Tangled up…

The thing with me is, I talk to myself, a lot. What I don’t do though, is talk to myself quietly.  I talk to myself like I am actually having a conversation with someone.  Even scarier than that is, I often reply.

I have two-way conversations with myself.

I mostly talk to myself when I am out of my comfort zone.  This means that usually I will also be swearing, as this is what I do when I feel out of sorts.

Take last Sunday for example, I found myself wandering around town looking for Mr Ivy’s apartment.  No, not in a stalker way, this was pre-arranged.

I always knew I would see him again, despite my previous rant because I am a what if kind of person. What if  I chose not to see him again, I would always wonder about what could or might have been.  Not knowing is worse surely than knowing, even if it means we meet and we don’t meet again, which is a distinct possibility.

Neither one of us knows how this will turn out but I had to find out, one way or the other.

He is one of only three guys that I would have been happy to see again and on that basis alone it was a no brainer.

The conversation leading up to us meeting again was tense, on my part at least.  I try to hard.  I know that but I still can’t stop myself from doing it.  I try to be too cool and come across as at best aloof and at worse bloody sarcastic.  Then when I get all serious I get too serious.  I am learning to properly hate text messages.

In my normal daily life as a Mother, Daughter, Sister and at work amongst my colleagues and even when I am out with friends, I can have an intelligent conversation, I can talk about many things and while I may not be particularly knowledgable about any given subject I will certainly have an opinion to share.  However, put in me in front of someone I am trying to impress and I become a blithering idiot, add to that trying to converse by text message and I might as well set fire to myself and have done with it.

I need to learn to be myself because actually I’m alright as people go, I just need to tell my brain that.

Anyway, I made it through the texting debacle and somehow managed to secure a meet/date, whatever you want to call it.  We were having dinner at Mr Ivy’s apartment.   Yes, he is going to cook me dinner.  I can’t remember the last time a man cooked me dinner, or if one even has?  Not in a romantic way anyway.  Is now a good time to mention what a fantastically picky eater I am?

On the day my anxiety got the better of me.  You knew that right?

Caught in the car park talking to my phone, rather loudly, while I check again what the front of his apartment block looks like on Google.  I was heard questioning Google about the accuracy of the photo.  Is this really what the apartment block looks like?  I do not want to be wandering around looking like I don’t know where I am going.  I know I don’t know where I am going but I don’t want to look like I don’t know.  Where is the entrance at the front, on the side, I need more information? Oh my God, what is wrong with me? Nothing you are fine come on, get a grip, you can do this.  No I can’t.  Yes, you can.  Move yourself.

“Are you lost love?” says a guy suddenly from behind, at which I squeal loudly, try not to throw my phone across the car park and say No, very sheepishly, just slightly deranged.

It is 400 degrees outside and I am melting.

There is not a single part of my body that is not perspiring and it is not due to heat alone.  Another one of the hottest days of the year so far and not entirely conducive to dating.  An hour ago I was in the shower and now I look like I have just had another one, I can feel my hair curling at my temples and my dress is stuck to my back in what I can only imagine is very unattractive damp patch.

I leave the car park, before I am arrested and as I look up there is his apartment block, as described, very accurately I might add, by Google.  Did I need Google?  Yes of course I did.  How the hell did we ever manage without it?  It is my comfort blanket when I can’t have Vodka.  It makes me feel safe.  I know it’s weird.

He buzzes me in, while I deliberate if I need to take the lift or not?  Knowing full well that I will make the wrong decision, I start climbing the stairs.  I am not keen on lifts.  Confined spaces and all that.  On autopilot I casually start a conversation with myself about the fact that when I get to his apartment I will probably not be able to breathe, I will be even more sweaty than I already am and FFS how many bloody floors is it exactly?

Finally.  I stand for a moment trying to maintain a regular breathing pattern before ringing what I assumed was the door bell.  Waiting patiently for what seemed like forever I was contemplating ringing the bell again.  Does the bell work?  Should I knock?  Jesus Christ I am not built for this shit.  He must surely be wondering where the hell I am, I rang the buzzer at least half an hour ago.  He must be asking himself if I have changed my mind?

I try both.  I knock and ring the bell and swear, quietly.  Where is he?

The door opens just as I am about to ring the bell again.  “Hi” he says “you are early and that is a light switch” he points to the bell.  I can only imagine my expression as I try to contain the ‘Oh fuck off, is it?‘ and the ‘early? how can I be early, I have been treading the stairwell for the last twenty minutes.’  I just smile, probably inanely and he pulls me inside.

