Ghosts of boyfriends past

Everyone has some of those old photos that they would rather disappeared off the face of the planet. Reminders of a bad choice, be it a dreadful haircut or really really horrific outfit. 

These days with Facebook, these photos are even more accessible and even less burnable. Sure, you can untag yourself, but somewhere out there is an awful reminder of that hideous fur catsuit you were convinced looked amazing when you left the house. You were Naomi Campbell. No. You were in fact RuPaul. 

There was a horrific period, if you recall, in the nineties when lime green and fluorescent orange was for some reason deemed to be acceptable. And not, as it should have been, an arrestable offence. If you don't recall this period, I can only assume that it is because your brain has blacked it out for your own protection. 
During this time, I owned a bright orange skin tight Lycra shirt with a black collar. Feeling this wasn't ludicrous enough, I would often couple this with some Boyzone dog tags. Hell yeah I was a stylish chick. Without any friends. This outfit is etched onto the back of my eyeballs as a mistake that should not have been made. Why did no one do anything? Like push me down a well?

Luckily, there is no photographic evidence of this atrocity. Maybe because people who even attempted to look directly at me would have their retinas burnt. 

I have a friend who used to wear foundation two shades too pale. She looked like a lost Parisian mime. Did I do the honourable thing and tell her? No. No I did not. I let her carry on scaring children and dogs as any good friend would. 

This hall of shame is not unfortunately limited to clothing or awful haircuts. We can add into this mix boyfriends who shouldn't have been. 

Ah yes. The 'what-in-God's-name-did-I-see-in-you?' Museum. 

Everyone has at least one. I, unfortunately have several. 

There's the one who ended up in a mental hospital. 

There's the one who become a monk. 

The four, five or six who turned out to be gay. (That I know of). 

The one who left me for someone else because God told him to. 

I wish I was making this up. I really do. But I'm not. Well, at least I got some good writing material out of it. And some stories to laugh at with my therapist.

And I suppose in a way, we have to have these awful relationships to prove to ourselves what it is we really want. 
But do we? Do we really? I mean, I don't need to drink a bucket of vomit to know that I would actually rather have a cake. 

And yet, somewhere along the way, I really wanted to be with these idiots. In the same way that I was happy to be dressed like a children's entertainer on ecstasy.

They say love is blind. Sometimes I think it can be deaf, mute and quite frankly a little bit slow of learning. 

I guess all we can do is pat ourselves on the back for burning those outfits and ditching those awful men. This is what makes us become complete human beings. Right? Yes. Let's all tell ourselves that... 

As for that shirt, I have no idea what happened to it in the end. I must have seen sense and thrown it out. Maybe Lady Gaga has it? Maybe it is being used by woodsmen to protect themselves from bears. Who knows... Who knows.... 

I will not think about you naked. Promise.

A question was posed to me a couple of days ago. A question of the sex and relationship kind. I love a good question of the sex and relationship kind. And once a question is posed to me, I like to have a good old ponder. And then an ice cream. And then a further ponder. And then I like to share my views with you stunningly beautiful people. You are, you know, each and every one of you. Except you. Put your clothes back on.

The question went thus - 

'Can a straight man and a straight woman ever have a completely platonic friendship without either of them thinking of the other in a sexual way, ever?'

My first reaction to this was - Absolutely. Of course. I have many straight single male friends and there has never been even the slightest question of anything more between us. 

And then I thought, 'Really?... Really? No question at all? Really?' and then I thought, 'Hmm, maybe you're right, Second Me... The more I think about it, the more you could be right...'

If I think of my straight male friends, some of them did, of course, come with the initial thought of 'Oh hello you... Would you like to put your head between my breasts?' but then we become friends and heads in breasts is just considered a faux pas.

And for the ones that it has never crossed my mind to think of in that dirty dirty way, not at all, not even once, not even if I had had a bath filled with tequila, how can I be completely sure it has never once crossed their mind. I mean, look at me. I'm hot. I would. 

Narcissistic comments aside, I think that a purely platonic relationship is possible.

But maybe only if the two people involved are very unattractive. Or have got to the stage where the relationship is very close and it would be like getting down and dirty with your brother or sister. The thought of which has made me vom in my mouth a little bit. 

But in any friendship, at some stage, bumping uglies will probably cross your mind. But I guess, it then depends how that thought makes you feel. If it's a bit vomey in your mouth, then it's probably not right.

