And the verdict is...

GUILTY.

I have decided that Mr Darcy is not the romantic protagonist for me. In fact, I have decided that Mr Darcy is not romantic at all. Having given the future of Mr Darcy much thought all weekend, I finally decided at 13:43 today that any man who says he doesn't want to get a bottle of one wine because it is £10 more expensive than another wine, on a third date, is setting a precedent for an ungiving future. Of course, this is not the only reason. I am also concerned that Mr Darcy lacks warmth. I'm sure it is lurking somewhere underneath the surface, but I'm not going to hang around to find out.

So now I am left with the tricky task of communicating this to Mr Darcy. Perhaps I shall send it as a brief to his office? Or, more cunningly, I could just send him a text that says: ADJOURNED.

Pride & Prejudice

Unfortunately The Owl and I did not manage to meet up on Sunday. Secretly I was relieved as I was enjoying my love affair with my sofa.

The Owl and I did, however, meet up last night for dinner. Following dinner last night, I have decided that The Owl shall no longer be called The Owl. The Owl shall now be called Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy took me to Shepherds. Shepherds is a rather eccentric little spot frequented by politicos and cabbies. I have never been to a place like that before and it was filled with people who speak with the same perfect english inflections as Mr Darcy.

Mr Darcy and I spent the evening getting further acquainted and we never ran out of things to say. This may be because we agree on very little. Whereas I can see the absolute necessity of owning a Miu Miu handbag, Mr Darcy feels that the money would be better spent elsewhere. Mr Darcy also believes that all humans are intrinsically good, whereas I believe that if one is to avoid disappointment, one should own a dog. I am very surprised that Mr Darcy feels this way about humans given he deals with very troubled people on a daily basis. Mr Darcy has quickly found out that it is very difficult to win an argument against me and did, indeed, send me a text last night saying, "you have an air of frequently being proved right about you".

Unfortunately there was no holding of hands and gazing into eyes last night. In fact, there was no hanky panky at all. Mr Darcy walked me to get a cab and we had a quick peck on the lips (mind you, this is definitely a step up from kisses on both cheeks), a brief hug and off I went.

I feel as though I am trapped in a Victorian novel. It is all terribly civilized. If I lived in the 19th century I would half expect Mr Darcy to ask my father for my hand in marriage.

So will I see Mr Darcy again? Well, I'm not sure to be honest. I shall have to ponder it over the weekend and let you all know.

Date numero tres

So I think I have another date with The Owl on Friday night. This is somewhat of a milestone for me. The Owl wanted to do something on Sunday as well but I have said I have other plans. As you know, I'm not sure I like him yet.

Friday night will need to be snog night. I will have to get wasted though. I believe after I have snogged The Owl I will be able to decide if I want to continue seeing The Owl. However, I cannot imagine snogging The Owl. I am sure 17 tequilas will help though.

I am still in desperate need of a one night stand. Does one actually have to go out to find one or can one have one delivered to one's doorstep?

Sunday afternoon dating

Today I had my second date with The Owl. It was supposed to be this morning but I drank too much red wine last night and had to postpone it to 3pm instead. Obviously I still had a get out clause. The idea was for my date to take place from 3-5pm so that I could help my best friend set up his bbq from 5pm. In actual fact our date lasted until 6pm and now, here I am at home, typing my blog. I have no friends who are silly enough to have bbq's on sunday evenings.

Do I like The Owl? Well, I'm not sure. He is rather bright as I've mentioned before but I can't help feeling that I went out of my way to make a bad impression. In fact, I was downright argumentative. But, given he's a barrister that should not be too much of a problem. After all, that's all he does with his time, argue.

I was convinced on parting ways that I would not hear from The Owl again. He is vehemently against drugs so I told him about myself and two friends taking marijuana across the Transkei in our university days and giving the police who pulled us over easter eggs to avoid having our car searched. It worked by the way - they waved us through. Oh - how I long for the days of my youth. Crime had no meaning.

But, I have heard from The Owl already so it appears that I will need to make a worse impression when we next see each other. I shall go dressed as a goth.

