Red, red wine...

So, Sartre said that hell is other people. Actually, I think it was "L'enfer, c'est les autres" - but it's a passable translation.
She would like to amend this, however. Turns out hell is other people... coming outside at the moment when The London Loves is JUST about to be kissed by Uni Boy after a night full-t0-bursting of flirting. A little bit of luck would be appreciated!
It was a brilliant night, fuelled with cheap red wine (which, it has to be said, she didn't appreciate quite so much the next morning. Or afternoon, for that matter). Lots of fun with lots of old uni friends. Okay, it was meant to be a networking event - they just chose to network with each other, that's all!
What was slightly curious was that, after she walked in late and said hello to a friend she'd not seen for a while, said friend (who was a little more than friends with her at uni shall we say...) immediately turned around to fetch Uni Boy. And announce The London Love's arrival. Interesting. He looked massively pleased to see her (for those of you with dirty minds - shame on you) and they proceeded to chat for most of the evening.
"Chat" in this instance meaning "flirt quite outrageously". The talk wasn't just flirty, it turned downright dirty, the blame for which she is laying fairly and squarely at his door. But it WAS kind of fun.
They all left the bar, feeling slightly worse for wear, and headed (okay, swayed) to another pub. And it was here, dear readers, when they were illictly smoking outside, that there was very definitely a moment. And not, if you've been watching Miranda on BBC2, a made-up moment. Nope, this was a bona-fide, realer-than-real, okay-she-can't-remember-completely-she-was-that-drunk-but-nonetheless MOMENT (possibly with gropage. DAMN that red wine).
And then.... friend #2 walked out. Let's hope Uni Boy hadn't had to send him a "save me" text! Shit. He hadn't had to send him a "save me" text, had he??? We'll assume not, as Uni Boy's still talking to her. But as far as the night went, that was indeed that.
Are things really meant to be this frustrating??? All part of the rich tapestry of life and all that. Sigh. It's been pointed out to her that dating is also about the dry spells, but really, is it meant to last quite this long? She even read somewhere how it's meant to be about "spiritual enlightenment" and "finding yourself" when you're busy being single. Sod that.
In other news (which she needs to distract her from Uni Boy) - the Famous Five boy from work is newly single apparently. Woo hoo! Bring on the work christmas party, and quite possibly the strapless black dress with s+m overtones she saw in the shops this weekend...

Rules

These are the rules. She will be amazing tomorrow. Funny, friendly, freckly, down to earth, a little bit sexy but not scarily so. We’re talking lip gloss and masses of mascara, rather than buckets of eyeliner here and ample amounts of boobage. She will have a drink in her hand at most times but she will not, note NOT, be drunk. Not until the post-drinks-drinks, that is. She will have lots of great things to talk about, and will make it sound like she has done a lot more fiction writing than she has. If there are any exceptionally good-looking men there she will be chatty but slightly aloof and mysterious. Her legs will look fantastic. She will stand up most of the time to maximise that. She will network relentlessly and get lots of people's cards which she probably won't ever end up using. She will exude confidence, intelligence and wit, with a little bit of minx-ness thrown in for good measure. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WILL SHE TRY TO FLIRT WITH UNI BOY.

Non-date #2

Or.. the continuing saga of The London Loves and Uni Boy


Hmmm. Perhaps "saga" makes it out to be something more than it is. But here's the thing. She went out to see the documentary with him last night and had an amazing amazing time! Everything is there. He's such a great guy (yeah okay... pass the sick bucket etc), they're so chatty together, and it was a lot of fun. Why then, can't she get her head around the fact that, for now at least, they're just friends?

She realises that talking about this does very much make her appear like someone on a trailer for He's Just Not That Into You Too (which has to be the name of the sequel, right? Slightly grammatically wrong but I'm sure that won't bother them too much). It is an unfortunate by-product of this whole situation. With that little warning, let her dissect the non-date. Okay, last time when she said there was no chemistry, no fireworks? That may have been a teeny lie. Or he was having a bad day, whatever. Because this time? Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee-BANG (that's her best approximation of a Catherine Wheel, btw. Do bear with her, it's been a busy week).

Then somehow, within 10 minutes they were talking about porn. Writing it, that is, for money, rather than just talking filth. Um. But still. What's that all about? Luckily it was time to go in for the film then so that particular line of conversation wasn't followed! She had to try a little bit to concentrate on the film, but it was good. They had sensibly gone for "middle" when asked where they wanted to sit, though she did notice a cheeky look and eyebrow raise from Uni Boy when the nice cinema lady said "back row".

And then there was dinner, in which her internal temperature managed to rocket up to about 50C creating a rather special "glowy" look to her face. Beacon-like, it may more accurately have been described. Girls? Sometimes there is such a thing as TOO SPICY and TOO MANY LAYERS OF CLOTHES. A valuable winter lesson for us all.

Ooh she forgot to say, thanks to the Twitter friends for advice on clothes to wear (twitter.com/thelondonloves for anyone who's not on there!). She went for - skinny jeans, grey fake-Uggs (fuggs?), slightly low cut top, scarf and coat. Oh and a floaty cardigan. Hence the overheating. Was not just proximity to the boy, honest gov. Apart from the temperature issues, it was mostly a good look. She may have shamefully slightly leaned over the table a few times too. That's allowed, right?

And what did they talk about? Everything. Anything. Lots! They talked about buggering off to India for Christmas. Together. About writing, about life, about love. He's only just ended a relationship, and it lasted for quite a few months - but hey, at least this could explain why she hadn't seen him much! He seems every-so-slightly bitter as a result, although that could well be sex deprivation symptoms, if she's reading him as well as she thinks! Oh dear.

Which could end up leaving her in a bit of a pickle. Being friends is one thing - they get on so well and they've known each other for years. Being "special friends" is not somewhere she wants to go, thanks very much. He's adamant he wants to get "very drunk" at a uni meet up thing, appropriately enough, the week after next. And equally adamant that he wants her to be there, and to go out somewhere afterwards.

And that is where we leave them, him giving her a kiss (on the cheek!) on the Tube as she saunters off in search of a little air conditioning.

It was a great night. However, she's having difficulty reading this. What about you?

PS

She maybe should have added this to the above post. A little fact that maybe, just maybe, changes everything. It's the fact that, unbeknownst to her, Uni Boy has had a girlfriend all along. Not, she doesn't think, at the time they got together last year, but kind of more recently. Only now, he doesn't. And he's asking if they're going to watch that film, because he needs "cheering up". Think am going to need a little help on this one. Advice, lovely people please!

