"What A Slag". Er, Pot, Kettle....

So after a bit of a baron spell between the sheets, I managed to get my freak on again last night. Phew. I was starting to think my charm was eroding and I'd have to get myself a dog....or just start paying for it.

Before I go into how I managed to schmooze this poor girl into bed, I want to bring up a point that really irritates me in the online dating world. This is a conversation I had earlier this week with a girl that winked at me i.e she made first contact.

Me: Thanks for the wink. How was your weekend?

Her: Hi. Had a great weekend. Was out with work friends on friday night, then down by the river for lunch with some girlfriends on saturday. Sunday I did the family thing and saw my parents and brother. What about you?


Me: I was out and about locally with a friends. Nothing too hectic. Few beers and watching a bit of sport. Have you got much planned this week?

Her: Taking clients out for lunch on tuesday evening and I've got my body combat class on thursday. Then the weekend comes around again!

Me: Cool. We should try and catch up for a drink sometime soon

Her: We've only just started talking. I don't know anything about you!!! You're very direct aren't you?

Does she want me to foward a dossier from the embassy about my every move since birth? Surely the whole point of meeting up is to get to know someone. My understanding is, you look at someone's profile pictures, if you like what you see, you then go into their profile and have a read, after which you make contact. Or for most guys, you look at the profile pictures, make contact if she looks hot, then read up on what she's all about once she agrees to a date. How many emails is this girl expecting before we actually meet? I've got better things to do than have hours of general chit chat with a complete stranger. Anyway, back to me getting laid last night.....

I was fairly excited about the date as from her profile pictures, she was very much my type. Dark haired, petite, pretty face and 9 years younger than me. Thats how I roll. We met at Waterloo - I try and justify to myself that I'm making a big effort if I meet girls that live the other side of London there as it sounds fairly central - but in reality its a 5 minute train journey for me from Clapham Junction, so really I'm just being a lazy twat.

On first impressions, I was more than happy. She was the girl I'd been most attracted to at first glance since I started online dating, so as we headed to the bar , I was a content man.

As we settled into the evening, the conversation was flowing, but even after a few drinks I could sense that she draws out her stories a bit too much and the voice was pretty monotone. Now, as I've said before, after a few drinks my accent is bordering on Danny Dyer's over the top cockney - its like I'm riddled with it - but at least there is some expression there.

She told one story about an online date that had travelled down to London from Birmingham a few weeks back. It was a daytime meet and he took her for a stroll down the Embankment, which could be quite a winner. Unfortunately for her, all he spoke about as they took a gentle walk by the river was if she owned crutchless knickers and was into using sex toys. She thought it was disgusting, I had quiet admiration for his upfront nature. Anyway, She managed to make her excuses and leave, but this reiterates my point of not travelling too far on a first date.

Although I was zoning out a fair bit during the stories of when her grandad died and how she has just been made redundant, I was also very attracted to her. I thought I'd subtly step up the flirting levels just to see what sort of response I'd get, so we started talking about previous flings we'd had with online dates. She told me her tally was shagging one guy who she saw for a few months, so now that was the benchmark I toned mine down a bit. I let her know that I had previously slept with one online date and she asked two questions - what did she do (workwise)? and did you sleep with her on the first night?. I replied air stewardess and yes. Her retort - " What a slag" -....how she'll be regretting that line today....

As she had recently been made redundant, I knew she didn't have to get up for work in the morning. Although this obviously wasn't ideal for her, I saw it as a good angle to get her back to mine. I rolled out all the cliches of good things happen to good people, fate will take its course, the only way is up...blah blah. She was responding favourably and when I suggested going for a few more drinks in the Clapham area, she agreed. He he.....

So from here on in it was plain sailing. A couple more drinks at my trusty local tapas bar and then back to mine. With Justin Timberlake on in the background, we got down to business. She had a great little body and lets just say, she wasn't shy, so a fun evening was had by all...I think.

Luckily, she had some agency interviews to be getting to this afternoon, so left mid morning. We have arranged to meet again this weekend. I'm very attracted to her, so I'm hoping I'm just being overly critical of her monotone voice and really she's a bundle of laughs.....I can't see it

Bigamy Is Having One Wife Too Many. Monogamy Is The Same...

