Archives for category: The V Days

Have you seen the Sound of Music? You know the scene when the eldest daughter, Liesl, sneaks out into the night to meet Rolf and is so overcome with happiness she spins round and round laughing in the pouring rain? Well, right now I am Liesl von Trapp, apart from I’m not 16 going on 17 (and luckily my man is not a Nazi).

Did I actually spin around in the pouring rain? Of course not. I think I would have scared him away. The one great thing about age and experience, is that it makes you cool and collected… on the outside at least. I suppose girls never truly age when it comes to matters of the heart!

So let me tell you about my day at the seaside in the pouring rain… Wake up naturally at 7:56am. Check train times (9:12am), check weather (wet and cold). Get out of bed at exactly 8:36am feeling calm, and excited, and slightly apprehensive that I only have about half an hour to get my train. What do I wear for our date out of London? I’m thinking warm, comfortable, slightly rural, but cute. Abercrombie & Fitch skinny jeans, Ralph Lauren beige top, Nine West black leather flat biker boots, Abercrombie & Fitch burgundy lamb wool fleece, Barbour beige quilted jacket and green checked scarf. Make up? Natural. A bit of Mac Solar Riche bronzing powder, Mac shimmer blush (nice pink cheeks), some Benefit the’re Real! Mascara, and Vaseline aloe vera lip balm. Hair? Long, down, and a bit messy (well it’s going to be windy). And I’m out of the house by 8:56am and walking at a slightly rushed pace to the station.
Oh sh*t! I forgot my Young Person’s Railcard but there’s no time to go back. So my journey is £19:50 more expensive, but I don’t care.

10 minutes to spare in my changeover station, so I pop to Caffe Nero and grab a skinny chai latte and some porridge with soy milk and berry compote, and I’m off out of London on a 2 hour train ride!

During the journey I think again about how nice it is that I am not worrying about his opinion of me or what he thinks. I do momentarily worry that he will stand me up, and then I remind myself that I’m being silly. I suppose I am slightly apprehensive though… Because what if I don’t like him? And then I smile at the change in my perspective.
Then comes the first big decision to make… Where do we meet? He’s just had a serious operation so is unable to drive and living at home (his parents’ home) whilst recovering. He can pick me up from the station, but his mum would have to drive us (*is he cool with me meeting his mum? or does he feel obliged to offer?* … Stop over thinking things!). Or I walk 20 minutes into the city centre… In the rain. I worry that meeting parents goes against our agreement to take it easy and not be intense. So I… Take a taxi. You can take a girl out of London, but you can’t take London out of the girl! :)

What do you do in a seaside town when there are strong winds and heavy rain (obviously going back to his home is an option I quickly rule out)? You apparently get dressed head to toe in water proof clothing and embrace it. He brought a whole bag of waterproofs and warm clothes in case I wasn’t prepared for the weather (aww). I have fun trying on his waterproof trousers, but they don’t fit… so I settle for a wooly hat, and an oversized waterproof coat… well there goes my attempt to look cute, thank god I didn’t spend long planning my outfit! And I like being dressed a little bit dorky, it makes me all giggly.
And we go out onto the pier. And we laugh. And we walk along the beach. And he catches me when I nearly get blown away in the wind (Damzel in distress!). And we kiss but our faces our so wet that our faces slide off each other. And we giggle. And we clash teeth. And we laugh. And we go for food. And he pays (which means more when your man is poor and unemployed). And we take turns drying our jeans in the bathroom with the hand dryers. And we walk through the town. And we drink hot chocolate. And he gets whipped cream on his nose. And I giggle. And he wipes it over my face. And we laugh. And we go into the woods and have a woodland walk. And we sit on a waterproof (he picks a spot with a nice view). And we kiss. And I stop myself from singing love songs in my head. And we kiss. And we get wet. And we don’t care. And we kiss (*man, I wish we had a bedroom!*). And a squirrel comes right up to us, and I compare myself to Snow White, and then I remind myself to get a grip and stop turning my life into a Disney love story! And then finally, when we are so cold and wet we can’t kiss anymore, he decides that I can’t get the train back to London damp. So his mum comes to pick us up. And we go to his house. And we meet his brother. But I don’t care. Because I’m not freaking out, and I’m not over thinking anything, and it feels nice. And I have a cup of tea, and put my boots by the fire, and see his room. And I get in his shower. And… Oh hello, you’ve joined me in the shower ;) (a lady never tells remember) … And about an hour later and I’m back on the train to London.

And I’m not stressing. And I’m not worried that it’s intense. And I love that we laughed and had fun despite the miserable weather. And I have butterflies. And I’m smiling. And I giggled like a little girl all day. And I’m trying to snap myself back into reality… but I’m comparing myself to Liesl in the Sound of Music. Well I did warn you I was a hopeless romantic!

How do I feel? I just feel… And. Because and is a word that needs something to follow it. And who knows, maybe something will. Or maybe it won’t. But that’s also fine, because everything happens for a reason, and at least I don’t have Sunday blues. :)

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In my new found enthusiasm to take me and my heart on an expedition into the uncertain land of the male species, I decided to join some dating sites today. That’s a good way to find the perfect man, right? We’re in the twenty-first century, so it’s a perfectly acceptable way for busy London professionals to meet their soul mates…right? I mean, come on, there were 8,174,100 people in London in 2011 alone! That number can only have increased in the past year, and, let’s be honest, I only have a few hours in the evening and the weekends to get searching. That may sound like a lot of time, but once you subtract essential girl-time, me-time, and extra-curricular free-time, that does not leave a whole lot of hours to narrow my search down from 8,174,100 to 1. And since I am constantly being bombarded with adverts assuring me that “more couples get married on match.com than any other dating site“, I naturally decided it was a pretty good place to start.

