Tinder and Blind

A once single Tinder obsessed bad dater London girl living in Dubai, to a step-mum who bagged a boy in Dubai, now living in London

Category: Uncategorized

You’re Fatter Than Your Photos

tinder-fat-guy-girlThis morning a client, friend and reader of my blog emailed me a link. It was of two videos. Before watching, I read the premise of it and got the gist that a woman had posted photos of her real self, a super toned hot blonde who easily attracted Tinder likes. In a social experiment, she agreed to be Mrs Doubtfired-up into a fat suit to meet the guys she had matched with, the results were sad.

At first I thought ‘well, if you go and meet someone who looks totally different to their photos, I would be annoyed, it’s a lie from the start isn’t it?’ then I watched the videos.

The way the guys go about treating this woman for putting what they thought were old photos up, is just vile. It proves that dating apps like Tinder aren’t just shallow, but they’re attracting small minds (in this case). A couple of these guys were talking to her over the app for weeks before setting up a date, they obviously liked her enough to meet just going by her personality.

One guy admits he was ‘agitated’ and ‘wasted gas to come here’ to meet the fattened up hottie. However, the ONE lucky guy who stuck it out and got to know her as a person, was told the truth come the end of the date and he didn’t seem to mind either way, a diamond in the rough.

On the contrary, the experiment also did the same thing with a man. Dressed an average looking guy up into a fat suit and his conquests turned up for the date. The girls all stayed, even if they questioned the photos, they stayed. One even kissed him.

So, is this proof that men are shallower than women? Would a guy rather be with an absolute stunner with no personality or brain? Does a girl care less about a guys look as long as she gets on with him and keeps her on her toes?

If this experiment is anything to go by, we are the fairer sex, and kinder..

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating obesity and I do get that people want to see the photos in reality, hell I look 10x better in my photos than real life, but what I’m saying is be kind. If the person in the photo doesn’t look like themselves, they’ve put on a few pounds, have dyed their hair, whatever, there is no need for the mean reactions. Stick it out a bit longer and you never know, you could end up marrying ’em.  

 

International Dater Extraordinaire

Update: NYC

Dubai guy and I have decided to become international daters. This entails no commitment from eachother, other than committing to meeting in a different country at every date.

We have come up with a bucket list, be it a weekend away in New York (which is happening in October) or two weeks skiing the Alps, we’ve got it sussed.

I can’t commit to a long distance relationship. So, he can go on a Friday brunch in Dubai and roll in at 4am and I won’t moan. I can go out and come in off my face on gin, starfish face first on my bed and I won’t have 20 questions about where I’ve been, no argument of having to explain why I need the entirety of the bed to result in demoting him to the floor. It’s the best of both worlds! To be fair, we have been ‘out out’ a bit recently and both of us will message when we’re home, but not because we feel we have to, we just want to. Plus clearly we aren’t getting lucky with anyone else..

So an October weekend is our third country in the bucket list of dates. First was Dubai, second London, third New York. As he’s a writer he will be reviewing a hotel in NY to save us that cost- of which I’ve sent him a shortlist of the best to approach, and I have booked us brunch at A-list fav Balthazar. We’ll watch the sun set at the MET and probably get lost between skyscrapers, and quite frankly, I am buzzing about my new date bucket list.

It’s perfect. No stress of a relationship but with the adventure and excitement of the honeymoon period, every single time, exploring a different city/country/continent.

If either of us find someone else, then we’ll stop of course. Until then, bring on the next adventure..

 

Dubai Guy Came to London

Yes, that’s right. But not for me; his family live here so predominantly he was here for them, although we managed to plan a few days (and nights) together too.

Dubai guy, as he’s aptly known to my friends and (select few) family, will be familiar to you if you read this blog. Look for ‘the best date yet’ post.. Anyway we arranged the first U.K date at STK restaurant. I waited anxiously in the lobby of the ME hotel on Charing Cross, constantly crossing and uncrossing my legs wondering how to sit ‘cooly’ while he was in a cab on the way over. Blank thoughts running through my head and empty glances to the marble floor while the main door constantly swang with guests entering. I didn’t really know how to feel. He arrived after ten minutes and we embraced a familiar hug, resumed from six weeks ago.

We made our way to the restaurant and he soon slid next to me as opposed to opposite me, taking my face into his hands and kissed me. I playfully pushed him back to his seat weary we were putting off the other diners, and he reminded me that public displays of affection are a no go in Dubai, hence making the most of it here.. without getting arrested. Liberating eh?

After dinner we made our way up to the Radio rooftop bar, my absolute favourite spot in London. We shared a bottle of wine (I think) and caught up on anything we’d missed since I was in Dubai.

The next date was epic. His job allows perks, perks that entail reviewing hotels. Before he flew over he asked what new hotels there were in London that he could blag us a stay at, so I did some digging and asked him to check out the Edition hotel, a place I take clients for breakfast and would only dream of being able to afford to sleep there (or rather, not sleep).. He secured the date and we met there.photo 1

He had already checked in and came down to get me when I arrived in the lobby. Conscious I probably looked like a very underdressed prostitute, I smiled back at the receptionist as she addressed us both and greeted him knowingly. He told me they were extremely attentive- of course, they want an amazing review. I wasn’t complaining.. that meant we had the most amazing suite!

He opened the door and ushered me in. A bright, airy, huge room stared back at me, it was amazing. A (probably real) fur throw draped on the bed along with hundreds of scatter cushions, a couple of sofas in the corner next to a table stacked with huge coffee table books, and a tardis of a bathroom with a roll top bath and a huge shower (god, I should totes review this place) along with a monster TV.

photo 2

 

We decided to make the most of the hotel room, by using the facilities of course (dirty minds) then went for a drink downstairs, and another on nearby Charlotte Street.

I had booked dinner at the new Hawksmoor in Knightsbridge (can you tell I love a steak?) as it would be his birthday the following day so managed to get us on the soft launch. We got our glad rags on and headed there.

I had emailed the restaurant weeks beforehand to inform them it was his birthday; at Hawksmoor they usually stick a candle in the dessert, however I was so full that I felt sick but I really wanted to show that I had remembered it was his birthday, so I ordered a peanut butter shortbread (the most incred thing on the menu FYI) and although he was also full to the brim, I made him commit to sharing with me.