I am hot, nervous and a little on edge.  He is bloody gorgeous (much nicer than I remember), looks cool as a cucumber and seems very relaxed.  This is going to go swimmingly!

It did.  It went very well, in my opinion.  I had a lovely time and so I think, did he.  I left and once home I messaged to thank him for a lovely evening to which he replied with pretty much the same back and that was that.  Literally.

When this post goes live I will be with Mr Ivy on our third excursion together (how we got here is a whole other story) but suffice to say we did.

There is no blueprint for the future, no format, nothing to tell you the right way or the wrong way to go about things.  In my head I need a diagram, I need a blueprint that will give me clear instruction on how to handle things. What to say in a certain situation.  What to do should I become my clumsy self and do something really awkward or embarrassing because if I had instruction I could handle it.  Couldn’t I?

Clearly I am not as together as I make out, forty bloody six and I am tangled up, in a almost lunatic kind of way.  I want to date but I can’t handle dating.  It is too hard.   In all honesty it will be a miracle if this (whatever this is), gets out the traps.

 

 

Blank space…

This is not a post.

I feel I should pre-warn any reader that this is an ‘Oh shit! It’s Wednesday, I need to blog’  post.  It is definitely not an organised, clearly thought out piece of writing.

I was tempted to write tomorrow instead of my organised day but I feel I won’t have anything more to say tomorrow than I have now, although we may have reached the final of the World Cup by tomorrow.

That alone will be monumental.

I’m not sure how I got in to the Wednesday & Sunday thing, it just kind of happened.  I always assumed I would just post as and when I had something to say or something exciting happened (yes, I’m still waiting for that too!) but as I have continued these have become my regular posting days.

A while back I remember Elsie saying to me that the people she follows post on certain days, this means the reader knows that there will be a blog/vlog to look out for and so they know when they have anything to catch up on.  For me as an adult I struggle to keep up with my own life never mind everyone elses, so I figure other adults must surely be the same.  Therefore, not really noticing if a blog has passed them by or not.

However, once you have started a trend it is very hard to break it, even a trend such as this.  In a small space of time this has become a habit for me.  I blog on a Wednesday and Sunday, these are my days, my schedule now fits (almost) around the fact that these are the days I post.  If I break the schedule now, something terrible will happen, surely.

OK, maybe not but you know you what I mean.

For example, I often have dates on Sundays, this means my first thought before all of the what to wear nonsense is that my blog must be ready to post before I go.  On the Sundays when I have football and a date, it is still uppermost in my mind that this is a blog day and at some point whether I have something prepared or not, I am posting something and so I had better find some time to just get on with it.

I am trying to think if I have anything at all to tell you, in amongst all this rambling?

There has been more communication between Mr Ivy and I but at the moment I am not quite ready to share any more details.

Previous attempts at over sharing very early on have left me somewhat cautious in declaring my undying love too soon.   #kissofdeath

So I am leaving him in my head for now.  Besides, sometimes it’s nice to keep things a secret for a little while.

I had my coil check this week, I know exciting right!  I was in and out, literally.  A quick peek up the speculum proved all was in order.  No need for any extendable equipment this time (small prayer offered), it was apparently clear to see all was well.  A bit of a relief as the thought of having to have the bloody thing removed was making be feel a little queasy.

The whole nation is obsessed with the World Cup, we are eat, sleep, breathe it at the moment.  Radio’s everywhere are blasting out every cheesy football song they can think of and we are a whole nation, happily singing along.  The media are full of the fact that England might just make it to the Final.  Surely not?  Can we?  Will we?

Tonight is the semi-final match between England are Croatia, kick off is at 7 pm and I will, without question, be watching.

So I am leaving my non-post post there.   See you Sunday!  😉

 

#itscominghome…

Welcome to another gloriously sunny and beautiful weekend.

The weather is positively lovely. Add to that the win for England in yesterdays World Cup quarter-final match against Sweden and life is good. It is very good indeed.

If it wasn’t for the excitement of the World Cup it would be in ordinarily quiet.

This week at the surgery it has been very quiet, much quieter than one would expect for this time of year. The school holidays, when they are arrive, are usually quiet but they are two weeks away still. However, most people are in holiday mode already. There is a party atmosphere linked in with the World Cup and of course Wimbledon and with all this beautiful weather it seems that everyone is more than content and clearly feeling very well. Which suits us just fine.

I for one am loving this unusually good weather, with the exception of not being able to sleep at night. That is a bit of a pain but otherwise I am loving garden life and really, really hope it continues long in to the holidays.