After yet another date last night, I'm starting to question what it is I'm actually after. At 33 years old you'd think I'd have a fair idea by now, but I'm clueless...

I met my date, a 31 year old journalist, at a bar local to me. I'm certainly one of the laziest online daters out there as around 90% of my dates have been within a half mile radius of my flat. I should start to branch out a little bit, but I just don't understand people that travel miles for what is essentially a blind date. One girl told me that a guy flew in from New York to meet her - what a loser. There's almost 20 million people living in the Big Apple, so how dull must this guy be having to fly 3,500 miles across the pond to find love? She called it romantic, I'd call it bordering on insanity. She said they had a kiss but nothing more - If I'd spent £800 on a flight and 3 nights accommodation in a hotel, I'd have got it in writing before take off that I was at least getting some action. Anyway, each to their own....

So why I'm questioning my motives now is that last night I had a delightful evening with a charming, intelligent, attractive girl, but I came home half cut, checked my emails and within the blink of an eye had winked (for those not familiar with online dating, this is how you first make contact with someone if you can't be arsed to write a mail) at another 3 or 4 girls on a "suggested matches" mail that I get sent almost daily. Now I know the likelihood is that come next week I'll be on a date with one of these girls and then the cycle continues.

Before the days of online dating, a guy would have to take his pretadorty instincts into the bar or nightclub arena and try and work his magic there. If he struck lucky and got a phone number, a date could be arranged for the following week and that would be his one option until the next time he went out. Now, lying at home on the sofa hungover watching the football, a whole harem of girls can be courted with a bit of email banter and a string of dates set up even before half time, leaving you able to watch the second half happy in the knowledge that your week night activites have been arranged without even moving.

This, of course, is fantastic news, but with so many available options, I've lost focus of why I actually signed up. On one side of the coin I would love to meet someone I genuinely get on with and could see as a long term partner, but on the other, I get to fool around with a number of young ladies and as the saying goes, variety is the spice of life. I really do enjoy the thrill of a first date and knowing that I can have these on tap now, means my hunt for "the one" has cooled. So basically what I'm trying to say is, I haven't had sex for a month and I'm getting the right hump....

Romania, Nil Points...

So on friday I had arranged to meet my Romanian date up in Covent Garden, which is the first time I have ventured that far out of Clapham on a first date. Proving the point that men are very basic creautres, the reason I was dusting my ostyer card off was simply because of her wonderful looking breasts. As I've said before, I don't generally date girls whose mother tongue isn't English as I find alot of the banter and flirtatious comments get lost in translation....or perhaps they just don't find me funny or attractive, which could very well be the case...

After a 5 minute wait outside the station, my date arrived. As she walked towards me it was quite clear that she was well aware of what a weapon her fantastic puppies were. She was wearing a very tight fitting, low cut top, that really did do them proud. Although I was obviously drawn towards these on first sight, I couldn't help but notice a wild mane of hair that wouldn't have looked out of place in an 80's soft rock music video. ...

We headed to a little gem of a place that I stumbled across in the backstreets of Covent Garden and settled down at the cocktail bar to begin the evening off. Her English was almost better than mine and she was well travelled, having lived in New York for the previous two years. I'm not really sure what I had expected - maybe some gypsy type woman that appears at the start of the Borat movie, but she was obviously a well educated, smart girl . She was in London studying for a masters, au pairing for a family and sending most of the money earned back to her mother. Quite a humbling thought....

After a couple of hours sipping on Mojito's we headed into the buzz of London and she indicated that she felt like a dance. She had already slipped her arm into mine as we walked, something I'm really not comfortable with after the first year, let alone the first date. I took her into a club that I know well, which is more of a meat market than a serious dance venue, but more than adequate for her to have a boogie in.

The drinks carried on flowing as we stood at the bar and she started to break out into a sexy little dance to a bit of cheesy music the DJ was playing. I was quite taken by her body and now we were a fair few alcohol units in, her hair was getting smaller. I was starting to think my rule of not dating foreign girls was a bit of a mockery and as I'm not getting any younger or prettier, maybe its time to tap into this market....

