Trying not to think about elephants

...Coatman's trip to theatreland

"TRY NOT to think about elephants, and all you can think of is elephants. Two million dollars. Two million dollars!".

We saw Six Degrees of Separation at the Old Vic, a play about a wealthy (and somewhat superficial) middle-aged couple taken in by a flamboyant but curious confidence trickster who causes intrigue even after his lie is exposed. Frequently witty, sometimes hilarious, and undoubtedly touching, I should recommend it to anyone who has not seen it. We went on the opening night, the first production of preview week, and it was sold out.

I had briefly wondered whether planning an expedition to the theatre for somebody who works in the theatre was wise, whether Kate would appreciate my choice. I had not told Kate of our intended destination in advance. I had simply told her to meet me at seven-fifteen outside the main street entrance of Waterloo station. She had replied:

"This is pretty exciting, can't remember the last time somebody properly surprised me!

...

p.s. will you wear a hat for me?"

My last winter hat I had lost years ago when, on attending a jurisprudence discussion group at Trinity College, Oxford, I had left it by mistake in the lavatories, and, on my return, it was nowhere to be seen. The lost property department never had sight of it, so I can only assume that either the cleaners or a pilfering student had made off with it, to do what with, I know not. Perhaps there is a thriving black market in used black hats. Perhaps men on street corners the nation over are accosting strangers, with a furtive look in their eyes, and producing trilby hats form beneath their long raincoats, enquiring whether the strangers would want to buy one on the cheap. In any event, I had not replaced it because, frequently riding a bicycle, there was little opportunity to wear it.

I had gone into work yesterday to collect my papers for Monday and catch up on things that had lain undone whilst I was on festive leave. My case on Monday, I discovered, was in the same town in which Kate worked; I should have to walk past her place of work to get to the court from the station. At lunch' time, I took a brief trip to the shops, collecting a get well card for a colleague who has been suffering from pneumonia, and venturing into the only shop of which I could think near where I work that sells trilby hats. They had one black trilby left, on the sale, and, by chance, it was my size. Wearing it walking back to work, I was pleased at how much warmer that it kept me. Kate had sent me a text message earlier stating that, because of the snow, her last train would be at five to eleven in the evening.

I left work early, having been asked to deliver the get well card by hand, my colleague by coincidence living a short walk from the place where I had arranged to meet Kate. I realised when I was part of the way there that I had not ever walked that route to her house before, and that I did not know how long that it would take. Concerned not to be late, I walked more quickly, eventually finding familiar streets, and dropped the card through the door, before quickly turning to walk back to the appointed meeting place. I found a short-cut, and was pleased to note when I looked at my watch that there was plenty of time to spare.

As I walked along the back street towards the station, my telephone told me that I had a text message. In the chill night breeze, I stopped and took off my gloves to check the telephone. Was Kate telling me that the snow had cancelled all of her trains, or that she was going to be late? The message was from my colleague, thanking me for delivering the card. I did, however, send a message to Kate to clarify the location of our meeting, having realised earlier that my description could equally apply to at least two entrances to the sprawling terminus. She replied shortly indicating that she was already there - about ten minutes early. I hurried along.

Outside the station, people braced against the cold and hurried into and out of the entrance, a few lingering by the doors to smoke cigarettes or sell The Big Issue, even the tobacco smoke seeming too chilled to move away from the warmth, loitering lethargically by the doors. I glanced around for somebody appearing to recognise me, or matching the photographs that I had seen on her profile. Nobody was apparent; I kept wondering whether I had mistaken one of the people at whom I had glanced and concluded that it was not her, and that it actually was her, and that I'd seem terribly rude for having glanced away so soon. I walked up and down for a few minutes, and, seeing nobody, sent her a text message asking exactly where she was, and then another saying,

"Look out for the trilby".

A short while later, a tall woman with dark hair, wearing a long coat and a brown trilby emerged from the entrance. We glanced at each other and smiled hesitently.

"Are you...?"

"Are you...?"

we said. We evidently were.

"I thought I was here, but actually I wasn't," she explained, saying that she had gone to another entrance entirely. "Look out for the trilby! I like that."

Kate was tall and fairly slim, quite pretty with just above shoulder length dark hair, dyed a sort of dark chestnut colour. She wore a brown fabric trilby (from Accessorise, she later told me), a long patterned woollen coat, a cream cardigan, a long skirt with brown boots, a purple scarf and purple/brown leather gloves. She gave the appearance of having a kind and relaxed temperament.

In as much as was feasible given the cold, we talked as we walked the short distance to the Old Vic. It was only when we joined the queue that I told her that we had arrived.

"You have good taste!" she said when she knew what we were seeing.

I smiled and told her that it seemed interesting from the description of the website, but that there hadn't been any reviews yet, as this was the opening night.

"Ahh, yes, of course. The eighth - preview week", she said, evidently being aware already of the dates for which this particular production was set to run.

We got inside, into the warm and I realised that we were in the wrong queue, the queue for collecting the tickets: I had collected the tickets on the way into work that morning. We made our way over to the entrance to the stalls.

"You're very organised!" she said.

Once inside and seated, we discussed the theatre and the architecture, and how it compared to the more modern theatre at which she works. Kate noticed what appeared to be a work of art rotating at the top of the set, appearing to have a different abstract picture on each side, and we mused as to what it might be. Kate said that I had got us good seats (in the stalls), and that she was surprised that I had managed to get seats at all (although I rather suspect that the snow helped).

The music started playing, the lights dimmed, and we sat back and watched the play. After a short while, it became apparent that the rotating, two-sided artwork was a replica of a real famous painting that was actually two-sided, the protagonists being wealthy art dealers. We glanced at each other and smiled.

Surprisingly, there was no interval, although the play was good enough that there was no sense of it taking too long without a break. There was hearty applause at the curtain call.

"Shall we have something to eat?" I suggested. Kate agreed.

I had already garnered opinions as to suitable local restaurants on Facebook, cross-referenced them using Top Table, narrowed the possibilities to two, the foremost of which was an intriguing seeming Indian restaurant (she had noted on her profile that she liked Indian and Italian food), and printed out maps of the area for each one, showing the restaurants highlighted with arrows.

We wandered outside, still talking about the play; I had to pause to tie my shoelaces, and we joked that somebody needed to invent some sort of shoelace that did not come loose - "Staylaces" I called them. I looked at my map, and turned left.

"You planned this, didn't you?" She sounded impressed.

We should have turned right. About two hundred meters down the road, and approaching nothing appearing remotely similar to the restaurant in question, I asked two fellows standing smoking cigarettes outside a fish and chip shop whether they knew where the restaurant was. They said that they didn't know, but that it was probably in the opposite direction to that in which we had come. We went a little further just to check, but then, when the launderettes, off-licences and kebab shops gave way to low-rise flats, we turned back, past the fish and chip shop, and passed the theatre, into a place looking far more promising for restaurants. After a short while, I spotted it up ahead, and we went in.

We had to wait a few minutes to be seated, as the restaurant was busy, but it was warm inside, and the conversation flowed well. I wondered whether I should activate my backup restaurant plan, but Kate noticed that the queue was diminishing quickly.

"Do you like curry?" she said, as we entered.

I said that I did, and had noted that she had said on her profile that she liked Indian and Italian, and asked her whether she liked curry.

"Yes, I love curry!".

We were seated, and continued to talk. Kate ordered some sort of roast or fried duck affair in a crepe, and I had curried prawns. She explained that she had only ordered a small ("regular") portion because she had already had a duck wrap on her way, and that she normally eats heartily, joking that ducks had better watch out for her to-night. That was certainly encouraging. In fact, it transpired that her "regular" portion was rather large in itself, almost all of which she ate; we then had a kulfi ice-cream each. That was also encouraging. I do despair at the nibble on a lettuce leaf and skip dessert type; thin is enormously over-rated, I think.

The conversation flowed freely; we quite evidently got on rather well. She seemed relaxed and easygoing; the evening felt more like a good night out than a job interview. We talked about her allotment (and surplus of green beans and courgettes), my cake recipes, her hobby of potholing (and the episode of Father Ted where the guest star Graham Norton's character ends up trapped in the "really dark caves" and drives everybody mad), how we could make a fortune from Staylaces and selling Christmas crackers to the Dutch, her job, where we grew up, and all manner of other miscellany the details of which do not immediately come to mind. She struck me as a kind and genuine person, and was sometimes even almost too keen to reassure me when I apologised for minor problems, such as the turning left instead of right, or the queue in the restaurant.

When we finished the meal, the waiter brought us the bill (which was surprisingly little for two cooked main courses, with side orders, and two puddings), which I immediately grabbed.

"Now, I can tell you're not going to let me pay for the theatre tickets..."

She had mentioned it briefly earlier, and I had made my views clear then.

"No," I replied with a slightly playful conviction.

"So you should let me get dinner."

I smiled and shook my head, and looked around to find the waiter to tell him that I was ready to pay.

"I'm not going to be very happy", she said, in a good-natured way.

"I'll take that risk," I replied with a smile, as the waiter took my debit card from me and put it in the chip and PIN machine.

I forget her exact words, but she said something about having to do something in return.

"You could bake me a cake", I said.

And, so we resolved that she would bake me a cake.

We sat talking for a while after that, until the restaurant had nearly closed and there were few other patrons there. It was long past the time that Kate had earlier given as her last train, although she had told me before we went into the theatre that the railway company had revised their last train time to something past nine, which she knew that she wouldn't make anyway, and that she would work out how to deal with that when the time arose.

I suggested that we go for a walk along the South Bank, and Kate agreed. We walked out of the restaurant (I nearly forgot my hat, and had to go back for it), and talked about winter clothing, Kate expressing a preference for autumn clothing, and me complimenting Kate on her co-ordination. She seemed to be most amused that we were talking about "style", as she put it.

We strolled on to the South Bank, which was nearly deserted - very unusual, Kate remarked, for a Friday night, and pity the poor theatres suffering greatly diminished attendances in the snow. The South Bank is always beautiful at night, and the crispness of the freezing temperatures, combined with the eerie calm gave it a certain je ne sais quoi as we strolled beneath the trees adorned with blue and white lights next to the sprawling river.

"Look! People!" Kate remarked at a small group of thoroughly sober looking young men walking semi-purposefully in the opposite direction.

"Yes - three of them! We can hardly move with the bustle!"

Kate laughed. Those were the only other people that we saw by the river that night.

As we reached the Oxo tower, Kate was evidently thinking about how to get home. I asked her whether she wanted to go on or turn back, and she said that, actually, her night 'bus went from a 'bus stop considerably further in the direction that we were already going. I suggested that we walk to the next bridge and see whether her 'bus stopped at the 'bus stop near there, and she agreed.

We stopped at one point, and I pointed accross the river, showing her the Inns of Court, now dark and hidden behind tall trees. She told me that she had been on a heritage tour of the Inns and surrounding area a few years ago, and had been into Temple Church, which had been very interesting, although somewhat dominated by tourists' rather excessive interest in "The Da Vinci Code", which, she said, she had not read at the time. I was somewhat relieved when, on telling her that I had not read it, she said not to bother. I rather like somebody who dislikes the superficial and trendy and who thinks independently.

She confessed that she had rather discounted people on Match.com who had put "The Da Vinci Code" as their favourite book (of which, she said, there were an awful lot). I said that there were a great many opportunities for humour on Match.com, to which she said that she had liked the quirky sense of humour on my profile. I said that I had meant unintentional humour, and we laughed about the excessive tendency of people (both men and women, it seems, from having conferred on the point) to state that they like going out and staying in, and sitting on the sofa, watching a DVD whilst drinking a glass of wine.

We got to the 'bus stop, and found that Kate's 'bus didn't run from there. We studied the map for a few minutes, then Kate called the transport helpline on her mobile telephone, who told her that she could catch a 'bus one bridge further along. It was, by now, long past midnight. I resolved to walk her to her stop, from where I hoped that I, too, could get a 'bus home. Kate said that that was "very gentlemanly". I pointed out that I probably wouldn't have done it if it was four o'clock in the afternoon, but it was the middle of the night, and it was only reasonable.

Happily, on arrival at the 'bus stop, we found that night 'buses going to destinations good for both of us ran from there. We waited and continued to talk. Before long my 'bus arrived. I thought afterwards that I probably ought to have waited to see Kate onto her 'bus, but when one is tired, one tends not to react so quickly; in any event, the 'bus stop was in a well lit and well-trafficked area, there were a number of people around, and the 'buses seemed frequent.

As we went to part, there was a certain moment of awkwardness, a certain worry that I suspect was shared that, whatever we were doing, we ought be doing something else. We eventually alighted upon a kiss on the cheek, which seemed fitting; Kate certainly seemed happy enough. Just as she was waving me good-bye as I boarded the 'bus, Kate reminded me of her promise to bake the cake. After I had sat down and the 'bus began to move, I waved at Kate sitting under the 'bus shelter. She waved enthusiastically back.

As I travelled home, I sent her a text message thanking her for a lovely "outing of the Trilby Club", and saying that I was looking forward to the cake; I also asked her for her proper e-mail address (realising that I did not have it), and asked her whether she had managed to get the 'bus yet. She replied:

"It was a lovely eve, thanks [Coatman]. My e-mail is [her e-mail] but i'm really bad at answering so phone is best! I'll have to get the cook books out now.. K x"

Later, she sent another text, which I did not receive before turning off my telephone and going to bed:

"Yes i got the bus ok and its snowing in [her town]! How's [my locale]? K x"

I replied this afternoon, explaining that I had not got the message earlier, that my area was fine but snowy and that I was glad that she had caught the 'bus.

As I walked home from the 'bus stop, minding the ice on the pavement, I thought about Kate and how the evening had gone. We certainly got on well; she is most pleasant company. A more successful evening by far than my only previous date with somebody met online (Jane, about whom I 'blog below). I worry, however, that there is a certain lack of flirtatious frisson, an absence, to some extent even, of attraction. Kate is by no means unattractive (rather more good-looking, certainly, than Jane), and we get on well as people; I wonder whether, as I have long suspected, male attraction to women is driven to a greater extent than many realise by subtle expressions of interest by the woman (i.e., flirtation), which effect is largely subconscious, and that the absence of such signals, even for somebody who would not consciously notice them or even realise that the person was interested, can make a world of difference to attraction. I want to see her again because I enjoyed her company; but is the lack of a certain passion, a certain frisky je ne sais quoi, an elephant in the room; or might it come in time?

I contemplated this as I walked up the hill in the powdery snow and chill wind. She had certainly seemed to enjoy my company, and, indeed, to be keen to see me again (witness the repeated references to the cake); is Kate, perhaps, one of those people who does not by nature display those signals of interest? Is that, perhaps, why somebody who is clearly a lovely person (and the sort of level-headed, easy-going person, as far as I can tell, who would otherwise tend to be considered highly desirable by men looking for long-term relationships), and who is not in the least unattractive, is, at the age of twenty-nine, still unattached and using Internet dating services? Or was she, despite seeming to enjoy my company and being keen to see me again, actually not attracted to me?

I resolved not to give up on Kate. I like her - even if there is no romantic connexion, she is the sort of person that I'd want to have as a friend (which is a prerequisite for romantic interest in any event). I have often found that attraction can grow with time, when I get to know a person better; when she gets to know me better. There were moments when I did feel attraction (I liked the slightly frisky "will you wear a hat for me?" PS in the pre-date message, for example), and I wonder whether there was some element of it being rather hard to concentrate on anything else than having a good conversation and a pleasant night. After all, meeting over the internet is different - one does not start with direct contact. The date comes at an earlier stage. There is still room for things to grow - perhaps. I shall ask her out again - to-morrow. I shall suggest that we go to the "Turner and the Masters" exhibition at Tate Britain, which finishes at the end of the month, and in which we had both expressed an interest on our long walk from the restaurant to her 'bus.

In the meantime, I shall be intrigued to discover what she is going to bake for me: I do love a bit of home made cake.

There's no business like snow business

...Coatman gets a date in the Arctic winter

WE SET a date for Friday: I'm taking her to the theatre, to see what looks to be a most entertaining show on its very first preview night. Time Out recommends it. I haven't told her what we're seeing - just to meet met at a certain station at a certain time, and that we'll go from there.

The chill winds of the Arctic winter continue to blow; even in inner London, there is a hefty covering of snow. My Facebook live feed is filled with pictures of snowmen and people proclaiming that they are staying in bed and reading a book instead of going to work, or that they're worried that they won't be able to go on holiday, or disappointed not to be able to have dinner with their friends. Yesterday, I went and took some photographs, including the one above, in a local park. My parents were supposed to visit, but they've been detained by the even thicker snow where they live. Roads are passable here, but there is disruption on the trains, I'm told. There is something rather reassuring about the fact that my date for Friday is going to work in spite of the snow, intrepidly posting a photograph of the "business as usual" sign in the snow on her employer's website.