The dessert came out.. candleless. So I was there forcing this bloody peanut butter shortbread down my throat which I really, honestly, did not need after eating a 300g fillet steak with all the trimmings, on top of a bottle of Malbec and glass of champagne, it’s making me feel sick re-living it. Anyway, after dessert I grab my chance while he’s gone to the bathroom. I tell the waiter he forgot the candle and he apologises profusely, telling me he will get us another one with a candle. Noooo we don’t need another dessert! I ask for drinks instead, so he gets us drinks and after another five minutes, a candle stuck in salted caramel rolos (another Hawksmoor speciality). He looked genuinely touched.. and I love seeing a happy face.

We leave and get the last tube back to the hotel. On our bed is a menu laid out asking us what breakfast we would like brought to us in bed and at what time. I felt like I was in Pretty Woman (without the cash or otk boots). This shiz happens in films, not to me. Living the dream.

The next day is his birthday, our breakfast arrives on the dot and we eat it in our robes while he opens a couple of gifts. We then go to Carnaby Street for some retail therapy and to kill time before he meets his mum in town. I planned on disappearing when that happened.. did my plan go to plan? No.

We were in Dune while he looked for shoes and I see him giving a wave out the door. “Is that your mum?” I ask, “yep”. SHIT, I’m meeting Dubai guy’s mum after staying in a hotel with her little boy. Classy.

She’s very glam and I don’t want to be too forward by going in for a hug or kiss, so I smile and she smiles back before asking how the hotel was. All I’m thinking is *I cannot believe I’m meeting his mum in Dune and she knows full well we stayed in a hotel.*

I make my excuses and shoot off. Not how I envisioned meeting the mum, then again I didn’t ever envision meeting the parents. We aren’t a couple after all..We’re just friends, who have messaged every single day since 4th May, and stayed in two hotels, been on holiday and had dinner out about ten times.

The rest of the stay consisted of him staying at mine a few more times. It kinda went like this: We went on a ‘double date’ with my friend and her boyf, spent two afternoons in different parks just chilling and lying in the sun, ordered Dominos in bed, walked through Brixton Splash crazy Reggae festival to retrieve a Nandos takeaway, and not to mention him attending a house party of mine, meeting my brother, housemates and friends while earning all their affections.

Tonight he leaves for Dubai and I won’t lie, I’m a tad emosh. Be it a great summer romance, it was definitely a whirlwind and maybe just what I needed after the abundance of weird dates. It reminded and reassured me that I can still feel if I need to.

‘Dubai guy’ was one to remember.

Pre bridesmaid Juice Cleanse

Nothing like a best mate..

Nothing like a best mate..

 

 

It’s Sunday morning and I wake up with a festival hangover and the realisation that I have six days until two of my best friends tie the knot. Do I get emosh at the thought of these two very important people in my life spending their lives in marital bliss? Well, of course.. but this also means I have five days to squeeze into a bridesmaid dress I had made a size smaller than me.

What was I thinking?

“Oh I’ve got loads of time to drop a dress size, so can you make it smaller?” I asked as the dressmaker sucked me in and stuck pins through the silk.
“Remember we can’t add material, we’ll be cutting it off so you really can’t put any weight on if you want me to make this dress smaller” she replied.
Pff, duh, of course I’ll lose an inch in two and a half months, easy! Plus this is an incentive for me to have to lose weight. Of course I won’t be attending two booze fuelled festivals, a BBQ, copious amounts of dinner events, post work drinks in the sun, client breakfasts, or lunches.

Well I wasn’t planning on it, but it happened.

Extreme measures now need to be taken. So as I’m lying in bed I flick through next week’s work and personal diary with bated breath and see I don’t have any planned food engagements until Wednesday night; a three course dinner at the Hurlingham Club with clients, then date night at STK on Thursday.. so I have the first part of the week to work with.

What do I do? I run- yes, literally run four miles from my house to The Juice Well in Soho, through a major storm might I add. I arrive at the immaculate store on Peter Street, made up of high tech fridges which house bottles of colourful liquid. After talking to an expert nutritionist and juicemaster I’m told all juices are cold pressed, meaning they retain all nutrients, unlike traditional juicers which just extract the juice and taste nice. I’m told I can either do an intense green cleanse or a rainbow cleanse.

 

My breakfast and lunches

The green is made up of 6 bottles containing just 753 calories between them. This is a leaner, more challenging cleanse with a huge hit of chlorophyll which is deeply cleansing and detoxifying.
The combined daily intake of these 6 juices deliver more than 100% RDA of 19 vital vitamins & minerals and also contains 96% RDA of soluble fibre.

I couldn’t hack just 753 calories a day so I bought one day’s worth of the rainbow cleanse for £36 after being told that having a cleanse with as many pigments of the fruit & vegetable rainbow ensures you are getting the broadest nutrient dense cleanse possible.
The combined daily intake of these juices is 1090 calories & they deliver more than 100% RDA of 23 vital vitamins & minerals. There is also plenty of soluble fibre.

My plan? Split them across three days, replacing my breakfast and lunches with juice and having a proper meal for dinner. This is also because I’m doing around an hour of exercise a day and I still need to fuel my little muscles.

So I buy the rainbow cleanse, but I’m also starving so I buy  ‘The Daddy’ smoothie as my first meal of the day while I’m there, for another £6.

 

daddy smoothie

The Daddy Smoothie

That smoothie lasts me an hour and a half as I battle through the rain again and plonk myself on a tube seat home. At around 8pm I venture downstairs and am faced with a cooked roast chicken in the kitchen just staring at me, while my housemates have had a roasted feast. I close my eyes, open the fridge and pluck out a bottle of total green cleanse. Mmm dinner.

Last night's dinner

Last night’s dinner

That was yesterday.

This morning I wake up feeling ridiculously tired, eyes heavy and head light. I struggle to get dressed without collapsing onto my bed about six times. That could just be the extended festival hangover. I grab my bag of juice out of the fridge and start off with a bottle of reverse osmosis water (filtered, cleanest, most pure form of water there is, appaz) before cracking open a ‘Hunger Buster’ charcoal juice when I get on the tube. The black drink certainly attracts a few stares, along with a knowing glance from a skinny blonde who has most definitely done a juice detox, or twelve.

Hunger Buster

Hunger Buster

That lasts me ages and is actually quite nice, and before I know it it’s 11am and  I’m due juice number two ‘Bodyguard’. Unfortunately Whitney doesn’t blast out upon opening, but my reaction to the taste did require a minder. Extremely tangy and eye squinting. I could definitely taste sweet potato and lime, I prefer my sweet potatoes in the form of fries, from Hawksmoor.

 

Bodyguard

Bodyguard

This one takes me two and a half hours to finish. Meanwhile at work I have already had a conversation with a client and called her the wrong name, three times. This is someone I’ve worked with for a year. Talk about juice brain.