That thought changed very quickly. As I stood there by the bar , she danced over and put her arms over my shoulders and moved in for a kiss. I'm not great at PDA, but by this time I was hammered. As we locked lips, this horrendeous smell came wafting towards my nasal passage. It couldn't be? Having played alot of sport through the years, I've come across my fair share of body odour, but this was something to behold. I pulled away in horror, but she didnt seem to notice the shock on my face and just carried on dancing infront of me. I tried to convince myself that it couldnt be her, but the next time we got close, there was no doubting. It was so strong, I almost gagged. Can she not smell it? What the hell do I do now? As I ducked and swerved her every advance like championship boxer, I was trying to think of any excuse to leave now. Her hair was getting bigger again due to the sweat building up from her dancing, so it was like a stinking Michael Bolton trying to grapple with me.

I knew when I was taking in deep breath's before she got too close that enough was enough. I told her that I had some work to do in the morning, so we headed out into the fresh air and I put her in a taxi. Phew....

As I headed to my flat, I couldnt help thinking that maybe she should cut down on the money she sends back to Romania and invest in some basic products to tackle body odour. I get that I maybe sounding shallow here, but I did initially meet her just for the look of her titties.No wonder I'm still single.....

Stop Shouting At Me

Fresh from a great holiday with some friends over in Europe, I leapt straight into my first date of September last night. Before I talk about it, I just want to share details of an article that I read in a national newspaper whilst on the plane out to our destination.

The story was about why English men are bad lovers and although I am not patriotic in the slightest , infact I'm saddened these days by the state of this country, one piece of the article riled me. A survey had been taken by men in a few European countries as to why they thought their English counterparts had been labelled as the continents worst in bed. Whilst most of the points were valid, the French men had commented that English men drink too much and are badly dressed......

Back up there Phillipe et Pierre. Badly dressed? Having worked in a French bank for almost 5 years, I can assure you that Paris cannot be the fashion capital of Europe. Unless boating shoes, ill fitting chinos and ridiculous neck ties have been the "in" thing for the last half a decade, season after season, then you are sadly misguided. On dress down friday, I haven't seen so many badly dressed men in one place since I went to an Austin Powers themed fancy dress party over 10 years ago. As for us drinking too much, fair point.....

So last night I met up with a 26 year old teacher, who randomly teaches at my old school. Weird, but slightly turned me on to be honest. She wasn't drinking as she drives to work and never goes in with a hangover which is admirable stuff, so I thought I'd join her and ordered us two glasses of pop. Rock and roll. She was an extremely chatty girl and conversation came easily. She's from chinese origin and speaks with a real London accent which initially amused me, but then I realised that her loud,excitable voice was for real and wasn't just a nervous 5 minutes to begin with....

A pet hate of mine is when people listen in on your conversation whilst sitting in a bar or restaurant, but to be fair, you could have been in any establishment around the Clapham area last night and you would have heard what she had to say. After about an hour of a constant barrage of noise, I asked her if anyone had commented on her voice before. She replied "Yeah, friends take the piss that I'm really loud and talk alot". They're not taking the piss sweetheart. Its a subtle way of telling you to tone it down. Anyway, after two glasses of pop each, I walked her back to her car and we said our farewells. It was a short date and I'm pretty sure the hearing in my left ear hasnt quite come back, but I think we'll probably see each other again.

Tomorrow I have arranged a date up town with a Romanian girl. I'm not going to lie, its purely on the basis that in her profile pictures she seems to have a cracking pair of funbags and a cute little tush. I'm hoping that she has a bit more about her than just those assets, but if not, they're a great distraction....

Remember girls....."A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life to be thankful for a good one"......I'm just doing my job.

The Dilema...

So after last weeks disaster of a date, I got back on track this weekend with the 23 year old. As I've said before, we weren't brought together to solve any world issues, but we certainly have a good time when we're out. There is a big dilema though...

Couple my fear of committment and her over protective parents, there can only be trouble ahead. After saturday's date, I wanted to ask her back to mine, but ended up sending her off at the train station with a teenage like snog. I'm 33 so shouldn't be displaying this type of behaviour, but I'm quite frankly scared of what may happen if we end up sleeping together.