All the advice that I've read about online dating suggests to talk on the telephone before meeting in person, to proceed gingerly, to reverse the normal order of things and give her my number first; but I find that there's something inherently awkward about having a telephone conversation in those circumstances; there's no pretext, and one struggles to parse the somewhat limited information that poor quality audio gives one. If one is after a good first impression, a telephone call is a bad place to give one. Meeting in person is more lively and energetic; one can see a person's body language and facial gestures, and hear them more clearly than over a telephone line; there's a pretext, something to do, so there's no awkwardness of trying to find something to say just for the sake of it. I'm not good without context, and there's only so long that one can talk about the weather, even with weather as interesting as it has been of late.

With Kate, I had followed all the suggestions; I had given her my number and suggested that she call if she be so inclined, and she had seemed happy to do so; but I was delighted when she wrote,

"Are you sure you want to have a chat on the phone.. you don't fancy a trip to the theatre or similar on Friday instead?"

I replied,

"A trip to the theatre on Friday is a splendid idea, actually (weather permitting!). Did you have something specific in mind, or shall I surprise you?"

She wrote,

"I'm so glad you are up for the theatre - it will be nice to meet and also to enjoy a little culture. Especially as it seems that alot of my activities this week will be cancelled due to snow (pathetic - there is about an inch and a half here). I love surprises so I'm happy for you to choose."

So, the date is set. I live almost in walking distance of the theatre (perhaps two or three miles away), and Kate is a short train ride away. Unless there is another heavy snowfall, we should make it. Now, just to find somewhere good to eat afterwards: a browse of Top Table is in order, I think.

Incidentally, I have also had a (very belated) reply from Amber; shall reply later this afternoon, and keep people posted apropos her and Kate as things progress. Wish me luck (or give me tips, or both...)!

Re-casting the net

...honing the profile

THERE not being much to report in terms of in-person meetings since my last 'blog post, still staying with the parents in deepest suburbia (returning to the flat to-morrow), I shall briefly recount the latest developments in the world of online dating, before shamelessly using my 'blog to get advice about the latest revision to my various profiles.

Last time, I mentioned that I had been communicating with somebody on Match.com (I shall call her Kate); she sent me a message on new year's day indicating an intention to call me by telephone (I had given her the number a little while ago), so that might well, to borrow terminology from technical support, be escalated in the near future. Shall keep readers up to date.

Also, taking the advice of the rather wonderful Dithering Heights, I thought that I'd try OKCupid again, and have had some surprisingly successful results; I e-mailed three or four people, one of whom responded (probably not much of a prospect, since she is only here temporarily to study, being originally from the US, but seems pleasant enough; I shall call her Karen). I spent some time looking at one person's profile (whom I shall call Amber), thinking that she seemed interesting, but in the end decided that I was too tired to compose a witty message (and suspected that she would probably want children in any event), and did not send the message; to my surprise, the next morning, I awoke to find that she had sent me a message. I was quite impressed with her wit (and she seemed rather impressed with the fact that I had recently performed a stand-up routine); I responded to-day, and shall again keep readers posted of any further developments.

Flushed with an unusual bout of success, I decided that it was high time to up-wit my profiles on various dating sites. As trailed in the introductory paragraph, here is where I trawl for free proofreading. Here is my new profile from PlentyOfFish:

"In no particular order: I love style and hate fashion, adore cats and am somewhat suspicious of big dogs, ride a bicycle in place both of driving a car and going to a gymnasium, believe in the importance of reason and logic, and am useless at mental arithmetic.

I once appeared as an extra on Trigger Happy TV dressed as a panda, recently performed a stand-up routine to get into a party for free, have entered the Turnip Prize, can spot a misplaced apostrophe at fifty paces, bake (and ice) my own cakes, love old-fashioned style but also modern technology, believe in substance over form (but that form comes a close second), prefer to dress up than to dress down, and believe that genuine originality is better than unoriginality, but that genuine conventionality is better than faux originality. I believe in consistency, openness, politeness, reasonableness and honesty, and that dinner is not complete without a pudding. I am also fond of brimmed hats and walking length umbrellas, but own neither since they are both singularly incompatible with safe bicycle travel. Tailor made three-piece suits with pocket handkerchiefs are a good second best, though.

I prefer the subtly quirky to the popularly eccentric, and know the difference between an elephant and a postbox, but that doesn't mean that you should send me to post a letter, or that I also know the difference between an elephant and an aspirin.

I get to wear fancy dress and argue for a living, which is always a plus, although I do get sent occasionally to far-flung corners of England and Wales to do it, which is good when I finish at half-past ten in the morning and get to spend the afternoon in a museum, or if I get sent to some coastal resort and send a postcard to my colleagues back in London and bring them some rock, but not so good if it involves getting up at silly o'clock in the morning or staying overnight in a less than salubrious location in which the local mission's motto is "a bright light in a dark place" (alas, I am not making this up, as anyone who has ever visited Preston might know).

I have recently moved into a flat on my own in South-East London, much closer to work than I was before, which involves more time for baking, and becoming intimately acquainted with Southwark's rather detailed rules about what can and cannot be recycled. I am rather looking forward to holding a mad hatters' tea party at my flat, too.

I am also about to take up ballroom dancing lessons, the practical utility of which may be somewhat limited (I have not yet had occasion to attend a tea dance; perhaps I shall have to befriend lots of people who are about to get married and get invited to their weddings), but which should, I hope, be fun.

As to my tastes in books, films, music and food, here is a somewhat random cross-section:

Books

Watching the English, The Hitchikers' Guide to the Galaxy, Eats, Shoots and Leaves, Aberystwith mon Amour, The Selfish Gene, and others that I've probably now forgotten.

Films

Brief Encounter, The Producers, Wallace & Gromit/Chicken Run, A Room with a View (which, incidentally, is nothing like Eddie Izzard's description of it - there's nobody called Sebastian, for a start), The Planet of the Apes, most things involving Alfred Hitchcock and Austin Powers (the original more than the sequels).

Music

Most things orchestral/symphonic (what many call "classical", although, strictly, baroque, romantic and modern things, too), and, a slightly eclectic mix of more modern music, the only underlying theme of which is probably "catchy tunes".

Food

Yoghurt, panini, wholemeal toast, cheese, lasagne, fruit crumbles, Christmas pudding, Quorn and, of course, cake.

***

I like arguing (in the strict sense of forming coherent and logical arguments for things, rather than the colloquial sense of bickering; fans of Monty Python, at least, should appreciate the difference), making cunning plans, walking long distances, befriending strange cats, going on holiday, taking photographs, causing people amusement, being caused amusement by others, and professing to know the difference between large African heard animals and street furniture. If you, too, know the difference (or at least, claim to know the difference), cringe at bad punctuation and/or know any good cake recipes, then we should talk."

Meanwhile, here is my section of the profile on My Single Friend (my friend Mike's section of the profile, which I reproduced in a previous post has not changed), in which there is a fairly strict character limit, requiring a more concise profile:

"[Mike] flatters me! To expand somewhat: I do indeed get to wear fancy dress and argue for a living, which can be fun, although I do get sent occasionally to far-flung corners of the land to do it, which is good when I finish at half-past ten in the morning and get to spend the afternoon in a museum, or if I get sent to some coastal resort and send a postcard to my colleagues back in London and bring them some rock, but not so good if it involves getting up at silly o'clock in the morning or staying overnight in a less than salubrious location in which the local mission's motto is "a bright light in a dark place" (I am not making this up, alas).

I have recently moved into a flat on my own in South-East London, much closer to work than I was before, which involves more time for baking. I am rather looking forward to holding a mad hatters' tea party at my flat. I am also about to take up ballroom dancing lessons, the practical utility of which may be rather limited (perhaps I shall have to befriend lots of people who are about to get married and get invited to their weddings), but which should be fun.

As for my politics: I am indeed Conservative, although firmly at the liberal end of that spectrum - and I have plenty of interests other than politics, too!

I prefer the subtly quirky to the popularly eccentric, and know the difference between an elephant and a postbox, but that doesn't mean that you should send me to post a letter. I like arguing (in the strict sense of forming coherent and logical arguments for things, rather than the colloquial sense of bickering), making cunning plans, walking long distances, befriending strange cats, going on holiday, taking photographs, causing people amusement, being caused amusement, and professing to know the difference between large African heard animals and street furniture. If you, too, know the difference, cringe at bad punctuation and/or know any good cake recipes, then we should talk."

Is that an improvement, do people think? Answers on the 21st century equivalent of a postcard, please!

Festive frolics

...fun, flirtation and frustration in the season of goodwill

CHRISTMAS, apart from being the season of goodwill and excessive shopping, is a good time to go to parties. Parties, in turn, are good for meeting interesting people: both good new friends (always worthwhile), and prospects. Having recently moved out of the far distant suburbs and into proper inner London (as my 020 7 dialling code tells me), attending said parties is rather easier than it has been in years past.

Party no. 1 was our work Christmas party. Not a particularly effective venue for meeting prospects, although my Christmas cake went down rather well with my colleagues and our professional clients, which is always a good start. Whether our clients liking my cake will lead to me getting more work is debatable, but there is something infinitely satisfying about people enjoying the products of my baking efforts that makes it all worthwhile in any event. Did make a new friend, however: Bea, a friend of Lara's, who after a fairly brief conversation about our mutual interest in baking, promptly volunteered to organise all the tea for my planned mad hatters' tea party next year. That, I think, is the sort of friend worth having.

Afterwards, Senior Colleague took a somewhat eclectic collection of us, comprising me, Very Senior Colleague, Bea and Lara to some upmarket club in the West End, where we stayed until some ludicrous hour of the morning necessitating a taxi ride home (when the pleasures of living in zone 2 are greatly magnified). For reasons that I now forget, Senior Colleague, who was by now a little squiffy, got to talking about Sandra, with whom she has become friendly, and mentioned somewhat pointedly that she had recently broken up with her long-term boyfriend, before proceeding to give her a glowing review (at least, I think that she meant "very pure" as a compliment to her). She also said something like that I'd make a perfect husband, which was rather sweet, although I rather wish that she'd mention that to some interesting eligible bachelorettes. (I wonder whether she already has mentioned this to Sandra, the usefulness of which would, alas, be infinitely diminished by the fact that Sandra, although otherwise lovely, smokes like a chimney - a dealbreaker for me).

Party no. 2 was our work's internal Christmas dinner, the following Monday. Zero chance of meeting anyone new (prospect or otherwise), but a very pleasant dinner in a rather lovely West End club, all paid for by Senior Colleague, which was delightful. Did, however, learn the rather interesting tidbit to which reference is made in the post below about another colleague having met her partner through Match.com. Senior Colleague repeated the line about a "perfect husband" (subsequently modifying it to "ideal husband" to match the title of the Oscar Wilde play); Lara chipped in that I'd be "infuriating", which, after trying to consider what she might have meant, I concluded that she was probably right.

Party no. 3 was not so much of a conventional party, but was organised by the party of the political kind to which I belong, and did involve socialising, so it more or less counts. It was a talk given by a retired senior politician with a drinks reception before and afterwards. I made an effort to mingle, and spoke to a number of people, including some attractive young ladies, but nobody seemed particularly interested until, right at the very end, just as I was about to leave, one young lady (who seemed to be a smidgen in drink) approached me, said that the question that I had asked to the speaker (about the wisdom - or otherwise - of pegging interest rates to the CPI, if I recall correctly) was a good one, and said that she hoped that she'd see me at some future event. Didn't talk to her long enough to know whether I was interested in her, but a sliver of a prospect, perhaps.

Party no. 4 was my previous work's Christmas party, to which I am customarily invited because they're all very nice people. This fell on the same night as party no. 5 (of which more below), so I didn't get to stay long; no meeting of new people, but lovely catching up with old friends, which is always worthwhile.

Party no. 5 was Giles' Christmas house party; or rather, Giles' slightly eccentric housemate's Christmas house party. The wonderful thing about Giles' slightly eccentric housemate is that he has a wonderful collection of slightly eccentric friends. Two are of interest for present purposes. One was Kirsty, a lawyer of the same age as me, who is delightfully old-fashioned and seems to have as much of a passion for baking as I do, as well as a joy in all things antiquated. We spent some time talking and seemed to get on quite well, although she didn't give any particularly strong signs of interest. Nevertheless, at one point, I had posed a riddle to the group in which we were both talking ("which Underground station name is wholly contained inside which other Underground station name?"), and, as she had been in the kitchen when I had given the answer to the others, was still unaware of it by the time that I was to go home (earlier than others, as I had to work over the week-end: the joys of urgent paperwork). I asked her whether she wanted to know the answer; she said that she still wanted to guess it (knowing that I was about to leave). I don't know whether I was entirely off-base in detecting some preference to talk to me again in that exchange. I cannot now recall whether it was before or after that that I mentioned to her my mad hatters' tea party, and she seemed enthusiastic to come. I gave her my pocket notepad to record her details - she started to write her number, but crossed it out after three or four digits, and wrote her name and work e-mail instead. Not a good sign, I suspect. Nonetheless, she had wanted to come to the party, so I added her on Facebook, and she confirmed me. Shortly afterwards, I sent her this message:

" [Kirsty],

lovely to have met you on Friday - it's always delightful to meet people of a similar level of sanity to oneself, especially if they bake cakes.

Have you yet come up with an answer to the riddle (which, in case you have forgotten, is "which Underground station name is wholly contained inside which other Underground station name")?

Let's make it a little more interesting - if you come up with the right answer (specifying both station names) in a single guess before Christmas this year, I will bake you a batch of my famous apple flapjacks. Conversely, if you don't guess in time, at all, or guess wrong, you bake me the most fabulous cake that you know how to make. Are you game?

[Coatman]."

A week or two later, she replied thus:

"Hi [CoatMan] - Yes lovely to meet you too! Sorry, Christmas being what it is I don't think I'll manage any cake/riddle meetings, but hope you are feeling festive and have a lovely holiday.

[Kirsty]"

Not interested, I think, but might make an amusing guest at the tea party.

The second person of interest at party no. 5, Maria, was somewhat more of an enigma - she arrived, already a little tipsy, shortly before midnight, and shortly before I was about to leave. I think that I noticed her (and briefly noted that she appeared to be pretty) when she arrived. After I had already called the taxi to go home (a blissfully short ride from the party, given my new abode), she asked me to dance with her (actually, rather more challenged than asked); I protested that I really had no idea how to dance, but she insisted, so we took each other's hands and I attempted to move in some sort of time with the music as she twirled and bopped and generally danced as competently as a drunk person who knows how to dance does. She said that I was "lovely" several times, and seemed to be delighted that I agreed to "dance" with her (the quote marks are well advised). She also commented that I was very polite, which she seemed to like (why on earth the ordinary social courtesy of politeness should be elevated to a compliment escapes me, but she clearly intended it as such). At some point during our dancing attempt, I asked her whether she liked cake, to which she responded enthusiastically in the affirmative. I then mentioned the party, and before long, she was giving me her number (no work e-mail this time). I suggested that she add her e-mail, too, so that I could find her on Facebook to send her the party invite, which she did, apologising for her (perfectly legible) handwriting, pointing out that she was a little tipsy by now. When I later inspected the note, I had found that she had written her first name, her mobile telephone number, her personal e-mail address and "mad hatters".

The party was on a Friday. At about seven o'clock on Monday evening, I called from my home telephone (I had not given her any number of mine, so she would not have known who was calling). The telephone rang for some time and then went to voicemail. I didn't leave a message, resolving to call her again in half an hour or so, it being better to speak in person. Half an hour passed, and I called again. Voicemail. I left a message, something like,

"Hello - this is [Coatman], the mad hatter from Giles' party; just calling to see whether you'd like to go for a drink next Monday. If you'd like that, do give me a call back: my number is [my number, twice for clarity]."

The following Monday was the only day that I had free that week, other than the next day, the Tuesday, which I thought a little short notice (the plan had been to suggest the Tuesday if she was unavailable on the Monday). I have never heard back. I tried to find her on Facebook using the e-mail address that she had given, but she did not appear. Maria will remain, I suspect, forever an enigma, the only explanation forthcoming in my mind being that, when sober, she had thought to herself "Oh my giddy aunt - who on earth did I flirt with at that party? I really hope that he's lost my number" (or words to that effect).

Party no. 6 was a sort of after-party affair at the performance of a regular amateur dramatic revue (for which, this year, I had written some contributions). Nothing particularly of note, save that the performers all seemed to have enjoyed my material (which seemed to get a good laugh from the audience, too). Also, acquired a new friend (at least, according to Facebook): somebody who had sung a rather impressive song that she had written herself at a previous party about which I have 'blogged briefly before (I think) and had also performed at the revue.

Party no. 7 was the annual Christmas event at my local model engineering club, which is always delightful, but, given the demographic that one would expect at a model engineering club (and this one duly fulfils all expectations), not the place for meeting eligible members of the opposite sex. I did, however, manage to get rid of one of the bottles of wine that had lain unused and taking up space in the kitchen since my flat-warming party in November by donating it to the raffle.

