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.

I'll give you something to smiley face about...

Anyway, enough about me....

Only joking. It's all about me.

I did the unthinkable. I D&T'd. That's right I drank and texted. Now, in my defence, this wasn't a fella that had been sat on my mind (or anything else) for a while now. Not someone I think about on a day to day basis. But I was out having a rather jolly time with a very good friend of mine. And maybe it was the headiness of all the giggling, the mix of wine, Kahlua and the dodgy pizza I had for dinner, in a rather fun stomach cocktail or because the moon was aligning with Leo, whatever it was I decided it would do no harm. 

I am an idiot.

This very good friend of mine had introduced me to a whatsapp on the iphone, which I fully recommend to anyone who has one. It is a free messaging service for anyone who has an iphone. And possibly a blackberry. I don't know. Or care. With this app you can instant message people and it costs you nothing. Fun.

This service instantly tells you of other people in your phonebook who are also using this service. For me, there were three. One was he. Mifty mee. Didn't even know he was still in my phone book. So this conversation with (let us call him) Mike went like this

me - hey

him - hey :) alright stranger ;) 

Now I'm sure you'll agree, already too many smileys to be a message from someone who isn't a dick

me - hows it going?

him - I'm good thanks hun - still single. been working in Essex, Southampton and soon Birmingham Arrrrgh LMAO - So how's miss Jones.

so many questions starting with why.....

Why did I open this can of worms?

Why did he tell me he was single? Hardly relevant.

Why does a man in his thirties think it is acceptable to say LMAO, when I imagine there was very little laughing involved, let alone enough to cause his arse to remove itself from the rest of his body.

I can't of course judge this guy at all, I was the one after all who got in touch with him. And I don't judge him. But neither do I care very much. Which is a sign that I have grown up a lot. Specifically in the last two years or so I would say.

I liked Mike a lot. One hell of a lot. And he hurt me. He made me think, nay, he told me that he had fallen for me then he walked away. About two years ago it would have taken me a long time to get over that. It took me about two days. I read his text message (yes you read correctly - HE DUMPED ME BY TEXT) and thought - Ok, that's another one to dust off and walk away from.

I think as women, we can be fooled into thinking that if we hang about for long enough that maybe he'll come around. I hold Disney fully responsible for this. He will never come around. If he doesn't like you now, he will never like you. At least not until you have realised that he is a dick. Then he will be banging down your door begging for you to love him. Maybe because he is scared that you have discovered the well hidden secret that he is a dick, and will share it with the world, so he must marry you to silence the truth.

Now I am not painting all men with the same brush here, some women are also just as bad. And some of us are stupid. 

A friend of mine went on a date recently with a guy who told her he just wanted sex. He even said to her that if she didn't sleep with him that night she wouldn't get another chance. She walked away. And we all laughed about what a dick he was.

He texted her a few days later to say 'that offer expires at 9pm tonight if you are interested' Can you believe that?!! We all laughed about what a dick he was.

She slept with him that night.

What a dick.

This is exactly the sort of thing that makes him think that dickish behaviour like that is acceptable. It is not acceptable. A vibrator would have been a better choice. Jesus, even a muldy carrot would have been a better choice.

Anyway. I was working, doing a little bit of promo and I'm taking the details of a gentleman. A man of about 40. With long, tied back, greasy hair. With yellow teeth and yellow fingers. Bit of an odd fella. I was taking his contact details and then he said:

'I hope you don't think I'm being too forward, but I think you are beautiful. I really do. I would love very much to take you out sometime and you have my number now so please call me'

I mumbled something about data protection and about moving to Uruguay and took my leave.

I could have course have been flattered at being thought of as beautiful. I could have. But I am a woman. We do not operate this way. I was depressed. Depressed that this man considered me in his league. Thought that he may have a chance with me. Now this might sound quite a horrible, and quite frankly shallow thing to say, but think about someone you know who is particularly unattractive. Take a second to think of someone you know that is just a little bit gross. That you don't like to sit too close to. If you can't think of someone think about that person who is always on a night bus. Now if your best friend said to you , in all seriousness, 'I think you would make a lovely couple' Would you be flattered or offended? So am I wrong for feeling like this? I don't think so. Am I ashamed for feeling like this? Absolutely. Why do I have the right to feel better or more attractive than anyone else. Maybe I just have the smugness of someone who owns a shower.

I think that's reasonable.