For the past few months Miss Mayer has been entertaining a Gentleman Caller.
He's tall, attractive, works out and looks after his health. He's actually a bit blonder than you would expect... perhaps a little gingery? He definitely has a bit of a beard. A man like that always gives Miss Mayer terrible stubble rash but she secretly quite enjoys it, even though it can make her face very sore. Sometimes he wears glasses, but not always.
He's a bit retro in his ways and this is marked by the fact that he likes to wear a hat. Men nowadays never seem to wear hats, it's a real travesty.
The Gentleman Caller has a lovely voice. His accent can often change, sometimes he's northern, sometimes Welsh, sometimes a posh southern boy. A couple of times he has been a bit of an Essex boy. But one thing never changes, Miss Mayer loves listening to him and every intelligent, interesting, sometimes slightly geeky thing he has to say.
He takes the mickey out of her a lot but it's clear he adores her and her ditzyness. He adores the fact she can't put up a tent to save her life or even with a google map in her hand, will still end up going the wrong way. It means that he can sometimes look after her a little bit. Put her to bed when she's had too much to drink and is gabbling away about some rubbish.
I could go on and on about the thoughtful, romantic gestures that the Gentleman Caller could give. But that's not his way and it's not even really what Miss Mayer wants. Flowers on special occasions are nice, he knows that and does his best. But really he just loves being with her, doing things together. He loves it when she bakes for him, he loves it when they lie in bed and read together.
He's a very decent, reliable and kind man who puts Miss Mayer first. She's more important to him than beer and the boys but only just! And he knows she needs her space to go out with the girls or even just be alone sometimes.
His sense of humour is pretty daft and silly. He's also creative, confident in himself and imaginative. Miss Mayer is always impressed by the fact that he seems to think quite differently to other people, he thinks like her.
He isn't too moody and is quite laid back but this doesn't stop him from being ambitious and passionate.
Although he is a massive softy, he's still a typical bloke. He still watches gory action films, the odd bit of football and/or rugby and is a bit obsessed by breasts and sex.
Despite fulfilling her checklist of 'perfect man wants' the most important thing about Gentleman Caller is that he loves Miss Mayer and would do anything for her. Oh and he thinks she's damn hot stuff. He tells her of these things sometimes, but often he doesn't need to. She can tell by the way he acts.
Yes, the Gentleman Caller really is the perfect man. What a shame he is a mere figment of Miss Mayer's imagination and lives only as the shirt of one of her former boyfriends (we'll call him 'A') and the tie of another former boyfriend, 'B', and a man's trilby she found in a shop in York and thought would rather suit her, all hanging on her clothing rack.
Last week Miss Mayer had an epiphany. She realised she could never move on with her life if she held on to the past, and to an idealised notion of what the perfect man would or could be. She decided that the two former boyfriends would not miss their tie and shirt, considering she'd had them both for a very long time and neither had come back to reclaim them. So she took the tie and the shirt and threw them in the bin.
Showing posts with label Romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romance. Show all posts
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Fuck dating guides.
This is to ladies out there who have read 'He's Just Not That Into You' or Zoe Strimpel's recent dating guide: 'What the Hell is he thinking'?
Although there is sound advice in both - I particularly enjoyed the whole, don't take any rubbish stance of 'He's just not that into you' - there is something very unfeminist about both books.
'He's just not that into you' is rather negative as it still suggests there is something wrong with the women. It's basically saying, any man who doesn't treat you wonderfully doesn't like you and thus, you are kind of rubbish aren't you. Perhaps a title such as 'He's just not good enough for you' would have been more sufficient.
Also, it's too cut and dry, even for a very black and white soul such as me. It doesn't take into account shyness. I've known men who have liked me but haven't asked me out because they are shy or think I am out of their league. When in fact, I was sitting there thinking 'I wish they would ask me out.'
Similarly, after reading the book, I was scared to make any move on a man, even a subtle one. When in fact, without those subtle hints that it's ok to ask the girl out, he's just going to be thinking 'oh, she doesn't like me, she'll just reject me.' Not all men are the world conquoring heroes the book suggests they are, some of them get shy, intimidated or frightened of rejection. Life is far more complicated than this book makes out.
With 'What the hell is he thinking' (I've already had a previous rant about this book after reading an article about it in The Times Style magazine.) Well, I tried to read it, I tried to read it twice and then I just got annoyed. You know what, I DON'T CARE WHAT HE IS THINKING. I've spent far far far far far too much of my life trying to work out what a man is thinking and trying to predict what he might do next.