Third juice is lunch, a ‘Green & Lean’ which I thought would be a winner as I’m partial to a green juice anyway. Not the case. Before opening it I take a walk to Topshop, and while walking through the handbag section, the smell of leather makes me think of cows, which leads me on to crave steak. I hurry through that section and buy myself a pair of shoes as a reward for not caving into anything apart from juice (and heels).

Green and Lean

Green and Lean

This was another tangy one, lemon is basically what I could taste. In fact, three hours later and I still have about three sips left in the bottle. I should be on my fourth juice by now but I’m surprisingly full. Despite the steak image (medium rare fillet with béarnaise sauce accompanied by sweet potato fries and asparagus) not even thinking about that, not at all..

My mid morning snack

However, I promised myself a proper meal a day to help sustain myself so I’m going to have dinner but just need to take it easy seeing as I haven’t ingested solids since my post Lovebox munchies on Saturday night.

Tomorrow I have yoga at 7am and bootcamp at 6pm so I need to ensure my final day is stuck to without using calorie burn as an excuse.

Update tomorrow..

 

Tomorrow is today. Day 3

Last night was a mare. Remember how much I was looking forward to a meal for dinner last night? well, I was. I waited alllll day for a home cooked meal after my cousin invited the family over for dinner. We get to her house and she announces that they’ve all been out for the day and had a huge pub lunch, but that she had brought back the most amazing mushroom pie. Great news for my brother, not so great for me who can’t eat mushrooms without puking. So as I watch my brother eat his and my pie, I think this can only be a good thing, no carbs. Instead, my cousin makes me a fruit platter of strawberries, raspberries, apple and grapes. I eat my ‘dinner’ while my brother fully lols at the situation. I get home and sleep, surprisingly fulfilled.

Got up at 6am for my yoga class this morning, walked past various food establishments towards Regents Park including the aptly named ‘EAT’ which I nodded at and thought to myself ‘I know, I know, I’m mental’. After an energetic yoga class (I swear you’re not supposed to break a sweat) I arrived into work around 9am for my first juice of the day: ‘Deep Purple’ aka beetroot, carrot and cucumber juice. All I could taste was beetroot and it left me with some sexy (not) stained lips.

deep purple

 

I then had a lot of work to do so didn’t have time to think about food until around midday when I cracked open my final juice of the course; a spicy gazpacho little number, tasted wellll nice! I really wanted to heat it up and have it as soup because it tasted like I should be having it with crusty bread. Alas no, it was in it’s bottle and I sipped around a quarter of it before feeling a bit nauseous. I also feel weirdly bloated seeing as I haven’t eaten anything in three days.

Spicy gazpacho

 

Realising I have bootcamp after work and I really don’t want to get injured or collapse due to lack of energy, I ventured out to Leon (via Ted Baker) and picked up a tomato, feta and lentil salad. Everything I have been reading has said to avoid dairy during and after a juice cleanse, of course I didn’t register this information into my brain until my first bite of feta. Too late. Yolo.

leon salad

I then had solid back to back meetings for three hours. One client wanted to go out to soak up the sun: ‘Tanisha, let’s go to the pub for our meeting, it’s too sunny to be inside’. Great.. pub=wine. Know what I did? I’m so bloody proud of myself for this.. I took him to his pub and I ordered myself a green tea. GO ME. AND I even left the amaretto biscuit on the saucer like a poor little loner.

Venturing back to the office after my meetings and again I’m very aware I haven’t had any protein intake. Bootcamp is bloody hard work; weights, cardio, kettlebells for a solid hour and I really don’t want to be stupid and injure myself from lack of strength and consequently have to wheel down the aisle in front of the bride on Saturday. With this in mind, on my way back to the office I drop into Itsu and grab a salmon and tuna tartar for a pure protein hit. Even if psychologically that makes me feel better, I’ve done it and I can’t blame my juice on any injuries!

Tonight will be a protein shake after bootcamp and then straight to bed.

So, after having two meals a day replaced by juice (kinda), I can honestly say I didn’t feel ravenous over the last three days.  I didn’t have any chocolate cravings but I think that was down to me being really busy with work and not having time to reach for biscuits. Bearing in mind day 1 was on an extreme hangover, so I couldn’t tell the difference if I was hanging or hungry.

I don’t think I could hack a full blown juice detox though, two meal replacements has been enough and although I have lost 4lbs in this time, I’m still bloody bloated. Spanx for Saturday it is.

 

 

When Should We Become Grown-ups?

tumblr_m9vu29gtsh1r0ir19o1_500 

Last week one of my best friends announced her pregnancy, months after I was bridesmaid at her and her teenage sweetheart’s wedding. I am totally over the moon for her and she’s so ready to be an amazing mum. After the news, I couldn’t help comparing how different our lives are; both the same age, brought up in the same town, going to the same school and even the same uni at one point.

The difference? Lifestyle. I’m totally not ready for marriage and kids.

Me and my London friends say when it comes to settling down there’s a five year delay in London. We are social butterflies, out Wednesday- Saturday as standard most weeks, either at work events, client entertaining or with eachother for drinks or checking out whatever new pop up the city has to offer (in-between the bootcamps and latest yogilates classes of course). The majority of my London friends are single, I’m lucky as the ones who aren’t are just as fun and make the most of London life without letting their partners get in the way. The association of getting into a relationship is often negative through the eyes of single friends though:’God, she’s turned into such a bore since she’s started seeing so & so’.. Up until that moment we are all fishing for uptotheminute goss on the essence Sloane Square club promoter, the hot personal trainer, or whoever else has made the fit list that week. We want it to go well for them and we even have code names for the dates, but the second it turns into the fourth or fifth date, we panic, we don’t want to lose our wingwomen to the perils of a relationship with a boy. Pitchers of Pimms sat outside after a summer working day turns into a quick standing-up-outside-the-pub g&t because they have dinner plans with their new beau. Nooooo.

image

So for us Londoners, when should we settle down? I read a ’20 things single girls should do in their 20s’ list, and I’m on top of them all, and I am in love with my life, and yes there’s a but. At thirty do we all just turn into boring married couples?
Rachel from Friends freak out coming up: Ideally I want to be married for at least a year before the kid card gets raised..before marriage I would need to be living with the guy for around two years before he puts a ring on it, and before moving in with him I would need to know him for what, a year or more? Now I’m not the best at maths but if I’m expected to settle by the time I’m thirty, that means I need to find Mr Right, like, right now.
All of my single friends here have exactly the same mindset, we often talk about how much we love our lives and how lucky we are, we don’t take it for granted, not one bit. A friends boss told her the other day to stay single as long as she possibly can, because now he’s in his 40’s with two young kids, holidays are a fortune, he can’t remember the last time he woke up past 6am and he has resorted to shopping at Lidl after years of being a loyal Waitrose customer. He loves it though, he said to her that he well and truly lived his younger years how he wanted to, doing some raucous things in his early twenties and being a total lad right up until he got engaged. He told her once he knew he didn’t want to sleep with soho sluts anymore, he found the woman he knew he could ‘have on tap’, thus making her his wife. He is the most content man she knows, because he really did wait until he knew he wouldn’t be tempted by other women, or the lifestyle that comes with working in the media.