Party no. 8 was a rather more sedate affair, held in the afternoon and evening of Sunday last. It was Bea's birthday party (held in Lara's rather extensive - and, for me, conveniently located, shared house), and, in gratitude for her generous offer to organise the tea for my tea party, I baked a lemon sponge cake and brought it along. A pleasant evening (and, most satisfyingly, all but a slice of my cake had been consumed by the end, despite the number of guests being modest - Bea herself had three slices), although not as promising on the prospects front as Giles', partly owing to the relative fewness of the attendees. Most of the women there were already taken, and the only one who was certainly single did not appeal. Somewhat dysfunctionally, I gathered the increasingly distinct impression that Bea was being somewhat flirtatious towards me (dysfunctionally in that she has a boyfriend with whom she has been in a relationship for eight years - who was at the party: nice chap, although a smoker), an impression which I had vaguely had at party no. 2 but had dismissed for that reason. The frequent touching of my arm in conversation and the tactile enthusiasm with which she appreciated the co-ordination of my tie, pocket handkerchief and suit lining were what gave the impression. Whilst, therefore, not a prospect, it is always gratifying (and, helpfully, good for the confidence) to be flirted at by somebody decidedly attractive. Overall, and especially in light of the fact that no fewer than three people asked for the recipe of the lemon sponge, a successful evening.

Christmas itself, I have spent with my parents (and my grandmother from Wales, who makes the most excellent Christmas puddings, and who gave me for Christmas her old cast iron bakestone (which is now too heavy for her to use) and taught me to make Welsh cakes), parties and prospects being temporarily replaced by roast dinners, games of Monopoly and visits from long-standing family friends.

When I return to the capital in the new year, I shall be taking up a new activity on Tuesday evenings: ballroom dancing. Having realised that an ability to dance is a rather popular attribute (especially in view of the rather brief escapade with Maria at no. 5), and that a ballroom dancing class might be an effective way to meet new people, and having found a regular class suited to complete beginners within walking distance of where I live, I have signed up for the promisingly relaxed looking lessons that begin in the second week of January and, most helpfully, allow attendees to progress to the next level at their own pace, which, in view of my dancing abilities being roughly equivalent to those of a newly born giraffe with severe dyspraxia, is a great relief.

Finally, I ought note that I have been communicating with a young lady on Match.com for several weeks now; unusually, she contacted me first. I must confess to being a smidgen ambivalent about this one so far (she often leaves long gaps between messages - although, to be fair, with this individual, so do I, and she seems, at least in the medium of e-mail, to lack that certain witty flair that I find so enchanting), although she seems nice enough (and pretty enough), she likes cats, and, as a certain regular commenter on this 'blog would point out, even if nothing comes of it, it is all good experience. I shall keep people posted.

In the meantime, wishing everyone a retrospective merry Christmas, and a prospective happy, prosperous and extremely successful (in dating and everything else) new year!

Online dating doldrums

...am I doing something wrong?

ONLINE dating, I am told, is a numbers game. It has drawbacks, certainly, and I have no intention of relying on it as the only possible method of meeting someone, but there is every reason to try it alongside more traditional methods. Everyone at work went out this evening to a rather lovely dinner arranged by Senior Colleague at a London club, and, talking to a colleague whom I have known for over 18 months, it transpires that she met her long-term partner (whom I have met - terribly nice chap) on Match.com - reason, if any, to continue to pursue that as an option.

I am beginning to wonder, however, whether my numbers are unusually pessimistic, and, if so, why. As documented in the previous post, I recently joined My Single Friend, which has particularly good record keeping functions, where I can easily record how many people have favourited me, how many people that I have e-mailed, how many have read my messages, and how many of those have responded.

In the last week, I have sent a total of twelve messages, of which seven have been read (the last one having been sent on the evening of the 2nd of December). I have had no replies. One person has added me to her favourites, but she was unsuitable, as she professed religious belief.

Mike (whom I am meeting for a drink to-morrow evening) seems to have had rather more luck than me, having told me that a rather large number of people had added him to their favourites on the first day that he appeared on the site. I initially wondered whether that imbalance was due to the fact that I might not appear in many people's searches because I had selected the "does not want to have children" option, but that cannot explain the lack of success in relation to the messages that I have sent, since, on MySingleFriend, whether a person wants children, although a searchable criterion, is not something that is displayed in a person's profile, so it cannot be seen by a person to whom a message is sent.

I reproduce below what Mike wrote about me on MySingleFriend, and what I added. Am I doing something wrong? Is there something askew with what Mike wrote?

Since leaving school, [Coatman] has become one of my closest and personal friends. He is one of the most loyal, charming and intelligent (really!) gentlemen I know.

By day he can be found in his chambers, wearing his gown and wig and ferociously representing his clients on all manner of legal cases. Despite his modesty I get the impression he's very very good at this!

At weekends he's a traveller and is happiest when he's off exploring a provincial part of the UK (or even further a field!). He's also an absolute legend at baking and women have been known to offer their first born just for a slice of his lemon drizzle cake!

Some things James won't necessarily tell you on meeting him (but hey that's what friends are for):

- He's rarely not found wearing a suit
- He's conservative - with both a small c and a big C.
- He would tell you he doesn't suffer fools gladly but enjoys making them squirm!
- His biggest inspiration in life is his truly wonderful grandmother!
- He's secretly building a steam powered computer ready to take over the world!
- He likes Cats and Hats!

Only contact [Coatman] if you have a good heart, strong moral fibre and a passion for cake!

And I wrote:

[Mike] flatters me! I have not, I must confess, yet attempted a lemon drizzle cake (although I might have a go now that it's been mentioned), but my own recipe apple flapjacks seem to go down rather well. My annual Christmas cakes are also surprisingly popular at work.

More generally: I love style and hate fashion, adore cats and am a little suspicious of dogs, ride a bicycle in place both of driving a car and going to a gymnasium, believe in the importance of reason and logic, and am useless at mental arithmetic.

I once appeared as an extra on Trigger Happy TV, recently performed a stand-up routine to get into a party for free, have entered the Turnip Prize, can spot a misplaced apostrophe at fifty paces, love old-fashioned style but modern technology, believe in substance over form (but that form comes a close second), prefer to dress up than to dress down, and believe that genuine originality is better than unoriginality, but that genuine conventionality is better than faux originality. I am also fond of brimmed hats and walking length umbrellas, but own neither since they are both singularly incompatible with safe bicycle travel.

I do love exploring the interesting and sometimes quirky side of London - everything from museums (both mainstream and obscure) to delightful restaurants old and new. I also love a bit of comedy and wit (anything from Oscar Wilde to Eddie Izzard); I do enjoy making people laugh (and being made to laugh), but have been told that my sense of humour is somewhat on the dry side.

As to being C(c)onservative leaning, that is true, although firmly on the liberal end of that spectrum.

As to what I look for, I like intelligence, confidence, nous and tenacity, wit and hats. (Hats are not compulsory, but I can't resist a woman in a hat. Or rather, I can, but it's somewhat of a challenge). Someone who's up for a fun challenge and doesn't mind being surprised in pleasant ways would also be good.

Oddly, I seem to do better face to face than on internet dating sites: I often find that people (usually unsuitable, sometimes even already seeing other people) appear to express an interest and be flirtatious when I meet them in person, but I have had very little success indeed at eliciting any responses on online dating sites. Is my profile off? Or are my e-mails not good? Here is an example of one that I sent on MySingleFriend, which was read, but to which I received no reply (she had professed in her profile to liking "adventures"):

Adventures

I do like a good adventure; why, only the other week, I made it all the way to John Lewis and back, and emerged mostly unscathed, carrying a bedside lamp and a couple of florets of broccoli. There was also the whole cycling in the pouring rain thing last Sunday, which was a surprisingly damp experience, even with waterproof clothing.

Your adventures seem to involve wearing a Union flag, which, considering that it's a flag, is surprisingly fetching as a garment. Was that a sporting event, or were you attending a fancy dress party attired as Britannia?

[Coatman]

And here is another in a slightly different style (she had written that she drank tea all day long and had a very eclectic mix of music on her iPod):

Do you also like biscuits? Couldn't resist sending a message to a self-confessed tea addict: infinitely better than anything fizzy and/or from a can, I think. My next house party is going to be a mad hatters' and March hares' tea party, complete with real teapot and vintage cake crockery, and, of course, fancy dress. I'll be a mad hatter, because I'm mad and I like hats.

What's the most eclectic thing on your iPod?

[Coatman].

Are those cunningly witty, or just bizarre and irritating? Is the problem more my profile? Or are readers as perplexed as I am? As ever, tips for the clueless would be much appreciated.

A fresh start

...a new home, new opportunities, and a new challenge

I COLLECTED the keys on the 5th. By the 14th, I was having my flat-warming party (Bluesoup, where were you?), complete with guess the weight of the cake competition and "everyone who" photographs (cat lovers outnumbered dog lovers 2:1, I am pleased to report). My coffee table is now replete with "new home" cards, and I had some lovely presents from lovely people: D and R gave me a pot plant (which I have been keeping alive) and a box of chocolates; a colleague bought me a set of wine glasses; Carol bought me a cat themed apron; and Senior Colleague bought me a kitchen radio. On buying plant food for the aforementioned pot plant last week-end, I found that the local garden centre has a resident cat who allows all and sundry to fondle him, which made me very happy indeed.

I ran into the lady who won the guess the weight of the cake competition last night at an event, and was told that she had dispatched the cake to the nursing home where her mother had spent her final days, and that the elderly residents were delighted: one even cried with pleasure (at least, I was told that it was with pleasure that she cried on eating my cake). I now live five and a half miles from work, in a lovely (but not too expensive) part of South-East London in a rather nice little flat. I have a retro dial telephone and lots of second-hand furniture. One pressing question remains: what to call this 'blog? "Celibacy and the inner Suburbs"?

* * * * *

I DID go on a date with Jane in the end: after a few more messages were exchanged, we agreed to meet in Covent Garden. Yet to finalise our destination, I asked Very Senior Colleague and a mutual friend at a conference the week-end before whether they knew of any good places to go, and they recommended Chez Gerard, which has a panoramic view of the square. In an e-mail to her arranging the time, I made a quip about not needing to hold a copy of The Times, stand under a clock or wear a red carnation in the days of mobile telephone communications (we had swapped numbers by this point), and she retorted that she would be disappointed not to see a carnation. Not to miss an opportunity, I bought a bunch of carnations (and a vase to put them in, which I now keep atop my dining table, topped up with fresh flowers), cut off one head, and, just before I was due to meet Jane, affixed it to my pocket. I also bought a copy of The Times, and stood in the location where we had arranged to meet, reading it.

The ploy seemed to work, as, standing at the appointed location, five or ten minutes after the appointed time, Jane approached and evidently realised who I was. That, alas, was the pinnacle of the evening. Whether through nervousness, a general lack of socialisation or some combination of both, nearly all of the conversation that evening was initiated and maintained by me (despite there being ample opportunities for her to pick her own topics). She came accross rather as a rabbit caught in headlights, and, although evidently intelligent (and, to be fair to her, a perfectly pleasant lady, as far as I could tell from our somewhat limited conversation, which was mainly about her PhD and related topics), lacked all trace of wit and charisma. The conversation was not unpleasant: despite feeling like I had been assigned the job of teaching her how to make casual conversation, at a rather novice level, interesting things were discussed, and there were no awkward misunderstandings. Certainly, it is possible to imagine something far worse.

At the end of the evening, I handed her the carnation, shook hands, and managed to find a formulation of words that were both polite and that did not give the false impression that I should be interested in seeing her again. Later that evening, she sent a text message saying that she had had a pleasant time and that she hoped that I was not perturbed by her "inane ramblings". Thinking to myself that it was rather the absence of ramblings, inane or otherwise, that the problem was, I simply replied,

"It was lovely to have met you."

That was the end of it.

* * * * *

I HAD arranged some weeks ago to go out with two old school friends of an evening, but one of them, Mike, was unable to attend at the last minute. The next evening, he called me, and we talked at length (discovering that we now lived very close to each other). Last time that I had met him, he had just broken up with his girlfriend of a number of years because, he said, although things were stable and happy enough, he could not really see himself with that particular young lady in the long-term. We got to discussing our respective romantic positions, and he came up with a challenge: if, by a date in March of next year, I had not found what I wanted in the field of romance (not necessarily a long-term partner - whatever it was that I was after, he said), or come up with a more up-to-date excuse than that it was difficult finding anyone when living with my parents, I was to bake him some apple flapjacks. Conversely, if I did find whatever I was after, he was to bake me a walnut cake. I accepted.

He suggested that we recommend each other on My Single Friend, a rather different sort of dating site, in which the principal descriptions are given by friends of those looking for romance, rather than the people themselves. I have heard in the past good things about the service, and how, because of the format, rather more women than men tend to be signed up, and so agreed heartily with his suggestion.

Our profiles went live yesterday. With My Single Friend, one gets an e-mail notification of whenever people add one as a favourite. Yesterday, I had one such notification from a young lady who, unfortunately, was unsuitable owing to professing to being religious. Yesterday evening, Mike called. He said that he had just been on a date with a young lady with whom he had been set up by a friend, but had found her to be entirely unsuitable (her having revealed at one point that she had been made bankrupt after having over £30,000 worth of debt; I remarked that that was a larger red flag than one might find on Brighton beach in a storm, and that the irony of an accountant marrying a bankrupt would not be the good sort of irony - he agreed). He did, however, say that I must have made a rather excellent job of writing his description, because he had had a very large number indeed of people adding him as a favourite, his inbox being filled with mail from My Single Friend. I wonder whether the difference in our relative levels of success might be attributed to the fact that I specified the "definitely does not want to have children" option, whereas he, I think, stipulated something a little more neutral. I sent four messages myself, but have yet received no reply (two of them having been read this morning, one this afternoon, and one remaining unread).

I also suggested that we try speed dating sometime, to which he agreed heartily. Owing to the fullness of my calendar, it is likely to have to be next year, but that gives some time to plan when we meet for a drink next week. More on that soon.

* * * * *

So far, living in London seems to be going well - any tips from readers regular or irregular on good ways of meeting local people for friendship and romance? I have already applied to join the local branch of a political party with which I have some peripheral involvement, and am considering whether to try to learn ballroom dancing (and if there are any classes nearby likely to have people under the age of fifty-five attending them). Any other ideas would be most welcome.

A bite

...promising prospect from PlentyOfFish

FOLLOWING the advice of one of the commenters on this 'blog, I amended my "location" details on the dating websites to which I am subscribed to the flat to which I shall be moving next Thursday, and added a note at the bottom of the general "describe you" section that I am about to move into London and should like to meet new people from the area.

I sent several messages, and got a reply from one potentially quite interesting character, Jane. She is a 26-year-old PhD physics student from London who professes not to want to have children. She lists her interests as ballroom dancing, anime, art, books and music, and describes herself thus:

"This is the part that feels like filling out a job application or an ebay listing where I sell myself to prospective bidders! I tend to have a flippant approach to these sorts of things, so suffice to say that I'm a physics, anime and gaming nerd with a sarcastic sense of humour and a love of cats. I'm not going to go on about how great I am or how I'm striving for world peace because although I could sell you a load of bull, wouldn't that defeat the object of trying to find someone I can be myself around? Hopefully my writing style will tell you as much about my personality as anything I say here."

In the "First Date" section, she wrote,

"Just the usual I guess, dinner, cinema, you know the drill."

The photographs on her profile are not too clear of her face, but she seems confident and to have a good sense of fun. I wrote to her in these terms,

"Ebay for dating? That is a rather wonderful analogy.

I was going to ask you about your intriguing hobby (if a hobby it is properly so called) of ballroom dancing (far more original and entertaining, I think, than the modern stuff), but perhaps in the circumstances I should simply enquire as to the cost of dispatching yourself by courier, given the present postal strike. Also: do you come in pink?"

She replied thus:

"Dear [MyOnlineDatingHandle] (excuse the formality, but it seems the natural way to respond to your writing style ;) )

I heartily approve of your love of cats and keen eye for apostrophes. I am not given to travelling by courier, although many say that being packaged in brown paper and stored in the back of the van is more humane than the tube at rush hour. Pink is an available colour, even if it is not currently in the drop down box."

I sent a further reply,

"[HerOnlineDatingHandle],

postal strike and won't send yourself by courier? I shall just have to collect you in person, then.

(No need to excuse formality, incidentally: I am rather partial to a bit of old-fashioned letter-writing, although that seems a little under-appreciated these days. People might think me a little odd if I addressed an e-mail, "My dear Miss [HerOnlineDatingHandle]," or something similar).

I am glad that you approve of cats and proper apostrophe use, both sadly (and particularly the latter) often undervalued by some. Likewise, I am most impressed that you are pursuing a PhD in physics - that takes some serious intelligence. I always wanted to go into science when I was a small child, until I realised that I was no good at mathematics, so went into law instead. Do you intend to pursue a career in physics?

[CoatMan]

P. S.: I am presuming, given your fondness for physics, gaming and anime that you will already be familiar with xkcd.com - if, improbably not, I heartily recommend it, although be sure to make your first visit at a time when you have at least three hours spare to trawl the archives."

She replied further,

"Indeed, even eBay has items that must be picked up in person! Of course, they are usually bookshelves and dressers and suchlike, so I wouldn't quite put myself in the same category as those items.