And you know what, I have my own life thanks, my own thoughts, my own feelings and the prospect of spending my precious time reading a book of what is essentially a bunch of male bloody excuses as to why they can't be decent didn't exactly fill me with fucking joy.
Also, it would be bloody nice if for once in a blue bloody moon, a man sat with his mates going 'I wonder what she is thinking.' Because for a start, it would suggest that they actually give a damn about me.
If I feel good about how the relationship is going, I will to continue seeing the chap. If I don't feel right about it, I'm offsky. In the words of the Meercats: Simples. I'm sure if the bloke is really that into me, he'll be trying to win me back.
My new rule with the whole dating thing? Fuck dating guides, fuck analysing his every move with my mates, I'm just going to follow my instincts and find what's right for me.
Although there is sound advice in both - I particularly enjoyed the whole, don't take any rubbish stance of 'He's just not that into you' - there is something very unfeminist about both books.
'He's just not that into you' is rather negative as it still suggests there is something wrong with the women. It's basically saying, any man who doesn't treat you wonderfully doesn't like you and thus, you are kind of rubbish aren't you. Perhaps a title such as 'He's just not good enough for you' would have been more sufficient.
Also, it's too cut and dry, even for a very black and white soul such as me. It doesn't take into account shyness. I've known men who have liked me but haven't asked me out because they are shy or think I am out of their league. When in fact, I was sitting there thinking 'I wish they would ask me out.'
Similarly, after reading the book, I was scared to make any move on a man, even a subtle one. When in fact, without those subtle hints that it's ok to ask the girl out, he's just going to be thinking 'oh, she doesn't like me, she'll just reject me.' Not all men are the world conquoring heroes the book suggests they are, some of them get shy, intimidated or frightened of rejection. Life is far more complicated than this book makes out.
With 'What the hell is he thinking' (I've already had a previous rant about this book after reading an article about it in The Times Style magazine.) Well, I tried to read it, I tried to read it twice and then I just got annoyed. You know what, I DON'T CARE WHAT HE IS THINKING. I've spent far far far far far too much of my life trying to work out what a man is thinking and trying to predict what he might do next.
And you know what, I have my own life thanks, my own thoughts, my own feelings and the prospect of spending my precious time reading a book of what is essentially a bunch of male bloody excuses as to why they can't be decent didn't exactly fill me with fucking joy.
Also, it would be bloody nice if for once in a blue bloody moon, a man sat with his mates going 'I wonder what she is thinking.' Because for a start, it would suggest that they actually give a damn about me.
If I feel good about how the relationship is going, I will to continue seeing the chap. If I don't feel right about it, I'm offsky. In the words of the Meercats: Simples. I'm sure if the bloke is really that into me, he'll be trying to win me back.
My new rule with the whole dating thing? Fuck dating guides, fuck analysing his every move with my mates, I'm just going to follow my instincts and find what's right for me.
Wednesday, 7 July 2010
Five years ago today...
Five years ago today I was doing a work experience internship at More! magazine and while sitting on a train into Liverpool street had a call from my mum.
"Are you ok?" She yelled as soon as I picked up.
"Yeah mum, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" I responded, thinking my mum was being a tad over the top. I'd only been out of the house for an hour.
She mumbled something about a newsflash, some trouble on the tubes. I told her to not worry about it. There were delays on the tube every day. It would be fine.
When I got into Liverpool street, there were people running everywhere. I have never before or since seen so many people running in my life - and I've taken part in half marathons.
I tried to get on the tube, but was only met with lots of burly men telling me to get a bus. I tried to get a bus but was only met with empty buses rushing by, doors closed, nobody being allowed on.
I called More! and a panicked receptionist told me not to get on any transport, there were bombs all over the city. I should go home.
I lived in Essex. An hour train ride from the city.
So, I walked, in high heeled cowgirl boots. Luckily I got chatting to a bloke who showed me the way back to Stratford. No trains running from there, so I walked back to Ilford and then managed to bus it back to Wickford. All the way getting panicked calls from friends, family, my then boyfriend. I finally managed to get home at 3pm that afternoon.
But anyway, this post wasn't meant to be about the bombings. But more about the last five years.Yep, forgive me while I take a narcissistic look at the last five years of my life.
A lot has changed. My once tumbling long curly hair has all been cut off and tentatively regrown into a long bob, I no longer own those cowgirl boots, maxi skirts have gone and returned to fashion, my style has gone from romantic student hippy to retro with killer heels and has now settled at somewhere in between, I have lived in Cardiff as a regional journalist for three years but after getting some bad family news I did some real soul searching and realised that working in charity PR was what I really wanted and so I returned to London to be closer to my family. It's long over with my then boyfriend, two more relationships have followed but sadly not worked out. Friendships have died, new ones have been formed, others have grown stronger. I have lived in four different houses, become interested in things I never thought I would be, been to places I never thought I would, fallen in love with people I never thought I would.
