What an arrival in the UK, I've had.
Bought a house, renovated it, moved out. Nearly had a nervous breakdown. After the sale fell through 3 times, sold the house. Lost £40,000. Brilliant. Can’t
find any work. So I’m now renting in the North and about to retrain as a
teacher – can’t believe any of that last sentence refers to me. Nor the next
ones, which are bizarre and terrifying. And perhaps amusing.
I started internet dating - which actually involves more
computer work and less dating.
I went on an internet date. After much texting
and email flirting - she started it, but when I get writing and get my groove
on, well, she couldnt wait for each new instalment, which I happily gave her.
Long time since I've been encouraged and blinked at. Apparently every one of my
responses had her pissing herself laughing. We agreed to meet in a pub
mid-afternoon in a northern town I'd never visited. I'd seen one crap photo of
her. She was 10 years younger than me, and from what I could work out pretty nice
looking. Terrible speller though. Really, fucking abysmal. And I'm a bit of a
stickler for that sort of thing. And just before she turns up, she says she
always wears heels (gulp, my second favourite thing), and she hopes I'm not
going to spend the entire time staring at her boobs, because she's had breast
enlargement (gulp).
I was terrified driving there. Proper pre-final uni exam
stomach.
And when she arrived (driven there by her elder son (aged 20, an
ex-soldier undergoing anger management)), her younger son had a new shotgun, and is a boxer) she turned
out to smell like rather more than a 'moderate' smoker as she'd claimed on the
website. Anyway, her hands were a bit smashed up from her job in the factory, (every
one has to earn money, and I got the impression she had a very strong work
ethic, but it was all just a bit beyond my sphere of experience and comfort)
but she was rather nice looking actually from the long black hair to the eye
liner, not to mention her massive, jutting chest, but every time she mentioned another
area of her life, it was all angry men and violence. I was fucking terrified. I
had half a pint of beer and she had two. And she was going out drinking after she
left me. So did I fancy her, yes, and would I want to be in a relationship, no
way. I'd be terrified of annoying her. After our two hours together, we pecked each other on the lips to say
goodbye, and as I closely followed her to the door, my hand, inadvertently and lightly
brushed her jeans encased bottom - certainly not a grope. Then I dashed home (instead of going to my night-school class) to draft a 'thanks, you're lovely, it was wonderful, but I'm not right for you' letter. I sent it the
next day, and she wasn't exactly chuffed. She thought it had all gone well,
especially as I'd touched her bottom, and said she'd liked it, but she'd
respect my wishes. And now I live in fear, because I know she keeps
checking my profile on the website (a little icon keeps telling me who's
checked me out). Fucking hell.
The next 'date' was at 11 am. I shaved and
bathed, and all those things which gay men do. And she turned up in wellies,
jeans and a big jumper, wearing no make up whatsoever. Not that I wanted her
completely slutted up, but come on, at least try to dupe me. Give it your best
shot. Maybe I've been lost in adland too long, but perception is reality; make
a fucking effort the first time you send the brand to market. This was really a
job interview for the position of life partner. I should have known - she was
an accountant; whimsyless and straight up and down. So that was an hour I could
have spent swimming.
The next and last one sounded good. Certainly wrote a
witty email. Only problems were that she had a kid.........and was from
Liverpool. Two of my least favourite things. Again a lunch meeting in an
un-apache area of Liverpool.
When she arrived, she did at least resemble her
photo. Blond. I'm not really into blondes, but I'm a very forgiving sort. But
she was indeed a 5'10" blond goddess. Who wore makeup.
But, and there's
always a bloody BUT. Instead of me running off at the mouth, as I
normally would, and then wishing I'd shut the fuck up, I decided to let her
speak and tell me about her life and how she spent her days.
"What do you
do for a living?" Not that that's how I judge people- everyone has to earn
money, but it's just an interesting start point for a conversation.
"I'm a
police officer."
Fuck.
"At least my sister will be pleased. She used
to be a cop in Liverpool. She's a big Christian too. I thought I must have been
adopted, as that's just not me at all."
"I'm a strong Christian
too."
Double fuck.
And this is only 10 minutes in to the chat. This was
going to be a loooooooong lunch.
The police bit didn't phase me - I don't do
anything illegal anymore (well, not outside my head), but it's just that
regimented, institutional mind, which follows rules, which got me.
But then
the whole God Bothering thing just killed me completely. I think she was the
one running back to the car this time. I probably shouldnt have shouted after
her, 'I suppose anal is out of the question then.'
I emailed one woman, who
sounded very simpatico - into art and music (she was slightly gorgeous too).
She lived about half an hour's drive away. She emailed back, saying I
lived a long way away. Fuck. I emailed her saying that in Australia people
drive that far for milk, not just to meet a potential life partner.
Maybe she should be looking for a man in the same postcode - go and
knock on next door, see if he's home. For fuck's sake. She didn't write
back.
So, yeh,I'm over all that now. If I get bored, to lighten the
atmosphere, I might just jam my cock in the bedroom door.