We had two rumbles of Thunder in the week and a heavy downpour which in all honesty didn’t do anything to ease the humidity. It is apparently, supposed to be a little cooler next week, although there is no sign of any rain in the forecast yet.

There will definitely be a hose pipe ban soon and in an effort to preempt this Tom and Elsie are making the most of its current availability.

Friday I came home from work to find the bath filled with water balloons in preparation for the weekend. Marvellous idea I thought but what will we do when we want to wash? We are back to the basics of strip washing for a few days until they all been dispersed of by the looks off things.

Tom thought it highly hilarious to ask if I wanted him to run me a bath, the idea being that when he told me it was ready I would walk in and find the tub filled with water balloons. Just the fact that Tom offered to do something for me made me suspicious enough. He never runs his own bath nevermind anyone elses.

Can you believe it, we made it to the semi-finals of the World Cup. #itscominghome

The house has gone football crazy. Elsie has found a new joy in football that I never thought would happen.

I have been taking Tom to football every bloody Sunday for the last six months and never has she shown the slightest bit of interest. Now, she is Harry Kane’s biggest fan and has a slight crush on Dele Alli. She is sure that we are going to win the trophy and she will not hear anyone say otherwise.

We have watched nearly every game so far and despite the fact that is costing me a small fortune in snacks, we are loving it.

Yesterdays game against Sweden was no exception. We were prepared and ready and nervous as hell.

During the build up, which usually is quite painstaking, we enjoyed reliving previous world cup memories and disasters. Tom and Elsie can’t remember any of the previous World Cups, well let’s be honest we didn’t get past the group stages last time so it was hardly the most talked about event of all time.

The road here was not an easy one. In previous years I think football became more about the celebrity than the game. I am not saying we didn’t have any decent players (I am no expert in this field) but in my girlie opinion, they were more talked about for their antics off the pitch than they were for what they achieved on it. It is different now, hopefully and with a return to basics and a team that seem well organised, committed and passionate about the game, I really think we can do it.

Elsie in her new quest to find out more about the game and the players she was talking to Tom about Ronaldo. She looked him up on instagram and discovered he has 133 million followers, busy exclaiming about his popularity she accidentally followed him herself and then had a mini meltdown about how she was going to unfollow him, without him noticing.

Laughing out loud about the possibility of Ronaldo messaging my daughter asking why she followed and then unfollowed him while assuring her that he really wouldn’t notice as he is probably unfollowed and followed more times than most in a single day was almost the highlight of the day. Just do it. I hope it doesn’t make him feel bad she said.

He will get over it I’m sure.

Anyway nevermind Ronaldo, back to the game in hand.

It was a great game, I don’t know about tactics and statistics or the off-side rule but I do know we won and we earned it. We tried hard, kept at it and it paid off. All three of us felt sick with over-indulgence and excitement by the end of it but our celebratory lap of the lounge was obligatory, we were cheering and shouting for all we were worth.

They did us proud and the 2-0 victory has secured us a place against Croatia in the semi-final. Woo Hoo!

Surely it is time now. #comeonengland

Dare to dream…

I am starting where I left off, at Sunday evening.

After a lovely day, spent eating drinking and making merry I was hoping for a nice relaxing evening.

While I love entertaining, I am definitely not the hostess with the mostest this does not stop me from thoroughly enjoying having company though. I talk too much and relax way too much to be able to contemplate cooking anything remotely complicated and so I generally stick to BBQ style food.

It is hit and miss, perhaps a little more miss, as to whether anything is cooked well or indeed ready at the same time as anything else but overall, who cares. Have another drink, you wont notice the pink bits.

So once peace and tranquillity had returned I decided very lazy plans were the thing for the evening, a large V&T in the garden while reading my book and picking at the leftovers. That will do nicely.

That was until the neighbours decided they were having a bonfire.

It took me a few minutes to realise it was snowing. My confused brain unable to make the connection between the temperature and beautiful blue evening sky and the sudden arrival of snowflakes that suddenly seemed to be falling around me.

I have cooked burgers today. I managed to cook mine without setting fire to the neighbourhood and I’m no bloody chef. Any chance you could do the same?

Then it hit me, along with a steady stream of thick black stinking smoke. A bonfire, it was 6.30 pm FFS!!!

It was like something out of a movie, ash falling everywhere and smoke billowing across the gardens and there was a God awful smell. What were they cooking, bodies? On closer inspection from the landing window it seems they were not cooking anything but burning anything and everything that could be flammable on a massive bonfire at the bottom of their garden.