Comparing myself now to who and how I was back then has made me nostalgic for the past five years, and it's funny how it has taken a major event like 7/7 for me to recognise my achievements and all the cool things I have done with my life. I have written for national magazines and newspapers, set up the social media and organised fundraising PR campaigns for a charity almost entirely on my own, run a half marathon in two hours, lived alone, been brave enough to ask a boy I liked out for a drink (in fact, I've done this on numerous occasions!). Things my much shyer 21-year-old self would not have thought possible.
7/7 was a horrible day and I am not ignoring all the pain that it caused many families and my heart goes out to them today. I read a story from a woman who lost her sister in the bombings the other day and had to hold back tears (I am a soppy wotsit and couldn't imagine the grief I would feel if I were to lose one of my sisters.) But what I got from that day was not the panic, the horror, (although I of course felt all that) but actually, how god damn nice people can be. That a man would walk all the way back to Stratford with a girl to make sure she didn't get lost, that so many people cared enough to call and check I was ok. In a time of crisis, I didn't see selfishness or hostility, I saw complete strangers helping each other.
In everything, one thing is always true: Life moves on. And you never know what might happen, who you might talk to, what amazing job you might land when you least expect it, who you might fall for. To quote my favourite Banksy painting: "There is always hope."
My goodness. I am going for the cheese saturation today aren't I.
"Are you ok?" She yelled as soon as I picked up.
"Yeah mum, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" I responded, thinking my mum was being a tad over the top. I'd only been out of the house for an hour.
She mumbled something about a newsflash, some trouble on the tubes. I told her to not worry about it. There were delays on the tube every day. It would be fine.
When I got into Liverpool street, there were people running everywhere. I have never before or since seen so many people running in my life - and I've taken part in half marathons.
I tried to get on the tube, but was only met with lots of burly men telling me to get a bus. I tried to get a bus but was only met with empty buses rushing by, doors closed, nobody being allowed on.
I called More! and a panicked receptionist told me not to get on any transport, there were bombs all over the city. I should go home.
I lived in Essex. An hour train ride from the city.
So, I walked, in high heeled cowgirl boots. Luckily I got chatting to a bloke who showed me the way back to Stratford. No trains running from there, so I walked back to Ilford and then managed to bus it back to Wickford. All the way getting panicked calls from friends, family, my then boyfriend. I finally managed to get home at 3pm that afternoon.
But anyway, this post wasn't meant to be about the bombings. But more about the last five years.Yep, forgive me while I take a narcissistic look at the last five years of my life.
A lot has changed. My once tumbling long curly hair has all been cut off and tentatively regrown into a long bob, I no longer own those cowgirl boots, maxi skirts have gone and returned to fashion, my style has gone from romantic student hippy to retro with killer heels and has now settled at somewhere in between, I have lived in Cardiff as a regional journalist for three years but after getting some bad family news I did some real soul searching and realised that working in charity PR was what I really wanted and so I returned to London to be closer to my family. It's long over with my then boyfriend, two more relationships have followed but sadly not worked out. Friendships have died, new ones have been formed, others have grown stronger. I have lived in four different houses, become interested in things I never thought I would be, been to places I never thought I would, fallen in love with people I never thought I would.
Comparing myself now to who and how I was back then has made me nostalgic for the past five years, and it's funny how it has taken a major event like 7/7 for me to recognise my achievements and all the cool things I have done with my life. I have written for national magazines and newspapers, set up the social media and organised fundraising PR campaigns for a charity almost entirely on my own, run a half marathon in two hours, lived alone, been brave enough to ask a boy I liked out for a drink (in fact, I've done this on numerous occasions!). Things my much shyer 21-year-old self would not have thought possible.
7/7 was a horrible day and I am not ignoring all the pain that it caused many families and my heart goes out to them today. I read a story from a woman who lost her sister in the bombings the other day and had to hold back tears (I am a soppy wotsit and couldn't imagine the grief I would feel if I were to lose one of my sisters.) But what I got from that day was not the panic, the horror, (although I of course felt all that) but actually, how god damn nice people can be. That a man would walk all the way back to Stratford with a girl to make sure she didn't get lost, that so many people cared enough to call and check I was ok. In a time of crisis, I didn't see selfishness or hostility, I saw complete strangers helping each other.
In everything, one thing is always true: Life moves on. And you never know what might happen, who you might talk to, what amazing job you might land when you least expect it, who you might fall for. To quote my favourite Banksy painting: "There is always hope."
