It's Christmas time
...there's no need to be afraid
REGULAR readers, if I have any, may be forgiven for thinking that my 'blogging endeavours have become a regular, quarterly event. According to that pattern, this would be the "winter" post. In fact, I should 'blog a lot more if:
- I had something to 'blog about; and
- I had more time to 'blog.
Now, the reality is, of course, that I could devote more time to 'blogging if I diminished other spare time activities, but, without more material, that would not seem to be a very sane prioritisation of my time.
Of course, having no material in this context means no flirty/promising encounters since the Chantelle fiasco in October. There was the one young lady who sent me a message on OkCupid: unfortunately, however, she was:
- from Northern Ireland (nothing against the Irish in principle, but one has to think about practicalities here - who would want to cross the Irish sea just to go on a date?);
- "somewhat serious about" being a Christian, wheras I am "very serious about" being an atheist (and see previous discussions about Jo); and
- "likes children", which, whilst I have nothing against children in the abstract, would not actually ever want to have to look after any for more than, say, five minutes every year or so, and only then if pressed.
I am sure that she was very
nice and everything, but, really, it would save time if people scanned the basic user information for incompatibilities before they send messages. It is flattering, of course, for a reasonably sane (and, by all accounts, not entirely unattractive) person to take an interest in me, but flattery is not the same as romance.
At Christmas time, however, one has more time for these things: more time to 'blog about romance, and more time to lament the lack of it - and 'blog about that, too. It also gives one more time to read others' 'blogs on the subject. One of my favourite 'blogs at the moment is Girl Dates London (a very wittily written saga of one London woman's attempts to find herself a decent prospective husband, and the amusing encounters on that as yet unfinished journey), in which a commentator on a recent post remarked, in respect of the question of whether the 'blog's author, "London Girl", was wise to keep to her "iron pants" policy despite first-date stirrings that, as far as men are concerned, there is no need to buy a cow if one can get the milk for free. Call me old-fashioned and romantic, but I think that there is more to a metaphorical cow than metaphorical milk (although, don't get me wrong: I like the milk); I want somebody to talk to, to tell the things that I'd never tell anyone else, someone to explore (or re-explore) the touristic delights of London with, someone upon whom to expend affection, to make happy in a thousand little ways, someone to share things with, jokes, knowledge, ways of looking at the world, someone with whom to exchange anything from inanities to intellectual insights, and someone to whom to turn, when everyone else seems to be insane and unreliable, as rational and sane and trustworthy. A relationship is not just the milk: it is the whole multi-layered trifle that is best enjoyed served as a single dessert, and can even be enjoyed when the milk has run out and there is no more custard.
For fear of doing any more grievous injury to that metaphor, I shall move on, and point out what is probably obvious, namely that one must always retain a sense of perspective in these things. The one thing that is guaranteed to scare away all but the most desperate and hopeless prospects (and there are enough of those already) is undoubtedly feeling sorry for oneself, so one mustn't do that. So, in the spirit of being positive, thoughts must turn to the solution, as opposed to the problem. The solution undoubtedly entails meeting more potential prospects; that, in turn, is not easy given how far away that I live from where I work, and how much time that I spend travelling. Living with parents also has the potential not only to deter prospects (it is hardly a status symbol), but to make the mechanics of any romance somewhat difficult, as anyone who has ever attempted such a thing, I imagine, can attest.
The problem as regards living accommodation is similar to the problem with respect to potential mates: I am very picky. I refuse to live in a rat-infested dive, or to share with total strangers, and, as any local will know, London is expensive. Now that I have (recently) finished repaying a loan that I took out in order to study my master's degree, however, the budget might just stretch to something sane, not shared. I shall have to see.
The other potential way of meeting people (other, that is, than living closer to London and, presumably, socialising more there) is to try more in the way of online dating sites. I have already been a member of OkCupid for quite some time (having been attracted by the idea of their matching system that ranks people by how much they are likely to like each other), but, either their matching system is nothing like as good as they claim that it is, or there are just very few suitable people using OkCupid, as even those with relatively high match percentages turn out to be smokers or religious nuts or people who want to have children. Any suggestions for other, better online dating sites, filled with oceans of sane, intelligent, rational non-smokers who don't want children and who can spot an out of place apostrophe at fifty paces?
I should not want to give the impression that my Christmas was a singularly depressing affair, however: my delightful grandmother from Wales (who makes the best Christmas puddings that I have ever tasted, and whose own relationship with her now departed husband was the sort that, unlike that between my parents, and despite the fact that they were wed when she was only 18, one of the sorts that all romantics dream of) came to stay, and we had the cake that I made and exchanged Christmas presents and had Christmas dinner (both my mother and grandmother cook very well), and I did take a certain delight in ITV3's Two-Ronnies-athon. It is also the time of year that I send a Christmas themed e-mail to all of my friends in (this year, reverse) alphabetical order of my e-mail address book, with a personal message in each, and therefore also the time of year when I occasionally have to remind myself that the fact that the friendly e-mail from the nice young lady whom I knew at university (and who is now a television journalist in an exotic south-sea island), stating that she is becoming bored with the lack of newsworthy events on said south-sea island, enclosing three videos of herself featuring in international news reports, and imploring me to keep in touch, is not an attempt to flirt with me, whatever a certain part of my brain (or elsewhere) might wish me to believe, and that, even if it was, it probably shouldn't be acted on as such, in consequence, at least in part, of the distance between London and said south-sea island.
I do hope that all (or, at least, both) of the regular readers, and anyone else reading, had a delightful festive season; best wishes to everyone for the new year, and particular best wishes to all those in the dating 'blogging community (London Girl, Dolly, OneGirl, the Not quartet, and everybody else whose names I have missed from the list) at finding a husband/boyfriend/wife/girlfriend or just someone with whom to share a steamy week-end, as the case may be, and thank you all for keeping me entertained (and particular thanks to all those who have posted on my 'blog since I started it near the beginning of this year). It can be said that the 'blog is the twenty-first century equivalent of the novel (some of the 'blogs listed above, and others, are certainly rather better written and more compelling to read than many novels); if that be the case, may we all be stories with a happy ending - perhaps more Jane Austin, less Charles Dickens.
Happy new year to one and all!