though I wasn't posting I was still 'thinking in blog' and doing things purely 'for the blog' as my next post will reveal...

Thanks for sticking with me and if you get the chance to pop over to here and then vote for Tower Tales I would be forever in your debt.

Thanks - love you all!

Rapunzel x

14 Blooming Marvelous

It isn't always easy telling someone that the relationship is over.

Even more so when you aren't even in the damn relationship in the first place!

I'd received an email t'other day. It started 'Hi Rapunzel, I'm not a nutter by the way...' I probably should have stopped reading at this point, because everyone knows that the ones that say they aren't weird, are the weirdest ones.

I continued though. It was from a guy telling me that he likes my blog, blah blah, thought I seemed nice, and was wondering if I would like to go out for a drink sometime.

That doesn't sound too bad does it? What about the next bit though, when he carried on to explain that he'd been dating one of my fellow bloggers?

A fellow blogger that had been on the BNO. A fellow blogger that has become a friend. A fellow blogger that in actual fact I thought he was still an item with, as I hadn't heard anything to the contrary.

Strange.

They'd obviously split up though. He wouldn't be mailing me otherwise would he?

It was still a bit weird though. For starters he doesn't actually know my current situation, seeing as I haven't continued with the Luscious Luke story. He might actually be cutting Luke's grass by messaging me.

Plus, wasn't it a bit soon for him to be pursuing me? It was only the other week I was reading about one of his dates with Tuppence over on her blog. Surely there is some Bloggers' Code that disallows this kind of thing? Or was it within the rules as long as Tuppence came along on the date and did some kind of handover?

I mentioned it to Tuppence a few days later. Mainly because I was curious to find out what had happened between them. I also asked if she knew he'd emailed me.

She didn't. In fact she also wasn't aware that they weren't actually seeing each other anymore.

I had unwittingly become the bearer of bad news.

How shit did I feel? Plus Tuppence was having a horrible day as it was, and my mail made things worse. I cursed myself for my bad timing.

I tried to remind myself that I wouldn't have had anything bad to tell her in the first place, if it wasn't for Mr Couldn't Give A Shit About Anyone's Feelings, but it didn't help. I went to bed feeling annoyed that he'd got me involved in something that had absolutely nothing to do with me. Arse.

When I woke up this morning to the radio presenter wishing everyone a good day, I felt a lot more positive though. Yep, it was a brand new day and there was no reason why it couldn't be a tremendous one. I left the apartment feeling pretty perky.

And was almost run over by a guy on a bike! Who then had the cheek to shoot me the dirtiest look ever as if it was my fault. How on earth could it be? I was on the flipping pavement!

Feeling a bit shaken I made my way to the bus stop. I proceeded to try and distract myself from my near death experience, by sussing out some of the features on my new phone.

I was so engrossed that I didn't notice the bus heading towards me...

...and driving right past me.

I cursed my stupidity. I was going to have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one.

Actually make that 25 minutes, because the bloody bus was late. I wasn't impressed.

Then when I got on it, the only seat that was free was next to a guy that seemed to think we all wanted to hear the pumping music he was playing on his iPod.

Seriously what is with these people? It's my pet hate. The headphones are there for a reason. I would have told him to turn it down, but the way my day was going I'd thought I'd probably end up getting lynched. I just sat gritting my teeth instead.

Finally the bus reached my stop. I'd made it!

Or not. Seems the bus driver forgot there was a stop there today and drove right past it, stopping instead at the next one an extra five minutes' walk away from work.

As I trekked the miles and miles to work I did my very best to start thinking positively. Just because the day had started badly didn't mean it was going to continue like that.

It was too late though, my ratty head was on and it was refusing to budge. The day carried on with me being irritated by everything and anything.

It was annoying me that I was having to sit inside, while it was a beautiful day outside.

As was the fact that I'd forgotten my phone charger and hardly had any battery.

The noise my watch makes was also driving me insane. Okay, I've worn it every day since I bought it from a looky looky man in Gran Canaria the other month, but today the 'tick, tick, tick' was making me contemplate chucking it out the window.

The fact the watch is made by Dimpex was also getting on my nerves as it reminds me of Tampax and I wasn't happy that thoughts of feminine hygiene products and periods were popping into my head every time I checked to see how much longer of this godforsaken day I had to endure.

Nothing was too big or too small to piss me off.

Hell, it even bugged me when I saw a woman wearing a red cardigan that didn't go in the slightest with her pink blouse. I cursed her for hurting my eyes.