The Consolations of Autumn

She's shamelessly stolen that title from a fabulous Radio 4 programme she listened to last night by the way - iplayer it if you still can! It was on Something Understood the other night, is all about the passage of seasons and time, watching leaves fall and making way for new shoots.

That's something that's been on her mind of late. She's kind of got a bit sick of the whole Bridget Jones thing (complete with lack of journalistic skills that saw her confusing the 'on' and 'off' buttons on the video camera. And she once spat on the Prime Minister by mistake. Bridget would be SO proud).

She took herself off the My Single Friend site, after deciding that rejection on multiple counts was really a bit more than her slightly bruised ego could cope with. She read an article in the Observer which basically said hey! It's okay to have a bit of man-free time, it's just a drought! JUST a drought, she thought? Well, phew, thank goodness for that. Could have been worse, they could have called it a famine I suppose.

Weddings are, of course, times of loveliness and happiness for people whose drought days are long gone. The wedding of lovely friend K was beautiful, and she cried. K looked absolutely stunning and had this wonderful smiley glow about her the whole day which was amazing to behold. Okay, she wasn't uberly impressed with the Bible reading which basically read as follows: "If you're single, you get cold in bed. If you're a couple, you're all toasty and warm. If you're a couple, someone will pick you up when you fall over. If you're single, everyone will point and laugh as you scrabble to pick yourself up from the pavement. Ha ha." She much preferred the Edward Monkton reading about dinosaurs, which was a really nice touch.

And as she heard the groom's speech, she was overwhelmed with happiness for her friend, and struck with what massive luck it is that two people destined to be with each other, find each other. I never know how that happens. But K and C have definitely struck lucky.

She was too busy dancing to find any eligible men - but as she pointed out over her seventh glass of red wine: "They're all gay, married or too young" which was actually the case at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens that night. But hey, she still had dancing partners a-plenty, and she got to see a bride mime the actions to a certain verse of Whenever, Wherever by Shakira. Which was a special moment.

Of the best man? Well, he was a lovely guy but the bride was too busy to do any matchmaking in the end. But actually that was kind of cool. And the DJ friend of her flatmate? He was over on Sunday night for a dinner party that turned into an all afternoon and evening drinking session... ouch! Again, he's really nice but.... she doesn't know what follows the 'but' actually. Maybe the but is that she doesn't feel, after all, that she has to be with someone, anyone. There's no hurry. Seasons have a strange way of changing things, and breathing fresh air into your life. Bring on the Autumn months, and kicking up the leaves.

Flames - old and new

Today, she missed her ex. Why? Because she remembered how they used to write notes to each other in shorthand (yeah yeah, it's geeky. But it was also kind of cool).
Then, she got her mysinglefriend profile approved and found on the site a man who, without a word of a lie, is the most beautiful man she has ever seen in her life. Literally. If this was a Tom and Jerry cartoon, her pupils would have turned heart-shaped and her heart would be thudding out of her chest.
Even if he doesn't reply, or worse, turns out to be a troll in real life, it was a nice feeling while it lasted!
She's still a little unsure about going down the whole internet dating thing and would kind of like to meet someone a little more organically. Maybe, perhaps, the DJ friend of her wondrous new housemate, who she seems intent on setting her up with... Options. It's all about options.

A moan

Or rather, several.
1) It seems all the men at E's bday party in Putney last night, lovely as they all were, are gay.
2) If they're not gay, they're taken. Ms H was presumably meaning to be encouraging when she said this week after making a yummy veggie risotto for them both: "But it's okay - we get them on the second round". So, full of heartbreak and loathing, and encumbered with so much emotional baggage they've got back-ache? Marvellous.
3) Many men are, essentially, crap. Case in point. At lovely Ms E's hen do last weekend, which was much fun incidentally, one felt the need to point out another member of the party and tell her: "That girl is the most beautiful thing I have seen in my life. She blows my mind,". Well, thank you. Thank you very much.
4) Look, if you're a guy sitting on the tube, and you're a bit bulky, DO NOT barge your elbows all over the place, especially not into the face of the girl sat next to you. Being sandwiched between two sweaty men is not the dream situation.
5) When a girl has made herself look lovely, is wearing tartan tights, smoky eyes and generally feeling good about herself, do not under any circumstances (even if you are a pissed-up 17-year-old) shout out: "You're f***ing ugly, love". Okay, it was either "ugly" or "lovely", she can't tell as she had her iPod playing Ben Folds rather loudly. But in her current state of mind, she's adamant it was the former.
6) Her horoscopes are telling her to forget about dire lack of action and instead focus on work, new studies or creative projects. Brilliant. So she'll end up not only as a spinster, but one who is a dab hand at crocheting, and possibly, astrophysics.