Getting back to nature, we should really all be having sex with each other all the time. To, you know, populate the planet and that. It's only boring society that says that that's not acceptable these days. So maybe these thoughts are always there and we are just constantly filtering them out of our heads just to be able to get on with our lives. It would be pretty tough to get any work done that's for sure, if we were just having to have sex with everybody. And when would we get time to eat? Think about it... These are the dangers of non platonic relationships. Take note kids, Just Say No.

When you least expect it

In the last few years, dating websites have been popping up all over the virtual shop like moles in a beautifully newly mown croquet lawn. One thing that is obvious in this is that so many people are searching for love. I mean, like, google searching for love. But the only thing I can see that this can result in is lots of money for I_am_desperate_for_a_man_who_is_in_no_way_like_the_last_twentyfive_shitheads_I've_dated. Com. 

I'm not going to have a go at dating websites here. Of course, in this day and age, meeting new people can be really difficult. Especially in a city like London, where the abnormal act of actually striking up a conversation with a stranger usually results in a swift pepper spraying. 

I know lots of people who have met through dating sites and are wonderfully happy. Indeed, my own little sojourn into the world wide weird web has giving me a lot of material to use in these blogs. And tales to regale my therapist with. 

It's the act of actively looking for love that I'm going to talk about. There is the age old saying that love happens when you least expect it. For those of us who have been single since the Vikings invaded, anyone who hands out this superduper helpful advice is risking a good old fashioned punch in the face. 

Of course, I'm not flyering for potential boyfriends or checking the ring finger of every man I sit next to on a bus. But, of course, when you are single and not wanting to be you can find yourself buying things to help you become more attractive, going to places to try to meet potential mates and Internet dating. 

And yet, in my experience, the people who have found true wonderfully slushy greeting card type love have stumbled across it, sometimes on websites, at a point in their lives when they are so ridiculously happy that everyone falls in love with them on sight. 

I mean, when have you ever heard a love story that started with 'I saw her from across the room, she looked tired, miserable, no self confidence and with an air of desperation, I knew I had to speak to her at once...'

Next time you are on a tube, train, bus, sexual health clinic, anywhere where there are lots of people, have a look to see who are the most attractive people in the crowd. Male and female. And then, what is it that is attractive about them? The clothes they are wearing? Hair? Make up? Possibly. (Men do look hot with eyeliner). But more than likely it is that walking with air of confidence, that complete happiness in themselves. This is something that draws people in. 

Instead of spending money on dating websites, or things that will make you more attractive, why not spend money on things that will make you happy. Like ice cream. A weekend at the beach. A week in Brad Pitt's underwear. Because these things can just as easily lead you down the path to love. And if they don't, you'll be happy and won't care anyway. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, Ben, Jerry and I have to pack, we've booked ourselves in for a week away in Benedict Cumberbatch's Briefs. (Try saying that three times with marbles in your mouth - or not - whatever makes you happy). 

Breasts are not news

As you are only able to see the (completely accurate) cartoon of my legs, and not a full length picture, cartoon or otherwise, it is important that you are aware that I have very large breasts. I mean that it is important for the purposes of this blog. Not just as a boast. 

Lets talk about The Sun. The National newspaper not the hardly ever viewed orb in the sky. 

Reading the sun goes a bit like this - Page One - outrage at the latest thing we have decided to be outraged by. Usually paedophiles.

Page two - look who got thrown out of The X factor.

Page three - woman with breasts.

Page four - Ahhh! Look! Kate Middleton with a puppy. 

Why is this acceptable? (The naked woman with the puppies- not Duchess of Cambridge the puppy) Has this become like background noise to us now and we don't even think about what a ridiculous idea it is. 

There is a wonderful campaign running at the moment called No More Page 3. It is calling for The Sun to get rid of its topless girlie pictures. This is a campaign I am fully behind. It is my opinion that these dated pictures are large part of the reason that otherwise reasonable men think that it is ok to downright stare, to comment as you pass them in the street and even occasionally grab, if you happen to have large breasts. 

Almost as if having been blessed with oversized breasticles, you are automatically giving permission to every Tom, Dick and Wanker to treat you like dirt. 

One time, a man, who had his arm around his girlfriend reached out to grab my breast as I passed the couple. I wish I was joking. I really do. 

If you saw someone with a huge nose, is it acceptable to whisper 'massive conk' at them as they pass? Is it normal behaviour to maybe sneak a little stroke of their appendage? Of course it isn't. Breasts are a body part like any other.

But, I have to deal with comments on a daily basis. A perfectly nice stroll through the park is blackened as a man sneers 'cracking tits' at you as he slimes past. I am not exaggerating when I say daily basis. Truly. 