You may wonder why I am trying to make a bad impression and to be honest I am wondering the same thing.

Thoughts my fans?

10am dates

Following my date with The Owl this morning at 10am, I now firmly believe this is the way forward. Each male must be given a one hour time slot. With a firm beginning and end to a meeting, the pressure is off and the escape is all planned.

The Owl was a pleasant surprise. He talks a lot, is rather bright and, dare I say it, quite funny. I may even like him and want to see him again.

I have also now come to the conclusion that I prefer the older looking man. Younger men with boyish good looks scare me. However, the more distinguished gentleman makes me purrr. Oh yes, purrr.

So, here I am at 11.14am purring at my desk.

Lovely.

Silence in the Court

I'm back all and although I'd love to say back with a vengeance, it's actually more of a whimper. That said though, I have a new internet boyfriend. My new boyfriend, The Owl, is a barrister. I think he is quite smart. He uses big words I don't completely understand but I find that quite sexy. We have spoken twice on the phone and he texted me daily whilst I was on my summer vacation in Ibiza. I actually found this a bit unsettling since we have never met and realise this could pose serious stalker issues but there is nothing wrong with a bit of text attention...or so I keep on telling myself.

Everything was going very well with The Owl until Sunday. He called me but I just couldn't bring myself to take the call and only called him back on Monday. I sensed a bit of tension. We are supposed to be meeting up on Thursday at some point if he has a break from court but I have not heard a word from him. And this from the man who was texting every day.

I will however put on my sexy black dress tomorrow and wear my hold ups. Oh yes, and decent underwear. Not that he'll be seeing any of that but it's the feeling you know.

Feeling religious

As you know I have taken a break from internet dating. However, I have certainly not stopped perusing what's on offer and exchanging emails.

Today, I received this:
hi
Icame accross your profile while searching on this site, and saw you so attractive and decided to mail you. You are so pretty that i believe God spent extra time creating you and if i were to present your picture in heaven,the angels would tell you someone is truely intreasted in you.

Happy Friday people.

Back by Popular Demand

I found out last night that my blog has become an important part of all your lives. So, even though I am taking a break from internet dating, I've decided to keep the blog going.

Why am I taking a break? Well, there are many reasons. The first is that the whole dating thing is kind of exhausting. It's particularly exhausting when you stress about meeting someone all day and then within 3 seconds of meeting them you know it's just not going to happen for you and now you need to spend the next 4 hours of your life making small talk. I've thought of many ways to make a quick exit from this sort of meeting without hurting anyone's feelings, but it's kind of tricky. I suppose the reality is that at some point there will be some guy who, as soon as he sees me, will be thinking - gawd - how am I gonna get out of this one? And I wonder what I'd prefer:
- for him to have one drink and then for us to part ways, or
- for him to force himself to spend an evening with me?
I'm thinking one drink and head for the hills.

The second reason I am taking a break is because I've been finding this whole dating thing a bit depressing. I've never been a big dater. If I've ever gone on a date with someone, it's someone I've already known and I know that I already like them. So going on dates with random men just makes you realise how difficult it is to find someone you really connect with.

Of course, there is always that bottle of tequila and the chance of meeting my Dr McDreamy in a bar somewhere? So, if anyone is looking for me this bank holiday weekend, I'll be hanging around hospital pubs in a pvc nurses uniform.

The Rooster

First off, let me just say that the Rooster's photograph was somewhat misleading. Clearly, this it not the end of the world, but most certainly worth a mention.

I met the Rooster mid afternoon yesterday. He is an Essex boy. Please don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with an Essex boy, innit? Some of my best friends are from Essex. But that's what he is. A big drinker. And he smokes. As you can see, my cons list is already filling up.

After a week on the detox, I sucked back a vodka lime and then had a frozen Margarita. My eyes must have slowly moved down to half mast at which point I decided to stop sucking back the booze. Although, I have to say, the booze did help me enjoy his company more than I would have sobre. We then had an early dinner - at 5pm. And he paid. One for the pros column.