Of weddings

Oof, well the hangover mist has just about settled from last weekend's antics to condemn them to print. Please bear in mind, this happened after she'd had no sleep on the flight back from DC (and look, you CAN be sympathetic and ignore the fact she was in a bed on a plane. A fact she is still marvelling over). Then she had to go straight back to work that day, then to the London office the following two days, then to the wedding reception of a friend.
What perhaps set the tone was that when she and gorgeous work colleague (and her boyfriend) arrived in the Surrey park in a taxi, they literally stumbled out into the middle of a fight. A big old fist-fight, evidently involving the wedding guests, with F and C bombs being dropped all over the place. Deary me.
They then met up with former work colleague boy - who had decided to drink his way through the day, having been invited to the main event without knowing a single other person. He could barely speak, but managed to furnish them with a bottle of red wine and some cheese, which was about all that was left from the buffet.
She decided, spurred on by the wine, to tell gorgeous colleague and drunk boy about her little work crush. On the smiley boy with the deliciously dark red hair. She was a tad reluctant to do so, and said: "Well, I don't want to give his name. You're going to tell me he has some fantastic long term girlfriend/wife etc etc. And I don't want to know!". This was met with a sympathetic smile, and a: "It's not Bill is it?" (look, he's not called Bill. But he LOOKS like a Bill. And yes, dear readers, it was Bill).
She felt crestfallen and must have looked it, as GC immediately rushed in with an: "Oh my God, are you okay? Here, have some Stilton. And wine. Drink the wine."
It wasn't so much that it was Bill himself, just the fact that here was another crush that was an absolute dead end. There seem to be a fair few too many of those of late.
When he was otherwise engaged (errr... trying to deactivate yet another fight), GC turned to her and whispered: "What about drunk boy? Not tonight, obviously. But still..."
This planted the seed in her head, and she decided a dance wouldn't hurt. She'd always had a feeling they may end up having a little kiss at some point, after all.
She could ignore the fact he was grinding his hips, back to back, against the groom's mother's best friend, who may well have been in the Golden Girls. She couldn't ignore Robbie Williams' Angels when it came on however, which she simply cannot be in the same room as.
Going outside, she happened upon a table of people laughing and smoking, and recognising one of them from work, joined them, hoping for a drunken cigarette. This is the point at which she took two (large) drags of the one offered to her, before realising it wasn't a normal cigarette, by any stretch of the imagination. Oooooops.
Things started going ever-so-slightly blurry at this point. But she had a real gem of a moment, so much so that if any scriptwriters of Bridget Jones 3 are reading this, they're welcome to have it for free (or perhaps, in payment, she could have a little grope of Colin Firth? Thanks).
Then drunk boy and her were dancing. So far so good. She asked if he needed to share a taxi back with her and GC at which point he grinned, and slurred: "Noooo. I'm gunna home with YOU" - and stumbled, plunging to the floor like a sack of potatoes encased in concrete, falling perfectly under a table, leaving only his feet sticking out.
Seeing he wasn't actually dead, she decided leaving the scene with her wine-splashed dress was the only answer. By the time she had regained her composure and returned, it was last song time. And drunk boy was living up to his name.
Cut to outside, and taxis are being lined up. She is having to grab onto him because he (please bear in mind he's built like a rugby player) is stumbling to the floor. Cue argument with taxi driver who insists drunk boy should be going to hospital instead. She uses her best persuasion skills to get him inside, and immediately goes into her best Florence Nightingale mode.
Only thing is, Florence probably didn't rub the back of her patients' heads. Allow said head to rest on her shoulder. Allow the lips on the said head to then kiss her. Literally, from half-dead to being in mid-snog in the space of three minutes.
God knows what GC and boyfriend thought (their reactions, she seems to remember, consisted of jaws hitting floors). They managed, eventually, to get drunk boy home, and he was saved from having to climb through a window by a housemate.
In a way, she wishes this weren't the end of the story. In her (drunken) wisdom, she decided sending him a text that night to inform him of their little cab romance was wise, and to take him up on the dinner he promised her in the middle of the last dance.
But, do you know what? Nothing. Okay, he sent a text apology, saying he feared he'd made a fool of himself at the wedding. But he later told GC he had no recollection of the night at all.
As has been pointed out to her, this was hardly likely to be the beginning of a beautiful romance, was it? It would have been nice to have been asked for that dinner though.
In the spirit of new starts and not giving up, she's now signed up to mysinglefriend.com, thanks to Ms E's helpful nudging and wondrous description of her (she wasn't bribed, honest). She'd kind of given up on the whole web dating thing, but hey! Let's see how it goes. It can't get any worse... can it???

Back from the USA!

But she has LITERALLY not stopped since. Well, okay, maybe done a teeny bit of sleeping in between, but that's it.
Washington was absolutely gorgeous - all classical architecture, green spaces and beautiful monuments. Oh and flying First Class and staying in a $1,000-dollar a night hotel suite? Yep, those were pretty good too! Just a shame that the gorgeous, vast bed was just hers, and that the rooftop bar Champagne was shared with workmates. Lovely as they were, she hastens to add. But when you're in such a fabulous place, so obviously designed for couples, it really accentuates the singleness.
The only pick-ups she had were truly pitiful. They were:
1) The smiley Japanese lady who waved at her from a passing taxi
2) The afro-haired student in the sweaty club who seemed to think pointing passed as a chat-up line
3) The tour guide who looked like Moby who the others were determined to set her up with. They danced to A-ha and NWA and he looked a little awkward. Lovely, but awkward.
Ummm. That's it. Shameful, isn't it? But let's forget about dating (believe me, she is trying!).
The main thing is, she loved DC. She swooned over the Smithsonian, had the best sushi in her life, cycled round the Capitol, found her favourite bar in the world (The Gibson, U Street), lusted after the beautiful things in the shops, and loved her own company and her newfound work friends'.
And after all that? She did come home with a man, believe it or not.
He looks great in pants, comes with his own (magnetic) wardrobe, is living on her fridge (currently in superhero garb with a garland of flowers round his neck)... and goes by the name Obama.

A gap...

She has taken a little hiatus, both from the blog and from the dating world, as you may have noticed.
Don't take it personally folks, there was a possibly festival-related flu-ness thing going on, which required her to make her signature cocktail of blackcurrent Lemsip, apple squash and Bombay Sapphire.
Somehow she survived both the flu (okay, bad cold. whatever.) and that concoction, and was thrown back into the wonderful world of work, where things have been a bit too busy, it has to be said. Whatever happened to the silly season?
Anyway, she is very, very excited indeed about a trip to Washington DC next Friday, where she is hoping for some SATC (or should that be SADC?) action with a hot American politico. Look, it could happen, okay?? Don't burst her bubble just yet! Stranger things have happened on press trips, after all.
She is also trying to rope Miss H into some dating shenanigans - speed dating with wine tasting, and an indie dating night where everyone brings along their favourite record are the top two contenders at the mo. Any other quirky dating nights you know of? Send them this way!

Fast train to Dumpsville....

It had to be done. And so, despite her friends saying it was never going to happen, she told Daniel that this thing was never going to get off the ground. She did stop short of saying he was frigid, which is what Miss H (her festival buddy) was telling all and sundry at Reading on the weekend!
Urgh. It really is the worst thing to have to do. Especially with a three-day-festival-comedown-hangover while you're walking along watching everyone else having fun by the pubs in Hammersmith.
But she called (cop out? perchance.) and bumbled on for a little while about how much fun she'd had at Reading and asked how his weekend had been (he'd done "not much" other than having been to his brother's house. call her a bitchy cowface, but she likes to be intellectually stimulated and also occasionally made to feel a little jealous of the exciting things other people have been doing).
Anyway. She ummed and ahhed and then called it all off. Belted out the old lines about it being more of a friendship than a relationship and not really working out for her. She explained she was absolutely shit at doing things like this. Not sure if that helped. Felt a bit bad he then sent a text apologising if he had done anything wrong. Which he hadn't. Perhaps also suggesting they go out to gigs together was a bad idea as well. Altogether, she'd give herself a B-minus for her efforts. Did the deed, completed successfully, but hardly excelled at it.
She took herself off to Broken Embraces afterwards and for some cheap Chinese which somehow managed to make things feel a little better.
Hey-ho (and why is that entering the dictionary? But anyway) and, indeed, onwards and upwards. Next!

