In the beginning, God created man. It went downhill from there.

Having been single for an extraordinary amount of time (the last relationship I was in, we had met at a party celebrating the remarkable discovery of fire) I have started to think about how difficult it is for a relationship to actually start. How do they come about? Anyone? I can't bloody remember.

Upon occasion, you meet a gentleman and he may ask for your number. 

Hurdle one - completed. 

Yes, this has happened, even to me, so I know it is not something that only happens in films. 

This is a nice stage, I am comfortable at this stage. I can sit and daydream about this guy and what our life will be like together. Sure, it might be a difficult life together with me having to try and work out what his name is, because I can't remember, I'm not sure he ever told me, I was too excited to be talking to an actual man, but a life together it will be nonetheless. 

Then you come across hurdle number two. The initial texts. What if he writes like a dick? Spells like a four year old? Or worst of all worses, he uses the term 'lol'?

Hai Bayby, u r hot ;-) wanna meet sum time? LOL!!! ;-) 

Yeah. That text is gonna get an 'I think you've got the wrong number, this is an STD clinic' response. 

So let's say, theoretically, hurdle two has been leaped and bounded over and you've had a few lovely, gentlemanly, grammatically correct text messages, with the use of only one smiley face when entirely appropriate. 

Now it's the horrific car crash waiting to happen that is the 'first date'.

Who invented this system? This shitty interview for the position of girlfriend?! Whoever it was, I would like to tie them to the back of a high speeding elephant. 

You spend, days and weeks, deliberating over what to wear. You realise you have absolutely NOTHING suitable in your four wardrobes worth of clothes. You are starting to consider cutting up a waistcoat and a pair of jeans to makes a sort of dress thing. Why are you even doing this to yourself anyway? He's going to hate you and realise that he should probably be going out with your sister. What's the point?! Then after nearly being sick with nerves, you have a couple of Gin and Tonics and you start to think about wearing the pyjamas you have on, because actually they look pretty sexy. 

You look goood. 

You stumble to the venue of choice.  And there he is. Now the fun and games begin, what do you order to drink? Nothing that makes you seem like the sort of lady who loves to end her evening in an alleyway, and certainly nothing that is prone to making you end the evening dancing on the table with your (or anyone else's) knickers on your head.


You take your seats and stare at each other for a bit. What if the conversation doesn't flow? Horrid stilted small talk -


'So, do you have any brothers and sisters?'
'Where are you from originally?'


It can all feel a little like you are in a GCSE French class.


How do we as human beings manage to get past these stages? And how do we decide whether or not we want to spend a little more time with that particular human?

Spark I think it's called. But how do you know if that's there under all the awkwardness and drink?  Oh and if it does go well, don't go home with him. Because even if he has fallen in love with you instantly and believes you are the woman he is meant to marry. It will change his view of you - because no matter how much we try to change things, apparently it is still the 1950's.


It's all a bit of a boiling pot of idiocy. You dip your spoon in and hope for the best really. I like to think of it as a sort of lottery. I guess if you don't buy a ticket you aren't ever going to win.


Still it's worth a try. And the one time it does work out, then it's got to be worth the hassle right?


Don't ask me. I have absolutely no idea.