Such a Fungi!

Well, looking on the bright side – he turned up. As for the rest, I don’t think so. Don't get me wrong - he was a nice person, but I just don't want to be the responsible adult all the time. 


It all seems to be a matter of extremes where I’m concerned. One minute it all goes pear-shaped with someone who is afraid of long words and the odd metaphor, the next minute I’m in the presence of a practically Nobel Prize winning super-brainy scientist, but nevertheless someone who is remarkably childlike.  And, what is worse, someone who has yet to learn that, according to internet dating etiquette, you don’t immediately ask if your date wants to see you again: you go home and write a message. Like normal people.

And so it is that I find myself having said yes to another date that I absolutely don’t want to go on. Oops! It’s not as if I haven’t said no before on numerous occasions, this case being the most notable, but he was so diffident and yet puppy-dog eager that I couldn’t find the euphemisms to convey the no word.  

Anyway, he wasn't for me for a number of reasons. I could overlook the fact that he was six years younger; I could overlook that he had young children (been there, done that); but I couldn't overlook that each time I gazed into his eyes this is what I saw. Only fatter, rounder and greyer, and just a few inches short of seven foot tall. 

This is because when I was at uni I shared a flat in a hall of residence with two microbiologists. We called them Mr and Mrs Mushroom; they lived in a room in which the curtains were never opened and from which emanated pungent aromas of the fungal kind. Other than going to lectures, Mr and Mrs hardly ever emerged and seemed to do everything else that might have meant coming into contact with other people (e.g. cooking in the communal kitchen) in the dead of night. But quite the most fascinating thing about them was the noise they made. The rest of the flat sharers - six of us - would pile up on the bed of Mr and Mrs Mushroom’s next-door neighbour (should you ever come across this blog… Hi Aled! Did you ever resolve your sheep issues?), put glasses to the wall and try to figure out what exactly was going on. Weeeeeell… we were nosy and stupid young, naïve… Always willing to take the mick to learn.

Her: Mia-ooooooow...

Him: Woof! Woof!

Her: Mia-ooooooow...

Him: Woof! Woof!

Her: Miiiiii-aaaaaaia–ooooooooooooooow. Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Him: Woof. Sniffle. Woof, woof.

And so on and so forth, all resulting in massive crashing about and then rhythmic pounding noises which we assumed was them at it, having completed the, ahem, imaginative foreplay. 

Ah, halcyon days.


I wonder if I can bring myself to do it? Hang on… Miii-aaa-ooooow… Purrrrrrr... Mi-a-oow. Nah, not a Cousine Bette kind of scenario really, is it? 

Oh bugger! I do soooo hope he finds someone more interesting – and quick! Oh, wait a minute! Stella has three pussies... 


What do you think? A bit of recycling again?

Scum And Other Animals

I really don’t want to tell you this story because I’d prefer to keep this blog light and frothy, tell you stories about my warts, Rasta pubes or musings on the benefits of burkhas. Fun and drivel. Sadly, however, sometimes it just can’t be. Those of you who have never had to endure some of the horrors of meeting people via the internet, probably can’t imagine that this stuff happens to ‘normal’ people, probably can’t imagine how you’d react.  

Stella turned up yesterday, hot-cross-bun-less and not wearing make-up. Something was clearly up. She dropped herself onto the conservatory sofa and grunted. Better make a cup of tea, I thought. I tiptoed about the kitchen waiting for her to speak. Nothing. I made the cup of tea and placed it in front of her. Nothing. Eventually, since the softly, softly approach was getting me nowhere, I ventured "What’s up?"

"Men," she said. "Bloody men."

Oh that! Why didn’t you say so in the first place? 

"What about them?"

"You’ll never believe what happened to me yesterday."

I thought "I expect I will". Best just to let her get it out of her system. 

"I mean – what is it about me?" she said. "What the hell am I doing wrong? I’m straight-forward, fun, relatively intelligent, honest, hard-working. I scrub up well, know how to behave in all walks of life. And yet..."

"And yet what?" I said. 

"Last night, I let somebody IM me again," she said. "Actually, I just wanted a chat, and I didn’t want to call you coz you said you were going to have an early night. I was wide awake, I’d been working on the computer and I was feeling sort of lonely."

Ah, I could see where this was going.

She went on. "I’m not saying I was entirely blameless; it does serve me right… a bit. But only because I should have learned my lesson from last time. But, you know, you keep thinking, hoping against hope that people are going to be OK. Oh anyway, the long and the short of it, Bette, is that the guy asked me if I wanted to see him in the pop up, I said no, but he still put his web cam on and there’s he was in front of me - wanking." 

There was a sadness and disappointment about her; probably as a result of that last fiasco with the Market Research Guy. It wasn’t that she was shocked or outraged by what he did. Who cares? People do it. But here was a Stella I hadn’t seen before; her optimism had somehow been raped. 

And I just wanted to smack the douchebag, arsehole, fuckwit. Sorry about the language - I’m feeling extraordinarily angry on her behalf. Because for all that I sometimes portray her as pushy and gobby and out-there in this blog, she’s got a heart of gold, is one of the most considerate people I know, is a super mum whose kids (despite my silly digs at them) are a real credit to her, and has so much life, stamina and adventure in her that any man should think himself bloody grateful to have her. 

"Sod it," she said after a couple of minutes of staring out into my garden. "Where's your Ipod? Stick it on." She scrolled down, picked up my orange highlighter, put it to her lips and began to sing to this. Irrepressible - thank God!  

I can’t say that I would be quite so bothered if this scenario had happened to me, well, not after my recent KUTA and the guy on the mobile. I’m learning too. I think I'm almost at the point of being able to treat it like any another David Attenborough documentary - a brief glimpse at an animal in its own habitat. 

Meanwhile, I do believe I have a rather lovely date coming up shortly; I don't quite know why but I feel really good about it. (Kiss of death?) Also, Stella has recycled one of her ex dates onto the same friend I recycled my ex date on. The system is working well. ;)