808s and Heartbreaks

She is feeling: utterly entranced and ecstatic at the amazing Radiohead set she just saw which brought down the stellar curtain on Reading.
She is also: utterly heartbroken at having met a great guy on Friday, who she saw again on the Sunday of the festival and had this mega mega connection with, like insanely, and then to watch him walk off as the litter pickers started clearing up the mess. They may as well have swept up her heart which had just fallen onto the ground.
It was hot, sexy, beardy kissing, and a hell of a lot of it. He said amazing things, about her eyes, her smile, her life, everything. In short, she had one of the best nights of her life. But what happened? What happened? He seemed intent on them going their separate ways despite everything - which, it has to be said, was definitely not imagined.
He wrote a note for her on a five pound note, and, seeming as torn as she, said if it ever made its way to her hands again they were meant to be together. He said it felt like he was a missing opportunity and that there were things he should be saying. She just wanted the question why to be answered.
Maybe it was just a festival romance - those gems that are even more truncated than holiday loves, but burn just as brightly. Maybe he's married with five-and-a-half kids. Maybe they'll get married and recount this story over dinner party tables. At this particular point in time, none of those options sound too far fetched to her.
Radiohead and Gaslight Anthem (their first kiss) will never sound quite the same again. And if you see a fiver with Love in the Time of Cholera written on it in a running-out biro? Do let her know. It's got her name on it.

* She's just checked by the way - there are 1,302,000,000 five pound notes in circulation at the moment. This could take some time.

Boom bang a bang

How disappointing. Her reaction, that is, to seeing that she has a new Facebook message from the Uni Boy. She isn't 16 any more (happily. honestly, who would really want to turn back time and be filled with all the angst and hormones? not me) so why is her heart now threatening to burst out of her ribcage? Bugger. She really did not expect that. Thought she had realised he is a bit of a player, and can be a bit of a tosser. BUGGER. Better see what he says....

Male intuition

Turns out it actually does exist.
She's decided that really, in her heart of hearts, things aren't going to go anywhere with Daniel. There is no specific reason (but his lack of physicality and bad grammar really don't help - someone in their twenties should know the difference between 'to' and 'too', and 'there' and 'their'). There's no big banging-heart-flutteriness going on. Maybe it's unrealistic to hope for it. Isn't it worse to give up your chance of achieving it though?
However, the big 'but' coming up here is that she really hates to upset people, which makes her life a tad difficult at times. So, against her better judgement (and passing up a chance to see a band playing with her workmate just down the road, damn!) she went for another drink with him. In the last chance saloon.
They were having their third drink when he punched her on the arm (see, told you physicality was an issue) and said: "Hey! I was really nervous about coming to meet you tonight!".
When she asked why, he looked down and said: "I dunno. I thought you were going to say you didn't want to carry on seeing me or something."
Of course, any sane person would have grasped this opportunity along with the Pinot Grigio and said: "Yes. I'm sorry. But this really isn't going to work. Another drink?"
But no. She lied. And waffled slightly. And is now regretting that as he keeps texting and calling her. The eagerness is ever-so offputting. That whole thing about playing hard to get? It's definitely true.
He was at home with his family for a few days, so she didn't want to call to have The Chat with him there. She's done that before, at the age of 16. Wondering why her paramour wasn't sounding too overly heartbroken at the dumpage, she heard him hiss down the line: "I'm watching Neighbours. With MY MUM." And texting is just wrong, wrong, wrong. How about meeting up and giving false hope, is that any better really? Conundrums.
Before you ask, there aren't really any other fine specimens out there in the old fishing net of life unfortunately. Mr Sixty-shirts is trying to muscle back in on the scene with some amusing (and fastiduously grammatically correct) emails.
Then there is the most gorgeous, gorgeous man from work who she met out on a job last week. Goodness, but his EYES. They are literally hypnotising. There's a chance he may be at a friend's wedding reception in a few weeks' time. GOD she hopes so.
Before that though, there's the fun of Reading Festival ahead. She's armed with a backstage pass. She has her eyes on a few musician types. She's heard there'll be free beer. This could be dangerous!
It may be an idea to clear her conscience and end the whole thing with Daniel first though... But how?

Jinx

She thinks she must be a jinx. Why, you ask? Because she just found out the boy she kissed on the friend's sofa the other weekend is moving. To Hong Kong. Not that she had any hopes of romance with him you understand, it just seems a bit of an odd coincidence!

You also have to bear in mind that her first ever, ever boyfriend, the one she went out with at primary school, held hands in the school playground with and danced with at the end-of-term disco (wearing a neon pink and white striped jersey dress and knee-high neon pink socks - hey, that would be a good look right now!) ended up gay.

She's had her doubts about subsequent boyfriends as well, it has to be said.

Oh and THEN there was the guy who asked her out on her first (and worst) ever date at the age of 15. They went to see Nell, it was terrible. He clammily grabbed her hand half way through the film, which was even more terrible. It was like holding a sweaty dead fish that she desparately wanted to drop. Anyway, him. Turns out he liked to go shopping in New Look. FOR HIMSELF. She should really have heard alarm bells when he wore a rather delicate silver ring with a daisy on it. Suffice to say, that never really went anywhere. Thank the Lord. And to be fair, she only really went along with it as her friend wanted to go out with New Look Boy's friend, so they decided a double date would be the thing. First and last. Really, why does anyone ever think double dating is a good idea?

That gets her thinking. What was your worst ever date? Any tales of woe will be welcomed!

Ask me no questions...

Him: Can I ask you an awkward question?
LL (in her head): Why not just ask the question? Doesn't saying it's awkward MAKE it awkward?
LL (out loud): Sure!

Him: Are you errr... are you seeing anyone else?
LL (in her head): If I say no, does that mean I'm not allowed to any more?
LL (out loud): Nope! But I am married with five kids! I told you that bit... right?

Him: So, have you told anyone about me?
LL (in her head): Where to start...
LL (out loud): Errr. Just a few friends.

Him: Oh okay. Cool. It's just that you're quite hard to read, that's all.