Don't get me wrong. This is not a 'my gold shoes are too tight and my pearl necklace is choking me' type blog. I am more than happy with what I've got. Yes, of course, there is the backache, the having to wear two parachutes tied together instead of a bra, the black eyes when jogging. And, indeed, big breasts are, in general, a wonderful thing. All breasts - big, small, round, square all colours, shapes, sizes and creeds. Breast should be celebrated. But not like this. 

The Sun's arguments for this ridiculous feature  that it is clinging onto desperately, include the word 'harmless'. It will not admit, that this might be the only reason this awful paper sells. But when children are subjected to this feature on a daily basis, on trains, in waiting rooms, at home, what kind of 'harmless' message are we giving to them?

This world is already an unstable place in terms of the horrific things that young people have access to with the progression of the Internet. Do we need to add this into the mix too?

We are telling young girls that this is something they should aspire to. Their fifteen minutes of fame. We are telling young boys that girls want to be looked at as sex objects. They love it. This is completely normal. Go on, have a squeeze...

The buck has to stop somewhere and I say it should be here. 

Because breasts are not news. 

Sign this petition and make it stop

http://www.change.org/en-GB/petitions/dominic-mohan-take-the-bare-boobs-out-of-the-sun-nomorepage3

Does he like me?

From time to time I get some messages from you lovely lot , my readers, asking me for some relationship advice. Very flattering indeed that you think of me some kind of relationship Buddha. But strange too, as I am more of a relationship Gandhi, with my choice of abstinence. Or rather, having abstinence unwantedly thrust upon me. 

About 90% of the questions I am asked in face to face real life by actual friends and also by lovely stranger-to-me messaging women essentially boil down to the same thing:

Does he like me?

Does he love me?

Does he still like me?

Does he still love me?

And, of course, the answer is, how can I possibly know? In some cases I've never met you or him so I have absolutely no way of knowing from a one sided email. But, the response I give is pretty much always the same. And, I think, pretty much always accurate. 

Instead of trawling through his messages looking for hidden meanings 'he said 'see you later' at the end of his text, does that mean he WANTS to see me later, or like he feels he's being held at gunpoint to see me later?'

 

Or analysing every single look he gives you or doesn't give or times he touches your shoulder and agonising yourself to death over these meaningless things.

The answer lies in this one simple question. 

Do you like yourself? 

If the answer is yes, then the chances are he probably does too. It is no surprise or huge secret that people like spending time with people who are comfortable in their own skin. If you are happy to spend time in your own company, are happy with the way your life is and are brimming with self confidence. Then why would he not like you? The only reason I can see is because he is a class A idiot. 

Any amount of time you spend agonising about the things that are wrong in your life, your bodily defects, (of which, I assure you, you have none) then the more negativity you will create around yourself. 

I know it's harder said than done a lot of the time, especially when we are constantly being told by the media, advertising etc that are many reasons in life to not be happy, and that if you buy this shampoo all your dreams will come true. But a positive mental attitude makes people love to be around you. 

There are two types of people in life, there are lights and there are drains. 

Lights are pretty self explanatory. Lights are the people you have all the time in the world for. The people who you make you feel better just by being in their company. They are also so goddamn attractive. But that attractiveness isn't from an innate natural beauty (although annoyingly, sometimes it is) it comes from their positivity and being comfortable in themselves. 

Then there are drains. Not all drains are obvious at first sight. They are the sort of people that it is a bit of a chore to be around. They can only really focus in what is wrong with their lives, their bodies, the world in general. They essentially drain energy from you whenever you see them. Even if these people have natural beauty, it pretty much gets covered up by the negative energy they chose to sit in. 

Now, these are of course quite extreme ends of the scale. 

But what you have to think to yourself is,

'Am I the sort of person I would  choose to spend time with?'

 

If not, then take measures to become that person. 

 

If you spend your time pointing out the things that are wrong with you then yes, he will notice them too. How could he not? You're shoving them in his face!

 

Men never EVER notice the things we hate about our bodies, so why show them to him? 

 

If trying to be confident is uncomfortable for you at first, and for a lot of women it will be, then pretend. Pretend to be a confident women. After a little while, you just will be. 

And when you are, how could this man fail to want to be around you and bathe in your light. And quite frankly, if he is not drawn to you like a moth, then plenty of other men soon will be. 

You'll be covered in moths. Umm, I mean men. Or Moths. If you prefer. 