Perfect, Let’s close up all the windows, shut the doors and go inside on this lovely warm sunny Sunday evening shall we? Inconsiderate tuckers!

Moving on to Monday before I get in to a proper rant, there isn’t much to report. Monday’s come around so quickly and seem to disappear just as quickly. The thing with Monday is that no one looks forward to it and everyone is just glad when it’s done and as long as you get through it without anything too disastrous happening we are more than happy to glide on to Tuesday.

Monday was largely uneventful with the exception of two unexpected text messages.

The first from a mystery number asking me how life was treating me. A mystery number is not really a mystery number it is just a number for someone you have since deleted. In my phonebook these are usually guys I have swapped numbers with, I say usually, I mean always. They have been deleted because in most cases we have met and decided not to go anywhere with it or he was getting on my nerves.

Usually I block and delete as then there is no going back but sometimes it seems, I forget.

At first I couldn’t work out who it was, obviously, I have swapped numbers with a lot of people, that’s the thing with all this online dating, my phone looks like it belongs to an escort agency. However, it was also obvious that curiosity was clearly getting the upper hand, so I engaged for a while until I could work out who it was.

It dawned on me quite quickly and then I remembered why I deleted him in the first place. I didn’t like him. There is usually a reason and it is usually one you stick to. However…

Here lies the next conundrum.

My next message later that afternoon came from Mr Ivy and it was a complete turn around.

Mr Ivy and I had cocktails at The Ivy one evening around a month ago now. It was a very pleasant evening I had a lovely time and I liked him, despite thinking that I wouldn’t. However, he decided we were looking for different things and that was that. Or so I thought.

He lunched at The Ivy today (he tells me) and while he was there, he thought of me, so he decided to message me and ask if I had found what I was looking for? Simple as that. Is it?

Is he for real?

Firstly; doesn’t he remember I have been online dating for what seems like an eternity and the pain increases with every first date and random message or dick pic that comes my way. It is inevitable I will end up in a loony bin somewhere on a very remote and very bleak moor, sooner rather than later.

Secondly; Is that acceptable? You have since discovered, like me, that not everyone is all they are cracked up to be and without further ado are thinking that actually maybe I wasn’t such a bad option after all. You were a bit hasty, maybe?

Thirdly; I liked you! One of very few people who I have actually liked and wanted to see again, there were things that both of us were maybe not so sure about, i.e you have a very small child and I have Tourette’s but over all we could have given each other a bit more of a chance there and then and then you wouldn’t have to message me now and I wouldn’t have to worry about your bloody motifs.

What are your bloody motifs?

Did I engage? Of course I bloody did. *sigh

I am none the wiser but he wants to meet again, I am being cool, I can’t help it. Yes, part of me wants to meet again, I am a firm believer in you only live once and never say never and all of that but I wonder if the moment has passed. I also don’t know if I can get passed the whole, actually I’m not your type thing? Am I or aren’t I?

We messaged for a while and in principle I agreed to meet. He said to let him know when I was free so I am thinking about that one.

Right now I am heavily in to The World Cup and we, England, are still in it!

Us Brits were an expectant nation yesterday as we entered the knock out stages of the World Cup, for the first time in umpteen years, I don’t actually know how many, 12 or 16? Something like that. It’s been an age since we have even felt the slightest, tiniest, slimmest possibility that we might actually do ok.

The World Cup has been full of surprises this time around and there are none more surprised than us that we have gotten this far.

The games throughout the tournament have been exhilarating so far and it really is the talk of the town. We are running a sweepstake at work in which I have Belgium, I am hopeful that the £32 jackpot could be mine. Not that I ever win anything, ever. Obviously if it comes down to us and Belgium (which I doubt), I will be rooting wholeheartedly for England but I will be able to console myself on a few Vodkas with my winnings if we do lose.

All this is providing anyone gets past France and Brazil.

The nation is excited. Do we dare to dream?

The outwardly cool, calm and very British exterior is out the window in favour of shouting loudly ‘come on England’ from the rooftops. In a nail-biting match last night I think we all died at least twice before being revived right at the last bloody minute, in usual England style. Why make things easy on ourselves when we can have a penalty shoot out, after all we enjoy them so much!

The buddies and I are all still in it to win it as between us we have Belgium, France and England. Either way, if we can lose the Brazilians, we could get a night out on this. Well a pizza to share at least.