Hello! Hard to read? She is about the easiest to read person ever. Or so she thought. Maybe she's actually been playing her cards closer to her chest on this one (to Daniel, at least) than she thought. She did kind of think they were just dating and going to fun places though, and to be honest wasn't ready for any form of relationship chat, no matter how tentative.

Perhaps agreeing to go round to his house (on the other side of town. on a Sunday when all the Tubes are misbehaving) was not the best idea. She did kind of think, once she'd got there. Christ, I'm in his HOUSE. What now? At least she knew he wasn't going to try and jump her. And he didn't, so don't worry.

They took a walk down through sunny Surrey to the river and had a drink, and she felt much more comfortable. Funny, that! Then back to his to watch films and drink wine, which again was nice... but she thinks she isn't feeling as comfortable with him as she should be. Then there was the odd strange comment from him...

Him: You know, you haven't taken your shoes off the whole time you've been here.
LL (in her head): It's because we've been walking loads and it's hot and my feet + tiny flat would really not be a brilliant combination.
LL (out loud): Oh! So I haven't.

Any other guy, with a girl he really likes IN HIS HOUSE, might have tried to snuggle up during the film, right? Or at least get her to help him when he was making dinner and have that as an excuse to get a bit closer and have a bit of flirty food cooking action. Or when he was playing her some songs he's recorded (sounds cheesy as hell, yes, but they were actually, genuinely really really good). Oh well, so you'd have thought.

But yet again, it's the romantic setting of any public transport station that wins out. Minimal kissing action. Even though what there was, was good. Her head is hurting from thinking too much again. It's just that this already feels a bit more difficult than it should really be for a bit of fun.

States of Flux

Utterly infuriating. But she has this trait that defines her, much as she wishes it wouldn't - indecision. That, coupled with the inability at times to know what she really wants. Symptomatic of life in general? Perhaps. Much like anyone else? Perhaps. Annoying as hell all the same.

Thing is, she was going on (and on) about how much she wanted to go on dates. That to go for dinner, to a film, for a drink, and have fun was all she wanted at the moment.

What she didn't realise is that you can't have your cake and eat it. That dates, have to lead somewhere - or nowhere.

Overthinking, if you hadn't guessed, is another one of her flaws. Because this thing with the indie boy is so new, it doesn't even have a name. She should just be enjoying it, right?

They met up briefly on Tuesday, by the way fact fans!

She got stung by a wasp she leaned on outside a Chelsea pub (seriously, how does that happen? The wasp must have landed in the split second she was putting her arm and cold beer down on the table. It BLOODY HURT). It has to be said he dealt with things admirably.

After saying: "You leant on a wasp???" he pulled concerned faces, they drank the beer, he advised anti-histamines (wise move), and he rather deliciously slowly ran his thumb over her swollen red arm and asked if it hurt. It didn't, obviously.

She sneakily had double-booked, squeezing in a drink with the boy after work before meeting her lovely uni friend she hadn't seen for far, far too long. Oh, and she was late (part bloody tubes, part wanting to look nice and spending too long getting ready). But it was worth it to get to know him a bit better.

He has this fabulous thing whereby his whole face crinkles up when he smiles, by the way. And lovely darkest green eyes. He is beyond thoughtful, printing out a map so she knew how to get to the restaurant to see her friend. And then ending up walking with her anyway.

And after learning her friend was running late for their dinner date, she leant in, this time for some good old-fashioned snogging. Hurray! Again! Hand-holding is also a marvellous invention, even tho not necessarily the most romantic thing on a hot summer's day.

But here's the thing. What happens now? They're talking all the time, and now they're friends on Facebook they're practically married, right? That's a joke, don't worry...

Maybe she should just forget all the what nows, for now. And stop trying to pick holes in a non-existent relationship. Here's a confession though - she is scared of getting too deep into something that she can't get out of. She can't stand feeling trapped. It's happened far too many times before. Neither does she want him, or her, to end up getting hurt.

There's nothing wrong with just having fun, right?

He's recently come out of a really long-term relationship anyway, so God only knows what's going on in his head. He could be on the rebound, he could be one of those fabled serial monogamists. So, is this the time to be asking questions about what they both want? Or quit talking and get on with the kissing?

Tra la la!

Last night was a bit of a low point. She ended up watching Castaway by mistake and felt that Tom Hanks's futile attempt to reach what was essentially a worn-out football with a human face while stranded in the ocean was very much a metaphor for her own life.

But then, but then. She decided to give things another shot. Perhaps going to the gym/sorting out paperwork would have been a more useful way to spend her Sunday.

But then, she would never have ended up kissing Daniel would she???

HURRAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

First they saw a brilliant Hitchcock film, then went to a pub BBQ, then hung out by the river, walking around all day. Then, on the walk back home, he said: "Can I hold your hand? I've wanted to all day."

She, as you can imagine, didn't need an excuse. The hand holding, she can report, was good. And even better, albeit briefly as his train was pulling into the station, was a sweet kiss (and I don't mean a peck this time) goodnight.

Happy days.

Almost perfect...

This is getting a tad embarrassing now. She can hardly look you in the eye, as a fully-fledged 29-year-old with more than a wee bit of experience when it comes to the lesser sex. But she hates to admit that she fluffed it again. Or rather, it was fluffed. The ending of the date.

It was a fantastic date as well! Most fun she had had for ages (with her clothes on). They went to the late night opening of the Summer Exhibition at the RA, pausing for a glass of Rose wine in the courtyard before two hours of laughing, culture and flirting inside. Seriously, he was standing very close to her. She realised that he is actually very hot indeed. They had so much fun being silly in there, and then at the (admittedly weird) restaurant (which sold no booze, hence the weirdness!), and then at the Leicester Square bar (shoulder touching on the way there). And then? No prizes for guessing. Back on the tube, where they said farewell with not a hint of action.

But she can tell that there is something there. It's not just her imagination, which the cynics amongst you may be saying! There is definitely something. At least now she knows for sure she wants to kiss him. Heck, she is DYING to kiss him! She got hassled by two drunk Aussies on the Tube on the way home, and was almost tempted to join them just so she got a snog out of the evening! Don't worry, she didn't though - they were a bit too drunk and Australian for her liking. And picking someone up on the Tube is asking for trouble. She understands the Topshop Buyer was in the vicinity this evening as well and would have been tempted to try her luck there as well (but didn't. don't worry).