Assuming all goes well, I'll do a postdoc after my PhD and become an academic in due course- perhaps one day I'll even be supping port at high table in Oxford ;)

I am of course familiar with xkcd, a most worthy webcomic indeed. And you may as well know that my real name is [Jane], although I'm equally happy to keep answering to [HerOnlineDatingHandle] ;)"

A few minutes ago, I sent her the following reply:

"[Jane],

I had rather suspected that you were not actually named after a fire-breathing creature from ancient Japanese mythology, although, as eccentric names go, that would indeed be a rather splendid one. '[Jane]' is rather a lovely name, too, though.

High table at Oxford is a worthy aspiration indeed; I remember from when I was studying my BCL there that those at the high table got rather more appetising looking puddings than the rest of us. What is your particular area of physics (and the subject of your PhD)?

As to your gaming nerd tendencies - I am assuming that you are referring to something a little more substantial than Mafia Wars; are you a city building sort of person, or more into capturing flags and the like?

[CoatMan]."

According to this article, one should think about moving things to a telephone conversation after three e-mail exchanges (i.e., in this case, if and when Jane replies to my latest message), and be prepared to ask her out in that telephone conversation. The question is - where does one take a PhD physics student who likes ballroom dancing? And how best to ask for her number online? As ever, tips for the clueless are much appreciated!

Navigating backwards through the Friend Zone

...when I'm Just Not That Into Her

MUCH HAS been written about the common situation in which a man finds himself in a woman's "Friend Zone" when he would rather prefer to be experiencing some... other sorts of zones of hers (Hot Alpha Female's 'blog post on the subject is particularly recommended), but what of the converse? What of a situation in which one meets a woman whom one likes as a person, but, for one reason or another, in whom one is not interested - but she appears to be expressing an interest herself? Given the ease with which men who are interested seem to fall into the Friend Zone, one would be forgiven for thinking that that was all rather a non-problem. Surprisingly, however, things are not as easy as they at first appear.

Sometimes, when people in whom I am not particularly interested have made advances towards me, I have tried to be distant and not engage much with them at all in the hope that they will go away; sometimes that works, but a non-trivial number seem to relish the challenge and just try harder (although they do - eventually - give up). Conversely, sometimes when I try to be friendly (because I like them), but try to make it clear that they are in my friend zone, they ignore me entirely or become distant themselves. Sometimes, when I thought that I had successfully made friends with someone, they stop talking to me whenever they get into a romantic relationship with someone else. What is up with that?

A few examples. Years ago, when I was still studying my professional qualification, I met Robyn. I had first encountered her at an interview (she was a fellow interviewee), although I had not taken particular notice of her then, and struggled to remember who she was when she walked into the offices of a legal charity at which I volunteered and immediately recognised me and introduced herself. We got talking, and it was fairly obvious to me - even a number of years ago - that she was flirting. She was pretty, but I wasn't interested largely because she smoked, but also I didn't really think that she was the right sort of person for me. We had pleasant conversation, however, and she seemed to find me funny (and a chap always finds it satisfying to make people laugh, whether he's attracted to them or not).

For a few months, we often met in the offices of that organisation and would often chat. I never asked her out or anything else that would give an unequivocal indication of interest. I think that we went to get lunch' once, and walked together to the railway station on another. Eventually, we went our separate ways, and didn't go to those offices any longer. We lost touch.

About two years later, when we had both qualified and were practising, I happened to be against her in court one day. I was prosecuting her client, I think, for some minor public order offence. A few weeks afterwards, we happened into each other on the street; despite the passage of time, she seemed quite flirtatious again - she gave me her telephone number and e-mail address and suggested that maybe we go out for a drink sometime.

I didn't want to lead her on, so I didn't ask her out for a drink - I think, about a week later, I e-mailed her, the content of which I cannot now recall, but it was definitely a Friend Zone e-mail, and consciously so. She never replied, and I have never heard from her since.

I have 'blogged about Jo before. I met her on a course about four years ago; I was very attracted to her when I first met her; she was confident and friendly and had a good sense of humour. We happened to be allocated to the same small groups, and even the same outing on one occasion, and I recall making a particular effort to talk to and sit next to her in particular. By the time that the course finished, I had determined to ask for her number, and was not far off doing so when I overheard her say, in response to somebody asking her what she was doing over the week-end, that she was going to church, and me realising that she was entirely unsuitable. I had not detected any particularly clear indications of interest from her, although she had always been friendly and sometimes somewhat playful towards me.

The part relevant to this post, however, is what happened thereafter. I also met a good friend D at that course, the same D who has recently joined the place where I work. D would, around that time, often organise group outings of people from that course, and other friends of his, and invite me. Jo would usually be there, too (I don't think that she knew D before the course, either). We always chatted and got on well. I recall one occasion - D's birthday (which was about ten months after I had first met Jo; she had had at least one boyfriend in the intervening time) - when we spent half the evening just talking to each other. There was another fellow there, who came a little later, who obviously had his eye on her, and he ended up talking to her for quite a while, too, whilst I talked to some other people. D then decided to take everyone to a nearby club, and called a taxi from outside the bar. It was evident that we were not all going to fit in the same taxi, so I hailed a second taxi, and suggested to Jo that we go separately in the second car. The other fellow who had his eye on Jo also quickly decided to come and join us in the second taxi, and, since D had omitted to tell any of us where he was going, we had a rather amusing "follow that cab!" moment. I complimented Jo on her shoes (I do love kitten heels) as I contemplated the various ironies of the situation.

When we got to the club, which turned out to be such a short ride away from the original bar that both Jo and I complained that we could easily have walked, and thus avoided the taxi fare, I realised that it was probably about time for me to go home anyway; D had already gone in when I had decided to leave, so I asked Jo to tell him good-bye for me. Oddly, she asked me whether I wanted her to kiss him good-bye for me. I was very confused, and pointed out, I think, that I don't normally miss my male friends good-bye, to which she responded, even more confusingly, that she imagined that D would rather it come from her than from me. I cannot remember exactly what I said next, but I bid them all farewell shortly afterwards and returned home. I have since wondered whether Jo was trying, in rather an oblique fashion, to get me to kiss her. Bearing in mind that I had known her for ten months and not so much as asked for her number (although she gave it to me anyway on one occasion), let alone asked her out (other than as part of a group invitation to the garden party that year; which she had declined in any event, since she was on holiday at the time), I cannot see what I had done to encourage her. Perhaps she somehow sensed that I still found her attractive even though I was not interested?

At Christmas time, I tend to send personalised e-mailed seasonal greetings to all my friends, and I think that I sent one to Jo that year. A few hours after I sent it, she had sent me what appeared to be a group text, something along the lines of, "wishing all my lovely friends a merry Christmas and a happy new year!". I think that I sent her a polite text response, although I may not have responded at all.

She acquired a boyfriend shortly thereafter, and didn't respond to things like an e-mail asking about what living in a certain area was like, the following year's group invitation to the garden party, or Christmas greeting.

The final example is perhaps the oddest of all. I met Imogen when I was studying my master's degree at university, just after I started, at the MCR introductory mixing party. She was attractive - but already spoken for, and I recall thinking it an unfortunate irony that the most interesting person in the room was not available. We got talking in a group, and, eventually, the rest of the group drifted away, and we were left talking alone. We sat down on some sofas and continued to talk. I don't remember now quite how it arose - perhaps it had no real context or introduction at all - but she asked me out (ironically, one of the only other times that I have been asked out by a woman, she was spoken for at the time, too). She was inventive, too: she suggested that we go and fly a kite that same week-end (the idea of kite-flying as a date stuck in my memory ever since, which is partly what prompted the kite-flying date idea apropos Lara, 'blogged about below).

I was somewhat taken aback and confused. Something odd was obviously happening. I prevaricated a little - I think that I'd have jumped at the chance if she'd been single, but it was a little bizarre given that she was not, so I told her that I couldn't because I was baking a cake (which I had indeed planned to do in any event). She said how about she come and help me bake the cake, to which I agreed. She did indeed come, albeit rather late, after I had started, and not a great deal happened; she didn't stay very long. We occasionally ran into each other after that, and she would sometimes be flirty (grabbing and squeezing my arm on occasions). I largely left her alone, realising that she seemed to be serious about the person that she was with. After we left university, we lost touch.

Some years later, she found me via Facebook, and we exchanged brief messages about what we had done since. It transpired (through her pictures, I think, more than the messages) that she had married the fellow that she was with at the time. A few months later, she sent me another message saying that she was about to move to California, suggesting that we meet up for lunch' before she goes. I wondered what she was playing at, and decided to call her bluff: I replied in a friendly manner, saying that that would be lovely and when would be good for her? I have never heard from her since. There are some very odd people out there.

Finally, and remotely connected to the topic, I never had a reply either to the message that I sent Sandra suggesting that we go out to lunch'. I rather wonder whether that is part of the same pattern that I describe above. Is there some convoluted psychology that I am missing with all this?

Enlightenment in video form

...this woman is genius

AFTER making the last post and reading the comments (especially helpful comments from Ruby and Liberty London Girl - thank you both), I have found a video that goes a long way to answering my original questions in the post below: see above. The video is courtesy of Hot Alpha Female, who seems to be a doyen of these things. I rather wish that I had watched this several months ago...

The rules of the game

...adding the Grr Factor without going too far

AS REGULAR readers will know, and irregular ones will quickly discover, I am clueless about most things relating to courtship. Reading another person's interest is one of those things; knowing how to flirt is another. They are, of course, linked: a flirtatious remark that would be exciting to somebody who is interested may cause somebody who is not interested to feel uncomfortable, run away or never talk to one again; likewise with touching, with the added option of calling the police.

One thing of which I am, and have always been, acutely aware is just how mind-bendingly awful that unwanted advances can be, and how those who make them are understandably despised. I am, and have always been, resolutely determined not to be the sort of person who ever makes unwanted advances. I remember once asking a woman out by telephone who, it transpired, was not interested in me: that was the most awkward conversation that I had had for years. On the one or two occasions on which we met subsequently, our interactions were stiff and uncomfortable: we had got on quite well before. On occasions, I have been on the receiving end of inappropriate advances from women, which, when I did not find them attractive, made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I remember as a child and teenager learning about the evils of sexual harassment from videos of the sort parodied above, and resolved never to be that sort of person.

Against that background, and my near total lack of ability to read signals of attraction, it is perhaps not surprising that I have never so much as kissed a woman. The closest that I have been was when, at the age of 17, a rather drunk young lady at a school disco tried to kiss me: I was rather shocked and pulled away. That was the same person as discussed in the post below.

I can do pleasant conversation; I can do wit and humour; I can even play exciting games involving keeping the other person guessing as to our intended destination and other such capers, but I have never been able to pull together decent flirtation. Blonde neatly summarised the effect of this when she wrote, in response to a comment,

"There does need to be some sort of 'grrr' factor, otherwise it'd be a bit like dating one's brother... I think that physicality is one of the best clues: if I'd been on a number of dates with a guy (eg, 3) and there had been no attempt to kiss me / some other sort of display of attraction, I'd assume we'd drifted into the Friend Zone."

I have never actually made it to three dates with the same person, so perhaps that last observation is a little moot, but how on earth does one tell whether doing or saying something risqué, even on a date (if one can get as far as working out that it is a proper date), is likely to go down well? And where does the boundary lie between excitingly risqué and crass?

My most recent experience of this dilemma was with Lara, where, on our solitary outing (whether it could even be described as a date is somewhat debatable, since she brought friends along, to the initial part of the evening at least), I spent dinner desperately trying to look for clues as to whether she was likely to be receptive to being kissed, and, on not, as far as I could discern, finding any, being terribly anxious and confused as to what the situation was such that maintaining a civilised conversation was as much as I was able to do. As a consequence, no risqué comments were involved, though, opportunity for them arose on several occasions. We ended up parting on a busy late night Underground train, which was in any event a wholly unsuitable location for a romantic kiss (how people manage the logistics of that sort of exercise I have not the slightest idea). I am told by commentors on this 'blog that I subsequently put her off by appearing too interested before there had been any physical passion; I fear that they are probably right. I had not even until those comments properly distinguished between, on the one hand, flirtation, and, on the other, expressions of interest, and had thought that amusing capers (such as the labelling stunt described in this post) counted as flirtation. It now appears that flirtation has to be positively (albeit not necessarily unsubtly) sexual in content.

So how can Clueless Coatman avoid that death-spiral of uncertainty, and know with sufficient clarity such as to avoid a slap on the face or a night in the cells when and when not to flirt and to touch? How in any event does a person go about thinking of frisky things to say on the spur of the moment and simultaneously filtering them to ensure that one is not going too far? Does the fact of being on a second or third date alone imply that the person is, absent contrary indications, interested in at least some risqué banter, or is there more to it than that? How does a gentleman steer a steady course through the narrow and treacherous straits between a police cell and Friend Zone? Is Blonde's three date rule universal? How far does one need to go on a first or second date? Tips for the cautious and clueless very much appreciated!

Changing times

...the difference a decade makes

I HAVE a few friends who are Facebook sceptics, who refuse to register on the site because, at 30, they consider themselves "too old" (even though my aunts in their 50s and 60s have registered and are happily posting pictures of their grandchildren and gardening), or have registered with very limited profiles consisting of pictures of themselves entirely obscured by a very large hat and the occasional posting of a link to a paranoid news article about how the evil directors of Facebook are setting out to take over the world by spying on everybody's holiday snaps and status updates about falling over into puddles and such.

I, however, am a happy, moderate Facebooker, who uses the site to keep up with old friends, exchange witticisms, and share holiday photographs. I don't quite get some people's obsession with Farmville or Mafia Wars or "if you were a biscuit, what type of biscuit would you be?" quizzes (if I want to play a computer game, I'll play a proper computer game, thank you very much), but find it a pleasant combination of useful and fun, and also an amusing way of passing time whilst waiting for trains.

A few days ago on Facebook, someone whom I vaguely knew at secondary school ("high school" for the American readers) posted a status update about what she should do for her thirtieth birthday party. I posted an idle comment along the lines of whatever it was, it should involve cake. An old friend of mine from that school, J, made an off the cuff remark about having a reunion. I replied that it was an excellent idea, and well done for volunteering. We now are having a reunion. J has contacted all the people she knows, and I have done likewise (mostly via Facebook). Such a happy confluence of circumstances certainly would not have transpired had it not been for the joys of social networking.

J's message had a few replies quite quickly, but the first person to reply to my message was Kayleigh. She was the only person whom I had contacted outwith Facebook, having steadfastly refused to register a profile (for reasons as yet undisclosed), and we communicated instead by e-mail.

I have written about Kayleigh before - the very first post on this 'blog made reference to her, and I have made passing references more recently. Kayleigh was the girl who, while somewhat inebriated, tried to kiss me at a school party when we barely knew each other, then spent the next year flirting with me outrageously without me cottoning onto the fact that she probably really meant it. We had kept in touch through university (having always got on rather well), and occasionally met up with old friends from school for informal mini-reunions, although those petered out years ago. When in my final year of university, I had eventually worked out that she probably was interested in me (and I in her), and I asked her out to an amateur rendition of a Shakespeare play that the university's dramatic society was performing to mark the end of term. She agreed, but turned out to be unable to make the originally planned date because she had to accompany her room-mate from university to hospital whilst she (the room mate) had a serious operation. We re-arranged for the following week, however, and, although the play had finished, we met and just walked around the campus and talked. That was the first time that I had been on anything that might be considered a date.

I took her for dinner - Pizza Express, if my mind serves me correctly, during which she disclosed that she was seeing someone, although, she added, it wasn't going very well, because he thought that it was more serious than it really was. I was most disappointed, but took notice of the last comment, and resolved that, when we met again (we were due to meet with friends in about another month), I would see whether she was still with the fellow, and, if not, ask her out again. The next time that we met, however, it transpired that she had a different boyfriend, one with whom things seemed entirely more serious. They married last year.

We had still kept in touch, however, albeit rather intermittently, mainly exchanging e-mail greetings at Christmas time. I had always kicked myself for not acting more quickly, or realising that she was interested sooner. Not only did we get on well together, but she was most suitable: we shared similar political views, she didn't smoke, she liked cats, and she even told me once that she wasn't interested in having children - a particularly rare attribute, of great value to those, like me, of a similar disposition. I had often dwelt particularly on this specific missed opportunity because of that element; for all of the other chances that have passed me by over the years, or even have presented themselves recently, there is always the nagging doubt that there will come a time when there is an intractable clash of lifestyle choices, when she would want children and I would not, and we would have to part ways. Unlike smoking or religious belief, a person's desire to have children is not immediately apparent - the person may well not have formed a view on the matter herself yet, and so it carries the greatest risk of causing heartbreak when it is rather too late to avoid. That is one reason that I have leaned towards online dating sites - they often give an option specifically to filter people by whether they want to have children (both Match.com and PlentyOfFish allow that), and meeting somebody who has already definitively expressed that preference would be extremely reassuring.