My goodness. I am going for the cheese saturation today aren't I.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Scaremongered by The Sunday Times Style magazine.
Before I launch into this full blown rant, may I say how I enjoy The Sunday Times Style magazine. I think Mrs Mills is hilarious, the clothes are always covetable, the recipes always make me salivate. But yesterday when I picked up the magazine it ruined what had otherwise been one of the most enjoyable days I've had in a while. (And this was after we had lost 4-1 to Germany, so you can see how dire the situation is here.)
Anyway, that morning I had slept in till 11am. As someone who struggles to sleep, especially in hot weather, this was marvellous. Managed to get my contacts in fairly easily, an enjoyable rarity and, as my contacts are still new, I am still enjoying the novelty of actually being able to see, well you know, people and stuff.
Put on my favourite new halterneck summer dress with my new dangly cherry earrings, a birthday present from a friend. Even painted my toenails a bright red to match my dress. Lovely.
Met the boys (and girl, Claire) at the train station and walked to a very nice pub, The Green Man in Putney, in the sunshine. Picked up a Fab ice lolly (only 79 calories per lolly and only 65p - fantastic) on the way.
When we get to the pub, we discover a fantastic beer garden with giant chess, giant connect four and giant jenga. My inner child is getting very excited. And then, I actually beat Claire twice at connect four! A true miracle for a strategically challenged individual such as myself.
The boys get in some drinks. Pear cider for me. The pub also has strawberry cider, which I drink later. Yay. Being the true lightweight I am, this makes me very happy, very fast.
Then I eat scampi and chips. Play giant jenga with my buddy Oscar. He beats me after I arrogantly claim that I think I'm better at the game than him. Serves me right.
Watch the football. That's a bit depressing but more cider and a game of giant chess with my friend Dan cheers me, even though he does totally whip my arse.
It's such a lovely day that these antics carry on into the evening when we decide to head down to the riverside for dinner. I enjoy a lovely pumpkin and tomato risotto and tell all the lads that this has been a really marvellous day. They are not listening, they are watching the Argentina vs Mexico match. I'm so happy/pissed I'm not really that bothered. But then, dun dun duuuuun. I pick up The Sunday Times Style magazine. Massive and totally sobering mistake.
I flick to one article, it's by a lady called Zoe Strimpel. She has apparently interviewed hundreds of men about how they treat their girlfriends and written a dating book about it. The general outcome of her interviews? Men are arrogant commitment phobic arseholes who will only treat you badly and make you miserable. In fact, she gives a case study where a man can be the perfect boyfriend for a year, AN ENTIRE YEAR, and then go cold on you. So, it's not like some three month fling where you can tell pretty soon this man isn't right but figure, hey, I had some fun. This is a year of them telling you they love you, always being on time, buying you presents, taking you on holiday, being there for you, putting you before their friends, talking about a future, marriage, babies, you think he is it and then he totally fucks you over. He pulls down all your defences, lulls you into a false sense of security and then buggers off to male childhood land.
Does this woman not realise how terrifying/depressing this kind of bloody article is for a single woman? As previous posts have shown, I don't have the best dating repertoire as it is. This just makes me want to run for the hills and never speak to a man again. (Unless we are playing a giant version of a childhood game that is.)
When I make this complaint to my male buddies, my friend Gary only comments with: "I would respond to that article with an opinion, but I can't really commit to one." (Groan)
A heave a great sigh and turn to the next page. This is an article by Kathryn Flett about unhealthy eating habits. Apparently my little fascination with eating chocolate for comfort and my inability to give it up actually means that I use chocolate like a drug. That I, in fact, am a full blown raving drug addict because I can't go a few days without having a small amount of the sweet stuff.
Any feelings of happiness, joy or contentment about my nice day have gone out of the window. Now I see the truth, I shall die alone with only the memory of a string of commitment phobic boyfriends and my chocolate addiction for company.
It's fair to say that I have been well and truly scaremongered. And it's really starting to grate that the media does this to us ladies. Men don't get any of that bullshit. Men don't get double page articles in the newspaper telling them to 'be wary of those commitment phobic women!' even though I know for sure there are commitment phobic women out there (I've even been one in a past relationship), just as there are many men who do want to settle down. Men also don't get guilt tripping articles about enjoying chocolate. Men very rarely get told how to live their lives in the way that women do. They get commentary on events, analysis, news articles. They don't get do this, eat that, behave this way around the opposite sex if you want to be even slightly good enough to deserve a partner.