She had brought out her sexiest dress as well, made her hair look as good as it ever will at this length, and worn her least-Pat Butcher dangly earrings. Her ex would have been throwing himself at her at this point. Plan B? Well, that's to bring out the expensive bottle of wine tomorrow and get him over to her south London roof terrace. Where they shall drink the lot. Cheap tactics, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

Her rather lovely flatmate is now surprisingly single by the way, ladies. Anyone got any potential candidates she could set him up with? And don't even suggest it, in case you were thinking that way! Certain men - housemates, friend's brothers (err but not ex-boyfriend's brothers), bosses - are strictly off limits. He sees her in pyjamas and knows she has Sex and the City (as opposed to just Sex) marathons, for goodness sake. We all know there is nothing even remotely sexy about that.

Oh and another random offshoot (sorry, I'm full of them - but then it is just gone midnight) - she just saw the MOST misogynistic film cinema has ever made! Okay, it's fun to see mindless candyfloss type films from time to time. But The Ugly Truth just set feminism back about 50 years! Katherine Heigl, what were you thinking?

If you've not seen it, the premise is this: Women cannot hold down a successful career and also be attractive to men. Women immediately scream and jump up and down if a man they like shows a smidgen of interest. Women should be seen (and especially their breasts) and not heard. Women are control freaks. Women need to erase their personality to get men interested (because that, apparently, is the sole aim of their lives). Okay, that may seem a bit hypocritical given the nature of this blog, but in all honesty, this is only one small facet of my life. Gerard Butler didn't even have the decency to look hot in it - instead he was a sweaty, bloaty-faced blob, while Heigl looked stunning as ever.

Ah well. Rant over. Resumption of normal service follows...

A kiss on the lips is better than none...

Sorry to paraphrase Florence&The Machine there. But there it is. A kiss (can a peck be called a kiss?) at the tube station is what she got on date three with Daniel. It lasted all of... oooh, half a second?
She doesn't want you to think she is obssessed with kissing boys. Which is not remotely true. It's just that this is all very sedate, all very new to her. Really, you don't want to know what happened on the first date with the ex in a very public place. And going from that, to having fantastic dates but with no physical contact is just a little bit odd.
There's been no hand-holding, no nothing. They had a few drinks by the Thames, and the skies had the good sense not to unleash gallons of rain overhead. He'd bought her a copy of his favourite book, which looks cool and was a beyond-sweet gesture. Don't worry, it's not the Bible. Or the Kama Sutra for that matter. Things would probably be looking a tad different if it were either of those.
The truth is, she still doesn't know what is happening here, or if there is a spark. She was kind of hoping a kiss would help her to decide. But surely a spark is a pretty obvious thing? They definitely get on. He is definitely cute (especially when he smiles). He also has Nice Hands. He also comes out with random facts, like that dipping cucumber in sugar makes it taste like melon. These things are all VERY important indeed.
She was bed-bound earlier this week (in a non-kinky way) and ended up watching a heap of Sex and the City, in true girl-cliche fashion. And there it was, said loud on the screen for all to hear - Carrie echoing her thoughts by admitting: "I'm lonely." Well kids, there it is.
It probably didn't help then that the ex sent a really lovely text to her last night, saying that he still cares, even though they're not together. True, she doesn't want to be back with him. But it sometimes hits her, right in the middle of her stomach, that she really is on her own (marvellous friends aside, of course. However, they tend not to have manly chests that are just right for sleeping on).
The whole thing confuses her, which will no doubt make this a rather convoluted blog post (plus she's been sick, so bear with her!).
On the one hand, she is beyond happy being single. It makes absolute sense, as she is figuring out her life and finds that so much easier to do being on her own. Plus, she's had too much experience in the past of being with the wrong person and feeling horribly stuck. It's fun, and she gets to spend time with her favourite person (herself).
And yet. And yet sometimes she has this idealised view of what it would be like to be with this perfect guy, who would somehow just float down and make everything alright. Realistic, hey?
Let's see what happens when she sees Daniel tomorrow. Her fabulous friend D has suggested getting him horribly drunk. Her wise friend K has said maybe he is an old-fashioned gentleman... and that we're just not used to that. She may just be right, you know.

Single in the City

One problem she didn't foresee when planning the move to London (who is she kidding? She didn't so much plan it, but basically just flung boxes into the back of her well-loved but slightly beaten-up Fiesta and hit the M4) was that all of her lovely single friends would be coupled up by the time she got there.
With only one exception, they are literally ALL loved up. Tall boys, short boys, funny boys, smiley boys - they seem to have found all the decent specimins and rounded them up. Which is obviously great for them, and it also gives her hope that there are some non-trolls out there in the big, wide world.
To their credit, they are, by and large, not the kind of girls who automatically become surgically attached to their boyfriends and refuse to leave the house without them - meaning cocktail drinking, Wagamama's and dancing is still very much on the cards.
It's just... it's just that she feels even more like The Only Single Girl in the City now. Being summer doesn't massively help, with couples smooching on every street corner, and doing dubious things under rugs in the park (subtle, no?).
At a friend's 30th last night, surrounded by people who know The Ex incidentally, she was asked (yet again) if she is seeing anyone. And while it's okay-ish to say: "Oh, I've been on a couple of dates...", people's eyes inevitably start glazing over if there is no bona-fide boy gossip.
Then there are the weddings and engagements. She was genuinely pleased for the friend (of a friend) who told her all about her romantic engagement story last night, and is looking forward to the two weddings she's off to this year (refreshingly out of the main wedding-season time frame). But all of that seems a million light years away for her. Actually, that sounds a little too close, and suggests there might even be a light at the end of the tunnel. There really isn't.
What of indie boy Daniel? Well, they've been texting (a tad teenage, no?). And she might pop round to see him tonight on her way back from Sunday lunch en famille, but literally doesn't feel like she has the energy. To see him, or for any of this anymore. Is it really meant to be this difficult? Answers on a postcard please...

Second date!

Some thought it would never happen. But sure enough, she has now gone on a SECOND DATE. Look, it really does have to be in capitals. It is the first time she's had a second date in more than four years, after all.

He was there, waving, outside the bar she had elected. And she thought - My, he really is hot in an indie boy way, isn't he? Hurray! They kissed cheeks hello, and she was glad to see his hand lingered on her waist as they broke away. All set up for the perfect second date, no?

But, let's fast forward here kids. For I am afraid to report that this was a second date with NO KISSING.

No kissing! On a second date! When he is hot and she is fantastic! Seriously, what is going on there? Has he got the dreaded 'swu and is afraid of infecting her? If so, fair play. But if not then there really is no explanation.