I have visions of bedding their little princess and the Maltese dad warning me that if I do anything to upset his little girl, I'll be sleeping with the fishes before long. Going on past performances with the other sex, there is a high chance somewhere along the line I will be doing wrong by his angel, sooner rather than later. I have to weigh up the pros and cons. On one hand I get to bed and potentially date a cute younger girl, but on the other hand, if I fuck up which is highly likely, I may not get to see in my 34th year. It is a tough one.....

Anyway, I'm off on holiday for the long weekend with friends from tomorrow, so will have time to reflect and no doubt get some great advice from the boys.

My first 3 months of internet dating have been a real eye opener. From a girl fainting on me in a bar to a doctor turning up looking like a street walker, its been a real mixed bag. I have noticed how a woman's clock starts ticking from their early thirties and how this can turn some into a bit of a fruit loop - Settle down, as a desperate lady is not an attractive one. All bar a couple have dates been really decent , so a big pat on the back to the girls from London and the surrounding areas.....

As for the guys, if you have any sort of charm and wit, you ll do just fine. Having spoken about previous dates with some of the girls, the benchmark doesn't seem that high. As I've told my friends, half the work has already been done by the time I turn up on a first date. The reason she is meeting me is my predecessor's weren't cutting the mustard, so her expectation is already low. With a bit of good banter, backed up with a decent happy hour drinks list, you're half way to success.

I've had great fun so far and will be back next week, rested and ready for a new batch......

The Attitude On It.....

So on Wednesday, I had possibly the shortest date in history. Looking back the whole scene was fairly comical, but at the time I was fuming....

I'd arranged to meet the delightful lady in question at 7.30. She was 35, attractive and on the email seemed normal enough. I never spend too much time emailing girls before asking them out as I'm not on the dating site looking for a penpal, but this tactic might change now.

She lived in Fulham and we had arranged to meet in the area, so I set off on a 20 minute walk from my apartment as it was a nice evening. On the way, I received a text letting me know she would be 15 minutes late. No problem there, as I knew the bar was showing the midweek football ,so I could watch that until she arrived....and probably after too if I could positon her well. Once there, I ordered myself a pint and had the pick of any seat as the bar was pretty much deserted....

As I finished off my drink I checked the time and it was now 8pm. Half an hour late. Pushing it a little, but things happen. I got myself another drink and carried on with the football viewing. Half time came and it was now 8.30pm. An hour late and I was getting a little restless.

A few minutes later my phone went and it was Miss Delighful calling from outside the bar.

"I'm outside" she exclaimed

"Ok, well I'm inside, I can see you through the window" I replied

"Come and get me"....

My back was already well and truely up after this short exchange. Cheeky cow - turns up an hour late and is now ordering me about. I have many rubbish traits as you'll have noticed from previous blogs, but bad manners is my pet hate. Turning up so late without an apology falls under this catagory and after her abrupt demands, I almost lost my rag.

"Just come inside, its empty in here so you'll see me"

She then put the phone down and at that point there seemed no way to redeem this date and we hadn't even met. It couldnt get any worse.....

But it did. Miss Delightful then proceeded to talk on her phone outside the bar for another 10 mniutes. By this time my blood was boiling, but I was half thinking it must be a joke as no one could surely be this rude. She eventually walked into the bar and up to me and I sarcastically pointed out that she was over an hour late.

"I know, wasn't my fault though" was her retort. No more, no less.

"So, no apology?"....to which she sighed.....that was the last I could take

"You want to learn some fuckin manners sweetheart" (I get the contradiction of me swearing at a woman and hating bad manners, but I think I was fully justified). With this I got up and walked out, sporting a little childish grin as I left. There was no winner out of the evening, but this had to be the shortest date in history. Our face to face meet lasted for no longer than 30 seconds. That in itself warranted a chuckle.....

I'll put that one down to experience. I don't think I have ever meet an adult in their 30's with such a bad attitude problem. Luckily I have a weekend date with my favourite 23 year old, so the memory will fade quickly enough....