I can't believe I am actually going to say this. But I think I might start reading a section with zero guilt tripping and lots of fit, buff and healthy men to look at. Yep, you guessed it: the sport section.
Oh yes, but sportsmen do have a tendency to cheat on their wives don't they. Fucksakes.
Anyway, that morning I had slept in till 11am. As someone who struggles to sleep, especially in hot weather, this was marvellous. Managed to get my contacts in fairly easily, an enjoyable rarity and, as my contacts are still new, I am still enjoying the novelty of actually being able to see, well you know, people and stuff.
Put on my favourite new halterneck summer dress with my new dangly cherry earrings, a birthday present from a friend. Even painted my toenails a bright red to match my dress. Lovely.
Met the boys (and girl, Claire) at the train station and walked to a very nice pub, The Green Man in Putney, in the sunshine. Picked up a Fab ice lolly (only 79 calories per lolly and only 65p - fantastic) on the way.
When we get to the pub, we discover a fantastic beer garden with giant chess, giant connect four and giant jenga. My inner child is getting very excited. And then, I actually beat Claire twice at connect four! A true miracle for a strategically challenged individual such as myself.
The boys get in some drinks. Pear cider for me. The pub also has strawberry cider, which I drink later. Yay. Being the true lightweight I am, this makes me very happy, very fast.
Then I eat scampi and chips. Play giant jenga with my buddy Oscar. He beats me after I arrogantly claim that I think I'm better at the game than him. Serves me right.
Watch the football. That's a bit depressing but more cider and a game of giant chess with my friend Dan cheers me, even though he does totally whip my arse.
It's such a lovely day that these antics carry on into the evening when we decide to head down to the riverside for dinner. I enjoy a lovely pumpkin and tomato risotto and tell all the lads that this has been a really marvellous day. They are not listening, they are watching the Argentina vs Mexico match. I'm so happy/pissed I'm not really that bothered. But then, dun dun duuuuun. I pick up The Sunday Times Style magazine. Massive and totally sobering mistake.
I flick to one article, it's by a lady called Zoe Strimpel. She has apparently interviewed hundreds of men about how they treat their girlfriends and written a dating book about it. The general outcome of her interviews? Men are arrogant commitment phobic arseholes who will only treat you badly and make you miserable. In fact, she gives a case study where a man can be the perfect boyfriend for a year, AN ENTIRE YEAR, and then go cold on you. So, it's not like some three month fling where you can tell pretty soon this man isn't right but figure, hey, I had some fun. This is a year of them telling you they love you, always being on time, buying you presents, taking you on holiday, being there for you, putting you before their friends, talking about a future, marriage, babies, you think he is it and then he totally fucks you over. He pulls down all your defences, lulls you into a false sense of security and then buggers off to male childhood land.
Does this woman not realise how terrifying/depressing this kind of bloody article is for a single woman? As previous posts have shown, I don't have the best dating repertoire as it is. This just makes me want to run for the hills and never speak to a man again. (Unless we are playing a giant version of a childhood game that is.)
When I make this complaint to my male buddies, my friend Gary only comments with: "I would respond to that article with an opinion, but I can't really commit to one." (Groan)
A heave a great sigh and turn to the next page. This is an article by Kathryn Flett about unhealthy eating habits. Apparently my little fascination with eating chocolate for comfort and my inability to give it up actually means that I use chocolate like a drug. That I, in fact, am a full blown raving drug addict because I can't go a few days without having a small amount of the sweet stuff.
Any feelings of happiness, joy or contentment about my nice day have gone out of the window. Now I see the truth, I shall die alone with only the memory of a string of commitment phobic boyfriends and my chocolate addiction for company.
It's fair to say that I have been well and truly scaremongered. And it's really starting to grate that the media does this to us ladies. Men don't get any of that bullshit. Men don't get double page articles in the newspaper telling them to 'be wary of those commitment phobic women!' even though I know for sure there are commitment phobic women out there (I've even been one in a past relationship), just as there are many men who do want to settle down. Men also don't get guilt tripping articles about enjoying chocolate. Men very rarely get told how to live their lives in the way that women do. They get commentary on events, analysis, news articles. They don't get do this, eat that, behave this way around the opposite sex if you want to be even slightly good enough to deserve a partner.
I can't believe I am actually going to say this. But I think I might start reading a section with zero guilt tripping and lots of fit, buff and healthy men to look at. Yep, you guessed it: the sport section.
Oh yes, but sportsmen do have a tendency to cheat on their wives don't they. Fucksakes.
Thursday, 27 May 2010
10 ways to humiliate yourself when dating...