The thing is, I am extremely career minded and ambitious, and lacking time in my day to cram everything else in, let alone a man (obviously you can make time for what matters). I want a family one day but I don’t want any regrets, I want to bring up a family in the knowledge that I haven’t missed out on anything, I’m a total FOMO-er (fear of missing out) as it is, imagine holding my own baby and wishing I had done more with my life before having to dedicate my life to someone else way more important than myself? I have pledged to myself that I will only be holding my own baby when I’m totally content and have built a career successful enough to take time out and buy baby clothes.. After finding ‘the one’, or after he finds me.

working-mom

I’m currently reading ‘Lean In’ by Sheryl Sandberg- voted one of the worlds most influential women by Forbes, and she interestingly brings up this point. She notes that in her time as a woman in business, the amount of women she has seen who freak out at my age, thinking they have to choose between a career or kids often means they turn down promotions or more responsibility in their jobs because they know they want children while they’re still at child bearing age, so don’t want to jeopardise that chance by having to choose their careers. She points out that once they sacrifice steps in their careers because they have a partner successful enough to carry them through, or are too scared to take on too much and not making it work, they are much farther back than if they had taken that promotion and waited another year to have children, as they could have then provided even more and gotten straight back into their jobs at a more powerful position, thus being advantageous for their children’s future as well as their own contentment.

 

So what I’m getting at is, 25 is the perfect age to have children if, like my friend, you’re in complete contentment with your life, have an amazing husband, the love and support around you to bring one up well, which she does, and most importantly be happy in your situation. She will also easily get her figure back having her babs at this age!
I’m definitely years behind that, but importantly, I’m totally ok with it. We all have different choices in life, mine is to do everything I want to do, be totally selfish and treat myself when I like, because then when I have a family, I know that everything I live for and do will be for them and not myself thus never being resentful.
In the meantime, I cannot wait to hit Hamleys and baby shop for the new member of our crew!

The best date so far

Most people start off meeting somewhere mutual before realising they like eachother, a few texts back and forth before organising a first date maybe. After a first date if both parties are interested, a second date is arranged followed by a third, and so it goes on. A first holiday is organised what, a few months down the line? Once you’ve decided things are ‘official’ and you feel comfortable enough being exposed in a two piece H&M bikini or a pair of Speedo’s for longer than a swimming pool outing.

So what’s the stance on a first, second and third date, oh and a holiday..rolled into one weekend..in Dubai?

Yeah. I kinda went on a date to Dubai.IMG_3078

It was the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done. The reason I did it? Because I couldn’t think of any why I shouldn’t. The friends I told encouraged me to go for it: “It’ll be a good story to tell your grandkids. You can say that when you were in your twenties you took up an offer to go on a date thousands of miles away”. That sold it to me; I’ll be such a cool grandma. Well, no, that wasn’t the main reason. I got bored of dating incompatible guys, so I decided to give it a break and see if anything came to me. Ironically, a reader of this very blog got in touch with me after I had met him on holiday in Dubai a couple of months ago through mutual friends. He asked for the link to the blog after hearing about it through our friends, so I gave it to him.

Things quickly turned from generic chat to more subjective life chat. We messaged constantly for around two weeks before he popped the question, so to speak. He had won a night’s stay in a 5* hotel on The Palm in Dubai which he needed to use before July: “Don’t suppose you want to come and be my +1? It’ll only go to waste else” I read on my whatsapp.. who am I to turn that offer down? I’ll be doing him a big favour helping him use that hotel and I’m all for doing a good deed.

Firstly though, I didn’t take it seriously. This doesn’t happen to me, you read these sorts of scenarios in books, and only Rebecca Bloomwood gets these mental opportunities. So I asked him if he was being serious to which I got “yeah, why not! Be spontaneous!” I have a scour at Skyscanner on my lunch break and realise the flights aren’t actually too expensive at this time of year, probably something to do with the 35degree average temperature. Even the airlines are trying to lure me in, I thought. It took me a couple of days of thinking and asking others opinions, oh and selling a pair of Louboutins (it’s okay, I have another pair and the sold ones were bought for me by my ex, bad omen) before I finally sat down and booked it. Good old AMEX doubling my air miles with BA, another pro to this crazy decision I was making. So now I had booked a flight to go on a date, in Dubai. I’ve bloody done it. Oh. My. God.

After constant, and I mean constant, messaging to the point where my housemates told me I was acting like a teenager, by the way I would laugh out loud then look up to find them all staring at me, as if I’d just interrupted a conversation about religion or something. Sooorry guys, just a message I got. Cheshire cat grin plastered on my face. I knew I’d made the right decision, albeit a crazy one.

We all have that nervous anticipation before a first date. I had met this guy a couple of times previously, but in a social capacity. There was no one-on-one time, in fact I even tried to get my friend to chat him up while we were there on holiday, though I did approach it as “he’s really fit, what do you think? Holiday romance?” she was having none of it and I didn’t think about myself, too busy playing matchmaker. (I did add him on facebook after that holiday though; he made the first message move).

I hadn’t felt this excited in a good few years. Guys have come and gone and the ones who have been interested have either been too overbearing or boring. The fact I was going to another country to meet someone that hadn’t been via Tinder or a setup was exciting and new. Not to mention the fact I was about to top up the already fresh tan.

IMG_3062

Reality kicked in the day of flight. Sat at my desk in the office, my colleagues all knew what I was up to, one asked how I was feeling. Up until that moment I was so busy with work that I hadn’t properly thought about the getting to the airport, or getting to the other side. Now I started to panic. We both obviously had an idea of eachother and we always glorify what someone will be like when it’s in our heads. So what if he was really disappointed? I’m a bit too down to earth sometimes, people think I’ll be intimidating and sophisticated whereas I’m ditzy and a klutz at the best of times, hiding behind my eyeliner.