I was therefore quite surprised when Kayleigh wrote in response to my e-mail asking about the re-union that she had plenty of time to be reading e-mails because she was on maternity leave, expecting her first baby next week. I was, in one sense, somewhat relieved - I had not, after all, missed the opportunity of being with somebody with the rare attribute of not being interested in having children, because that opportunity had never existed; it had been illusory. I was, however, in another sense somewhat concerned: if Kayleigh, whom I had always considered to be someone with clear views and who knew her own mind, had at one time expressed a firm preference not to have children, was now days away from giving birth, could I even trust the "do not want to have kids" declarations on online dating sites? True, Kayleigh was young when she said it - about 19 or 20 if my memory serves me correctly, and as people get older, they are, I imagine, less likely to change their minds - but when is the cut-off? At what age can one trust a woman's decision on the matter to be final when she says that she is not interested in having children? What proportion of the people who mark themselves as "Not sure" about having children in the online dating sites are actually going to be happy being with somebody who is very sure that he doesn't ever want children?

I have heard that there are specific dating sites for people who never want to have children, although I have never been able to track any of them down. Perhaps they only operate in the US, or were unsuccessful and closed shortly after starting. Would, however, even the people on these sites be final in their decisions, or would they, too, be prone to a vaulte face at an unexpected moment? Is there a reliable way to tell (preferably early on) whether a person is breeding material or not?

The reunion should be fun - many of the people whom we have invited I have not seen for many years, and it should be intriguing to see how they are getting on in life and what they are doing. Perhaps I should bake a cake. And to all those sceptical about Facebook - you're missing out on opportunities for baked goods!

This stick man could be me

...XKCD is genius

THE comic strip says it all. Genius. (Click to see the full width). I have also changed the layout of the 'blog, at Isabella's suggestion to make the main column wider for everyone's reading convenience.

CoatMan flies the nest

...and other stories

Contents

1. New flat (CoatMan's new abode)
2. House party (Interesting goings on at a friend's birthday party - and introducing Julie)
3. Pirates and Mermaids (A touching story, and musings on calibration of levels of attraction/interest)
4. Synchronised holidays (The latest on Sandra and Lara)
5. The ones that got away (Attempts at online dating)

I SAW it for the first time on Monday - a one bedroom mews-style flat in South-East London, close to the station, on a secluded private crescent in a leafy area popular with young professionals, going for a reasonable rent. I had already asked some friends who lived nearby about the area, and had had positive reports. The previous tenant, who had not yet moved out, was not the cleanest of fellows (a journalist from what I can gather), whose front door mat read "VIP Lounge", who had not, it seemed, made any efforts to clean the bath or sink for the entire five years during which he had resided at the place, and who, on removing his own light fittings, had left exposed cables that had fused half the lighting circuits. Those problems, however, were readily fixable: the tenant is contractually obliged to have the flat "professionally cleaned" on vacating it, and the landlord cannot let the premises without an electrical safety certificate.

Knowing it would be in demand, I made an offer on Tuesday, stipulating the fixing of the electrics, the bathroom doorknob and one or two other things as conditions. I waited anxiously for the letting agent to tell me whether the landlord had accepted. Had I drafted my conditions too onerously? Had somebody else put in an earlier offer (I was told that this landlord had registered with multiple agencies). Had somebody else offered a longer lease, more attractive to landlords looking to maximise stability and minimise transaction costs? The whole thing - from searching the internet for potentially suitable places, to arranging a viewing to putting in an offer (trying not to come accross as too keen so as to be taken advantage of, but also not making the terms too onerous so as to invite rejection) rather reminded me of a rather sanguine and arm's length version of internet dating, although much, much easier.

On Wednesday, I had a voicemail message from the letting agent when I came out of court for the luncheon adjournment. The offer had been accepted. Barring any unforeseen hitches, I shall, at the age of twenty-nine, finally be living in a place to myself, close to where I work, independent of the parents, something that I have dearly wanted for many years. I walked around department stores during the lunch' break, eyeing plates and saucepans and cutlery. I cannot buy anything yet, as I have yet to receive the inventory, but there is no harm in browsing or dreaming. When sitting in the café at lunch', I updated my Facebook status with the good news. Large numbers of friends posted best wishes and congratulatory messages.

I met with the agent again yesterday. The target move-in date is the 5th of October - Monday week, subject to my credit checks being satisfactory (which is not entirely straightforward for someone who is self-employed). There are a hundred and one dull administrative things to process, from change of address notifications for everything from banks to the DVLA, from the passport office to eBay, to utility bills and standing orders. The brass front doorbell push needs a good polish, and the rear patio area is overgrown. I shall need to set up the broadband, and there is the little matter of moving all my things dozens of miles to the new place (my father has kindly agreed to hire a van and assist in that way).

I shall also have to learn to cook - last time that I lived away from home, when studying for my master's degree, I lived in college, and got rather thin from eating tomato soup for dinner several times a week. I am somewhat concerned about getting food poisoning from insufficiently cooking raw meat, so I suspect that Quorn will be my friend for a time.

I am already planning the flat-warming party. There will be a guess the weight of the cake competition, I think. The first prize, for the closest guess, will be the cake. There'll also be a runner-up prize for the silliest guess, although I haven't decided what that prize should be yet. I shall invite everyone, parents, colleagues past and present, Sandra, Lara, Jo, D and R, the friends who gave positive reports about the area, old friends from school, and even Bluesoup. It will be fun.

House party

LAST Saturday, I attended a house party of an old friend, Giles, who was celebrating his thirtieth birthday. Being wary of repeating the incident after my outing with Lara some weeks ago in which, missing the last sensibly timed train home, I ended up spending the night in an hotel, I made sure to leave at around quarter to eleven - the same time as at least one person was arriving. Even so, the train on the way home broke down, and I ended up getting in at around quarter to two in the morning, reminding me of why, having lived with the parents in the sticks for so long, my social life has been so lacking. Had I been living in the place into which I am about to move, home would have been little more than a half hour 'bus ride away.

I met Giles' new girlfriend, a pleasant lady - a teacher from Cornwall who had the uncanny ability to match her eyeshadow with her cardigan to a high degree of chromatic accuracy. I also met Julie, a former colleague of Giles' (they had both been made redundant at the same time, and both since found alternative work), who had the interesting tendency to grab and squeeze my forearm whenever I said something that she considered particularly amusing.

At one point later in the evening, I was talking with Julie and another friend of Giles', a lady called Hannah, who had arrived at the party recently. She had asked Julie, in somewhat lowered tones, whether Giles had a girlfriend, and seemed somewhat taken aback when Julie replied in the affermative, discreetly pointing out the lady with the matching eyeshadow and cardigan. She seemed most interested in the story of how they met, the full details of which Julie didn't know (Cardigan Lady had simply told me when I enquired politely shortly after I first arrived how he knew the host that they had met at a party the previous month), and there seemed to be somewhat fervent speculation on the fact that she was living and working in Cornwall whilst Giles was in London. I recall that I chimed in at one point,

"She seems very nice, anyway,"

which Hannah and Julie (the latter particularly) seemed to find very funny, prompting Julie to grab and squeeze my forearm for at least ten seconds.

"Yes, yes, you're right - I'm sure she's very nice" said Julie, still laughing.

Giles joined us at this point, prompting Hannah to ask him for the full details. Giles explained, in his characteristic somewhat blasé but good-natured manner, that they had met at the birthday party of Cardigan Lady's sister (who was also a guest at the party), who was the fiancée of another of Giles's friends (who knew Giles through the same channel as I did), both of whom were at the party last Saturday. He had said that they had hit it off, and she had stayed the night with him that very evening (I assume that frisky antics were involved), and had been together since then. I think that I quipped at some point,

"She must really have liked you, then!"

To which Giles replied, "Her being sloshed might have had something to do with it!".

On further prodding from Hannah and Julie (mainly the former) about the Cornwall issue, he admitted that the distance thing was not ideal, and that he would "see where things go".

The conversation moved on, and, shortly afterwards, it transpired (I do not now recall how) that Julie had very recently emerged from a serious relationship. At around that time, Giles mentioned to me (I cannot now recall what prompted it) that Julie was "one of the nicest people [he] knew". I asked jokingly how many people that he knew, to which he replied,

"Oooh, about three," before walking away to attend to some other guests.

"Best out of three's not bad," I said, turning to Julie.

"Yes!" She made a mock-triumphant gesture and laughed.

She offered to get me another drink, and went to the kitchen, where she ended up talking conspiratorially to Hannah for about twenty minutes - about Cardigan Lady, I rather suspect.

When she emerged, carrying my drink in a little plastic cup, I had already been provided with a rather large glass of water by somebody else; she apologised and explained that she had been caught up talking to Hannah.

It was not long before I judged it was time to leave (but not before making sure that I had a slice of cake). I said good-bye to Giles and Julie, and gave the latter my card (she now works for a firm that might be able to give my colleagues and me some useful work - one cannot miss an opportunity when it arises), and obtained her work e-mail address, promising to have her invited to our work Christmas party (wherein guests are wined and dined and fed with cake and potential work canvassed). Giles indicated that he'd be having a fancy dress Christmas party to which I'd be invited (the theme, apparently, is to be "Santa XXX").

When attempting to do something oneself, it is always useful to observe how other people go about trying (with various degrees of success) to do it, so I was most intrigued to watch the unfolding story of Cardigan Lady, Giles and Hannah (and, correct me if I am wrong, romance-experienced 'blog commentors, but I think that I detected that Hannah was rather interested in Giles). I tried to imagine how the events of the earlier party in which Giles had managed to ensnare Cardigan Lady (or perhaps the other way around) had unfolded, and ponder on the relevance of the fact that it seems that they had slept together within hours of meeting.

I also wondered what Giles made of the distance issue, and how I might have reacted in similar circumstances - perhaps not doing a great deal at all in respect of somebody with whom any serious relationship would inevitably be impracticable. Some might say that that approach would have engendered a missed opportunity - but did Giles not miss another opportunity, Hannah (within a far more convenient distance) who would likely have flirted with him had he not already been with Cardigan Lady?

I also pondered on how Hannah had acted - out and out asking Julie whether Giles was single, then trying to get as much information about them as she could. I can't ever imagine me doing the same thing (I don't know how well that Julie or Hannah knew each other, or whether they knew each other before the party at all) - I'd consider that sort of thing rather inappropriate, and worry that such brazen enquiries might get back to my potential quarry and reflect badly on me. Perhaps it is the sort of thing that women but not men tend to do; it certainly seemed to be a productive device, since, not only did Hannah manage to discover that Giles was not single, she also found out that things may not last because of the distance (and would therefore know, if she remained interested, to keep a look-out - presumably, she would ask friends periodically what the status is, although exactly how one would do that without appearing tactless, I have no idea).

I wonder also whether anything in what I observed of Hannah might be useful for reading signals in others who may be interested in me - certainly, she asked in front of me a question that she would not have asked in front of Giles, which rather gave away her interest in him, and I wonder whether I can use the fact that I know that she was interested in him to calibrate her other behaviour towards him so better be able to look for signals of interest in me when they arise, although I rather think that I witnessed insufficient interaction between the two to have a useful effect, and she might in any event have suppressed any flirtatious urges after discovering his relationship status. Nevertheless, I wonder whether there is anything useful to be learnt about the significance of conspiratorial chats with female friends in that.

The evening overall was most enjoyable, and I felt that I was getting a taste of what I was missing by living so far away. If I'd not been so distant, I could go out with friends far more often, and, not only enjoy their pleasant company, but greatly increase my chances of meeting somebody with potential. Having lived so far out for so long, however, I have rarely taken the initiative to meet with friends in the evenings or at week-ends, and my friends are rather used to me not accepting their invitations, so it might be rather hard to get into things at first.

The next day, I searched for Julie on Facebook, and friend requested her. Literally seconds later, I had an e-mail notifying me that she had confirmed my request. I posted on her wall,

"Hello - quickest friend confirm ever! Well done!"

Very shortly afterwards, she replied,

"Haha! I have fb on my blackberry so no excuses! Lovely meeting u last night"

I replied,

" Holy Speedy Gonzales Facebooking, Batman! The joys of computerised fruit are evidently manifold. Lovely to have met you, too!"

She did not reply further. A few days later, I asked the person in work who does the marketing to invite her to the Christmas party, giving him her e-mail address, and explaining where she worked, and that she had only recently started. He said that he'd be trying to get work from her soon, which I suspect might be a little too soon if she has only just joined where she works now. I sent her a Facebook message,

"Warning

I gave our [marketing person] your e-mail address to-day so that he could invite you to our Christmas party, but I think that he's got it into his head that he might get some work out of you - I told him that you'd only just joined the firm, but he's quite... determined about these things.

Just thought that I'd give you a warning. But do come to the Christmas party. I'll be baking a cake and bringing it in, and everyone here's very friendly. And did I mention the cake?"

No reply yet, but I am hoping that we can get some work out of her.

Pirates and mermaids

LAST Friday, I was due to go out with some former colleagues from my previous workplace, organised by Carol, someone with whom I always got on particularly well, on the pretext that she had missed the birthday party of another colleague, Fi, and wanted to make up for it. It transpired in the end that very few people had turned up, and Carol texted me just as I was arriving to say that she'd called it off and would re-arrange, although Fi herself and some others were already there, so I decided to stay and talk to them for a while.

While we were there, Fi told me an interesting, and rather touching, story about another old colleague of mine, Jon (who had himself since left the place where Fi worked). Jon, I'd guess about 34 years old, had broken up with his long-term girlfriend (they had been together as long as I knew him) a year or two ago. Then, one evening this spring, whilst somewhat inebriated, Jon posted on a website forum a story about pirates. Shortly afterwards, a lady replied with a story about mermaids. They got to talking, and eventually agreed to meet up, and rather hit it off. She, I am told, is about 37.

This all happened about four months ago. They are now engaged, and are planning to marry next year. Fi tells me that she has never seen Jon so happy, that he has given up drinking and smokes much less than he used to, and has even given up swearing when he is around his fiancée (which is quite something for somebody who was notorious for punctuating nearly every sentence with all manner of expletives, albeit always in a good natured way). Their wedding reception is to be a fancy dress party. The theme? Pirates and mermaids.

Carol then re-organised the event for last Wednesday: instead of just meeting for drinks, we were all to go to dinner somewhere, and her husband and Fi and possibly some other former colleagues would join us. As I was replying to her numerous text messages, I came to thinking about the old question of calibration: gauging the behaviour of quarries and prospects as against that of female friends to look for any additional behaviour, present in the quarry or the prospect, not present in interactions with female friends, that would show out the former as expressing interest. I pondered over the significance of the fact that Carol, too, signed her messages with "x", and wondered whether I had read too much into the fact that Lara had done so with her e-mails.

It struck me, however, that the exercise may not be as simple as it first appeared. Carol, who has been married almost as long as I have known her, is, in the circumstnaces not surprisingly, not a person to whom I have ever done anything to express interest. I have known her for many years, and we have always got on well. What a person does in those circumstances is, I suspect, a rather poor comparator against what a person whom I have recently met and in whom I have expressed (albeit often, as commentors frequently point out, somewhat incompetently) an interest. A person who knows me as Carol does is likely to be unguarded with expressions of friendly affection, in ways in which a person who suspects that I might have an unreciprocated romantic interest in her would likely not be for fear of encouraging unwanted advances. That just makes things harder to calibrate, however - if old friends are not good weather veins, who to take? New friends? People whom I have just met and in whom I have no romantic interest, and who appear likewise to have no interest in me (although the latter is precisely the thing that is almost intractably difficult to judge)? And what exactly is the significance of the "x" in texts and e-mails in different contexts? When should it be reciprocated? I have never put "x" in e-mails or texts to Carol or any female friends, and they never seem to complain. I did put "x" in a few e-mails and texts to Lara, and she didn't seem to complain, either.

On Tuesday evening, she texted me to cancel the event. Her cat had gone missing, and she and her husband had to stay home to look for him and put up posters. That made me think about calibration, too. Suppose that a prospect had done the same - what significance would that have? What significance would those who comment on this 'blog attribute to it? Would I be told to put the person on "probation" and forget her entirely if she cancelled or re-arranged ever again, being ever suspicious that the missing cat was just an excuse (especially as she had not immediately suggested an alternative time)? Carol's cat means the world to her, and I have no doubt that she'd have done the same with whatever appointment or engagement that she had (indeed, she did miss her choir practice and a meeting in work looking for the cat). I do wonder whether sometimes people are rather harsh on that sort of thing.

Luckily for the cat, he was found safe and well after Carol and her husband's intensive local poster campaign - a local person had taken him in after he had, it seems, come off worse in a fight with another cat and seemingly run away. He was found yowling on their lawn, and they treated his wounds with antiseptic and fed him and kept him safe. The injuries, fortunately, seem to have been superficial, and the cat is recovering well.

In the meantime, I came to realise that, so far, I had been looking at calibration only from one perspective, that of the behaviour of the other person. I realised that, just as useful, was to compare my behaviour in the different situations. I have been told, by commentors on this 'blog, that I express excessive interest too early, which can put off potential quarries. That may well explain why I always seem to be flirted at by women who, whilst I find them attractive, I have considered them unsuitable (because they smoke or are religious or live too far away, or, in some cases, they are already spoken for - I never quite understand why people who are already in a relationship flirt with me, which I find entirely inappropriate), but the ones in whom I am actually interested never seem to show an interest back. I thus thought that it might be useful to compare how I reacted when Carol was trying to set up the event, and subsequently cancelled it, with how I reacted when trying to ask out Lara.