At work they find my dating stories rather amusing. In fact, one of them has suggested I keep a diary of my dating life as they believe these anecdotes will make a very amusing book, such as '101 ways to totally humiliate yourself.' (N.B. When I suggested this title a male colleague piped up 'I'd buy it'... maybe this is how I shall make my fortune!)
Anyway, the single life can be rather brutal. Often to deal with said brutality and the fact that actually I'm rather shy and the prospect of being incredibly charming over dinner scares the bejesus out of me, I may drink a bit. I'm also rather a lightweight. Cue getting blotto on said dates and making rather a prat of myself.
So that others don't have to suffer my fate, I am very generously giving you my top 10 tips to avoid the things you must NOT do while on a date!
1. Trust your instincts. Don't ever go on a date with a slightly sleazy Albanian barman from your local pub because you're feeling a 'bit bored' even though you feel very unsure about him. The barman will try to grope you, make offensive gestures at you and then call you frigid when miraculously you don't want to sleep with him.
2. Don't drink too much. Never, ever, drink three bottles of wine on a date. You will vomit repeatedly, sob mercilessly for a couple of hours and then spend the next day in bed with a terrible hangover thinking 'I am mental, I am actually mental!' This does not mean you won't hear from the guy again, however if he does ask you out again it will start with 'despite what happened...' and you will feel far too embarrassed to ever see him again.
3. If you're not over your ex, don't date. Never drunkenly email/text/telephone/twitter DM/facebook message/turn up at his house/all of the above your ex-boyfriend after a bad date. A bad date does not make your ex suddenly right for you or make any of the reasons why you split up disappear.
4. If you're not over your ex, don't date x2. Never drunkenly lose your temper with a guy you have just started seeing because he did something a bit like your ex-boyfriend used to do that really pissed you off. This new man is not your ex-boyfriend and so does not deserve any of the rage you seem to be harboring for said ex-boyfriend. It will also totally freak him out.
5. Insist on paying half. Just because a man has bought you dinner and some fancy cocktails it doesn't mean that you have to snog him if you have decided by the end of the night that you don't fancy him. Twice I have snogged a man out of guilt because he has treated me to a nice evening but I don't want to see him again. The first time I nearly vomited afterwards because he had a weird mole on his lip and it freaked me out. The second led to a very awkward kiss outside Clapham Junction station where I legged it before he had a chance to shove his tongue in.
6. Respect yourself. If you are on a date and the man starts talking about how he thinks your mate is 'really hot' or starts watching 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' on the TV behind your head while you are trying to have a conversation with him, don't snog his face off... he is so obviously not that into you and has very little respect for you (and possibly women generally). In fact the right thing to do (and what I wish I had done) is to stand up, politely thank him for the drink and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
7. Don't be inappropriately forward. Never proposition a man over facebook when you have had too much to drink. Even if you are just after something quite casual, it never works and you just wind up feeling a bit stupid.
8. Pick somewhere with good lighting. I once went for a drink with a guy and the bar had this terrible strip lighting that for some reason made me look as though I had a green moustache on my upper lip. I only realised this at the end of the drink and amazingly, I didn't hear from him again.
9. Don't try to force things. In my experience trying to force the dating process by internet dating doesn't really work. I just met rather dull, unattractive - and in one case massively patronizing - men who I didn't feel any semblance of a spark with. A man can be witty and pithy over email and have the most flattering picture imaginable but it's how he is face to face that matters. These things work best when they happen organically and sometimes that means having to be patient for it.
10. Have some privacy and a sense of decorum. Never give any details about your dating life on a public forum like your blog, twitter or facebook, you will offend people and... oh bugger.
Anyway, the single life can be rather brutal. Often to deal with said brutality and the fact that actually I'm rather shy and the prospect of being incredibly charming over dinner scares the bejesus out of me, I may drink a bit. I'm also rather a lightweight. Cue getting blotto on said dates and making rather a prat of myself.
So that others don't have to suffer my fate, I am very generously giving you my top 10 tips to avoid the things you must NOT do while on a date!
1. Trust your instincts. Don't ever go on a date with a slightly sleazy Albanian barman from your local pub because you're feeling a 'bit bored' even though you feel very unsure about him. The barman will try to grope you, make offensive gestures at you and then call you frigid when miraculously you don't want to sleep with him.
2. Don't drink too much. Never, ever, drink three bottles of wine on a date. You will vomit repeatedly, sob mercilessly for a couple of hours and then spend the next day in bed with a terrible hangover thinking 'I am mental, I am actually mental!' This does not mean you won't hear from the guy again, however if he does ask you out again it will start with 'despite what happened...' and you will feel far too embarrassed to ever see him again.