After a smooth Terminal 5 experience, I arrived in Dubai. I waited for half an hour at the wrong baggage carousel. *Introducing me*.

Once I realised that everyone else had left and I didn’t actually recognise anyone off my flight, I found my bag sat next to another carrousel like a total loner. Good start.

Meanwhile he was waiting outside for me; we greeted eachother with a peck. I was knackered, properly tired but I quickly forgot about that and the chat was mainly consisted of me saying “I can’t believe I’m here”, to which he responded “it’s good right?”

We got better acquainted after a Bucks Fizz that morning. He took me on the best first date I’ve been on..wine and cheese. Can’t go wrong, did he research these were my two favourite foodstuffs? We proceeded to a bar in a nearby hotel, turns out it was the wrong hotel and we were rather tipsy in a lift with some strangers when he realised the error. We went to the right hotel. We drank more. I spilt the best part of a glass of Cabernet Shiraz over my cream dress and tried to hide it, it didn’t work, he noticed it and we used white wine to attempt a DIY Vanish jobbie.

Second day we went to the famous hotel on The Palm. Those who know me know I get very excited, the phrase ‘like a kid at Christmas’ is apt for this situation. This was just something else. We pulled up to a grand entrance and I had that light headed ‘wow, this is amazing’ feeling as we entered. I’ve been to nice hotels before, but I was swept up in the romance of it all.

That feeling remained until I was asked for my passport ID upon check-in. I had left it at his apartment. Shit. The lady at reception told us there was no way we can stay without my passport, it was a requirement. She asked if I would have a copy on my emails. Yes!! I did. When buying a place with my ex I had to scan it to our solicitor, this information all rushed to me and I spent about ten minutes trawling through my emails until I found it. Thank god for that, trust me to almost ruin the holiday. Our hotel room was awesome, the balcony looked out onto a pool lagoon and we sat outside in our robes drinking red wine that night before having dinner at Atlantis.

IMG_3059

A room with a view

The rest of the weekend was a dream. No awkward silences but no forced conversation, I was happy to lie on the sun lounger on the beach with a cocktail in silence, just soaking it up. Then we had sea breaks and just talked about all sorts. Watched footballer Darren Bent (yeah I had no idea who he was either) trying to balance on a paddle board, and drank lots. The final day was spent at the beach before he took me to the Hilton Skybar which had epic views across The Palm and we supped a G&T with the sunset as our backdrop.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Sunset from the Hilton

We proceeded to a cute Italian (restaurant!) for dinner before I headed back to the airport. I remembered I had promised my vegetarian friend who was my holiday companion the last visit, that I would bring her back some marshmallows. Apparently fish gelatine is better than pig, so a detour via Spinney’s supermarket was made, with me tottering in my heels around the supermarket looking at the ingredients list of these mallows. T’was a scene.

 

mallows

Fishy Marshmallows

IMG_3080

Bye, bye, Dubai

We said our goodbyes and I was back at Dubai airport ready for a 6 hour night flight/sleep across three seats before returning back to my desk for 9am. With a head buzzing with new memories, and a bloody good tan.

Another single girl’s game..

Below is a post sparked from a conversation with some single girl-friends over dinner and wine. I asked one of them to contribute to my blog to show her point of view of this dating game so many of us are playing. She well and truly plays the game, openly and honestly. She has a hell of a lot of stories, one of which will be posted very soon, because quite frankly Carpe Diem (that will make sense once you read said post). Anyway, I welcome contributors so any stories you have worth sharing, get in touch. Also would love a guy’s perspective on this..

PacDelete1

Serial dating is a game. Whether you ‘win’ after two levels or one hundred levels or are not playing with a goal in mind at all, these days, it’s a game. It has rules, there are cheat tactics, experience may be an advantage, it’s unpredictable, some love it, some hate it, however you look at it, if you date, you’re playing it.

To be clear, the game is for those who want to be playing it. This theory is not aimed at those who are honestly just looking for love, they would mostly hate the game- understandably so, and that’s why I use the phrase ‘serial dating’ – people who date around because they enjoy the adventure and thrill of it and no matter how short or long you play the game, your hope is to ‘win’ it. What I mean by ‘winning’ is getting to where you want, which for most I would guess is ultimately finding someone, a partner but in any short or long period of time. Someone who matched you at every level, who sometimes raced ahead and pushed you under a bridge but then slayed a dragon for you down the line and helped you back up. It has ups and downs, some enjoy it more than others, some loathe it, others judge it – I personally, absolutely love it.

That’s probably because I’m fully aware my game has about one thousand levels, I’m not looking for a cheat to skip to the finish and have a happy ending. I love dating for what it is, I expect I may get a few grazes along the way, we’re all human; you have some wine, call your girl-friends and learn from it.

Personally, I love the thrill of dating, I love the excitement, the phone watching, the way it turns you into a wannabe MI5 agent by Googling, Facebook stalking and Linkedin flirting, checking Whatsapp to see if he has read the message, when was he last online? How long will it take for him to reply? The emoji’s he uses – if at all, if not why not? By not using a cute wink face is he simply mature and over it, or is he playing it cool? If he replies with one ‘x’ or ‘xx’ what does it mean, if he puts ‘xxxxxxxx’ at the end of a message I get freaked out when really, it may just be auto-correct. He changes his picture to him and a girl- is he trying to spark a reaction, or is it his sister?

First date judging- Where he takes you for the first time, is he trying to impress you or test you? It’s a great topic for girly gossip. I have many coupled friends who love to hear me go on about it, my theories, my conclusions, the cringes, the excitements – I’m pretty much certified crazy, I just know who to let see it.

But do guys enjoy it as much? I thought my attitude to dating would be a dream. I want fun, banter, adventure, excitement – all with no fear of leading on, I don’t want to give false hope, I’m not a tease and I am honest about it. Sure if there is a crazy instant spark I won’t deny it but really, I’m not looking to progress to anything any time soon at all. I have commitment issues. I’m not in denial, I own it. When I meet people, especially after a few spritzers, my opening line tends to be “inside I’m made of ice, the Ice Queen as I’m fondly known to my friends”. My flat mate is convinced this is the best chat up line invented, guys and girls alike love a challenge and that’s setting it up for them.

The way I see it, guys wouldn’t buy a game for their Xbox if they knew they could complete it in a week. They like getting to the different levels, seeing what’s around the corner, the unexpected. They discuss it with their friends, share tips, discuss failures and successes, they have pride over it and hope to crack whatever difficulty they get. Might they get bored along the way? Sure, and so might I. So long as both players know they are playing the game, I say game on.