The Rooster and I have some things in common. We are both foodies and we both love good wine. But once again I am struck by the problem of not wanting to snog the Rooster even though the Rooster wants to snog me.

We parted ways at around 7.45pm which was a massive bonus as I made it home in time for the daily soap and ER. Perfect.

Since parting ways the Rooster has sent me 5 text messages and an email. The text messages keep on coming even though I have not responded. I am now fearing for my safety.

So, as you may have guessed, although the Rooster was on the "maybe ok for a second date" list last night, he is now firmly on the "never to be seen again no matter what" list.

I shall have to let him down gently.

p.s. he just sent me a text to say he is eating sushi for lunch. Say no more.

Another week, another date

I have another date on Thursday. This time it's with a banker. I am a bit ambivalent about said date but will try and psych myself up over the next few days to make sure that after meeting me, date is not ambivalent at all. Date must fall madly, wildly in love with me.

I suppose the thing about dating a lot is that you increase your chances of being rejected. This is clearly a scary thought but it is going to happen sooner or later. I'm hoping later though. Or never. But let's face it, chances are slim.

I have turned down two dates this week:
1) with andy the poet. I think with poetry like that, there is a good chance he is a sloppy kisser;
2) with a russian/arabic dental surgeon. I believe dentists have the highest suicide rate so I am not going down that route. Actually, there is a theory it's because of the mercury in dental fillings as mercury poisoning leads to depression.

Don't say I don't tell you anything important!

Happy Friday

I received this today from Andy. I have to admit being in a rotten mood this morning but this did bring a smile to my face:

Hi
As our famous bard said Faint Heart never won Fair Lady. So herewith written by my own fair hand:

For I have gazed upon that face of beautifully coloured skin
What within her head thoughts and desires lies therein
For that infectious smile beguiles and leaves the mind to guess
For I desire to gaze upon those inviting eyes that you possess
For will you not grant the time to wine and dine
and in your company I might just shine
And we can talk as the drink will flow
anticipating something more intimate might grow
For the art of conversation is surely the first step to take
The chance lies within your hands a decision for you to make
For you might share your heart's inner desires
Of love of Knights Chargers and Dreaming Spires
All I ask is a few minutes of your time
To take heed of this poem and its rhyme
An invitation which might just be your fate
Can you not take a risk with but one single date

Love Your Ardent Poet!Andy x

Onwards and upwards

I took the chicken's way out and sent The Nightingale an email telling him he is a great guy but I'm just not in the right frame of mind to continue seeing him. He may have taken it badly as I have not heard from him following a few calls and texts from him on Monday. I feel relieved.

Although I now have dating fatigue, I potentially have two further dates lined up for next weekend. One is with a political advisor (yawn) and the other is with someone in music (why again?). I don't think either of the two are suitable to be honest so I may have to ignore their calls. The political advisor sounded terribly posh on the phone but he is only 1cm taller than me. The music guy is quite hot but has a daughter. I suppose at my age though, some of the men I will attract will already have children.

The deal clincher is neither pose any sort of threat to my new found singledom. But, could either pose a solution to the one night stand debacle?

Bye bye birdie

I wish I fancied The Nightingale. He really is a lovely bird but he just ain't the bird for me. This may, however, come as somewhat of a surprise to The Nightingale after we had a 14-year-old snogging session at the bus stop last night. When his bus arrived and he said, see you soon, I knew we would not be seeing each other soon. I shall have to communicate this to him when he calls which I am not looking forward to.

I forgot that this is the way it is. The people who like you, you don't like and vice versa.

I have also decided to hit a few bars in town with two of my single friends. I am now ready to prop up a bar and make meaningless eye contact with would be suitors. Instant gratification is what it's all about.

Internet rejection

It's not always easy being an internet dater. Following my signing up with the new site, I started to send out emails to prospective suitors. Mostly, with internet dating, if someone doesn't fancy you they just ignore your email. Somehow, this makes things easier. However, when someone responds to your email and tells you that "you are not the perfect match", it hurts. Firstly, how does this person know we aren't the perfect match? Yes, I can hear you all thinking, "No wonder he's single!" That's just what I thought.