Ease Up On The Fake Tan, Honey

Although I've come in for a fair amount of ribbing through the years due to fake tanning, I'm still a great advocat of it when done properly. Unfortunately, I generally used to apply it still half cut from the previous evening at 6am, before heading off to work. The intention was to make my face radiate a bit more than the pale drunken mess that stared back at me in the mirror. Potentially I could get a nice tanned glow that would fool work colleagues and bosses into thinking that I'd got an early night, but in reality I looked as though I'd varnished someone's parquet flooring with my face. I also never cleaned my hands properly after application, so they looked like I'd been up all night hand painting with a 5 year old. Not a great all round look when heading into an Investment Bank, but I somehow managed to hold down a career up in the city for over decade.

When I caught sight of my date on saturday evening, it was quite apparent I wasn't the only one that struggled with the whole fake tanning process. She jokingly suggested in one of her emails that she hoped we'd recognise each other. I certainly had no trouble in picking her from the crowd at Waterloo - she was quite literally glowing.

After my eyes had adjusted to the hightened brightness levels, we headed off for a bite to eat. Straight off the bat, she told me she had recently caught her long term boyfriend cheating with another girl from their tennis club. Ouch. I was her second online date, but it soon became clear that her ex's betrayal was still on her mind.

From here, a guy can go one of two ways. Get a little annoyed that his date keeps yapping on about her ex boyfriend or see this situation as a great opportunity to have a bit of rebound sex. I chose the latter....

Listening intently to her story, whilst constantly topping up her wine glass, I threw in a few comments like "He must be mad to let you go" and "I bet he'll end up regretting his choice soon enough". I started to zone out on most of the conversation as it was fucking boring me, but the odd boosting of her confidence as she paused for breath was well received.

We finished up the meal and went onto another bar. By this time talk of her ex was easing up and she was becoming a bit more tactile...like the A-Team, I love it when a plan comes together. My tactics of letting her talk and gently massaging her tattered ego were paying off, but there was still one big stumbling block. She lived over in Essex and me in SW London. This is really where I had to step my game up if I were to get her back to mine.

Knowing that she was still quite clearly not over her ex, it was time to subtly let her know she should be letting her hair down, having fun, going wild.....and most importantly, sleeping with me.

Its never a good idea to be too complimentary really early in the date as this can come across as overly keen, so once the signs are there that she enjoys your company, whether it be by her laughing at most things you have to say, being tactile or playing with her hair, its time to schmooze.

From letting her know that she looked so much younger than her age (she was 32 and looked...about 32), to telling her that she should really start enjoying her new found freedom, I seemed to be getting through. When she came back from the bar with our drinks + a couple of shots, I knew my chances of getting her over to my side of town were vastly improving. I suggested we should go and have a boogie somewhere to which she agreed. Then I slipped in that there is a really good club (complete lie, its a shithole) in Clapham, which is only a 10 min cab ride away, but more conveniently, where I live. She agreed. Before we left to jump into a taxi, I went into the toilet, really just to congratulate myself more than anything. Mission complete...or so I thought.

Whilst in the nightclub waiting to be served, I sent a text to a couple of mates informing them I would be getting laid later on. Too smug. After a little dance to some 70's classics and a few more drinks, we headed back to my place. On the short cab journey home, my bubble burst. She informed me that "I'm not going to sleep with you tonight". Huh? Had she headed 90 minutes away from her area to play a bit of late night scrabble? I agreed with her whole heartedly that we shouldn't, but I thought once we were in bed it would be a different story....

It wasn't. She got down to her thong and bra and had an arse like a ripe peach. We had a little kiss but she was adament it wasn't going any further. My last attempt was to get some music on to put her in the mood, but by the time I'd found my ipod, fumbled about to get it onto the Boys 2 Men playlist and managed to plug it into my speakers, she had nodded off. The art of seduction.

I'm not a great sleeper, so there was no way I was going to snooze next to a half naked girl with an arse so good I wanted to take a bite out of it. I went into the lounge and stayed up watching some shit early hours film until I finally dropped off.

She left very early as she had a family lunch, which I was most pleased with. I climbed into my bed and nursed my hangover for much of the day. Although she was a nice girl, I'm pretty sure we won't see each other again, due to distance and if I was to date her long term, my fake tan outlay would go through the roof....

Take care my little orange friend......