Dad always knows best..

It’s Fathers Day today. I’m not spending the day with my dad as he lives abroad, so instead I spent a good while thinking about him and what I’ve learnt from daddy dearest.

Like most father- daughter relationships, I’ve experienced the protectiveness, the ‘you’re so unfair’ arguments after being forbidden to stay out after a certain time, and also the embarassing boyfriend conversations.

So after growing out of my teenage years a good six years ago (ahh), I realised how our relationship has blossomed, ironically since he has lived thousands of miles away from me we’ve become closer than ever.

I wanted to share what has been etched into my memory and advice I would hope to pass onto my own eventual offspring.

Firstly the importance of being open minded and not small minded has been key to my upbringing. This has varied from my brother and I always being taken to the most random restaurants and countries, trying new foods, if we don’t like it then at least we’ve tried it. I’m a stubborn person, so is my dad, so we’ve clashed on many things and I would be the first to say I don’t want to do something out of spite, knowing my dad wanted the opposite reaction. Let’s put that down to a phase. The ‘ewwww mum said sushi is raw fish and makes you sick’ after he tried for ages to get me to try a tiny bit. Well dad, I bloody wish I listened to you sooner, sashimi has changed my life.

Seeing as this is a relationship based blog, the thing that stayed in my memory since my dad told me when I first started at secondary school, yet probably totally ignored up until I was in my late teens was: Never. Chase. Boys. Cliche I know, but so, so true. We girls are all guilty of doing it, but truth is, if a guy wants you badly enough, he will have you. However, there is a flaw in this theory..

It’s usually the guys who want you that are the boring ones, or too keen and needy..us girls like the chase. It’s a catch 22 situation, we’re never happy. We like the initial chase, then if they like us back it’s a buzz. We’ve got them but it quickly gets boring. Prime example: I really liked a guy, when I had an opportune moment I made the first move and got the reaction I wanted. We started seeing eachother, I even sold him into my dad ‘he went to private school dad, he’s got a degree!’ (something none of my previous conquests had, and my dad hated) it got him quite excited. Then it all turned keeno too quickly. Long story short, I didn’t want a relationship and he was a no sex before marriage kinda guy. For me it turned well and truly into the friend zone while he wanted 2.4 children.

Best case scenario? a girl really, really, really likes a guy, girl holds out and keeps her guard up, he likes girl, girl is very happy about this but plays it cool, he ups his game, but plays it cool while taking control and proves he likes girlas much as girl likes him. Happily ever after..Now this does not happen often, at all, so taking my dad’s advice to not chase is the only way of filtering out the arrogant bastards who know/think they’re worthy of our time and effort (do they not realise how long it takes to ‘prepare’ for a date?!) the ones who know we’ll make the effort yet if something comes up with their mates that they ‘have to attend’ and can drop you like it’s telling your nan you can’t make Sunday dinner, then no, they’re not worth the chase. Yet it’s those ones that we hold out for and go back to.

My dad also told me this is what happens.. ‘when you’re older you’ll realise’ it’s not the glorified hunks that are the ones who are loyal and faithful. They are glorified hunks for a reason, to attract modelesque women, but that’s never enough. They may have the most beautiful idealistic woman on their arm, but a blonder or more brunette version will stroll past and he’ll look over his shoulder.

I’m not saying a guy who looks after himself is a love rat (not in my exes case anyway) and all the ugly guys are all loyal and amazing counterparts to a relationship purely because they can’t attract other women; I’m saying the ones who want you and no one else, will work for it rather than knowing what they can get on a plate.

My dad once said to me I deserve to be with someone who would put me on a pedestal, I disagree, that’s no fun. But that’s something all dads want to see for their little girls I guess. For me it’s about never having to rely on a man for any kind of security apart from the protective kind. If you can stand on your own two feet then you will never have a problem if times are tough. That’s just me though and many will like the fact they can ask their partners for their credit card to buy a cute dress for dinner. Don’t get me wrong, I would never be ungrateful for a dress (preferably a Victoria Beckham LBD), but there’s a difference to being handed something without thought, and being bought a gift.

There are some things I don’t agree with my dad on, he’s quite old fashioned in some ways but I know he has become more relaxed since having a new woman in his life. I remember giving him advice on how women work when he was first courting his now fiance- I do believe I taught him a fair few things about playing hard to get in order to keep her on her toes. He’s a hopeless romantic is my dad, and I know that’s ultimately what I want in a man, to just randomly receive flowers for absolutely no reason at all (as opposed to either associated guilt or forced romance i.e Valentines Day, no thanks) or be whisked away for a weekend. He’s got it right, now.

Up until now, every relationship I’ve been in has been me taking the lead, me organising any trip/holiday/dinner/bill paying, I have never had a proactive boyfriend because I wanted to mould them into what I wanted, I thought I could change my past relationships into my idea of perfection, rather than letting it be or meeting someone who was naturally in synch with myself, I took the people whom I just thought were ‘ok’ for me, and attempted to be the world’s perfect girlfriend, avoiding arguments like the plague, not minding when I get a text on a Wednesday morning letting me know they went out the night before and got hammered. Being too laid back maybe.

What I hate about getting into relationships is the associaton of just that. Sacking your mates off to see your boyfriend/girlfriend= melt, bore, changed. If you’re not in a relationship but just ‘seeing’ someone it’s far more acceptable to ditch after-work drinks for a date, for the possibility of getting your leg over you’re a ‘lad’ (if you’re a guy, obvs) and snapping a pic of her bra on the floor to post in your whatsapp group is what, just the done thing these days isn’t it? Who cares if it’s your missus’ bra on the floor, booooring.

It’s sad that not everyone can just be friends without having that segregation of ‘oh I’ve got to get home early else he’ll just text me all night’. This is why I’m well and truly taking on the next bit of advice from father: Wait. There is no rush, there’s no point in forcing it. Yes, this blog was intended to record my learnings and experiences from forced dates with the likes of Tinder being a catalyst, and to be fair it’s been a nice release, to write again, but am I (personally) really desperate to find my Mr Right that I’m proactively seeking them through a mobile phone app which just shows me five photos of potential eligible bachelors? Me, personally, no. It’s all for the banter, for the stories, for the ‘when I was in my 20’s I did this, and that, and oh that was hilarious’ because why not?

When it comes to eventually settling down, who knows. Whatever will be will be, but until then I’ll happily enjoy being a bridesmaid as opposed to a bride and the only man who is guaranteed to have my heart forever, is my dad.