The Ex Files

I like to think that I am a bit of an expert when it comes to relationships (How to avoid them, how to have a man never call you again, and generally how to do all of things that ensure you that you will die alone). Which is why so many of my female friends come to me for advice in all things romance.

Nope, I can't explain it either, but there we go.

Last night I had a dinner with a wonderful friend of mine, Emily. Emily is a lawyer, Emily is a tough, hard working, no nonsense girl. Last night, Emily was a blithering wreck.

I had never seen her like this, she looked like a survivor from 28 Days Later. I wanted to put my arms around her, to comfort her but I was scared that she would eat them.

Her issue was that her boyfriend of six months or so, was still in regular contact with his ex girlfriend and it was driving her crazy.

'It's killing me' She would say between downing buckets of red wine 'I'm trying to stay calm and collected but this Bitch won't leave him alone'

She then stabbed her chicken in a way to ensure that it was really truly dead and looked up at me with the eyes of a desperate woman.

'Aren't I enough for him?'

Let's face it, we've all been here. Especially when it comes to fledgling relationships. You aren't really secure on the ground you are standing and then there's this ever watchful presence of the last woman who owned your man occasionally throwing hand grenades onto the battlefield.

It's quite a dominating presence, this woman who as far as you are aware is prettier, slimmer, cleverer (wouldn't use made up words like cleverer), cooks, cleans, does charity work, amazing in bed, is an all round Goddess and you just don't match up.

Well, let me tell you what I told poor demented Emily from under the dinner table....

He is not the one putting her on a pedestal....

You are.

Of course every man is going to have ex girlfriends, unless you date a virgin, which at my age is a touch creepy. Or we make ex girlfriends illegal. I'm sure it's on the coalition's list of things to get round to.

Some men will stay in touch with their Exes, of course, as will some women. (Sorry, that was a bit obvious, if it was just men keeping in touch with their exes and not women I'm pretty sure that's stalking...)
But, and you will have heard this time and time again, he is with you now. He is not with her. And there is a reason for this. There is a reason they are not together and there is a reason that you are.
You can drive yourself crazy over it, and ruin your relationship or you can behave like a strong independent woman who knows that she is loved and happy and secure. I know which of those two I would rather be in a relationship with. If I was a lesbian. But that's another story.

The fact of the matter is that they are friends now, which is not a bad thing, a man needs female friends for when it comes to help in his relationships, it's very healthy. In fact, if he stays in regular contact with her, it will only serve as a constant reminder of why they aren't together anymore, she won't become this perfect mythical being that she is in your head.

You just need to get the image of them bumping uglies out of your head and you'll be fine.

Looking back on it, bumping uglies might not have been the term I should have used. We had to pay for a lot of broken glass at the restaurant last night.

Good good good GOOOOOD vibrations

Today, a film will be unleashed on the public. A film entitled Hysteria. You may have heard of it. And if you have, you will realise that this is a film, I simply cannot let slip by unnoticed.

It is a film about an ordinary everyday household object. And the origins thereof.

Yes. I am talking about a woman's best friend. Anyone, at this stage, who is thinking - 'Iron', is going to get a swift kick in the ankle from me.

I am of course referring to a single woman's solace, a married woman's guarantee of joy, a husband's nemesis, The Vibrator.

Any woman who tells you she has never owned or used a vibrator is a liar or a nun. It is the equivalent of a sixteen year old boy saying 'I can use my right hand for WHAT?! How very dare you?! I would never! I have exams to think of.... The very idea....'

These days they come in so many shapes, sizes, colours and creeds, the choice can be as difficult as deciding which chocolate to take in a big 'ol box of Milk Tray... You can even buy them off the shelf in Boots. (The shop. They aren't wearing boots, I think you have to go to a very specialist store for that).

They even come in a lots of different animal shapes. A menagerie a trois if you will... (sorry... couldn't resist) for the....umm.... discerning animal.... ahem.... lover..... 

There is the Rabbit... of course. Yes, we ALL know about the rabbit, but were you aware of the dolphin? The whale? And Oh My God I Wish I Was Kidding.... the HELLO KITTY VIBRATOR. 

Those three words sum up why the Japanese need to be stopped. Now.

The vibrator is no longer a tool for the sad single spinster. They are enjoyed by couples, frequently as 'spicing up' type equipment. Men even have their own fun jiggly rings of joy. 

Whilst it is becoming more and more common for women to discuss the latest in buzzing technology, it still remains a thing of great fear and excitement to men, a bit like a roller coaster, costs a lot, it looks fun and colourful and there's lots of screaming.....