Unfortunately, I have not kept all the records of the text messages that passed between Carol and I - there were an awful lot of them, and my mobile telephone has rather limited storage capacity. I do remember that when I read her text message cancelling the event, my main thought was about her cat (although the calibration comparison also sprung to mind). Although I was somewhat disappointed not to be seeing them all, I was also a little relieved, as it was a busy week, and it was useful to have a day off. I think that I sent a fairly long message in response to the first message about the missing cat, mainly offering sympathies and hoping that the cat was found safe and well, and not mentioning the planned outing at all. I had replied to all her other messages fairly promptly (although there were often delays when she had texted whilst I was doing something else). The messages were usually fairly short, but sometimes long enough to span two texts. If suggesting a time or place to meet, I normally expressed it as a question. I sometimes sent two consecutive texts or made jokes, but, perhaps not surprisingly, didn't tease as I had done with Lara.

All of that raises the question - ought one generally interact with a quarry in the same way as one would interact with a friend in order not to show excessive interest? Ought they be even more sanguine? Is humerous teasing excitingly flirtatious or simply an excessive expression of interest? How, if at all, should text/e-mail conversations with quarries differ from those with friends? The whole thing is more complicated than it seems - and it seems complicated.

Synchronised holidays

ALTHOUGH I had wondered at one stage whether it would be possible given the machinations for moving into the new flat, I have now booked a holiday to Ireland next week. I had kept the dates free in my diary for a holiday at this time of year since about March or April, and had always intended to use it for a trip to Ireland - somewhere that I have wanted to visit for many years. I shall be staying four nights next week.

Remembering that Sandra, too, was due to go on holiday next week, I sent her a message on Facebook:

"Just a little bit of history repeating...

[Sandra],

I see that we have a little deja vu lined up in [provincial court] on the 19th of October ([name of case] - I assume that you'll be doing that again)? I assume that you haven't had the papers yet?

Incidentally, I was serious about owing you lunch'. Are you free sometime the week after next, after our respective holidays? Otherwise, if we don't speak before then, bon voyage!

[CoatMan]"

I have not yet had a reply; perhaps she is busy in preparation for her time away.

****

I had not seen or heard from Lara since the text message that she had sent the week before last cancelling our trip to the museum. I had sent her some e-mails about necessary, work-related matters, expressed in sanguine (and even somewhat formal) tones, to which I had had no reply, which was not at all helpful, since she had previously expressed an interest in attending a conference in respect of which there was a discount if one booked early and in a group of three or more. Last Friday, I had telephoned her from work to enquire about the position, and remind her that she needed to hand in her forms by a particular date; the call had gone through to her voicemail, and I had left a message. I then spoke to the person who deals with the administration and marketing, asking whether he had spoken to her, with the aim of asking him to chase her in respect of the booking forms. He told me that she had been at a funeral that day, and I felt rather silly for leaving official sounding voicemails about conference bookings if she was at a funeral. Still, I had no reply by the beginning of the next week (last week).

I was afraid that, not only had I, as some commentors suggested, "killed" any attraction that she might once have felt for me by appearing excessively interested, but also made her so uncomfortable around me that she was trying to avoid me, which would not be good in a relatively small workplace. Another person at work had volunteered to take over some of the organisation that I had hitherto been doing of the event, and I thought it easier in the circumstances if I put him in touch with her directly.

On Tuesday, I noticed from her Facebook status that she was unwell with tonsillitis. Normally, whenever anyone on my Facebook friends list posts a message about being ill, however well that I know the person, I respond with a "get well soon" comment, but in these circumstances, I hesitated. Would she prefer me not to contact her at all? Would it make her even more uncomfortable?

That evening, I decided that I'd write her a simple "get well soon" message - it would be silly not to do so, and would seem somehow churlish. Shortly after I had posted the comment on her status, she had sent me a private message. It read:

"Thank you! Realise there was something i was supposed to do, but was at a funeral when listened to the message and ended up deleting it without really taking in what it said! Have I left it too late? Sorry- not been an ideal time at the moment! x"

It seemed as if she had not received the e-mails - I recalled vaguely that, some time ago, when I had sent her e-mails that she had been expecting, containing templates for documents for use at work, she had shown me the e-mails on her iPhone, and she had evidently fished them out of her spam folder. Seeing an opportunity to address the issue with the conference, I replied:

"[Lara],

the message was about the [conference title] - it might be a little late now, but [colleague] managed to get us an extension until to-morrow (I think), so you might just about be in time; [colleague] has kindly taken over some of the organisation. I have left you a form in your pigeon hole. I don't have [colleague]'s number with me - it may be a good idea if you contact him directly given that time is short. [Administrative person] should be able to give you his number. It may be that you can dictate the form over the telephone to [Administrative person]if you're not well and can't come in to-morrow (have a look at which sessions that you want to attend before filling in the form: [website link to form].

Sorry for calling you when you were at a funeral - I didn't realise until I asked [Administrative person]to chase you about the forms and he told me where you'd been - after I called. Was it your nan? Whether it was or not, my sincerest condolences.

I had also sent you e-mails about the [conference title] - did you not get those? For some reason, e-mails from [work]'s e-mail addresses are often marked as 'junk' by some spam filters. I had also sent some general e-mails, including one asking for dates to avoid for the next [work] meeting. If you are not getting those, then that is a problem that will have to be looked into (if you have been set up with a [work] e-mail address, that is the easiest solution: if not, then you need to be - have a word with [Administrative person]).

My condolences again, and best wishes for a speedy recovery,

[CoatMan]."

On the Wednesday, at the same time as I had a voicemail from the letting agent about the flat, I had a voicemail from the colleague who had volunteered to help with organising the conference booking, stating that he was having difficulties getting through to Lara. He had left her a voicemail. I explained that she had not been well.

When I returned to work, and got started on some paperwork, I heard someone coming into the room next-door. Only two people currently use that room (Dennis isn't due to start with us until next week), Lara and another gentleman, and it couldn't be him, because he only works Mondays and Tuesdays. I paused for a second then continued with my paperwork. I was surprised that Lara would be in work - she had evidently not been well at all the previous day; but Lara it was. I heard her shuffling papers in her room and going to talk to Administrative Person.

The room that I use is also used by Very Senior Colleague, who was there at the time. I think that we were discussing something, but I forget what. Lara knocked the interconnecting door, and poked her head around, holding the conference booking form that I had put in her pigeon hole.

"Hello - can you help me with what to put on this form?"

She came into the room. She sounded as friendly as she always had done, but her voice was somewhat weak - she had evidently not recovered fully. I asked her how she was, and she said that she was definitely better than the previous day, when she couldn't talk at all, and had spent the whole day in bed.

I explained to her how to fill in the form, and gave her the pamphlet containing information as to the various sessions that one could attend that the form asked people to indicate.

She apologised for not attending to the matter sooner, and said that the last couple of weeks had really not been a good time (something that she repeated at least once and possibly twice during our subsequent conversation). We talked for some time whilst she was choosing the various sessions in the form, about the conference, what she had been doing that day, and about how her dog was pestering her to take him for a walk whilst she had been in bed ill the previous day. I cannot now recall the exact sequence of events, but at one point Very Senior Colleague (a very dear gentleman in his 60s, liked by everyone, who has been practising law since long before I was born and who has achieved a considerable degree of distinction in the profession) asked Lara,

"Ohh, remember that other week that date you had, when you were rushing to buy a top - how did that go?"

"Ehh, it was all right."

"Ahh", said Very Senior Colleague, "He's got no chance. It's not what you said - I can tell by the way you said it."

Lara smiled. "It was all right," she repeated, making an effort to sound a little more upbeat. "He was a nice guy".

I then made some quip to Very Senior Colleague about taking an interest in people's dating lives, to which he replied, in good humour,

"Absolutely! It's like watching a soap opera".

He and Lara then exchanged a brief conversation about what appeared to be some gossip about Senior Colleague - they wouldn't tell me the details. Lara explained that that Senior Colleague and she (and possibly also Very Senior Colleague - that wasn't clear from her explanation) had gone out one evening, during which Senior Colleague had had a little too much to drink and told something gossip-worthy to Lara, but she wouldn't divulge what. (To the best of my understanding, Senior Colleague, who is about 40, is in a long-term relationship with a trans-Atlantic pilot, so the scope for gossip is, I think, somewhat limited). Lara described Senior Colleague as a "mentalist", although evidently in a good-natured way - from what I can tell, the two of them get along well together.

Very Senior Colleague left the room shortly after that. I asked Lara whether the funeral that she had attended had been her Nan's. She explained that it wasn't, but that it was the funeral of her parents' next-door neighbour, whom she had known since childhood, and was always very kind to her. Her husband, she said, who was in his 80s, and who had been married to the lady who died since his early 20s, had taken it very badly. He was frail and in ill-health in any event, and had taken to drinking heavily, and pressing his emergency alarm button just to have someone to talk to.

At some point when we were talking, Administrative Person came into the room, appearing to be looking for somebody, probably Very Senior Colleague. He made some quip about love being in the air, several times, presumably in reference to Lara and I being in a room alone together. Lara replied,

"We're talking about funerals, [Administrative Person]. That's hardly conducive to..." she trailed off.

I asked,

"Are you looking for Very Senior Colleague? He's just popped out...".

He made another quip and then walked off in search of Very Senior Colleague. We continued talking about Lara's childhood neighbour. She completed the form, then asked me where she should put it. I told her, and she set off for the mail room.

On her return, she came back into the room that I occupied.

"I've got a message for you from D," she said.

"Oh?

I wondered why D was sending messages via Lara when he had my mobile number and e-mail address and frequently used both.

"He wants to know why my room is filled with labels! I told him that you'll probably deny it and say it's the 'Rogue Labeller'."

I smiled.

"And the thing is," she said, grinning slightly, "it makes it look as though it's me who's mad for needing everything labelled to know what it is!"

I paused for a second, smiling more.

"I do like, 'pigeons go here'," she continued, referring to the label on the inside of her pigeon hole.

I changed the subject; I asked her how her Nan was getting along. She told me that she was all right (in a similar tone of voice to the way in which she had described the date, albeit a little more sombre), and that she had good days and bad days. She said that she was having difficulties recognising people, and had one day confused Lara with her sister. She had apparently told Lara, "you don't look like you" (to which she had replied that that wasn't surprising, because she wasn't her), and that she had changed her hair (to which Lara had replied that she had had that hairstyle for some time). Lara also made some joke about doing things and blaming them on her sister.

I think that I mentioned how my own grandmother on my father's side had begun to lose her mind when she got very old, and had trouble recognising her relatives, and had often asked how I was getting on in school, even though I was long since in work. Lara said that that isn't how she'd want to go, making reference again to her neighbour, and said that she'd prefer to go first. I told her about my great grandmother who had died in her sleep at the age of about ninety-five, and she agreed that that was probably the best way to go.

She then said that she'd better be going home and having an early night. She asked whether I'd be around the next day.

"Only very briefly," I replied, having court in the morning, a meeting with somebody on a work-related matter in the afternoon, a work-related talk and a social event in the evening.

"What about the early part of next week?" she asked.

"Ahh, no, I won't be around next week at all," I replied. "I'm on holiday"

"Oooh, I'm on holiday too next week! Although only in the later part" She sounded upbeat and smiled broadly.

"Ahh synchronised holidays!" I remarked.

"Yes!" she replied, still smiling broadly.

"Is that your Zagreb trip?" I asked, remembering the sporting trip that she had booked a few weeks ago with her housemate and her housemate's new boyfriend.

She answered in the affermative, and asked where I was going.

"Well, I haven't finalised the booking yet because I'm still trying to sort things out with the flat..."

"Ooh, of course!" She had evidently seen my Facebook status update. "How's that going?"

I explained to her the position. She asked where it was, and I told her.

"Ahh, just a little over from where I am," she said, referring to where she lived, a few miles West of the location of the flat to which I was about to move. She appeared to be trying to visualise the relative locations.

"Are you going to get a cat?" she asked.

I explained that the lease didn't allow pets, and said that I was thinking that I might see if I could do what a friend (to whom I had introduced Lara at the garden party) has done, and, if there are any friendly cats in the local area, "borrow" them by feeding them encouraging them to visit me.

Lara remarked that a dog wouldn't do that, and that it remains loyal to its owner, and wondered whether she would have difficulty in finding a place that would accept dogs when she next moved (she was planning to move into a house sharing with four people, instead of two, in approximately the same area), but then thought that those letting entire houses are more likely to let people have pets because they would be more likely to want to accommodate families.

"Anyway," she said, "I have to go. Hopefully I'll see you in that narrow window to-morrow when you're here".

I gave her best wishes for a speedy recovery, and said something like,

"Get plenty of rest and plenty of fluids - and not the kind of fluids you might be thinking about!"

She replied, "Ahh, what do you mean? Tequila makes everything better!" before wishing me good-bye and leaving.

As it happens, I didn't run into her in my narrow window the next day. Yesterday, Friday, I was talking to Very Senior Colleague, who had seen her on Thursday; we were discussing recruiting new people to work, and how important that it was to get good people and have a happy atmosphere.

"You know, yesterday" he said, "I was on the train on the way back from court with Lara, and she just spontaneously said how happy she was here. That's the sort of place we want to be - a happy place."

I heartily agreed.

Until the chance meeting on Wednesday (and the Facebook message exchange the previous day), I had increasingly been able to put Lara out of my mind: I took what commentors here had written, that she was "just not that into [me]", and wondered whether she would even be friendly to me again, whether I had made her feel so uncomfortable that she was trying to avoid me, and not even replying to my e-mails.

Since then, she has come to mind more often, but, fortunately for my health and sanity, not in the way that it was before. Although my heart still feels like it skips a beat when I hear her coming into work, or when I see a Facebook status update from her, I don't have that terrible anxious feeling constantly. I realise that she is just another person who, whether she is interested in me or not, may or may not be suitable, and that, with moving into London, my chances of meeting someone are likely to increase measurably. I am reassured by the fact that an encouraging number of attractive women still seem to flirt with me (Sandara, for example, and possibly Julie), and that, thanks to some of the regular commentors on this 'blog, I am beginning to get an increasingly sound grip on the machinations of female attraction, although I daresay I have some way to go yet.

I also realise how terribly unhealthy the way in which I thought of her before was, being terrified that she might be snapped up by someone else before I got to her, or that I'd say some seemingly trivial thing wrong and put her off entirely. One will never get anywhere other than a breakdown clinic, I rather suspect, by putting such pressure on things, however attractive that the person seems. Nobody is perfect, but there is always some scope for compromise in a relationship. It is better to keep one's options open until things become serious with anyone and not to pin too much on the early stages of anything, but to remain, despite a person's seeming suitability (and, in Lara's case at least, ravishingness) relatively aloof. Putting all that into practice is no doubt orders of magnitude harder than writing it, but one must at least start with attempting to put oneself into the right frame of mind. Wish me luck.

Ironically, it also turns out that the gentleman whom I met for coffee on Thursday afternoon to discuss briefly a work-related topic is also on holiday next week. It seems that next week really is the time for going away. Bon vacances everyone!

The ones that got away

REALISING that online dating is a matter of numbers, I have set myself a target of sending one e-mail on PlentyOfFish every day, on average. I have not quite managed to keep up with that (given that I don't believe in writing a message without putting some effort into it), but I have sent a fair few in the last week or so; all without success. Some messages are marked "read", others "read deleted" and yet others "unread".

Here is a sample of some of the messages that I have sent:

"I'm intrigued...

'Ruby blue' - a rather elegant oxymoron - but to what does it refer? You don't appear from your pictures to have blue eyes; perhaps it's a metaphor - you are a sparkling contradiction? A precious enigma?

As to bars with atmosphere - have you ever heard of Cellar Door on the Aldwych? I'll bet that you can't guess what it used to be before it was a bar! I've never been to one of their "open mic" nights, but I suspect that they are most amusing...

What makes you laugh 'til it hurts?

[CoatMan]"

(The "laugh 'til it hurts" part is a reference to her profile, where she states that she likes to "laugh til it hurts").

"If you marry your work...

...will there be cake? Being a workaholic can't be all bad if it involves cake. Still, it's good to have a balance, I think, between work and doing fun things - have you ever been to the Charles D_ckens* house museum, or the London Dungeon?

* Apologies for the truncated work (sic) - Plenty of Fish's spam, scam and creep filter won't let me refer to the 19th century novelist lest a more delicate user thinks that I am instead referring to a certain part of the male anatomy..."

And finally:

"Exciting chemicals?

That sounds like a fun job! From when I was a very small child, I used to want to be a scientist, until, at the age of about 12, I realised it involved mathematics, which I'm rubbish at, so decided to go into law instead, which can be fun, too.

What inspired you to start belly dancing?"