To pick myself up from this internet rejection, I went out and ate caviar. Ludicrous behaviour, but what is a girl to do? Today, though, there is a possibility that caviar is not for me. Either that or I am incredibly nervous for my date with The Nightingale this evening.

Prince Charming?

I received this note from "Prince Charming" today:
So stranger, hows you, how was your weekend, amazing weather, i suppose flattery gets me everywhere but I'm being honest in saying i think you really are so beautiful...Well id love to potentially sweep you off your feet, well that shouldn't be a problem...I'm intelligent, cheeky and confident and i live life to its full and i cant tell you where id take you as that would spoil the secret but trust me ill make sure you have the biggest smile on your face by the end of the night...You only live once and i love spontaneity so be adventurous and lets have a friendly chat and see if we click and text me or let me be the gentleman if u like and leave me your number on here,

Who calls themself "Prince Charming"?
Once I've finished spewing into my bin, shall I contact him?
Go ahead - call me a hopeless romantic.

Perhaps no lunch for me today

Membership at Only Lunch is £650 for 6 months. YES - that's exactly what I was thinking. Mind you, they have doctors on their books. I love a good doctor. It can also be deduced that the men that are on their books:
- have £650 to blow on dating (therefore, they must be loaded);
- are clearly committed to finding a wife.

Do any of you have £650 for me?

Go on - donate to my charity.
I dare you.

Searching for new talent

In the panic that ensued following my successful date with The Nightingale, I decided to spread my wings and search for new talent. My memberhip with the religious internet dating site expired yesterday and after looking through 311 candidates and being suitable unimpressed, I decided to join another site. It's a fantastic site because you pick a friend who writes your profile for you. I picked my friend Shiny because she is pretty cool and has a way with words.

The men on the site seem interesting. Actually, they are hot - I don't really give a toss how interesting they are. Most of the people who have written about them are their "friend-girls" or "girl-friends". They say things like, "Richard is wonderful. It amazes me he hasn't been snapped up yet." I desperately want to write back, "well love, it's probably because he is totally in love with you." Shiny also gets to suggest potential suitors for me. She picked someone of 73 yesterday. I wonder if she was joking?

I also have an interview today with a "lunchtime dating service". Oh yes - matchmakers. This I think is quite fantastic. They interview you and then set you up on 90 minute lunchtime dates with potential suitors. It will be interesting to see who people I have never met before, and who will only know me from an hour interview, will set me up with. I wonder if I have delusions of grandeur or if I am really as wonderful and as gorgeous as my mother says?

Or maybe not...

This morning I cancelled my date with The Nightingale. Whilst he was racking his brain for somewhere ultra cool for us to go for dinner, I was sitting on my bed crying my little eyes out. What the hell was going on? Surely internet dating isn't supposed to lead to second dates? I would never have gotten involved in it if the possibility of this had even crossed my mind. And surely not second dates so soon after first dates? So I was left with no option really but to retreat at light speed back into the safety of dating at a distance.

I lied, of course, and said I had to go into work for an emergency on the same scale as Bill Clinton having an affair with Monica Lewinsky. He was openly gutted. So, I suggested next weekend. Surely this would give me enough time to get over the panic I was feeling? He texted me to say that he hoped I had a good week and if I needed anything to give him a call. He is lovely isn't he.

I then did what any woman would do - I bought a pair of shoes, three plants, a bottle of shiraz and a box of chocolates. I feel much better now.

So here is my plee to all of you reading this blog. If any of you know of any foxy man with a hot body who is looking for a one night stand, please ask him to post a comment on my blog. Please let him know that after our one night stand, I have no intention of ever seeing him again.