But, one thing that scares them is, what if it does a better job? Will they be demoted? And why is it so much bigger than their own appendage? Isn't that just a rubbery smack in the face?

Well, they have no one to blame but themselves.

The vibrator was invented by doctors in the Victorian age to 'cure' women of 'hysteria'. The usual method of this was for the doctor to stimulate a women's vagina with their finger until they reached 'completion'. Men mixing their laziness with their love of toys invented a device to do the job for them. Which meant it was developed with a very male take on what women would find stimulating. Hence the supersized phallus.

If it had been invented by a woman, it would probably resemble a sort of tiny Ryan Gosling and would project pictures of shoes on the wall during usage.

It wasn't long before women were taking smaller versions of this 'cure' home, and funnily enough, hysteria suddenly became a very common complaint.

I am sure that no man, unless truly confident in himself, will believe me when I say no woman would choose a plastic wobbly device over a real, living breathing human. And why should he believe me, when he is told time and time again that that is not true?

Sex and the City, and any female orientated show is constantly digging away at masculinity and telling them all that they are useless and will never live up to the treasures that are nestled in Ann Summers. But it's okay, because it's always meant as a bit of fun, a little emasculating joke. 

Why can't we just tell them the truth? We would chuck out our rabbits, our tingletips and our black knights for just one evening with the man of our dreams.

But not Hello Kitty. You will have to fight me to get that one. 

Is Romance Dead? Or in a coma? Should we poke it and see?

So for those of you not yet aware, which is anyone without a computer, phone or indeed within shouting distance of my face, I am currently residing in the beautiful city of Venice in Italy.

 

This was not an 'Eat. Pray. Love' finding myself type decision, it was more a 'we will pay you to eat' type decision. 

 

So here I am. In what I believe might actually be the most beautiful city in the world. Add to that pizza, ice-cream and yummy Italian men. Or that was the idea. Unfortunately Venice is not full of thirty something dark haired lotharios called Lorenzo who would love to eat gelato off my naked body. Nope.....It is full of tourists. 

 

Tourist couples. (I threw up in my mouth a little bit when I wrote that).

They've all flocked out to have a wonderful romantic four days on gondolas, holding hands on bridges, kissing in corners and generally getting in my way on my way to work.

 

Initially I wanted to throw each couple off the Rialto and into the Grand Canal, but to be honest that would be a little too time consuming and I have better things to do with my time. Eat Pizza. Scowl. That sort of thing.

 

So instead I have observed. Like a sort of pervert spy.

 

Romance is a big business here. This place is a sort of Groundhog Valentine's Day. Gondoliers sweep young couples up and down the canal under some of the most stunning vistas ever to have been built by man. Rose sellers accost you at every turn with their huge bunches of reminders of your singledom. You can eat ice cream and playfully put some on your lovers nose before kissing in a sort of Rom Com type way. This was the city of Casanova for goodness sake. How can you not get swept up in the greeting card life? Even I forget sometimes and start holding my own hand as I wander over bridges and wonder what romantic restaurant I will take myself out to this evening.

 

This would be an ideal place to have such a unique experience, if you weren't sharing it with 6543 other couples.

 

As a result the city is packed with couples forcing themselves at huge expense to have a good time. 

 

Women scowling at boyfriends who didn't buy them that rose despite the fact that it was 3 euros and he's already sold his clothing and teeth to take her to the opera and eat a sandwich. (It's an expensive city).

 

I go on my little vaporetto up the river and watch couple in gondalas. And do they look like disgustingly happy newly weds who need to get a room? No. They look embarrassed as people gawp at them from passing boats and the banks of the river. And, depending on the weather, a bit wet. And not in a good way.

 

Call me cynical, (I won't answer because it's not my name), but I think that this forced romance actually sucks the romance out of a relationship.

 

Maybe I'm just bitter, but I can't see how you can feel ardently in love with your partner when you are fighting through crowds of equally ardently in love couples and rose sellers.

 

I can't help but feel a little smug as I sit in my quiet little corner with my book watching couples argue over maps and who got who lost.

 

But maybe I just don't know what romantic means.

50 Shades of Wahey!

So, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's been an ever so quiet discussion going on about a certain novel. It's probably passed you by, as it has barely been mention in the press, on Twitter, Facebook and every conversation you overhear. Hardly anyone has mimicked its title for comedy effect. It has its own sort of cult following. And if I were to spoon anymore sarcasm into this blog it would overspill causing everyone to be washed in a sea of low humour shouting - "Drowning am I?! Oh that's original"

50 Shades of Shite, as I like to call it, cannot be ignored unfortunately. Believe me I've tried. I threw a copy out of the window but the postman brought it back. I tossed it in a river, but it came through my tap when I poured myself a glass of water. This book is like a slimy leech. A slimy leech that I have unfortunately read.