Things did seem on the up though when I went to buy a bottle of water and the guy serving me told me he liked the purple in my hair.

Until he added 'You need your roots done mind you, but I still like it.'

Home time couldn't come quick enough.

I don't think I've ever been so pleased to see the Tower looming above me. I'd made plans to park myself in front of the TV watching programmes about other people's misery.

But wait, what was this?

There in my mailbox was a note saying I'd had a delivery of flowers.

Ohmigod! Who had sent me flowers?! How exciting! And what a surprise!

Suddenly the day didn't seem so bad.

Except turns out there had been a bit of a mix-up and the note about the flowers had been put in the wrong mail box. Someone had received some flowers, just not me.

I'm just glad it is only a few hours until Tomorrow.

57 The Craic

This isn't how I imagined our first meeting to be at all.

Shouldn't we be hugging and saying we are so glad that we are finally seeing each other in the flesh? Instead, Fishy is standing there telling me he won't kiss me because his lip is bleeding, and I'm rummaging through the world's biggest bag trying to find some vaseline for him.

No, not even nearly like I'd envisaged.

He, on the other hand, is exactly like I'd expected. Or should I say that he's like all the photos I'd seen of him. He insisted on emailing me 10 before we met up. From all different angles.

He's nicely dressed. Probably cause he's wearing the same as me. Grey top and jeans. We're like twins. His jumper isn't off the shoulder though, thankfully.

Head through to baggage control. Fishy is talking to me but I'm unable to concentrate. I'm too busy wondering where I get one of the little plastic bags to put my make-up in. Can't ask Fishy, cause then he'll realise my look isn't natural.

Whisper the question to one of the security guards. He directs me to a vending machine back the direction I've come. His voice booms at me that I'm going the wrong way. The hundred or so people in the queue look at me. Fishy pretends not to know who I am.

Get my wee placcie bag, but then do you think I can find the things in my humongous bag that need to be transferred into it? No, I cannot.

Fishy has already gone through the metal detector and is standing waiting patiently for me. I'm getting flustered. The baggage handler tells me I'm going red which of course only serves to make my face flame even more. I start trying to multi-task and take off my belt and boots at the same time. Baggage handler tells me to relax. Then adds that everyone behind is giving me dirty looks.

I'm finally ready to prepare my innocent face and walk through the metal detector when baggage man stops me again.

'I can't let you go though with those earrings on...no knives are allowed on board... or forks either.'

I'm about to protest then I realise he's joking. Think I must have put my bantering gene in the bag alongside my make-up.

Fishy sighs as I finally meet up with him. Think he's questioning whether I really have ever been on a plane before. Or even out the house.

We grab a drink before boarding. Fishy wants to taste my mocha. I surreptitiously wipe the cup after. (Well he did say his lip was bleeding...)

I'm fannying about with my ginormous bag as we get seated on the plane and end up jerking my cup with the result that a bit of liquid jumps out and lands on my jumper. In the nipple region.

I pray he won't notice.

He notices. And remarks on it. I make a crap joke about lactating. Great, now he's going to be thinking about my nipples leaking. I decide to stop talking.

A man sits between us making it hard to chat anyway. He also blocks my view of Fishy's crotch, so I don't have to worry about catching sight of his little problem during the descent.

Short time later we are in Belfast and sitting down for lunch. The waitress comes over to see if we are ready to order. I'm still dithering. Fishy tells her I'm always like this.

It all feels strangely normal, which is weird considering that I'm in a place I've never been, with a guy I've never met. Can't tell if that is just the Fishy effect or whether I just feel I know him through his blog.

I notice his trainers. 'Are they the ones you bought to go on the date with the hairdresser?'

'Yeah.'

'What did you buy for your date with me?'

'A plane ticket.'

Fair point.

Fed and watered we go in search of a bus tour round Belfast. We want a bit of 'cultcha'. Fishy suggests we link arms. Ah ha! I realise what he's doing. This is one of his tricks to try and steal a kiss. I link anyway. It's pissing down and we're sharing my umbrella so it seems sensible.

We clamber to the top deck of the bus and go to sit in the one remaining seat under the roof canopy. A man stops us and says he's saving that for a friend. Fishy and I talk to each other telepathically and decide to ignore him and sit there anyway. Teamwork!

I can feel Fishy shivering beside me. I, of course, am roasty toasty as I have packed with the Antarctic in mind. I feel sorry for him and give him my cardigan which he places on his lap. I suddenly feel like I'm participating in Help the Aged day. That's until he starts asking the tour guide various questions, then it's like I'm out with the school swot.