Last time she checked, she wasn't a 15-year-old slightly tipsy on a few pints of Firkin, all dressed up in a fur-lined coat and deliriously happy to have any male contact. And a little arm touching is really not enough at the age of 29.

They really did have a great night though. He has a lovely, full-of-gorgeousness face. They went to see a great film (Moon, since you ask. Go see!) and went for a great drink afterwards.

The only explanation in her eyes is that he is the last of the great romantics, and felt a first kiss at midnight at a tube station where the only witness was a drunk 60-year-old in a purple wig clutching a can of Special Brew in one hand and a mouldy pasta salad in the other was really not the way to go.

The fact he suggested they next meet at a film not due to be screened until the end of September is neither here nor there. Apparently he got his dates wrong. Shall we let him off? Or should she pursue the red-haired, freckled Famous-Five-All-Grown-Up boy who she met this week while on a course at work? True, they haven't spoken all that much. But he HAS been smiling on each occasion.

Decisions, decisions...

Le weekend

Don't get too excited - she was tied to the computer this weekend (for work, she would like to add, rather than as the basis of some bizarre spreadsheet-based sex game).

And having to cancel plans with some of her favourite girl friends really sucked too. Fortunately, this week brings a whole host of fun nights out, hurray! Including her first second date for a very, very long time. She will just have to try to keep her eyes open the whole week, which may be a bit of a struggle.

This is all a marked change from last weekend, half of which was spent in a drunken stupor and half in a hungover stupor. Does London make hangovers worse, or something? Yuck. She hadn't had a two-dayer for a LOOOONG time.

It was worth it though (and at this point, she would like to apologise for keeping this secret. She was too excited about meeting up with Jeremy/Daniel and kind of forgot). There were no hot men at the salsa evening unfortunately, but just like a reverse Cinderella, her luck changed post midnight when she and her Lovely Friend (LF) took a detour via a boathouse bar. And hello, hot man!

She was a little too drunk on tequila and wine to do much other than squint and murmur incoherently about her dating blog (great chat up technique, huh?) but amazingly, LF's boyfriend decided it would be ultimately amusing to play Cilla and bring the hot guy back to his flat. Where, incidentally, The London Loves was due to collapse on the sofa.

At this point, it all goes a little blurry. She knows they watched some bizarre children's TV show and drank some ill-advised Bacardi and coke. She remembers LF and her bf going to bed and thinking: "She is, like, the best friend EVER....". Oh and then snogging the boy's face off on the sofa. She was convinced he was a barman. He is not. She was equally convinced he was called Will. He was not.

Strangely enough, they decided to call it a night after that (as much as you can still call something "a night" at 4am. Against the Trade Descriptions Act, surely?). She decided that she quite likes people playing Cilla, as long as they set her up with David Arquette-alikes (look, she was drunk and squinting, and it's a bit passe to tell people they're Keanu Reeves-alikes these days).

Anyone else fancy stepping up to the Cilla-shaped plate?

M&S

Just a little non-dating note. Why, oh why, do the big supermarkets (and the biggest and loveliest being the one owned by Mr Marks and Mr Spencer) feel the need to bombard Tube-goers and Standard-readers with ads for their couple specials every weekend?

You know the ones. Get a fabulous meal, with some salady thing to make you feel healthy, a nice cake and a bottle of wine for £10. Good eh? All you need to complete the picture of smug domestic recessionista bliss is a suitably gorgeous man (someone along the lines of the D&G swimwear models. Any of them would do. Just in their pants, natch) to share it with.

Whoa! Wait right there M&S! You're missing a trick here. What do you want us to do, buy a couple special and then eat the whole lot? We will you know, JUST TO SPITE YOU.

Alternatively, you could save us all a world of pain by coming up with a meal-for-one option instead. Which, quite frankly, could just be the nice cake and the wine. That would us very happy indeed.

Date #4

Or, the One that Went Rather Well, Actually


She wasn't expecting to like him so much. Wasn't expecting that the rather cute boy outside the gallery might be the one waiting for her. But she noticed that, rather than looking like Ugly Betty Daniel exactly, he was more like a young, smiley Jeremy Irons. Which, dear reader, is really not a bad thing at all.

They met outside the gallery - she amazing herself by being actually on time for once in her life. Turned out he'd been there for more than half an hour. Eager? Or not a watch lover? Anyway, those were questions for later. There were tickets to be bought (each buying their own, she didn't want him to think she was a skinflint after the previous day's date cancelling/uncancelling debacle) and a rather odd exhibition to see.

And so, while the rest of the art-lovers were trying to work out the exact meaning of the actual-dead-cat-painted-black-and-cut-in-half sculpture, they talked. And they talked some more. Just general stuff - where they'd lived before, how they were finding London. But it probably annoyed the tits off all the other people trying to appreciate all the "art" in silence (a lot of whom, incidentally, were small people. Who takes their child to an exhibition that features disembodied penises floating past your face? Who?).

She was relieved they had the same baffled reaction to most of the exhibition. His suitable responses included going "Oh!" and then trying to conceal a snigger when said penis floated past, and "Arrgh!" when they stumbled across what looked like a dead man covered in a blanket.

Then, there were drinks to be had (after she found what appears to be the best thing in the world ever - a personal sound machine so you can have a round of applause wherever you go! How fantastic!). It was possibly a bit early in the day, but it was a daytime date, and wine spritzers were somewhat necessary.

They broached the tricky dating website and how-long-single-for conversations remarkably well, taking in a stroll by the river and generally talking rubbish. There was even food, then a walk back to the Tube and - no kiss. But that's a good thing, right? RIGHT??? Not putting out on a first date and all that! If she keeps repeating that, it will become true. Probably.

But she has heard from him today. Yay! And they are going to watch a suitably arty-wanky film together next week. Which is all, she has to admit, a little bit exciting.

She is just now trying to ignore the fact he told her he'd met some Amazonian woman last Sunday through the site. But the Amazonian didn't speak English, so she has at least one advantage over her.

Date success!

STOP PRESS! The bank stupidly decided to allow her an overdraft, and therefore, to go dating! Excellent news. In other developments, Mr 60-Shirts asked if she would fancy going out for a drink over a board game or two. In the spirit of feeding the blogging world interesting morsels of dating delights and of saying yes to the universe, she agreed. And, of course, she wanted to see just how good a shirt could be...