I am not here to bore you my literary critiques or to tell you not to bother with this poorly written excuse for erotica. (Though I have achieved both of those things in the above).

What I thought we could chat about today is fetishes and kinky sex. 
Yes. That got your attention didn't it?

Sex. 

Sex sex sex.

A long time ago I met a gentleman. A very lovely guy, who told me I was beautiful and asked for my number. I wasn't even at a Home for the Blind or anything! Result.

We had a few lovely dates, and this guy was such a sweetie. And, it would seem, adored me. Which was, well... great! He was a handsome, kind, generous man. My luck was in. Right?

It was on, I think, the third date that he admitted that his sexual preferences were, well, unexpected. He was a little on the S&M side of the bedroom. And liked his women to be Dominatrices. I was, a little surprised. Actually, that's an understatement. I'm not sure if I would have been more surprised if he'd told me that on the odd occasion, he loves to sit on top of his roof, dressed as The Queen throwing fecal matter at passing wildlife.  

This was a gateway into a world I had never even looked into before. I know it exists, sure. It is like the holiday resort that you have heard tales of, and you are sure is lovely for certain types of people, (you know, those people) but really isn't your cup of tea.

So I had a lot to ponder.

Now before I continue that story, let me move on to the tale of a friend of mine - Andy. So, Andy and I were chatting recently about our love lives, sex and lack thereof. As Andy is a gay man, he isn't a stranger to the various sexual liaisons that occur between two consenting males who have met over the wonderful world wide web. So, not so long ago, Andy is chatting to a guy online and they are getting on really well, and have a lot in common. Then this guy asks Andy if he likes CMNM?

Andy is a little confused.

So before answering, he does what any upstanding (pardon the pun) gentleman would do. He consults Google.

So, for those of you uneducated types, who weren't aware. CMNM stands for Clothed Male, Naked Male. Apparently, this is a 'thing'. There are people in the world who prefer to stay fully clothed whilst others get completely naked. Often, I believe this can be linked to voyeurism. There are WHOLE websites dedicated to it! I'm not that surprised. I think in this day and age, you can find websites for everything. I imagine if your thing is men dressed as nuns on rollerskates you can probably find at least four websites to chose from depending on what colour of habit you would prefer.

My question in all of this, which is vaguely related to 50 shades, is how far should you be willing to stretch your sexual boundaries for the possibility of a wonderful relationship?

If their 'thing', really isn't your 'thing' then surely the relationship can't last. I know that sex isn't everything but at the end of the day, sex actually is everything. And if one of you isn't getting the sex they want how long are they gonna hang round. Even if the person fulfills them in all other areas.

In fifty shades, Miss Twatty McGinty (I can't remember her actual name, so this will do), pretty much gives herself over to something she isn't entirely comfortable with for a man she loves. This is not a great role model for young women who are ready to start exploring their sexuality. Elizabeth Bennet and Jane Eyre are far stronger than Miss McGinty. And they were written a long time before feminism, suffragettes and the sexual revolution.

Andy? Well, Andy tried it out and didn't find it too hideous a prospect. In the end, the relationship didn't work out for other reasons. So, I guess dipping your toe in from time to time isn't the worst thing. Don't knock it till you've tried it, so to speak.

Interestingly, I wonder, does having a particular, shall we say, fetish make it more difficult to find love? It's hard enough to find someone you fancy who like the same sort of food as you let alone someone who also loves to be tied to a car bonnet, covered in red paint and force fed fish. (Just for the record, I have not just let slip any of my own fantasies).

And me? Well, I don't have a wardrobe full of PVC catsuits and gimp masks, that's for sure. I think some things are a bit too scary, even for me. 

Checkout my new website though - www.dragnunsonskates.com. 
I think you'll like it.

All strings attached.

I have been deliberating for a long time over the topic of this blog.

There is a huuuge amount to talk about on this subject. This will probably take a good ten blogs. It is the first time I have ever had to do research. By research I mean chat to friends, lazily use Google once and watch Desperate Housewives.

The subject that I am attempting to broach is infidelity.

I'm sure it is not a coincidence that the word infidelity starts with the word infidel. 

Actually it is a massive coincidence.  

Is it inevitable that a partner will cheat? Film and TV say it is. And why would they lie? Everyone is at it. It would appear. No relationship is complete without a good old fashioned affair.