In yet more breaking news. At work today it was announced that Charlie is coming back. #mostgorgeouswindowcleanerontheplanet the sequel. I am very much looking forward to watching Charlie through wet soapy windows again. It is the stuff dreams are made off.

This is of course if I am still working at the surgery as I heard on the radio today that there is massive recruitment drive at MI5.

Now that is something I do fancy. I am quite sure the reality does not live up to the fantasy but I am more than prepared to try it. I can just imagine the buddies and I, undercover. Operation Flybynight. Would I be allowed a gun? Designer trench coat? Surely those are the basics.

I imagine us a little like Charlie’s Angels, glamour wise and a bit like The Three Stooges in respect of actual competence. Well you are only supposed to look the part aren’t you?

Where did I put my application form?

Hot hot hot…

Good grief it’s hot.

We Brits are not used to all this nice weather, the grass is slowly dying everywhere, not a bad thing as my lawn mower is dead too, so it could be worse. There is talk of a water ban as it’s been days since it rained and the water board is getting twitchy. The news is full of it’s been the hottest day on record since 1970..something and there is going to be a heat wave and everyone is moaning because they are too hot.

Remember back in Feb/Mar we had snow, we never have snow, well not like proper snow anyway, sleet is about as good as it gets usually. Summer seemed a long way off then but Summer is definitely here now. We moaned about the snow and now we are moaning about the sun. We are British, this is what we do.

The air conditioning is broken at work. People seemed surprised by this, I don’t know why, the air conditioning is always broken every year by the time Summer arrives. Ever since I have worked at the surgery it has only ever worked in the Winter. This week we have had an army of engineers in trying to fix it. All day roaming about and it was still broken when they left. They will come back they say, yeah right. See you in October then.

It has been a long week. The end of which seemed to take forever to get here, luckily I had a half day Friday as I was lunching with my bestie. She has just celebrated her special birthday and so it was my treat for lunch.

It was the perfect end to the week, lunch was in a very lovely, family run, Italian restaurant in town, bliss. More carbs than a woman of my height can reasonably expect to hide and enough alcohol to ease me comfortably in to the weekend, along with a good old chat and gossip. There are not many things in life that come as enjoyable as this.

I had a date this week but it really wasn’t much to write home about they are becoming increasingly similar. We meet, we chat, all seems to OK, we get on as well as you can expect for a first date, the conversation is average mostly made up of small talk, there are a few laughs thrown in for good measure but there is no spark.

I have been trying to recall how many dates I have been on now and it is a fair few. Twenty-ish maybe? I am very bored with dating. I am especially bored with all the dates being exactly the same.

Maybe it’s the pub thing? Everyone wants to just meet in a pub, for a drink, no one wants to suggest doing anything out of the ordinary because everyone is so worried that the person who turns up wont be like the person on the profile or if history is anything to go by they just wont like you but so what if you don’t fancy each other, it happens, it doesn’t mean you wont have a good time.

Maybe it is a money thing? To some extent I get that because if you go on a lot of dates it can become expensive. However, meeting in a park for an ice cream could be relatively cheap and as an added bonus can be as friendly or as unfriendly ( 😉 ) as you want it to be, it could also be a bit more fun than sitting a very quiet pub on a Wednesday evening trying to make one drink last an hour.

The weather is soooo bloody lovely at the moment who wouldn’t want to have a stroll round the park, getting to know each other, before lying on the grass and licking the nuts off a cornetto?

Just me then!

My tour of every gastro pub between Kent and East Sussex really is becoming as dull as dishwater. I haven’t even sampled any of the delights I have seen and smelt and I have been in some lovely pubs, as eating is completely forbidden on a first date. I’m kind off happy not to eat, as it does prolongs things, especially if you are not particularly gelling and talking while eating is not the easiest or the most attractive thing in the world to do but it is just becoming very dull.

We meet, we drink, we chat, we go home.

I’M BORED!

I just need a break I suppose, I am so sick of hearing myself say the same things, I don’t think I would date me now.

Besides I might have to leave the dating and move on to prostitution soon, as I am trying to find a short break for me and kids during the Summer holidays. I wasn’t thinking of going far just a few days on the beach somewhere, a cottage or an apartment, as I am not a massive fan of hotels.

I did mention camping to Elsie, she is still not talking to me. I don’t think I could cope with it anyway. Elsie screaming in my ear every time she hears a noise, sees something with more than two legs or jumps at her own shadow is not what I consider a holiday. I wish I could show you a video of what she like if a fly enters the house. It is hilarious. Frustrating but hilarious. Outdoorsy, she is not.