Feeling peculiar

The Nightingale called. And I ignored him. I knew this would happen. I spent the next few hours deliberating over returning his call or ending his standing in the blog with immediate effect. But I have to say that I am feeling both perplexed and inquisitive so I called him back.
He suggested meeting up this evening (like a girl like me wouldn't have plans already?) but I suggested tomorrow instead. Obviously I'm busy tonight - filing my nails, filing my bills, washing my hair.
I find myself in a quandary. Do I even want to see him again? And if not, why not? I am beginning to view The Nightingale as a potential threat to the future of this blog.
I'm sure we can all remember the days when all we wanted was for our date to call us immediately and invite us out again. So why now, am I beginning to panic?

The Nightingale

My choice for my second internet date was also somewhat of an experiment. Initially I had deleted The Nightingale from my shortlist, predominantly because he was holding a guitar in his second photo and my days of singing songs around the campfire are long gone. But then I changed my mind. I suddenly found it unbelievably sexy that the Nightingale is a full time musician. Possibly not as sexy as I find Brandon Flowers or Johnny Borrell, but since Brandon is married and Johnny is now dating Kirsten Dunst, I have been forced to look elsewhere.

So once again I met my date at a bar in North London. You have to love the blind date for what it is really...blind. You have to love it for those first 20 minutes of uncomfortable small talk with both of you trying your hardest to look cool, calm and collected. You have to love it for the fact that you both laugh at the fact that you are both using an internet dating site to meet people. In fact, you have to laugh that this is the same conversation you are likely to have with any internet date.

The Nightingale was lovely. He was unbelievably easy to talk to and 4 hours passed in the wink of an eye. This shocked me somewhat. In fact, it shocked me quite a lot. I couldn't help thinking that my blog today would be unbelievably boring. I mean, where were the porcupine phrases, where was the vanity, where was the weirdness? This wasn't going to work at all.

And then the Nightingale snogged me. Blog friends - it's been a long time since I snogged someone on a sofa in a bar. And it's been even longer since I snogged someone outside a tube station, pressed together, like 16 year olds.

And this left me wondering, when is one too old to snog in bars and on the road? 30? 40? 50? If I'm single at 60, will I still snog on the street? Well, one can only hope so.

0800-No thanks

The porcupine did what every man does, he waited for 3 days to contact me. Of course, I sat at home, day and night, willing the phone to ring.
And then...right on cue, 3 days later, my phone beeped. I know- I can hear you all breathing a collective sigh of relief. What a catch ey?
With shaky, eager hands I pressed the read button; the porcupine had not disappointed:
"so when are you cooking dinner for me in your lingerie?"
All that flirting, all that giggling, all that eye contact, all that touching the little beast - yes, it had paid off, the porcupine had been duped. So, with the deftness of one that has sent many a text, I nimbly sent him the following response:
"well, I've decided not to. I just don't think we have anything in common"
Imagine the shock, the dismay he must have felt on receipt? Within a few seconds I received yet another message:
"Is that a joke? You were flirting with me the whole evening! And why go for dinner? Odd"
Yes my little friend, odd, indeed.

Casanova vs Don Juan

I plucked, I ruffled my feathers, I painted my nails and, as every women should do to make herself feel sexy, I bought a pair of hold ups.
I'm not really sure how to describe my date with the porcupine. It was almost like being in a science experiment. The man was, without a doubt, the most vain, vacuous person in the entire universe. He is the kind of guy who sits back and waits for the woman to impress him, he is good looking, after all.
After 2 vodkas, he suggested we go back to either his place or mine. When I declined, he was visibly shocked. He used the word "flummoxed", a word which in this day and age, is itself a sin against humanity. He made it clear to me that he had standards and that he was very picky about who he invited home with him.
I felt I had two options at this point:

• I could either yawn loudly, thank him for the drinks and make a hasty retreat, or
• I could take the other path - I could flirt outrageously. I could run my fingers through his hair, touch his hand, cock my head to the side, giggle, twirl my hair and make him believe (or rather confirm his belief) that he was the most attractive, sexy, most in demand man on the planet.