Is there anything terribly wrong with those messages? I rather suspect that the difficulty might be that people look at my profile, see where I'm located, decide that I'm entirely too far away, and stop reading there and then, and focus on the far greater numbers of people located more conveniently. I shall be intrigued to see whether my hit-rate in e-mails goes up once I have moved into London. Indeed, I think that I should probably stop sending out messages until I have moved into London, lest I deter anybody who might, if I lived closer by, show an interest in me. In any event, I'll probably be too busy between now and then to message people on online dating sites, much less go on dates with them, so that decision is rather taken for me.

****

So, I end where I started - the new flat. The premise of this 'blog, "Celibacy and the Suburbs" was the difficulty that I was having in romance partly in connexion with living so far away. Although moving into London will undoubtedly help matters, however, I cannot imagine that my difficulties will evaporate overnight. Perhaps I need to change the name of the 'blog - although, perhaps not - I will still be in the suburbs, after all, albeit the inner suburbs, rather than the outer suburbs of a town way outside London. It will be, I think, a new stage of life without a doubt, and, if all goes well, a far more pleasant one. The impact that it might have on my romantic success is as yet unascertained, although it certainly won't hurt. I am most relieved that I will acheive my ambition of living independently before the age of thirty (which I will attain in May of next year). The remaining question is - will I achieve my aim of having a romantic relationship before the age of thirty?

Ironic Thursday

...pleasant company and good fishing

PROFILE refined, full stops inserted and new photographs uploaded, I sent another two messages to potential Fish yesterday evening, both, coincidentally, to teachers. Teachers are always a good bet, I think: they have to be responsible, mature and intelligent, yet engaging and fun. My mother used to be a teacher; some of my friends are teachers, and the lovely young lady about whom I have 'blogged before (knew her in secondary school, worked out eventually, despite it having been blindingly obvious for a long time, that she rather liked me, went out with her once, found she was seeing someone else but it "wasn't going too well" because "he thought it was more serious than it is", resolved not to ask her out again until she was no longer seeing said fellow, in the meantime, she started seeing another fellow - they married last year) became a teacher. When I have met friends' girlfriends who have been teachers, they always seem to have been lovely people.

The first message that I sent was to a young lady who did not put a great deal in her profile: in her "looking for" section, where I had put "dating", she had put "hang out" (whatever that is supposed to mean - isn't that what teenagers with nothing better to do do in shopping centres?), and had this as her self-description:

"Sharing interests I am a warm, spontaneous teacher, who maintains a diverse variety of interests such as travel, music, world cinema and languages. Seeking someone who is interested in all the world has to offer and is still passionate about learning despite having left school a long time ago. A mutual understanding of love, trust and friendship, and a shared desire to give something back to give something back to this world.

*I have a small thing for converse wearing men... any quirky David Tennant style men out there?

First date

Somewhere that we can chat, either a small café or go for a walk... or perhaps both."

Thinking that there was nothing to lose, I sent her a brief message:

"I'm intrigued

Where was the photograph of you standing next to the giant silhouette against the green background taken?

And does wearing a three-piece suit on Brighton pier count as "converse-wearing"...?

Reading that back after I sent it, I realised that it was not the best of messages: perhaps best not to reveal, in a first contact, that I wear three piece suits on Brighton pier, and asking a fairly generic question about one of her holiday snaps is not the greatest conversation starter.

Undeterred, I found another profile, the second teacher. This one had written a little more about herself, and had stated that she was looking for "dating" rather than "hang out". She wrote:

"Intelligent, passionate woman

Basically, I am looking for someone to challenge me. I feel like I am at a turning point in my life, a time to have experience new things and meet new people. I'm moving to South London in a week and starting a new job in a school near central London in September.

You'll mostly find me daydreaming, sleeping and napping, anything that keeps me immobile for a time as I spend most of my life on the go, balancing friends and family. I like to read both for information and for fun and playing gossip badminton. I LOVE indie/alternative/rock music especially discovering unknown bands in small gigs.

My job is my true passion... I'm going to say it.... I LOVE being a teacher. There is nothing more rewarding than the imaginary lightbulb over a kid's head beaming when they've got something and the enthusiasm that goes along with all that. But... I hate all the red tape, government lip service paper work that goes along with it. I dream of the day that all I have to worry about helping my class learn!

Yes I've got anger management issues sometimes and yes I'm a bit ditzy and indecisive at times but I've got some good points....like free stickers from school and an inate (sic) sense of fun.

First date

My ideal first date would be a few drinks and going to see some good live music, however, I am open for surprises ;)"

Having more to go on, I replied more fully:

"You had me at 'free stickers'

I don't get free stickers where I work, but I do get to play with a labelling machine. Couldn't resist putting a label on the labelling machine saying, 'labelling machine'.

Do you know London well? I am about to move there too, having worked there for some time. If you like surprises, there's an intriguing little bar on Aldwych - I'll bet that you can't guess what it used to be before it was a bar! They do, however, have live music.

What year group do you teach?

[CoatMan]"

The label on the labelling machine stating, "labelling machine" is a post-Lara innovation, a little quirk of self-referential irony in which I have always revelled: at my previous work-place, we also had a labelling machine, and I also stuck on that a little label stating, "labelling machine" (along, if I recall correctly, also labelling various mundane objects with their obvious descriptions). I'd be tempted to label every blank label with "label" if doing so was not an entirely pointless exercise in label-wasting.

Receiving no replies yesterday evening, I retired to bed. This morning, I headed for court. Normally, my distant suburban location makes travelling to court rather more arduous than for those who live in London, but occasionally, I am sent to a provincial location that is closer to where I live than to central London, making for a far easier journey than normal. To-day was one of those days.

Usually, I don't know who my opponents are to be before arriving in court and booking in with the usher, but this was an appeal, and I had seen a name that I recognised from the papers of the original hearing: Sandra.

Sandra I had first met about a year ago when we had had a case against each other which was adjourned several times. She had been very friendly to me then, and, by the second occasion of our meeting, I thought that I had even detected an element of flirtation, although dismissed it because I knew that she smoked - a dealbreaker for me. I couldn't help but be somewhat attracted to her, however.

I had last run into her about a month before I met Lara, during the height of what was a rather short period of warm weather this summer, when we had both been dispatched to another provincial court to undertake another case of a similar character (involving two vehicles passing on a bend on which there was only room for one). I don't know why, but as I was sitting on the train, I had idly thought to myself that it'd be lovely if I was against Sandra, and was very pleasantly surprised when, on the street about half-way between the station and the court, the woman who had been walking about twenty meters ahead of me, and whom I had caught up when she had stopped for a pedestrian crossing had, just as I was about to cross it, said:

"CoatMan?"

and I had turned around and found that it was Sandra after all, and that she was indeed appearing in my case.

When I saw her name on the papers for to-day's case (and noted that the people transcribing the previous hearing had amusingly mis-spelt her name), I sent her a Facebook message asking whether she would be appearing in the appeal; I then ran into her on the street outside work, and she told me that she had just that day been told that she was indeed to do the case; a day or two later, we had exchanged messages and chatted briefly on Facebook about it.

This morning, I boarded a local train to an interchange station and, from there, caught an express train to my destination. I like to sleep on the train, and, knowing that the quiet carriages is located always at the front of the eight carriage train, headed to the correct end of the platform just as my train pulled into the station. I stepped onto the train and turned into the quiet carriage. Fortunately, trains at that time of day heading out of London are not busy, and I was pleased to notice the abundance of available seats. Without a great deal of thought, I went to sit in the first seating bay into the carriage, which, fortunately, was unoccupied. I was just about to remove from my bag the scarf that I use as a pillow when sleeping on trains when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"[CoatMan]?"

It was Sandra. She was sitting, with large cup of coffee, completed pot of something indiscernible from a coffee shop for breakfast, and papers, in the seating bay immediately opposite the aisle from the seat in which I was about to sit. I turned around.

"Oh, it is you! I saw you from behind and thought you looked familiar - that would have been major embarrassment if that hadn't been you!"

I said hello, put my scarf away again, and put my bag in the luggage rack. We talked about the case, each furnishing the other with some last minute papers, and she remarked, still sipping the coffee, that she was very tired, having had to wake at half past five in the morning. It is not often that I get to be the one who wakes later. She said that she had contemplated catching the later train, but had thought better of it, especially as she suspected that I'd have got there early.

When we arrived at Provincial Town, she asked how I normally got from the station to the court. On foot, I replied. She confessed that she normally took a taxi (pointing out that it is not easy to walk the distance in high heels), and invited me to share one with her. When we reached the taxi, I realised that I only had a few pennies in cash, and taxis do not tend to take card payments.

"Ahh, I've just realised I don't have any cash on me - if you pay for the ride out, I'll pay for the ride back," I said.

"Don't be silly! she replied. "I'd have got the taxi anyway."

We had arrived considerably early for the case, and I waited outside with her whilst she smoked a cigarette, always making sure to stand upwind, talking all the while. We joked about how the transcriber had mis-spelt her name in the official transcript, and I pointed out that my name had often been mis-spelt or pronounced, too. I remembered then that I'd have asked her out months ago had she not been a smoker.

We went into the court, and still had some time to wait. There were other cases that had been put in the list before ours, and we had arrived early as it was. Initial attempts to track down an usher proved in vain, so we sat next to each other in the public lobby near the entrance to the court room waiting to speak to an usher. She told me of how she had recently bought a house in Kent, and she showed me a picture on her mobile telephone of her puppy. She was very pleasant company, and talking to her helped to put out of mind thoughts of Lara that even now plague me. Realising that this particular provincial court building housed criminal as well as civil cases, she said at one point while we were waiting,

"Let's go and watch a criminal trial - that'd be exciting!"

The idea appealed to her as she had only ever done civil work, and seeing the progress of a criminal trial with judge and jury can seem quite exciting by comparison to what can often appear quite dry arguments about the correct interpretation of the law that often prevail in civil matters. As it happened, however, there was no time for such frivolity, and we were soon called before the judge.

At the opening of the case, as is customary, I had the task of introducing the parties. With a certain sense of mischief, I resolved purposely to mis-state Sandra's name as it had been mis-recorded in the transcript.

"May it please your honour, I appear on behalf of the appellant; my learned friend Miss [Incorect Name] - I mean, Miss [Correct Name] appears on behalf of the respondent. This is an appeal from...".

I didn't notice any immediate reaction from Sandra, not that I was looking. The hearing was conducted with the customary air of formality, and after the judge had made his decision (mispronouncing both our names in the process - and not in the way in which the transcriber had done so with Sandra's, but inventing another pronunciation entirely), and there was some discussion about the correct way of assessing the costs, we were waiting outside again for the taxi that Sandra had already booked, whilst she smoked another cigarette, and I again tried to stand upwind of her.

"I can't believe you called me Miss [Incorrect Name]," Sandara said with a smile on her face. "That was so funny.".

I don't know whether she realised that it was deliberate, but, either way, it appeared to have the desired effect.

There were no cash points near the court, and again I protested that she should not have to pay the full fare both ways, but she repeated her earlier response:

"I have suffered no loss!", she said, making a reference to one of the legal arguments that had been peripherally connected with the hearing.

As we approached the station, our train pulled in, and we rushed to catch it. She was wearing high heels and dragging a wheeled trolley, and was not able to run fast; I carried her bag to the ticket barriers to enable us to run faster.

As it happened, the train was not due to leave for another five minutes. As we boarded the train, we caught sight of another lawyer who had been in the same court, in a different case before the same judge, who seemed to be acquainted with Sandra, and who had asked both of us for our opinion on a particularly obscure legal point in court, board another carriage.

We met inside the carriage, and all sat together on the train, me sitting in an aisle seat next to Sandra, and the other young lady sitting in the aisle seat opposite me. We talked the whole way back, the conversation quickly drifting to some interesting point of law that was relevant to our case (and many other cases besides, including those in which the person in the seat opposite me had been involved), which continued, mainly between me and the other lady, most of the way back to London.

When we arrived at the terminus, Sandra had to buy a further ticket. The other young lady took her leave of us at that point, and I waited with Sandra the brief time that it took her to buy her ticket, before descending into the Underground, still talking.

She had arranged to meet friends for lunch', although one of them ended up being hard to track down. In any event, we eventually resolved to walk to where she was to have lunch', which was part-way between the Underground station at which we had alighted and where I work. While we were walking, I complimented her on her shoes - rather lovely pointy-toed heels with elegant dark grey line patterns accross the toes. She commented that those were her "too-high high heels", and that she often wears lower heels. I think that I made a quip about that being the reason that she was walking so slowly, and she responded, in good humour, that she could walk in them, thank you very much, just perhaps not as fast as otherwise.

As we were about to part, I said,

"I owe you lunch' sometime - you paid for the taxi both ways!"

She again said not to be silly about the taxi, but didn't say anything much about lunch'. As she went to say good-bye, she did the little wrist-exposing wave and half-closed eye thing that I had seen her do to me several times before, and said,

"Byeee!"

before disappearing into the restaurant. I think that I might be a little naughty and ask her out for lunch' next week.

When I returned home this evening, after viewing some flats to rent in London, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I had received an e-mail from PlentyOfFish. I noticed that the username was familiar, and surmised that it was one of the two teachers that I had contacted last night. Since I had not made a very good job of e-mailing the first contact, I assumed that the message must have been from the second, and was rather surprised to open my e-mail to find that the message had in fact been sent from the first teacher, the one with the short profile. She wrote:

"RE:I'm intrigued

Hello!

The photo was taken whilst waiting for the metro in Brussels. Have you been there before?

Hope you're having a lovely day, [HerName]x

P.S., Are you a judge?"

She at least seemed pleasant and largely sane. I replied,

"I'm still intrigued

[HerName],

I have indeed not been to Brussels - the popular conception is that it's rather dull compared to Paris (to which I have been and should love to return), but is that right? Certainly, they seem to have an interesting Metro system - perhaps a little more artistic than the London Underground!

Your other photograph, the one of the sunset, is also rather delightful - where was that one taken? I must say, I do love a good sunset, even in London (and especially when walking beside the Thames; although holiday sunsets are wonderful, too). Where's your favourite place to go on holiday?

[CoatMan]"

Shortly afterwards, realising that I had forgotten to answer her question, I sent her a further message:

"PS

I've just realised - I forgot to answer your P. S., and that'll never do.

I'm not a judge - they don't have twenty-nine year old judges, which is probably a good thing! I am a barrister - we do the arguing, the judges do the deciding.

P. S.: What age group do you teach?"

PlentyOfFish has the useful feature of alerting users as to whether their messages have been read (or deleted without being read). The message that I had sent to the second teacher was read this evening, but I have had no reply, so I am not hopeful of that. My replies to the first teacher, however, remain unread, so the outcome of that remains to be seen.

In all, I think, an interesting day. Irony can be bitter, but also a spot of light relief, and, for all the irony of which I have 'blogged here before, to-day's was, thankfully, more of the light relief variety.

Gone fishing

...a fresh attempt with online dating

HAVING tried Match.com for some time without success, I have been recommended (by some who comment on this 'blog, no less) an alternative, the most attractive feature of which is that it is free: Plenty of Fish. I had previously heard about the service, but not signed up because I had heard that the standard was poor ("plenty of fish - just rubbish fish", one fellow 'blogger once wrote of it), but, having nothing to lose (one cannot beat free), I signed up.

The layout is a little simpler than Match.com, and there are fewer boxes to fill in. Notably, there is no section describing one's living arrangements, so I do not have to disclose, "living with parents". Of all the possible "looking for" options (including "intimate encounter", "friends" and "long-term relationship"), I chose the option "dating", which appears to be the most common amongst other users. My "headline" is, "Cake-baking lawyer seeks cake tester", and my profile reads:

"About me

In no particular order: I love style and hate fashion, adore cats and am suspicious of dogs, ride a bicycle in place both of driving a car and going to a gymnasium, believe in the importance of reason and logic, am useless at mental arithmetic, once appeared as an extra on Trigger Happy TV dressed as a panda, can spot a misplaced apostrophe at fifty paces, bake (and ice) my own cakes, am old-fashioned but love modern technology, believe in substance over form (but that form comes a close second), prefer to dress up than to dress down, believe that genuine originality is better than unoriginality, but that genuine conventionality is better than faux originality; I believe consistency, openness, politeness, reasonableness and honesty, and that dinner is not complete without a pudding. I am also fond of brimmed hats and walking length umbrellas, but own neither since they are both singularly incompatible with safe bicycle travel.

I prefer the unconventionally conventional to the conventionally unconventional and the subtly quirky to the popularly eccentric, and should love to hear from anybody who prefers the same, and who shares my love of words. A penchant for cake would be good, too.

I enjoy taking photographs, having philosophical discussions, baking cakes (fruit cakes and flapjacks especially), visiting interesting places and making working steam engines.

I work in London and I wear fancy dress and argue for a living - what more could a person want?

First Date

I don't have a stock first date location - that'd be terribly dull. Restaurants are always good, but after a visit to a museum or a park or garden or some other enjoyable activity. I like things that are a little quirky, but interesting and fun. Really, what works is something that both people are interested in."