Tom on the other hand could live surrounded by flies and his own waste, by that I mean rubbish, dirty laundry etc, not poo (or at least I hope not) and not bat an eyelid, until it starts affecting his gaming then he might notice that flies have replaced his wallpaper and he has a penicillin farm under his bed.

So, if I can find a reasonably priced rental for a few days that would be ideal, although reasonably priced when you have left it three weeks until the holidays start and just the fact that it is the school holidays means everything is twice the price, is unlikely but I will not give up… yet.

This morning as usual I have been online as I write, it is distracting and it can take me a long while to both reply to messages and to get this blog written up.

I have had a few interesting chats this morning though, one went like this:

Him: Now you are definitely a bit of me!

Me: Likewise. If we are purely basing this on looks?

Him: I’m just dipping my toes in babe, I’m not looking to date.

Oh, I do apologise for responding to your message, next time I will just ignore you.

Me: Then why did you message me?

Him: You looked at my profile.

Me: Yes I did. You caught my eye, you are very handsome. I am looking for someone to date though. Strange I know. Maybe you just want to dip something and I’m not convinced it is your toes?

Him: Are you being naughty?

Holy Mary Mother of God, is it me? Someone please tell me what the F*** is going on in this attempt at a conversation!

Me: No. I am trying to have a conversation. You messaged me, I responded, that is generally how it works. I like the look of you *trying to hold of on the sarcasm at this point you like the look of me and so we chat, do we?

Him: Like I said babe, I’m not really looking to date at the moment.

Well, might I suggest in the nicest possible way babe, that you stop fucking messaging people then!

Me: I haven’t got anything sorry, at a complete loss for words. (I didn’t send that, what is the point)

I didn’t send anything at all. I fail to understand what the hell that was all about.

On the plus side I have had a couple of very normal conversations this morning. One is a long-standing chat with a guy I have been messaging for quite a while. I don’t think he wants to meet me, we just chat every now and then. I asked him to meet me once a while back and he said he had plans or something came up at work, I can’t remember but I won’t ask him again. The ball is firmly in his court now and while I am polite and happy to respond to his messages I can’t really see it going anywhere and eventually he or I will just get bored.

The other interesting conversation was with a picture less profile. I looked at his profile first, I was intrigued by the photo it is a miserable, grey, desolate looking picture of some town or other, it looks Eastern European and very bleak. Pure nosiness on my part. The second thing I noticed is that he is a chef. My most favourite thing in the world. I don’t know why. I am not even a great foodie, in fact I would be a chef’s worst nightmare as a diner but I just always fancied dating a chef but then I fancy a lot of things.

He messaged me. I was pleased he messaged even though I have no idea what this guy looks like.

It is dangerous messaging people when you don’t know what they look like. Your mind has a really bad habit of turning them in to your perfect guy. The other danger is that they always turn out to be the ones who, at least mentally, probably are your perfect guy and this is going to be no exception.

He is quite nice to talk to. He seems a bit cautious, I’m not sure if that is me in over analyse mode but he seemed very matter of fact at first. However, once we got going the conversation was good. Stimulating as conversations should be. I am going to get sucked in, I know that, you know that.

However, I am going with it. I can’t be so shallow as to not engage because I do not know what he looks like but there is a part of me that is screaming out to know what he looks like because if he is fugly I will be bloody gutted, especially if he is on the same wavelength as me. I know it’s shallow but we all talk about this attraction thing and it has to be there, on every level. In exactly the same way as if it were physical and there was nothing else I wouldn’t be interested, I want the whole package. She says stamping her feet.

An hour later he was as hot as the midday sun in my head. Help!

Here is what I discovered, he is not a chef, he lied. Why, because he likes food and loves to cook and being a design engineer is not quite as exciting, apparently. He likes live music, enjoys his local pubs, where there is often a band playing (yes he did invite me to see one), he travels a lot for work hence the photo and today he is off to London town with friends for a meal and to see a show. He eats scallops often, I have never even tried one, they just look chewy and horrible to me but each to their own. He is apparently a serial joker although I have yet to see that come out, and describes himself as Marmite. Well, we are all Marmite. One man’s meat and all that.

I will now spend the rest of the day building a magnificent picture of him in my head. By the time I have finished he will be a mixture of every hot guy imaginable with an IQ to match. Yep, that impossible to find combination that really does only exist in your dreams.

Right, I’m off to sit in the sun and doze off in to that dream… it’s going to be a hot one!