So ladies, that's what I did - I flirted. I let him buy me dinner. I listened whilst he told me I had great legs, great eyebrows (weird?), great teeth (even weirder). I let him "undress me with his eyes", I let him show me the three condoms in his wallet (yes, he came prepared) and I let him believe that I was going to cook him dinner the following week.
And most importantly, I let him tell me the difference between Casanova and Don Juan. He told me that whilst Don Juan slept with thousands of women because he didn't really care what they looked like or who they were, Casanova was much more picky. Yes my blogg readers, the man compared himself to Casanova.
And all the while, I continued to flirt.
After dinner, and a few more attempts to get me to go home with him, he walked me to the tube station. I was sad to see him go because it had been a long time since I had laughed so much. And of course, I was looking forward to his call.

The Porcupine

I supposed I picked "The Porcupine" (name changed to protect the innocent) because his essay was amusing. At the time, it seemed rather tongue in cheek. He said his political orientation was right wing (surely a joke? Who admits to that these days?) and that his perfect woman would make a clay face of him like the girl in the Hello video. I wrote back, asked him to marry me and said I was on my way out to buy the clay. And so it began.
For me, the porcupine was low risk. He was clearly not the relationship type, cared only about looks and body and immediately asked me to send him naked photos of myself. I suppose, at this stage, I should have walked away. But for anyone who has come out of a long term relationship, with little to no self confidence after months of pondering what went wrong and how things could have been done differently, the porcupine posed somewhat of a challenge. I declined to send the photos but did post a photo of myself in a little blue number and although he was concerned about my face, he said I had a good figure, "so I suppose that's something" (Quote). In response, I told him that I hoped I would find him attractive and he responded, "you will".
Perfect.
The date was set and I have to say, in the back of my mind, I thought he might see me, excuse himself to go to the little boys room, and never return.

Being picky

No, no, no, no, maybe, no, yes, rrroooaarrr, no, no, no, no, yes, hmmm, no, yes, maybe
That's what you'll have to spend your first week doing. And you don't need to feel guilty. If someone writes to you and you have to fight the urge to laugh out loud, well, don't fight the urge. They can't see you and for the first time in your life, you don't have to care about being picky. You can hit the delete button without even blinking. You can internet wink and then change your mind. You can email and then get bored. You can really do whatever the hell you like because, hey, you're an internet dater. And you're also 33 which gives you mature internet student rights. Yes, that's right - YOU -you can do whatever the hell you want to do.
Get those emails in, send those emails out and then...begin to shortlist.

So which site?

I suppose the next issue for me was which dating site to join. Or, more specifically, which dating site would nobody that I work with be on. So, although I don't particularly care which cultural side of society the men I date come from, I went traditional / religious and back to my roots. The good thing about going back to one's roots is that one can immediately start narrowing the range of potential candidates. I think I may have narrowed my range by around 90%. On searching the site I realised that it's possible to narrow the range even more. You can pick a particular height, eye colour, hair colour - it's almost like genetically modifiable dating. You can stick all your requirements into the search engine, and hey presto, there, served up in a photographic list, your ideal matches. Or possibly not. Still...it's a start.
The next problem is deciding what to say in one's profile. It needs to be catchy but not cringe worthy. The picture needs to be good but not airbrushed. And most importantly, it should never be boring. So, with the help of my friends - a boy, a girl and a lesbian, my essay was posted.
And finally, with the spitting on palms and the clasping of hands, the rules were written. Two emails, a call and then a date. No time wasters please.

Suddenly out there at 33

Finding oneself single again at the age of 33 is a disquieting experience, especially when all your holidays for the next 5 years are booked up by friends' weddings and you can't even find yourself a date. So what do you do? The days of hard house clubbing are long gone, it's been years since you went to a bar and danced on the table and your propensity for slamming shots of tequila is something you know you used to do (and think you loved) but just can't understand how anymore.
You can wait, I suppose, for Mr Right, Rich and Gorgeous to sweep you off your feet and carry you down the aisle, or you can do what you always crinkled your nose up at - internet dating. If, like me, even the word just sent shivers down your spine, then read on my new friends because I am about to let you all join me on a journey into the underworld of the internet dater.