An hour and a half and two numb bums later, we head to the Crown, one of Belfast's landmark pubs. Fishy goes to order us some Guinness while I go to the toilet. When I come out he is chatting to an old Irish man propping up the bar, who remarks about the fact he is surprised that Fishy is out with a female.

As we sit down in a cosy booth I ask Fishy whether he could in fact be gay and maybe hasn't realised it.

'I mean you said in your blog that your neighbour thought you were and now he did too.'

'No, I think it's that he thought you were a man at first.'

With these boobs? Unlikely.

The banter continues. He flirts with me. Tells me he likes the way I say 'world.' We take photos of each other. He deletes all the ones I like of me and keeps all the crap. He offers to read my palm (another of his snog ploys!)It's all very comfortable. We even broach subjects that you should never mention on a first date. Things like piles, death and past relationships.

Dinner time and we cross the road and go into the Europa Hotel for dinner. We are shown to a table which is so close to the one next to it that we are virtually sitting on the laps of the couple occupying it. I ask if we can sit elsewhere.

I'm hoping to re-capture the intimate atmosphere we've just had. Plus I was worried that the couple would have been put off their food if Fishy decides to talk about haemorrhoid's again. As we sit down he whispers to me that he wanted to move as well but didn't want to ask.

A lovely meal later and we realise sadly, that it is time to leave. Fishy says he'll pay for dinner (Ploy number 3- he lurves me, he wants to kiss me!)

At the airport, we travel up an escalator, chatting amiably. As we reach the top, Fishy suddenly darts off.

Er...? I just stand there. I'm really unsure what to do. I start panicking. About the blog. What on earth am I going to write? I can't say that he just disappeared and left me. How mortifying. In fact more to the point, what will he write? What have I done wrong?

My phone rings. It's him. 'I'm round the corner. The football was on in that pub and I'm recording it so don't want to know the result.'

I'm still a bit peeved as we wait for our flight to be called. He tries to make amends by challenging me to a thumb war (ploy number 4...) and then by showing me his passport photo. This doesn't help. I look like a serial killer in mine whereas he is the only person I've ever met that actually looks good in their picture. Freak.

In no time at all we are back in Liverpool. Fishy offers to drive me home. I'm his friend again so accept.

His stereo plays Lionel Richie. I'm instantly taken back to being 15 and my older boyfriend playing 'Hello' in a bid to woo me.

We park outside mine and chat about what a great day it has been. Suddenly Fishy tells me to kiss him. I'm a bit surprised. He starts mumbling something about kissing on the cheeks, not the lips. I'm not sure what to do. I have leant over, with the handbrake jammed into my leg and my lips are hovering about the place. I feel embarrassed. So I tell him to 'Just shut up.'

'You told him to shut up?' my best mate Taggart queries. I call her for a de-brief as soon as I get in to the Tower. 'He uses every one of his techniques to try and get a kiss. You have the upper hand and then you go and spoil it by telling him to shut up. Do you realise that when he writes his blog, that 'Shut Up,' will now become 'Will you Shut Up, cause I really want to kiss you.'?'

'I know,' I cringe.

'Did you think you were in a film or something?'

Damn. I really don't understand it. We spent 13 lovely hours together yet the date finished exactly as it began. Awkwardly.


And to read Fishy's version, click here...

3 Night Terrors

I was very well-behaved this weekend.

Not everyone was such a goody two-shoes though....

I should start by explaining that the Tower I live in is part hotel, part apartments. It's the Hilton at the bottom and then from floor 25 up to 47, it is us. The residents. Understandably, our floors and corridors also have the look of a hotel. Each one has white walls, black carpet and black doors. They all look the same.

Because of that, I can imagine, it could be an easy mistake to make, to get out on the wrong floor. You know if you were too busy thinking what you were going to have for your tea or something? Or you were drunk? Or you were sleep-walking?

Or all of the above.

Turns out that one girl had made this very mistake in the wee small hours of Sunday morning.

I can only assume that she must have been planning her dinners for the whole week. And probably lunches and breakfasts too. Because it sounds like her head really was elsewhere...

Not only did she get out on the wrong floor...but she went into the wrong apartment too...giving the occupier the fright of his life.

He rushed down to the concierges...

"A girl has got into bed with me and I don't know what to do!"

And as someone who dances on the other side of the ballroom, he wasn't kidding about this being a new experience for him.

I feel there are various lessons we could learn from this. There is the obvious, the one about always locking your door. But, I think the one I will take away from it, the main one, is that if you are going to make a little mistake like that, get your gaydar out first and plan ahead what apartment would be a good one to go into it.