Dates on hold

There she was, all set for a date that actually looked rather promising - and then her lack of money had to go and blow a hole in the thing. It is like being financially crippled and then having the crutches kicked out from under your feet.
She quite likes the look of this boy as well. He's from the same internet site, but actually isn't a troll, which is a remarkable first. Instead, he is sweet and funny (on screen anyway, admittedly) and they like the same arty-wanky films and books. We'll call him Daniel, as that's the Ugly Betty character her very wise friend reckons he looks like. They were all set to go to an exhibition that promises floating penises waving past your face in a darkened room while a disembodied voice calls you a buttercup, and the nasty bank went and put a stop to it.
But have no fear! This is a mere postponement. In the meantime, she is living in self-imposed exile in her rather cramped flat, existing solely off Nutella and cous-cous until pay day comes around. ie. with no exciting date action.
And there is another boy on the cards as well - an intriguing non-Tory Sloaney boy who shares her love of a well-made G&T, good grammar and board games and owns 60 shirts. There have only been a few emails, and he is a little young, but she has not had too many moral dilemmas of late when it comes to age so is keeping an open mind.

Oh and an update! The TV presenter called yesterday. But she missed the call. All rather curious...

Date #3

Or, The One That Wasn't Really a Date

Tricky one, this. You see, it wasn't actually, in the true definition of the word, a date. It was a drink with a friend. A rather good-looking male friend. And this very friend, who we shall call Uni Boy, was someone she had had a massive, embarrassing (and massively embarrassing) crush on for the best part of the last decade. So, she felt able to say it was a date. Or at least to pretend. And spent considerably longer getting ready for this one than either date#1 or date#2.

If this was a Richard Curtis film, he would be the one that she would end up with. The one who would gradually, by the end of this blog's life, realise that she really was the hottest, smartest, most wonderful girl in the whole world. Which, of course, she IS.

She felt ridiculously nervous for what was, on paper, a drink with a friend. And when he swaggered towards her with his ridiculous good-looking face, she actually fell a little more in love with him. But then, they hugged outside a wheely bin on a slightly grotty street and she realised - he was just Uni Boy. And she was standing outside KFC.

They had a great time, despite the fact he wasn't drinking, which rather scuppered her plans to get him recklessly drunk and kiss him (on the advice of a friend). But he was still just Uni Boy. No fireworks, just fun. And no crush, no matter how long it's lastest for, is worth worrying about if there isn't even a Roman Candle's worth of excitement on offer. It seems that despite everything, he's just not her hot, smart, wonderful boy. And so the search goes on.

Date #2

Or, The One That Felt Like Counselling

You want a date, she thought? Join a dating website! All the cool kids are doing it these days, she had been told from a very reliable source, and it's not all just freaks and geeks. Apparently.

Well, it couldn't hurt, right? So on a whim, and a strong gin and tonic, she took the plunge, half wondering what on earth she was doing as she picked a profile picture and told the whole world she was single and desperate. Or at least that's what it felt like.

Then this guy started messaging her. He was too old and had too many kids (ie more than none) but said he worked as a TV presenter, and she was intrigued. Utterly shallow, yes, but still. Intrigued.

This intrigue was such that she agreed to meet him for a drink, half fearing there would be a whole camera crew there and that it was all some horrible set up for a show on internet dating. But thankfully, life isn't always like Bridget Jones. There was just a man, a man with a small face, and a pub, and some glasses of wine.

It felt, in all honestly, like a drink with an uncle. Which was to say, nice, but not in the least bit exciting. Turned out he still has (many) issues about his recently ended marriage. Which they talked about. Rather a lot. And no one asked for his autograph. She mostly just wondered what on earth she was doing there. It didn't feel as amusing as she thought it would do.

She got a bit too drunk, they left with a peck on the cheek, and she got cheap Chinese and went home. The TV presenter fell off the face of the earth.

Date #1

or, The One with the Metrosexual Topshop Buyer.

She was told by a tarot reader in Byron Bay recently that she would have to choose between four men when she moved to London. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, just one decent one would be enough.

But with this in mind, she endeavoured to set up dates for when she got back to the UK after her month's holiday. And how would she do this? By drunk-texting the friend of a friend she'd snogged at a birthday picnic just before going away, of course. Classy hey? He will henceforth be known as Topshop Boy.

The drunk text was sent from a bar in Cairns. The date was arranged, at her insistence. And heck it goes against all The Rules, and He's Just Not That Into You, but who gives.

It was, after all, the first proper date in a year of singledom - the anniversary actually falling on the night in question. COMPLETELY COINCIDENTALLY I might add. But then I would be lying.

They met in Soho, outside Topshop, but sadly there were no freebies thrown in for good measure. And she learned that he had grown a moustache, which she instantly took the piss out of, thinking it was a joke. It wasn't a joke. Oh.

They went to old man pubs and a bizarre member's only pub like a bachelor's flat in 1976, with the world's tiniest beer garden, a brick square in which she smoked. And she doesn't smoke. And then, in that brick square, she drank some more wine (than was strictly necessary) and kissed the boy. And decided that going back to his, on the other side of London, on the night bus was The Best Idea In The World (TM). It really, really wasn't. He had Queer Eye for the Straight Guy in his DVD machine. He owns a hairdryer. He owns hotpants. He wore them, and the tache, on Gay Pride day in London. ACCIDENTALLY. He makes her laugh, but he really is more metro than sexual.

Waking up, half drunk and half dressed in quite-a-high-up flat and nearly flashing at early risers on their way to work outside the window is really not a good look, she soon realised. Nor is bumping into someone from work on the bus back home, still dressed in the night-out dress she'd bought from Whistles the day before.

She kissed Topshop Boy goodbye on the Tube. And he promptly fell off the face of the earth.

The Beginning

Once, there was a girl who was a bit of a nomad, having lived all over the UK. She had always dreamed of living in London and one day, a year shy of her 30th birthday, she found a lovely if overpriced flat, packed her belongings and set off to seek fame, fortune, and fantastic dates. One out of the three would be a good start.

Having had two disastrous dates in as many days, and having joined a dating website against all her better judgment, her lovely friends suggested she write about it on a blog, so that not only they, but ever other girl in the city could be amused by her shambolic love life. So here it is.

And the blog title? Well, her first ever kiss was to Blur's London Loves (He said: "You look like Demi Moore". She said: "You look like Keanu Reeves." They were both liars. And very, very drunk. But she was only 15 so we'll let her off).

Let's see where this takes us. Get ready for a bumpy ride...

LLx