I don’t know if you’ve ever joined a dating site, but it’s not as easy as it looks, trust me. There is one crucial part of the application form, and that is … describing your ideal man. They try to make it easier for you by offering tick boxes. But this is equally as stressful! What if my dream man turns out to be ‘heavier build‘ and I never meet him because I only ticked the ‘athletic build‘ box. To make it worse, there’s a little note in the top right of my screen reminding me that the more specific information I offer about ‘my type’, the more chance I have of finding my perfect man. No pressure then!

So all this got me thinking about what it is I am really looking for. Are we really so shallow that our dream man can be discovered by his aesthetic qualities? Is it just the romantic ideallist in me, or can’t the perfect man just be anyone that makes you laugh and sweep you off your feet? But then the question is, what is it that makes me laugh, and what is it that would force my feet to leave the ground?

The more I think about it, the smaller it makes me feel in this huge city of men. Can it really be possible to describe a man you have never met? And what if you can describe your man? You can describe him so well, in fact, that you shut your eyes to all the other wonderful men that pass you by because they aren’t tall enough, or rich enough, or multilingual enough. Will that mean you are a bitter and lonely 50 year old still blogging about being alone in London? It’s a scary thought.

And then I joined a dating site called Whatsyourprice.com. This is a website where beautiful women sign up and receive offers to go on dates with men. Cash offers. Men will pay you money to take you on a date, and there really is no catch or sex obligation at the end of it. Sounds ideal right? Right…? That was until I began to receive offers. It was the offer of £140 (really, I’m not joking) that it made me think that this is the kind of man that I really DON’T want to meet. Flashy men. Men that have nothing to offer but stone cold cash. The kind of men that London is full of. Men that want you to sit at their table in a Mayfair club. Men that think dinner at Nobu, or a glass of champagne in Mahiki is enough to get into your pants, and probably your chest as well (your heart, I mean, not your breasts, although I am sure the latter is much more appealling to them).

So then I thought, maybe I can find out what I do want, by ruling out what I don’t want. And what better way to work this out than by looking at some of the men that have been in my life since Jules… And I did promise you some ex-lover information! I respect the privacy of these men much more than THE ex, so I shall merely number them, I am sorry to be so untrusting of you dear readers.

1. Profession: Rugby Player (professional). Height: 6’8. Build: BIG (read that however you will, but I’m far to classy to confirm, darrrling). The V (which you will of course know from my first post to mean ‘The High): Seeing Adele live in a small Concert. The N (the Low, not that I am insulting your intelligence!): Finding out his ex girlfriend was a famous actress. Ended: Because I was still in love with THE ex.

2. Profession: Law (student). Height: 6’1. Build: (m)anorexic. The V: First Date at Winterwonderland and he bought me Jack Wills hat, scarf, & gloves as a surprise to go iceskating. The N: No girl wants to eat more than her man. Ended: Because I wasn’t comfortable with being his Jewish Princess, although the designer gifts were great, it just wasn’t me.

3. Profession: Manager of a rather well known American clothing company famous for its shirtless models *cough cough*. Height: 6’5. Build: Muscular. The V: The sex (ok, maybe not so classy, but I’m not going into details). The N: Not having a great deal to talk about. Ended: Because hearing ‘I really need to go to the gym more’ (despite going daily) not only becomes tedious, but doesn’t do wonders for your own self-esteem.

4. Profession: Olympian Athlete (I know, I’m still impressed too). Height: 6’5. Build: Athletic (I know!). The V: Having a crazy beautiful holiday romance. The N: Him kissing and texting nearly every other female that showed interest. Ended: Because he was texting a TV Presenter from my bed, and I’m not good at ‘letting things go’ or ‘acting cool’ in certain situations.

And unfortunately that brings us to the end of my number sequence (for now). What does that tell me about my pattern of men, and therefore my type? Perhaps that I have a poor judge of character. Certainly, that I like tall men (that’s one box I can confidently tick!). But all these affairs were wonderful and awful in their own way, and the men are completely uncomparible. And most importantly, they clearly weren’t The One. So dear readers, I suppose what I can decipher from looking back into my romantic closet is that I really don’t have a specific type (do I?), and it really isn’t as simple as ticking (or not ticking) a box. And that’s ok. Ticking lots of different boxes does not mean I am desperate. In fact it means quite the opposite. It would be much more desperate to stay with someone because they tick the boxes despite the fact you do not feel it in your heart of hearts. What I know is that it is great to date different people. And it is also great to end it with wonderful people. Because wonderful people don’t always mean they are perfect, for you.

So I suppose this doesn’t get me any closer to knowing anything about the type of man I’m looking for, so my adventure is no nearer completion now to when I joined match.com. But I am sure as hell open-minded to meeting some different men along the way, although I’m fairly convinced I won’t be meeting them online!