 

 

A year ago, pre dating, this happened

 

A year ago today I found out my boyfriend of four years, whom I lived with in a flat we bought together and had a cat (yeah, it was serious) had another life. He had another girlfriend for the past six months we were together, before I found out. I wrote the below a year ago, when it all happened, maybe as a coping mechanism? and I have decided to publish it. Sometimes you think you’re happy in a situation, it’s only when you’re no longer in that situation when you realise you weren’t happy at all.

Now, I’m more than happy.

(names have all been changed to protect identity- Dick being the main character..!)

Saturday 18th May 2013:

Today was the first day my boyfriend was home after a month of being in Cyprus with the forces. I was so excited to see him. We spent the day shopping for a tuxedo for him, then I had planned a meal on top of the Heron Tower at SushiSamba to celebrate his 30th birthday which would be on Monday.
While at the restaurant I presented him with proof of purchase of tickets to see his favourite band- Mumford & Sons. We had a lovely night and he wanted to go home as in his words ‘I spend enough money on it and I’m never home’.. this will become more relevant in Sunday’s post….

Sunday 19th May:

We got up early and made breakfast together before deciding to go to the cinema to watch The Great Gatsby. Afterwards we came home and cuddled on the sofa. I said to him ‘do you want to be with me forever?’ ‘Yes’ he said, yes of course..

All weekend he was quite cagey with his phone, whereas we’d usually be very open with phones, just leaving them out. Anyway, he went to the toilet had put my phone upside down and slyly slid it under the sofa, clearly thinking it was his. Obviously I then had a sudden urge to look at his, which was also upside down. All I did was turn it round- not even press a button- and a Whatsapp message appeared from ‘Emma’: Worried about you, hope you haven’t had any more stitches’. Or something along those lines.
While in Cyprus he was in a scrap and got a cut on his head, meaning he got stitches. So my first question to him was ‘Who’s Emma?’ to which he replied: ‘I don’t know anyone called Emma*alarm bells ringing* ooookay, so how does a girl called Emma know you had stitches and why would she be worried about you? So what I did next was call her..but then what happened shocked me, as I pressed ‘call’ it came up as ‘calling Paul iPhone’… Paul???
With Whatsapp, when someone messages you it comes up as the other persons username, which is different to what you’ve saved them in your phonebook as. So, next question ‘why would you save a girls name under Paul if you don’t know who they are??’
We went round in circles, I left a message on Emma/Pauls phone simply saying ‘this is Dick’s girlfriend of 4 years and we have a house together, just seen a message from you but he’s saved your number under a guys name, so that’s the reason for my call. apologies if this makes no sense to you’… he snatches his phone back off of me.
I give him the perfect opportunity to explain himself, me being extremely calm under the circumstances. He says I obviously don’t trust him and twists it round to be my paranoia. Emma is apparently a girl that works in a bar in Bournemouth- where he’s based with the forces. He ends up leaving after sitting in silence for half an hour. He’s gone.
All I’m left with is the knowledge that the other girl is called Emma and works in a bar in Bournemouth.. and my tears.

Monday 20th May:

Today is his 30th birthday. I don’t hear from him and I don’t attempt to make contact. I do spend the day searching ‘Emma, bars, Bournemouth’ obviously getting absolutely nowhere. Torturing myself and having nothing else to go on I then get a text from Dick’s mother, Rose.
She had sent him a photobook which commemorated all of his finest moments up until the age of 30, obviously a lot of the book features myself. He opened it on Saturday night and threw it aside because he was so disappointed that his mum had got it for him. ‘This is basically for you, I’d rather have got nothing than this shit’ he said. How ungrateful, I thought to myself before asking what he would’ve been grateful for instead, he said what I had got him- his favourite bands tickets.
Anyway, the reason for Rose’s first text was to see if Dick had opened his present. I don’t reply. The second text tells me she has had a reply from Dick and he told her that he hadn’t yet opened it. Lie. She goes onto ask me about Saturday’s plans..I had organised a surprise party for him with all his best friends and family and now we need to know exact numbers to sort out the food. I reply to Rose telling her I have no idea what’s going on, briefly telling her what had happened the previous night. She says she will tell the venue we need to cancel as he has to work. I let his friends all know the same, covering his back. God knows why.
Luckily my dad is over from America this week- perfect timing, and we go to dinner and put the world to rights over a bottle or two of wine. He tells me not to be too hasty with decisions as I don’t yet know all the facts. I agree, but tell him I’m not stupid and I know there’s something seriously wrong here.

Tuesday 21st May:

I have a brainwave. This brainwave leads me into finding a hotel confirmation forwarded to Dick from a ‘Miss E White’ ..E? Emma. This is her, this is bloody her.
Facebook. Find her. Message her. I got a reply stating her mobile number and she desperately urges that I call her asap. I do. We talk for over an hour and exchange stories. She had no idea about me, she’s upset as she has now introduced Dick as her boyfriend, he’s met her friends and family and they’ve been together for five months. Yep, that’s right. How did he get away with it?
Well, I’ll tell you how.. being in the forces, everything he does is secret, so he would tell me he’s waiting at work as things are kicking off in the Middle East which he may have to attend to. ‘Of course darling, your work takes priority, just stay safe’, so while I’m at home trying not to worry if his head’s going to be blown off, ironically his head probably is being blown off, in another context..

There was one week he was home on leave though, so Emma asks me if he was in the field that week. Nope, he was home with me, but he was in the field the week after, right? Wrong, the week after he was at home with her. So he had two weeks leave, one week spent with me, the other with her. He played us both.
So now, we both know what he’s done, but he doesn’t know we know.. how can we play this? Suggestions were fired around. ‘Let’s meet up for a drink in Bournemouth, I’ll get him to meet me and he’ll walk in to see both of us together’ was her first idea. I know him (well, I thought I did) and knew he would take one look at us then walk straight back out again. He can’t do confrontation. He’s a coward.
So, she sends me all the texts he’s sent her, one of which is extremely explicit so I paste it onto my phone and hit send..to him.
I would’ve done anything to see his reaction when he received that message from me, the very message he sent to her the morning he was coming back to our home.
Now he knows, I email him an extremely civil message and BCC my family and friends in as evidence. I state that I know everything and now we just have the matter of sorting out the flat. Our flat.
I get nothing back.
I meet my dad for dinner again, this time he says ‘remember I told you not to be hasty. Forget I said that. This is no man, you can do a million times better, you know the facts now, do what you need to do’..I break down.