Unfortunately, what with the nature of cheating being all sort of secretive and that, the statistics can't really be trusted. But research would suggest, that somewhere between 30 and 60% of all married individuals will be unfaithful at some point.

Let's start with the basics. What constitutes cheating? People's opinions on this vary MASSIVELY. I think we are all pretty much agreed that any form of contact with another persons 'special area' is cheating. But there is a divide on kissing. I know a married woman who thinks snogging another guy is acceptable. And a bit of harmless fun. But then, I also know a man who was married but had a full blown affair for ten years. But the way he sees it, he was completely faithful. To two women. 

Both of these people, I think, are just telling themselves what they need to tell themselves to stop the guilt. The same way that I tell myself that if food is free, then it doesn't have any calories in it. Which is why my current diet consists of me rummaging around in bins outside Tescos. Seriously, I am only eating 300 calories a day. I don't know why I'm not losing weight.

In this day and age, there are all sorts of ways to get your kicks, that don't involve actually touching another persons yoghurt gun or panty hamster.

There are all sorts of websites dedicated to watching a complete stranger perform acts of rudeness on themselves. And if you're feeling in a generous mood, then you can show them your private no pants dance too.

If you engage in this behaviour whilst in a relationship, is that cheating? There are very clear arguments on both sides.

It is as harmless as porn, you will never meet the other person and possibly most importantly, you are not, nor ever will be in an emotional relationship with that person.

But, it is another person, and it is just the two of you involved. And your partner may understandably feel hurt that you have had to go elsewhere for your one man tug o' war. 

I should probably stop now, seeing as I having only managed to talk about what constitutes cheating so far. 

I have lots more nonsense to spout on this subject. And will do so at a later stage.

The Italian Inquisition

Ciao!

A while ago I had a boyfriend. I know, I know. I actually used to own a man. It wasn't a dream or a lie I made up to convince my parents that I'm not a lesbian.

Unfortunately, as with all of my relationships it fizzled out. We both agreed that this wasn't going to work. At least, I think that's what we agreed, English wasn't his first language. And Italian isn't mine.

Although I loved the idea of a romantic liaison with a Latin Lothario it turned out to be very unlike the promises made to me by films and my Grandfather's Mills and Boons books (Yes I said Grandfather - Don't ask).

Rather than the full blown passionate love making for three days coming out of bed briefly to eat pasta like his Mamma used to make it was more like dating a wet dog. Who actually did make pretty good pasta.

Anyway, we moved on with our lives. He in fact moved to a whole different country. I don't believe I had anything to do with that. Not this time.

We continued to keep a vague interest in each others lives. Occasional emails that sort of thing.

Anyway, recently I went on a small visit to the country he now resides in. To the city he resides in nonetheless. So I thought it might be nice to meet up. It would be rude not to. Right?

Well, as it turns out, my idea of rude is not the same as that of an Italian.

Our virtual conversation went as follows.

Me - 'Hey I'll be arriving on the 17th and leaving on the 21st? Any time around then good for you?'

He - 'Yes. That is good.'

Me- 'Great. I'll be in touch closer to the time.'

He - 'Am I still entitled to fill you up?! hehe!'

This is the point where the pianist in the bar stops playing. Birds fall out of the sky. The traffic outside shrieks to a halt. Drivers poke their heads out of their windows and shout up to me. 'He said what?!'

Yep. 

I believe you can guess what my response was. Let's face it. If there was even a tiny chance of that happening (which there most definitely was not), he had certainly squashed that in one poorly judged move.

My sister pointed out that what with English not being his forte and also he was now learning his third language, maybe he had made a mistake. Perhaps he meant to say 'Feel you up'.

Of course, it's possible. But that isn't exactly what a girl wants to hear either.

Needless to say, I didn't meet up with him, so he didn't get a chance to clarify what he meant. 

Che Peccato

One's company. Two's stealing my bloody quilt.

Hello World. Or part of it. Hello.

I would like to continue the discussion I was having with myself a few weeks ago that you were listening in on because you are nosey bastards. The one about how relationships come about.

So let's say that you managed to maneuver your way around the war zone that is the first date relatively unscathed. But not, I imagine without the scars, the night terrors and the profuse sweating. No one can escape that.

No word of a lie, I once had a haircut coincidentally booked on the day of a first date, and so I went straight home and washed it and restyled it to look more 'normal' so it didn't look like I'd 'made too much of an effort'. This is the sort of idiocy a human being has to deal with when on the hunt for a member of the opposite sex. Or same sex. Or let's just be honest. Sex. Or is it? Perhaps it is more a sign that I am a mental person. You decide. 

