Archives for posts with tag: London

For those of you not familiar with cockney (people from London) rhyming slang, ‘telling porkies’ means telling lies. And my dearest readers, this is an apology to you, because I have lied to you. It’s something I would like to call a white lie, but it’s a lie nontheless.

What did I lie to you about? I hear you ask. All will be revealed, I promise. How could I lie to you? I know, I know. I am new to the whole blogging-about-my-private-emotions thing, and I felt guarded, but going forward I solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me God.
In my last post, ‘Hello! is it me you’re looking for?’, I wrote about some of the men that have been in my life since breaking up with Jules. I wrote about their V’s, their N’s and the reasons our romance came to an end. Well… it has not exactly ended with the man I named the extremely personal Number 4. Why did I say it had? Well that gets me onto a discussion surrounding the complication and confusion of new relationships. To do that, and to make it up to you for my dishonesty, I suppose I must tell you the story of this man, and how he made it into my life. As I have previously mentioned, I do respect his privacy, but I do need to give him a name so that he becomes a slightly more personal character than just 4. So I name him my man. Obviously, he is not literally MINE (and maybe he never will be), but he’s the only one I’m interested in right now…

So let me tell you the story of my man and I so far…

We met about one month ago whilst on a yachting holiday in the Adriatic sea. Josh was with a big group of his friends, and I with a big group of mine. I was attracted to him from the moment I laid eyes on him, and luckily for me, the feeling was mutual. I don’t know if you’ve ever been on a yacht, but there is not much privacy. On top of that, I’m a classy girl, and I did not want to give him the satisfaction of being his holiday romance. This meant that during our week’s holiday, we developed a rather lovely emotional relationship. It also felt a bit like a teen romance, because there were no mobile phones and we had no mutual friends, so were excited to bump into each other and slightly nervous to be around each other. And, wow, did we kiss like teenagers! We kissed because there was a crazy attraction, and because, well… that’s all I would allow, despite his many attempts on yachts, pavements, deck chairs (ok, so it may have happened once on the deck chair!) , club car parks, et cetera et cetera. But my rule was clear, I was not the type of girl he could mess around on holiday (and he was kissing other girls, and I knew because he told me as he didn’t want to betray me, which I suppose you have to respect). By the end of the holiday, I couldn’t wait to spend time alone with him, so I did something incredibly bold and invited him straight back to mine from the airport.

I landed the day before, and well, it seemed a logical thing to do given that we developed a nice bond and he was flying back into London. And it was fun. And intense. But fun. And he told me that he was ‘into me’, and I told him that ‘I liked him’, and he came back to London a few days later, and then a few days later. And he took me on our first date (it’s a weird order I agree): we went to the theatre in London, and then for Mexican Street Food, and I thought things were great. Intense, but great.

And then it happened. The moment that the fantasy and the unsustainable intensity came crashing to reality. I got into my bed after the date … and I lay on his shoulder… and looked up… and he was … texting a relatively famous TV Presenter. I didn’t even mean to look. I just looked up and I saw the name. And, oh God. Why is he texting her? He already told me he kissed her before we met, and said he was flattered she paid him attention, but he made it out like that was it. She took someone else home that night (she must be a slut!). Why did he tell me a half truth? Why oh why oh why oh why is he texting another girl. Sure, guys had asked me on dates. But I liked my man and I wanted to see how things went without any risk of ruining the present.
So I got angry and I did was any other irrational girl would do and… let my rage fester and not say anything. And have him pester me to tell him what’s wrong. And fester. And pester. And fester. And pester… and WHY ARE YOU TEXTING A GIRL IN MY BED! Ok, there we go. Playing it cool.

One thing I would recommend, is not allowing yourself to have ‘the chat’ with someone when you are not sure the outcome you want yourself. Because then you end up in a conversation like this: “I like you but I don’t know how much… I don’t know what I want from you, I don’t care… but I do care… oh this is really intense, we don’t even live in the same city…” I’ll let you put it all together.

So he went home, confused at what he had done wrong, because it was just ‘innocent flirting’ (again, too much information but I love his honesty). Confused at what he wanted from me. Worried that things were too intense, and worried that we had told each other too much. And I was left at home and I felt… well, what did I feel? Hurt. Hurt because I liked him, surely… or because, as I have told you I am proud, and he should respect me, and like me, and not want to message other girls. Why does he not like me? Why are all guys cheating a**holes like Jules? Why am I comparing him to Jules? We aren’t even officially together, I don’t even know how much I like him… But I want him to like me. Oh no, what if he doesn’t like me anymore because he thinks I am a crazy jealous person. Am I a crazy jealous person?

And that is exactly what ran through my mind over the following days, and that’s exactly what I felt. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Worried about what he thought of me. Worried that he didn’t like me anymore.

And then I met the psychic, Katie Winterbourne (see my earlier post), and I got my pre-Jules-days confidence back. And through this confidence my attitude and anxiety shifted. I stopped thinking about the ‘What if he doesn’t like me?’, and ‘what if he thinks I am too…’, and I thought what do I think, and what do I want, and how does he fit into that? And that is an empowering feeling. And I realised there is really no need for the anxiety, no need to worry about ‘what if’, and no justified reason to be angry, so I swallowed my pride. And I messaged him. And I was just honest. Honest about liking him. Honest about feeling hurt and WHY I felt hurt. And honest about feeling it was too intense. And I realised that the beginning of relationships are always confusing, and awkward, and uncertain. But that should be part of the excitement and not the reason for anxiety. And I am the one in the driving seat. I act because I feel, I will no longer act because of how he might feel if I don’t. I am myself. And if he doesn’t like it, then it is his loss. And this feeling is really empowering, because men will no longer be able to project their own vision of me onto me, and I will no longer bend and stretch myself because I am concerned about them liking me. And I think (hope) men will like that confidence.

So I decided that it’s ok if it doesn’t work out. And it’s ok to try it, because it doesn’t have to be about pride. Pride is just a barrier for fear. Fear that someone might betray me like Jules did. But pride might prevent me from moving forward. Is my man a bad guy for messaging other girls? Well maybe for doing it from my bed, but maybe that proves the innocence of it all. And I suppose he really didn’t do anything wrong because we aren’t in a relationship, and by messaging girls it doesn’t mean he doesn’t respect me. He respects me because he is honest with me when I need him to be, and that is enough. And that is already more than Jules offered.

Today I text him, and I said I wanted to get out of London (well I’m not going to be too keen and tell him it’s cause I want to see him ;-) ). And in 7 hours I will be on a train to spend my Sunday with him by the seaside (I really need my beauty sleep).

So, yes, I did lie to you. But I also lied to myself. Because it’s easier to walk away, than to risk getting hurt. But if you don’t take a risk, then you will never know. So until tomorrow night, dear readers, I already can’t wait to tell you about it. Let the adventure begin! :-)

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!