3. If you're not over your ex, don't date. Never drunkenly email/text/telephone/twitter DM/facebook message/turn up at his house/all of the above your ex-boyfriend after a bad date. A bad date does not make your ex suddenly right for you or make any of the reasons why you split up disappear.
4. If you're not over your ex, don't date x2. Never drunkenly lose your temper with a guy you have just started seeing because he did something a bit like your ex-boyfriend used to do that really pissed you off. This new man is not your ex-boyfriend and so does not deserve any of the rage you seem to be harboring for said ex-boyfriend. It will also totally freak him out.
5. Insist on paying half. Just because a man has bought you dinner and some fancy cocktails it doesn't mean that you have to snog him if you have decided by the end of the night that you don't fancy him. Twice I have snogged a man out of guilt because he has treated me to a nice evening but I don't want to see him again. The first time I nearly vomited afterwards because he had a weird mole on his lip and it freaked me out. The second led to a very awkward kiss outside Clapham Junction station where I legged it before he had a chance to shove his tongue in.
6. Respect yourself. If you are on a date and the man starts talking about how he thinks your mate is 'really hot' or starts watching 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' on the TV behind your head while you are trying to have a conversation with him, don't snog his face off... he is so obviously not that into you and has very little respect for you (and possibly women generally). In fact the right thing to do (and what I wish I had done) is to stand up, politely thank him for the drink and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
7. Don't be inappropriately forward. Never proposition a man over facebook when you have had too much to drink. Even if you are just after something quite casual, it never works and you just wind up feeling a bit stupid.
8. Pick somewhere with good lighting. I once went for a drink with a guy and the bar had this terrible strip lighting that for some reason made me look as though I had a green moustache on my upper lip. I only realised this at the end of the drink and amazingly, I didn't hear from him again.
9. Don't try to force things. In my experience trying to force the dating process by internet dating doesn't really work. I just met rather dull, unattractive - and in one case massively patronizing - men who I didn't feel any semblance of a spark with. A man can be witty and pithy over email and have the most flattering picture imaginable but it's how he is face to face that matters. These things work best when they happen organically and sometimes that means having to be patient for it.
10. Have some privacy and a sense of decorum. Never give any details about your dating life on a public forum like your blog, twitter or facebook, you will offend people and... oh bugger.
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Another Mad Men thought: Old-fashioned romance.
When it comes to old-fashioned courtship, I think many of us women are complete hopeless romantics. As far as we are concerned, the old-fashioned gentlemanly way is how we should be treated.
Flights of fancy and old-fashioned whimsy are very fashionable right now, just look at the darling Paloma Faith, the beautiful retro clothes shop Vivian of Holloway and sites like diaryofavintagegirl.com, where forties enthusiast Fleur de Guerre very beautifully waxes lyrical about the fashions of a bygone age.
This obsession isn't just about the beauty of the clothes - although that does have a lot to do with it - this is about romance. This is about the idea that a man asked you out to dinner and treated you with respect, who took your coat and paid for the meal and you wouldn't have to feel awkward while he did. (As I always do anyway as I have a thing about penniless creative types and usually earn more than the bloke.) This is about a perfect kiss at your front door and a man taking off his hat in respect towards you and giving you his coat at the end of the night in case you might be cold. This is about men behaving like a gentleman who is trying to win your affections rather than thinking they will shag you on a first date and then forget you.
That's how men behaved back then wasn't it? Beautiful stories like The Notebook, old movies like An Affair to Remember, old re-runs of Goodnight Sweetheart and the story of how my grandpa courted my grandma when they were young (he proposed several times and she initially only agreed out of pity for him, but gradually he won her over and by the time they were married she was madly in love. Awww.) have made me believe that in contrast men of modern times are rubbish when it comes to romance.
It is said so often, that modern men wouldn't know chivalry if it bit them in the arse. So many articles claim that thanks to feminism and female emancipation modern men are nothing more than frightened little boys ruled by battered egos, hence why they cheat, why they lie, why they treat us with disrespect. Because some women are just too fabulous and some men just can't live up to us. Cheryl Tweedy and Ashley Cole being a case in point...
Mad Men has shown me to reject such rose-tinted notions of the past. As far as Mad Men is concerned, it's not that romance is dead. It was never really there to begin with.
Some men have always been complete pricks no matter what age they come from. For example, Don and Betty Draper's marriage from Mad Men fills me with untold despair.
Don courted Betty by sending her the coat he saw her admiring but couldn't afford. So far, so romantic and chivalrous. But after a couple of years of marriage and a couple of kids he cheats on her regularly, despite her being the spit of Grace Kelly, he is also mentally and physically abusive to her.