Anyway, so let's say hypothetically you have had one, two, God forbid three dates with another human who doesn't make you want to peel your own face off slowly and deliberately with a toothpick. 

What then?

Now it's the truly difficult stage. The 'Letting someone ruin your life' stage.

I'm not being melodramatic here. I couldn't if I wanted to. My cape is being dry cleaned.

Now is the stage where you decide that you are willing to surrender all of those things that make being single wonderful. 

Lying sideways across your massive bed. Dropping everything to go to the park with friends and wine. Watching whatever you want on telly no questions asked. No judgement. Eating chocolate spread on digestive biscuits for breakfast, lunch, dinner and elevenses. Not having to subject your body to the torture it has to go through to convince your partner you were just born this naturally soft, hairless and smelling like an ice-cream factory.

Is it worth it? Really? What do we get in return for giving up our precious spare time, and all that money for all those dull-but-let's-pretend-they're-super-fun-activities-until-we-have-been-together-for-a-year-and-then-I'll-admit-I-hate-bloody-theme-parks-and-horror-films?

Umm... Sex I guess is the obvious one, and cuddling, and umm.... help to build Ikea furniture?

I'm sure there are lots of things. Probably.

I suppose if someone is worth it then you let them crowbar their way into your life with their stupid face and the annoying way they chew.

I know a lot of you who read this are in relationships, and may sometimes feel a bit green eyed about the lifestyles of us singletons, and I'm not surprised, I have to admit it's a pretty fantastic life with no one to answer to. But I hope this also reminds you that you have met someone who was worth leaving that life behind for. And that's not to be sniffed at.

Sorry. I got a bit schmaltzy there. I don't know what happened. I'd best go outside and kick a puppy.

Beauty and the Decidedly Average

Hello you gorgeous bunch.

Yes, yes I know. It's been a while hasn't it? I do like to keep you all chomping at the bit. 

Wondering 'When oh when will I get to read such an insightful piece of literature? I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself, I think I will just lie down here and chew on this piece of carpet until the all knowing one comes forth and imparts her knowledge' 

Worry no longer.  I'm here to impart.

So, something that I have been thinking about a lot recently is beautiful women. Not in the sense that I have been single for so long it may be my only option, more in the sense that I can't seem to escape them.

It is difficult to go anywhere at the moment without being poked in the eye by images of stunningly beautiful women. Ridiculously unbelievable beautiful women. On billboards, on buses, on TVs, at the cinema. 

This in itself doesn't particularly bother me. We are all more than aware that executives have a firm belief that we as human beings are incapable of buying something/watching something/existing unless we see a stunning woman every twenty five seconds. I personally won't touch any product unless I know that at one time it was touched by a size four, blonde haired, blue eyed Goddess. It's just the way I was brought up.

No that's fine, what does bother me is the massive inequality that we are subjected to. 

The men in adverts, TV programmes and films are decidedly, on the whole, pretty average. 

They are allowed to be homely, dare I say on quite a few occasions overweight? They are allowed to not have chiseled jaws and emerald eyes. 

Don't get me wrong, yes you see that of course, but the ratio is very unbalanced. 

Think about the films and TV programmes and adverts that you are enjoying at the moment. How many times do you see an average looking, homely guy, with lots of personality going out with a disgustingly beautiful woman. Woman aren't allowed to be 'homely' or dare I say it overweight, unless it is part of the plot.  Unless she is the best friend, or if she will at some stage be transformed into an absolute stunner so these average guys can FINALLY be attracted to her.

The people who can be blamed for this inequality, as they can be blamed for most things in life that are evil, are the producers and executives. I can think of two reasons why they are casting such mismatched couples.

1. They are male and not overly attractive themselves, so they have created their own universe where beautiful women fall over themselves to be with a quirky man. Hopefully this will then make it so.

2. They honestly believe that men will turn over and watch something else if they don't have a woman with model good looks to encourage them to try to lick the TV screen

The only thing this practice manages to achieve is making women feel exceptionally inadequate and men believe that they are entitled to expect no less than supermodel looks from their girl regardless of their own physical prowess. 

It means that women, who have less than supermodel looks are being looked over because guys think they can do better. Telly tells them so. And telly is always right.

I hope of course that I'm wrong and men are cleverer than this. But subliminal messages are often stronger than we think.

It would certainly explain why I am sat here drinking brand named cola I don't remember buying and contemplating suing someone for an accident I haven't had.