Mind you, knowing my luck, I'd end up playing 'two in the bed, and the little one said...' with Mr Chilled Red!

13 Tell Tale Tits

One of the concierges greeted me with, "Talk of the Devil", as I arrived home yesterday.

I was quite excited because I love being talked about. If it's something good obviously. It's not so smashing if it is just someone moaning about you.

This was neither. Was actually a bit boring. Turns out it was just that they'd ran out of sugar and discussed that their favourite resident* should be home soon and would probably be able to lend them some. (*That's a title I've given myself by the way. I haven't actually won an award or anything. Yet.)

I suppose it is slightly odd that my concierges know so much about me. They would certainly kick my friend's asses in a quiz about me if the questions were things like...What hours does she work?...What mood was she in on Thursday?...What are in those little brown boxes she has delivered?

I love having concierges though. It makes me feel that someone cares. Even if it's only someone that is paid to. Every good home should have at least one. They sign for your parcels. They call you taxis. They ask how your day has been. They even tell you if it is time for you to dye your hair again cause it is looking a bit shit. Those essential things.

I must admit, there was one occasion though when I wasn't so keen on the whole service...

I'd come in to the Tower late one afternoon to find that the fire alarms had been going off and the lifts were grounded. The concierge told me they probably wouldn't be in use for another 20 minutes so suggested I either walk up the stairs or wait.

Walk??? Did I hear him right??? Walk up 40+ flights of stairs??? I don't think so. I decided to go to the pub instead...just for one mind, while I waited for the lifts...

It can feel a bit weird going to the pub on your own but I'd been in no time at all when a guy started chatting to me. He bought me a drink. We chatted a bit more. He then suggested having another drink. I suppose one more wouldn't do any harm? I mean I wouldn't want to go back until it was almost definite that the lifts were working again...

A few hours later there was a worried woman in Scotland. My mum. I'd said I was calling her that night because I needed some information from a letter I'd been sent up there. Not only had I not called but I also wasn't answering any texts or calls to my phone. This wasn't like her normally reliable, daughter.

More time passed and she was starting to really panic. Particularly as a few months earlier she'd witnessed me collapsing at the dinner table and ending up in hospital (yes, I promise to reveal every detail of that embarrassing story in a future post. It will be called The Sausage Incident..). She decided that that must have happened again. Or I was dead. Or worse.

She instructed my dad to call the concierges. (Ah yes, much better if someone else hears I'm dead first?) Asks them to go up to my apartment and check on me. I'm unsure whether she gave them permission to give me the kiss of life.

"That won't be necessary" they said to my dad. "She went out. She came back in hours later. She chatted to us. She told us all her problems. She's now gone upstairs. She's safe. She's going to have a very sore head tomorrow though..."

Tell tale tits.

The next day wasn't very good. Hangover from hell, in the bad books with my mum and dad and very embarrassed about seeing my concierges. Half expected them to tell me they'd had a good chat with my parents and had all decided it would be best if I was grounded for the foreseeable future...

2 Bully For Me

I think this is going to have to be renamed 'Tales from the Cupboard that is Masquerading as an Office' (that's definitely cupboard, not closet by the way). I know it doesn't quite have the same ring to it, but since I started this temp job I feel as though I'm never flipping here!

The job does have some plus points though. For a start I'm now up in time to see the sunrise from my bedroom window. And as well as that there's........erm.......come on there must be something...... think....... think............ok, that's the only plus point but Manchester really does have some lovely sunrises.

Day one was actually ok (which is high praise indeed when its coming from me, and I'm talking about temp jobs), once I'd got over that feeling of being a child at a new school that is. 'Please Miss, I don't know what to do.''Please Miss, can I go the toilet?' In fact where are the toilets? 'Please Miss, can you check my work?' 'Please Miss, did I spell mandibular and maxillary correctly?' I did? 'Please Miss, can I get a gold star then?'

I'd also only been there all of five minutes when I discovered one of the consultants is friends with my dentist (I'm working in oral surgery so this was quite a normal conversation to have.) What is weird though, is that he's friends with my dentist in Scotland. All very coincidental and bizarre, but surely it meant I had an immediate ally and he wouldn't let any of the other kids bully me?

Turns out that being the new girl meant that I was actually a source of interest to the other kids and no-one wanted to give me a dead arm anyway. They clamoured round me in the playground and wanted to know everything, in particular about life in the Tower. What famous people live there? Have I see them? Does the Tower sway in the wind? How long does the lift take? And the biggie, do I get to go to the Hilton bar, Cloud 23, lower down in the Tower without queuing?