And the poor woman is stuck, stuck in her gilted cage of a house with no escape. Even when she attempts to make a career by taking some modeling jobs Don sabotages it for her. And this man is meant to be our dashing hero despite the fact that he treats his wife like shit. (But it's because he's so complicated and tortured, yep, that old chestnut. And so it seems, that just as I have thought about many modern men, Don Draper needs to man the hell up.)
And he's far from the only one. Peter Campbell cheats on his new wife with secretary Peggy, Roger Sterling is completely open about using prostitutes and having affairs behind the back of his wife of many years. They muck women around, treat them with disdain and disrespect quite openly in their little boys club.
Compared to the men of the 50's and 60's advertising agencies modern men are rather wonderful creatures. Do you know why? Because they are forced to take responsibility for their actions. Women are no longer afraid to hold their men to account. Women can walk away from a serial philanderer, she can divorce without shame, it is they who should now feel ashamed. While she can have her own career and know she will survive.
So men might not wear a fabulous trilby anymore (a loss I do lament) and there will always be something quite lovely about a man offering me his arm or giving me his coat if it's cold (that's just good manners!) but I think I might cut the modern man a break. In comparison, he really ain't so bad.
Flights of fancy and old-fashioned whimsy are very fashionable right now, just look at the darling Paloma Faith, the beautiful retro clothes shop Vivian of Holloway and sites like diaryofavintagegirl.com, where forties enthusiast Fleur de Guerre very beautifully waxes lyrical about the fashions of a bygone age.
This obsession isn't just about the beauty of the clothes - although that does have a lot to do with it - this is about romance. This is about the idea that a man asked you out to dinner and treated you with respect, who took your coat and paid for the meal and you wouldn't have to feel awkward while he did. (As I always do anyway as I have a thing about penniless creative types and usually earn more than the bloke.) This is about a perfect kiss at your front door and a man taking off his hat in respect towards you and giving you his coat at the end of the night in case you might be cold. This is about men behaving like a gentleman who is trying to win your affections rather than thinking they will shag you on a first date and then forget you.
That's how men behaved back then wasn't it? Beautiful stories like The Notebook, old movies like An Affair to Remember, old re-runs of Goodnight Sweetheart and the story of how my grandpa courted my grandma when they were young (he proposed several times and she initially only agreed out of pity for him, but gradually he won her over and by the time they were married she was madly in love. Awww.) have made me believe that in contrast men of modern times are rubbish when it comes to romance.
It is said so often, that modern men wouldn't know chivalry if it bit them in the arse. So many articles claim that thanks to feminism and female emancipation modern men are nothing more than frightened little boys ruled by battered egos, hence why they cheat, why they lie, why they treat us with disrespect. Because some women are just too fabulous and some men just can't live up to us. Cheryl Tweedy and Ashley Cole being a case in point...
Mad Men has shown me to reject such rose-tinted notions of the past. As far as Mad Men is concerned, it's not that romance is dead. It was never really there to begin with.
Some men have always been complete pricks no matter what age they come from. For example, Don and Betty Draper's marriage from Mad Men fills me with untold despair.
Don courted Betty by sending her the coat he saw her admiring but couldn't afford. So far, so romantic and chivalrous. But after a couple of years of marriage and a couple of kids he cheats on her regularly, despite her being the spit of Grace Kelly, he is also mentally and physically abusive to her.
And the poor woman is stuck, stuck in her gilted cage of a house with no escape. Even when she attempts to make a career by taking some modeling jobs Don sabotages it for her. And this man is meant to be our dashing hero despite the fact that he treats his wife like shit. (But it's because he's so complicated and tortured, yep, that old chestnut. And so it seems, that just as I have thought about many modern men, Don Draper needs to man the hell up.)
And he's far from the only one. Peter Campbell cheats on his new wife with secretary Peggy, Roger Sterling is completely open about using prostitutes and having affairs behind the back of his wife of many years. They muck women around, treat them with disdain and disrespect quite openly in their little boys club.
Compared to the men of the 50's and 60's advertising agencies modern men are rather wonderful creatures. Do you know why? Because they are forced to take responsibility for their actions. Women are no longer afraid to hold their men to account. Women can walk away from a serial philanderer, she can divorce without shame, it is they who should now feel ashamed. While she can have her own career and know she will survive.
So men might not wear a fabulous trilby anymore (a loss I do lament) and there will always be something quite lovely about a man offering me his arm or giving me his coat if it's cold (that's just good manners!) but I think I might cut the modern man a break. In comparison, he really ain't so bad.
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