Wednesday 23rd May:

Emma messages me to see if I’m ok and holding up. I feel so positive today, I don’t want someone like him in my life and my feelings have turned to numbness. She tells me that all of his friends are the same- not one is single, however.
She also tells me she has spoken to one of his friends from his hometown in Cornwall. He only has one friend there, I text him ‘did you know about Emma?’ I don’t get a reply, but he ‘likes’ my Facebook status later that day when I change it to ‘cant wait to go home to see my friends and family’. I take that ‘like’ as a confession that he knew. His loyalties lie with Dick so I don’t hold it against him.
I get another message from Emma saying that Dick has just text her asking to meet up tonight and talk. I can’t believe that I still haven’t heard anything from him, so I bite the bullet and text him. I say ‘nice to know you want to meet and talk to Em, but still no word about the flat’ he replies.. my jaw dropped.. no ‘I’m so sorry’ no no, but this: ‘you two are right little buddies now aren’t you. I’ll be in contact about the flat when the time is right.’ I can’t believe that this is the first time I hear from him and that’s all I get. If I didn’t think he was heartless before, this just confirms that he has no feelings. Have I just wasted four years of my life with this ‘man’ ?

Thursday 24th May:

I tell his mum everything. She can’t believe it and it’s clear she’s hopeful but the more I tell her, the more she realises her son is not who she thought. She says she doesn’t want to believe this is the son she brought up and knows and loves. Unfortunately, he is.
I think of the positives. I’m 24 years old, not married or with child, now single and living in the best city in the world (in my opinion), where’s the best place to be single?? London of course! I’m going to have a ball. He had two girlfriends, two houses, two lives and is 30. Now he has nothing but a single bed and a camp to go ‘home’ to. I’m not the mug here.

I go out tonight and wonder if I have ‘I’m single’ tattooed to my forehead. I’ve never gotten so much attention in all my life, then again as a friend points out, I never noticed it because I was blinded by love, I ignored any attention because I was loyal and faithful, committed to one relationship. Now I’m going to have fun!!
I’m off to Devon on the weekend to surround myself with loved ones and my dad and brother are coming with me. My family have arranged a garden party to take my mind off things.

The weekend comes and goes and I still haven’t heard anything more from him. I analyse every time he was away and work out that the weekend I arranged for us both to go to Paris to watch David Beckham play for PSG, Dick called me the day before telling me he has to work as things are all kicking off and that’s all he can tell me as it’s top secret. I lost £500 on the tickets, flights and hotel but it didn’t matter because it was his job (I was bloody gutted). A few weeks later Becks had retired and that was my last chance to ever see him play. I even told him on the Sunday that I found the message, that I would never forgive his work for making him work on that weekend as Becks has now retired.

email

The email I sent to him

Thing is, he wasn’t at work..he was with Emma that weekend for her nieces christening. Yep, she told me.

 

The Camp Bristolian

Date of date: 25th February
Name: Tom
Source: Tinder

After chatting on Tinder for about a week, this guy seems like a total dreamboat. He’s good looking, quick with the banter and has an interesting job. He’s not lived in London for too long so asks me out for a drink and suggests I choose the venue. I tell him to meet me at a place called Green Carnation in Soho.

‘Erm, you do realise Green Carnation is a gay and lesbian bar?’ says one of my colleagues after I tell him what I’m doing that night. Well no, I didn’t. I mean I know that Soho is predominantly a gay area yes, but I thought this particular bar was open for all. Apparently not. But I’ve been before and was oblivious, so now I’m totally conscious that this guy has googled the place and either thinks a)I’m having him on and am going to stitch him up while he’s surrounded by a load of hungry men (which in hindsight, he would probably have enjoyed. More of why later), or b) he thinks I’m bi.

So I text him changing the venue, recommended by my colleague who clearly knows Soho better than me.
Meanwhile I get a huge amount of work in from a client, with a short turnaround. I do a quick calculation (I’m shit at maths) and figure I will be about 20 minutes late in meeting him- so I let him know.

I turn up an hour and a half late. Feeling very bad and apologising via text every half an hour until I meet him, he tells me he’s at Be At One in Piccadilly, he clearly didn’t trust my second venue after the first blunder- or he’s been there and drank his hours worth before a change of scenery.

By the time I arrive he’s already made friends with the bar staff and they clap when I sit down. I feel myself blush and apologise prefusely, offering to buy the (my) first drinks, but I see he already has two drinks in front of him so I assume one is for me, I thank him and take it. Turns out it’s happy hour and he had stocked up for himself- what am I like!..

I’m not a snob, but Be At One wouldn’t be my first choice when it comes to cocktails- it’s more of a student wetherspoons pre drink type place isn’t it, so I suggest Archer Street, a much nicer bar where the waitresses break out into song every now and then, plus the cocktails are amaze. So we go there after I down a watered down mojito.

Archer Street means I can also hear his voice and make conversation.. this is when it registers. He’s camp, very, very camp, camper than a row of tents. He sounds a cross between Joe Pasquale and Josie Gibson from Big Brother- you know, the big Bristolian lass who went out with Jon James and lost loads of weight, now looks amazing.
He’s from the Westcountry, as am I, but every time he talks I just take it as comedy value. I have an ex colleague called Joe (now a very successful actor in Broadchurch, little plug there for you Joe, as if you need it) and those who know Joe, knows he is the most Bristolian person in the world, now this date I would say, was more so. I literally wanted to bottle him up and open him whenever I wanted to laugh. Unfortunately, we were on a date and his intentions were far from being bottled up. I was asking him questions just so I could hear him talk.
I found out he was one son out of five sisters, so I asked the question. Yes I’d had a few Tom Collins’ by this point so I figured it was a perfectly normal question: ‘did your parents ever think that you’d have such a female influence that you’d be gay?’ his answer ‘my parents love a gay so they wouldn’t mind’… this makes me think he probably is gay and is on a date with me to test the waters, see if he can be swayed into liking girls. Well after being held waiting at a Be At One for 1.5 hours and being asked loads of questions so I could memorise his accent, probably would turn anyone gay.

So we leave. He tells me I’m his first Tinder date, and now imagine the most Bristolian, camp accent ever.. he says to me:
‘Well I think that went quite well, don’t you love?’
I lol. I say ‘yes, I had the best time’ which isn’t a lie. I had a lot of fun, but I wish he was my gay best straight mate. He then says:
‘Defo do this again maid, text me some dates you’re free’.

With that, we get on our separate tubes at Piccadilly and the odd text was exchanged a week or so after. There was no romance there but I would happily help him find his Mr Right.. if he does indeed swing that way.