All too soon, day two comes though. Day two when you're expected to know what you are doing. Day two when you are old news. Day two when no-one is interested in talking to you anymore and you end up eating your lunch in the girls toilets wishing you'd at least pretended you get VIP access to Cloud 23.

On day two I also got a bit of training on their computer systems. The trainer wanted to get me prepared for what to do in 18 weeks when I'd need to change my password. 18 weeks? 18 weeks?! I don't think I've ever worked anywhere for 18 weeks. That's like forever. I started feeling myself hyperventilate....

Then I got a call. From a TV company. I couldn't answer it but felt myself immediately relaxing. Surely it was about a job and I'd be able to leave without even doing 18 hours, never mind weeks? I listened to the voicemail at the first opportunity. Please be about a job...please be about a job...please....!

It wasn't about a job. Well it was, but just a little one I'm doing for them this weekend. Nothing that required me to pack up my satchel and shout to the other kids 'See ya, wouldn't want to be ya,' and strop out before the bell had rung.

So looks like I'm there for the foreseeable future. Don't worry I'll be fine. Not sure when I'm meant to fit in all my dates though (the ones I'm bound to start having soon), never mind tell you about them. Work doesn't half cut in to your day.

6 Little Miss Crabbit Face

I'm Little Miss Crabbit Face today.

I'm fed up of the weather, my flatmate has broken my favourite Dirty Dancing mug and the worst thing of all, I was humiliated in the lift this morning.

Once upon a time the other month, I accepted an invitation from another Tower resident to go for a drink in his apartment. Don't worry about the stranger danger thing, we'd had a few 30 second lift-chats prior to this, so we were practically old friends. Plus, he told me he had a great set of binoculars and that chat up line always works on me!

A friend had also suggested that I might be a bit fussy with regards men and that I'm too quick to decide someone isn't my type. So, keen to show her that she was wrong and that I'm very open-minded, I accepted the drink date. Even though I was sure he wasn't my type...

He wasn't my type. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice guy, just not for me. And I don't just mean because he put the red wine in the fridge. We had a nice chat though and then I made my excuses and left (or rather I made his excuses and told him I'd have to go because he was up early the next day. For some reason it never works as well?!) And that was that. Until today.

I'd got in the lift. There were 3 workmen there. I said hi as all us Tower residents do (it's a friendly lift.) Then silence. Then one remarks how awkward he feels when no-one talks in the lift. Well, if he was feeling awkward then, who knows how he felt when the lift stopped and in gets... Mr Chilled Red. Mr Chilled Red who looks at me, says nothing and then turns to the workies and announces that I'm probably feeling pretty embarrassed because last time he saw me I blew him out (note that is blew him out..)

Mortified is not the word. I could feel the workies looking at me. Mr Chilled Red then turns to me and says accusingly that I must have been very busy not to have been in touch. I mumble something about 'yes, very busy' while trying to find somewhere to look. I decided the floor would do. I stared intently at it while the workies and Mr Chilled Red stared intently at me.

Did I mention that I was wearing my gym clothes? Oh yes. In 'imaginary world', I'd be on my way out for dinner or something. I'd be wearing something new. My hair and make-up would be perfect. I'd just be back from a holiday so would have a nice tan (hey, this is my fantasy!) I'd also probably somehow look a lot like Cheryl Cole. The workies would look at me, and then look at Mr Chilled Red and wonder how he even got a first date.

In 'real world' though, I was running late for a gym class so had put my lycra on ready. Lycra is not a good look. My hair was a mess. I had no make-up on. I hadn't even washed. In 'real world' the workies were probably just thinking..'she smells.'

The lift finally got to the bottom after about what seemed like an hour and I dashed off to my class. Spent the whole hour wondering if it will be necessary to move home.

Lesson learnt? Must start dressing up when going in the lift.
Morale of the tale? Don't shit in your own back yard unless you don't mind the mess.

8 Fairytales...

My friend just called to ask if I'd been discussing being single with her 3 year old daughter Summer, when I looked after her for a short while the other day. I said I hadn't. I could have I suppose but as Summer had spent a lot of the time in tears because I'd pressed the button in the lift and it is supposedly her job, she seemed to have other things on her mind.

Turns out Summer had asked my friend why I don't have a prince and live in the tower all alone. I think next time I'm babysitting and she wants a bedtime story, I'll have to read her my blog instead and give her a current version of the fairytale!

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....