I have been advised by various 'blog commentors to carpet-bomb the site, looking for anybody who appears to be half-decent just to get experience of dating. I thought that I'd be better starting slowly just to get a feel for how the thing works. I have sent one message so far. Her profile:

"Me Myself and I

[HerName]. Twenty Five. Theatre addict. Chocolate lover. Loves boots. Hates rain. Happiest when at the theatre. Wants everything but often doesnt know what she wants. Likes walks in the sun. Listens to cheesy pop at full blast. Likes a good argument. Loves romantic comedies. But reads crime novels. Doesn't like movie adaptations of books because they're always better in her head. Secretly prefers chicken nuggets to posh dinners. Loves Broadway. Loves London at night. Is addicted to diet coke. Likes it when people cook for her. Can't walk in a straight line. Is in love with Pirate Johnny Depp. And Mr Darcy. Always tries to get her own way. But mostly just likes the challenge. Is addicted to Peanut M&M's. Once went accidently to a film premiere. Thinks the southbank is her favourite place in London. Hates clubs. Loves Beer Gardens. Will one day write a book based on her life. It will be a comedy."

My message:

"Give my regards to (Ealing) Broadway

[CoatMan]. Twenty-nine. Likes shoes, especially when well-polished. Doesn't mind rain when carrying an umbrella. Hasn't been to the theatre in a while (unless one counts the [item removed from 'blog as may be identifying]), but studied it at A-level, found it rather fun, and should probably go more often. Likes walks in almost any weather (even rain, umbrella permitting). Likes a good argument so much he does it for a living. Also loves London at night. And the South B___*. Especially at night (although it was even better before they removed the strung lightbulbs). Isn't Mr. D'Arcy (not sane enough), but isn't Mr. Wycombe, either. Feels compelled to ask: how the blue blazers does one *accidentally* go to a film premiere?! What did you see?

* The site refused to let me send this message with the real version of this word in it..."

I spent the best part of half an hour trying to work out why my messages refused to send, until I realised that Plenty of Fish's over-zealous spam, scam and creep filter doesn't like the phrase "South Bank" (in case one is trying to lure users to wire all their money to one's bank account because if you just send one more payment via Western Union, the vast riches of Mr. Ogoyo from Nigeria who died intestate with no next of kin will soon be yours) nor the phrase "how the Dickens" (lest more delicate users of the site think that one is referring to a certain part of the male anatomy in place of the famous 19th century author), but eventually managed to send my message, albeit with a few creative adaptations.

In the meantime, I received the following unsolicited message from a user, not in London, but in the (very approximate) area in which I currently live, and out of which I am making considerable efforts to move as soon as possible. She wrote:

"Your profile made me laugh

Hi there,

I loved the comment regarding the umbrella and brimmed hats, it cracked me up completely. The rest of the profile made me laugh as well. You have a funny sense of humour.

So what kind of law do you practise? Do you really have to wear those robes and wigs when going to court?

I'm [her name] by the way, whats your name?"

I could almost forgive the inane tautology, "funny sense of humour", and could, if I tried very, very hard, have overlooked, only for the sake of gaining some dating experience, the omission of an apostrophe in "whats", but the profile to which the e-mail linked showed a person who was, even by my relatively relaxed standards in respect of appearance, markedly unattractive. That is not a message to which I shall be replying, although it is comforting, I suppose, to note that at least some people find my profile amusing.

I shall keep regular readers updated with any progress from the Fish, but would appreciate in the meantime any thoughts about my profile and messages: having, as this 'blog recounts in somewhat painful detail, made rather a mess of every past attempt at a romantic encounter, I need all the help that I can get!

Game over

...disappointment and determination

ON MONDAY, I planned to step things up a little. Knowing her sense of humour, and having a little time free that day, I set about printing out little removable labels on my new labelling machine and sticking them all over her room and furniture and effects. Labels reading, "floor", "ceiling", "wall", "plant", "dead plant", "fake plant", "coaster", "desk", "yellow mat (from Ikea)", "toes go here", "Throne of the Queen of Puddings" and certain Eddie Izzard references (we are both very big fans of Eddie Izzard) in appropriate places.

The enterprise seemed to have its desired effect. When she came in that day, I heard her from the next room, setting down her things, then pause and laugh. She came into my room - I cannot remember now exactly what she said, but she quite obviously found it hilarious. Purposely implausibly, I denied having affixed the labels, blaming "the Rogue Labeller" (and later came into talk to her wearing a label on my chest saying "not the Rogue Labeller - which made her laugh so hard that she couldn't speak for about ten seconds). I had stuck some of the labels in obscure places, so she didn't find them all at once, and further hilarity ensued when she found hitherto undiscovered labels (and I also took the opportunity when she was out of the room to add new labels).

She told me which were her favourite, and then declared that she was going to keep them all in place as she liked them so much. She particularly liked, she told me, the fact that I had stuck labels with the word "rubbish" on certain items of rubbish in the litter bin, and "Vintage Chateau de Robinsons (2009)" on her Ribena bottle, as well as the Izzard references. She also liked, she said, "toes go here" on the mat under her desk. She said,

"You're mad!"

to which I replied,

"We knew that already, didn't we?".

She agreed and laughed some more. At some point (I think when I went in when I was wearing the "not the Rogue Labeller" label; I had to think of some topic of conversation to justify talking to her until she noticed the label), I told her that I had recently watched the rather lovely film, A Room with a View (which, I explained when she asked, was nothing like the Eddie Izzard version of it), and offered to lend her the DVD, which she accepted.

Taking the advice of one of the posters on this 'blog that one should always ask a person out to a specific time and place, I asked her whether she was doing anything that afternoon, to which she replied that she had made arrangements to go with a friend to shop for shoes for her wedding, and then had some marathon kick-boxing session.

"Ah, rats," I replied in what I hoped was a light-hearted manner, and moved onto another topic. At one point, I said that we should find a time to work on that sketch that we had discussed when we had gone to dinner; she replied by saying that there was something that she thought that I could help her with that week, and explained that, for her friend's thirtieth birthday on Saturday, she had been charged with organising a treasure hunt at Victoria Station, and thought that I was good at that sort of thing. I replied that, yes, indeed I am good at and rather that sort of thing, and would be happy to assist. We did not discuss it in detail at that point: there was, after all, plenty of time in the week left to organise the details, and she did not press the point.

A little later that day, I resolved that the direct approach is probably more effective with someone whose diary is as full as Lara's. I asked her,

"There's an exhibition on at the Science Museum that I think you'd like - would you like to go one day this week?"

"Ohh, yes, I'm free to-morrow; err, what is it?" she replied.

"Wallace and Gromit," I replied.

"Ohh, yes, definitely!" She seemed enthusiastic.

I told her that the exhibition had sets from The Ware Rabbit and other such delights, and she seemed fascinated and very keen to go. She suggested that we meet at twelve o'clock in work and go from there, which would give us enough time to return in time for the meeting at half-past five.

On the way home that evening, I thought of a rather interesting idea for the treasure hunt that we had discussed: knowing that a special train in the tradition of the Orient Express often departs from Victoria station on week-ends, I thought that might be a rather interesting item to include in the event, and e-mailed Lara that evening thus:

"Just checking - is the treasure hunt of which you spoke taking place on the Saturday or the Sunday? If it's on the Sunday (and I haven't misunderstood what's meant by a 'treasure hunt' - presumably people don't actually have to take physical things away from the station; presumably it's about finding things and leaving them where they are?), then we could put 'The Orient Express' at the top of the list, but, alas, it's not running on the Saturday.

[CoatMan] x"

She replied,

"Tis on Saturday! Is not really a treasure hunt, more a series if clues that have to be followed. X"

I did not reply further, resolving that we could discuss the matter when we met the next day. At half-past ten the next morning, I received the following text:

"Hullo! Just realised my error - I have an asthma clinic appointment at 2pm today... We probably won't have time for the museum? What about thursday?"

I was reassured that her message immediately stipulated an alternative date and that she wasn't trying to fit me in between the clinic and the meeting. However, not to be seen to be entirely a push-over, I replied,

"You and your diary! You can't be the queen of wobble and the queen of puddings at the same time, or else you'll be the queen of jelly, and vegetarians don't eat jelly, do they? Thursday is fine - see you at twelve?".

She didn't reply to the text, and was not there when the meeting started. I had just been appointed as the secretary to the meetings, and was set up to take the minutes. I had also baked a large apple flapjack (to my own special recipe) for everyone to share (apple flapjacks, being softer than ordinary flapjacks, are cut like cake).

Much as I hate that sort of thing getting to me, her not being there made me anxious. The chair of the meeting insisted on starting exactly on time in order to get through the rather lengthy agenda that I had managed to put together, which did not entirely help matters. A number of people drifted in late, and people asked where Lara was. I sent her a text message:

"You're missing out on cheese..." (knowing her to be fond of cheese).

Eventually Lara arrived, explaining that her asthma clinic appointment, which was quite some distance away, had badly over-run, and apologising for being late.

Obviously, I was not able to interact with her a great deal during the meeting, although she took particular note of the occasions on which I was trying to dodge a wasp that had decided to descend on our food (the meeting was being held outside on a terrace, our air conditioning being non-functional), and seemed to find it silly that I was afraid of such a thing as a wasp. I realise (and realised at the time) that fear of such things is not an entirely attractive characteristic, but I am resolutely terrified of them, and it was not to be helped. I said, somewhat playfully,

"Hey, if you can have fish, I can have wasps!" referring to her own somewhat irrational fear of large fish (to the extent that she was perturbed at the prospect of viewing photographs that I had taken at the Brighton Sea Life Centre), to which she replied, I thought somewhat unsatisfactorily, that some large fish can kill people, but a wasp isn't likely to do that. I did not press the point of the fatuousness of the comparison, but carried on as best as I could, avoiding the wasp.

After the meeting had formally closed, we stood around talking informally. I went to talk to Lara, but noticed that she seemed more interested in talking to Dennis, a pleasant young gentleman who is to be joining us in October. Dennis is the same fellow as Lara had invited along the previous Wednesday when we had gone for drinks, and who was also present when, some time ago now, Lara had invited me out with her friends; a younger fellow, who had come from the same workplace as Lara and whom she had encouraged to join our workplace. He is a tall and unassuming gentleman, but is quietly funny and seems, from what little I know of him so far, to be very good natured. He had once admitted, when Lara had asked him somewhat jocularly when we were at drinks with he, Romy and Lara at what was supposed to have been the first date, that he had not had a girlfriend since he was sixteen (although whether he was being entirely serious is perhaps open to some question).

I got the vague impression that Lara was being somewhat flirtatious towards him, although my reading ability of such signals bordering on illiteracy as it does, it is not an impression in which I can have a great deal of confidence. She had often called referred to him "sweet" and even "adorable" in the past.

I handed around my flapjack, which was largely met with enthusiasm. I offered some to Lara, but she declined, claiming not to be a great fan of flapjacks. I found that a little odd, given a comment that she had made in the past about liking them; in any event, I explained that these were special apple flapjacks, and somewhat different to other flapjacks. She agreed to try a small piece.

She tried it, and said,

"That isn't like flapjack at all!".

"Is it nice?"

"Ohh, yes!"

Her tone of voice told me that she liked it very much.

"Ahh, well, you can have a bigger piece, then!" I said, and picked up the knife.

She still declined. She had been to the gym to-day, she said, and having a piece of flapjack would undo the good work. I pointed out that the purpose of taking exercise is to increase fitness, not to undo flapjack, but she was undeterred. She said that she was trying to do lots of exercise and eat "sensibly" for two weeks, and replied when I said that there was nothing insensible about apple flapjack,

"Ohh, no, really" in a tone of voice that gave the impression that she was genuinely struggling to resist the temptation of my baking, and added that she had only tried a bit because I had cooked it myself.

With that exchange, I came to realise that Lara was not quite what I thought she was; it was obvious that she was trying specifically to lose weight (being the only sensible conclusion to draw from (1) the fact that she was equating eating baked goods with reversing the achievement of exercise; and (2) the fact that she was intending to eat "sensibly" for only a limited period of time). She had in the past made reference before to trying to get fitter in order to train to swim the channel sometime within the next few years (before the age of 30, she once told me; she is presently 26), but getting fit and losing weight are two very different things, as she would well know, being very knowledgeable in such matters.

Perhaps I am unusual in this respect (although I strongly suspect not as unusual as many people would think), but I find the thought of a woman purposely trying to lose weight to be extremely unattractive. Although I am extremely picky about a great many aspects of potential mates, I am generally quite relaxed about appearance. I do not, however, find thin women attractive at all, and strongly prefer at least some curvaceousness in the body: from relatively slim but curvy to fairly large but shapely, and anything in between.

Lara is certainly at the "slim but curvy" end of the scale (she once mentioned in conversation that she was a UK size 8/10), and one of the things that I had found particularly attractive about her was how much she evidently enjoyed her food, and appeared relatively uninhibited in indulging in that enjoyment. Perhaps to many people, that would be unimportant, but it makes a big difference to me. Now, not only was Lara evidently trying to lose weight (when she very much doesn't need to), but she seemed to be almost ashamed of the fact, referring obliquely to eating "sensibly" and undoing the work of the gym (and she had no sensible response when I pointed out that, the point of the gym being to keep fit, that is not undone by eating flapjack).

The full significance of that did not entirely dawn on me at the time - it was sufficiently oblique to take some piecing together, and in any event, I was still anxious about the whole situation - she had still not confirmed Thursday. It is perhaps somewhat of an unfortunate irony that, as a consequence of the anxiety of the whole situation, over the past two months, I have - quite unintentionally - lost weight myself, to the extent that some of my trousers are now prone to fall down a little when I run.

A little later, when I went to put some chairs away after the meeting, I happened upon Lara talking to Dennis in somewhat lowered tones in the darkened room from which the chairs had come.

"...and everyone here is a bit mad," she said to him, then, noticing my presence, "most of all [CoatMan]!".

"Really? I'd have thought he'd have been the most sane," replied Dennis.

Lara explained to him the stunt with the labels, and took him to her room to show him my handiwork, all of which she had still left in place. As it happened, I had earlier that afternoon prepared another label to stick on her at an opportune moment (I had previously stuck labels on her back, reading, "Queen of Puddings" and "I'm shopping for shoes"). At a suitable juncture, I quickly produced the label from my pocket, and stuck it this time on her abdomen. The label read (in reference to our earlier pudding adventure),

"Reserved for puddings"

She laughed, immediately removing the label to inspect it, and, evidently finding the contents amusing, re-affixed it to the back of her chair, about opposite where her stomach would be. I cannot remember the exact conversation that ensued, but I again denied being the "Rogue Labeller" (to which Lara replied that she saw me stick a label then and there). She mentioned to Dennis that she really thought that, when he joined us, he should share her room as otherwise she's mostly on her own in there and has no-one to talk to - an invitation that she had extended to me long ago when she had first invited me out with her friends, and which I had declined at the time because of the poor WiFi reception and lack of shelf space - and ought to have declined instead because I'd never get any work done if I was in the same room as Lara, as we'd talk a great deal.

Then remembering the "A Room with a View" DVD that I had brought in to lend to her as we had discussed the previous day, I went to retrieve it from my bag, and handed it to her, and shortly afterwards said,

"What is it Sebastian? I'm arranging matches!"

She replied, confused at first, "What? Sebastian?"

I simply pointed at the DVD, and she smiled and laughed in realisation of the Eddie Izzard reference, turning to Dennis (who was still confused) and telling him that it was an Eddie Izzard reference, and that he really should watch Eddie Izzard DVDs, that that should be his "homework", and seemed to suggest obliquely that he borrow her Izzard DVDs, although seemed somewhat non-committal in that last suggestion, perhaps remembering that she had previously offered to lend them to me (which I had accepted), and had not actually done so yet.

She left earlier than either Dennis or I, at the same time as Senior Colleague. I still had not had a chance to confirm Thursday, and so, although being aware that the situation was far from ideal, called after her as she was about to leave,

"Are we still on for Thursday?"

She replied that we were, although, because she was going to visit her Nan on the Wednesday evening, it would have to be one o'clock rather than twelve. That was not a great concern, however, I thought, because there was no evening meeting on the Thursday, and any time lost earlier could be made up later.

Senior Colleague said somewhat playfully,

"Where are you going?"

to which Lara replied simply, "The Science Museum".

Senior Colleague then said, as sometimes she is want to do,

"Oooh - can I come too?"

Lara paused for a second, and said,

"You can come too if you like."

I don't know whether it was excessive optimism, but I did rather get the impression that the invitation distinctly lacked enthusiasm.

Senior Colleague then remembered that she was out of the country at the time, and the subject was not further discussed.

After she left, I continued to clear tables and chairs, returning them to their rightful positions, and ended up leaving at the same time as Dennis. We walked downstairs together, and I took the opportunity to ask him how his date the other evening had gone (he had told Lara when we had gone out for drinks that he needed to go because he had another appointment, which he revealed then was a date). He said that it had gone "fine", later refining it to "very fine".

"Very fine - that's what we like to hear!" I said somewhat playfully.

Dennis replied that, actually, he wasn't really sure that it was a date, and that he wasn't quite sure whether she was interested or what the status was, but that he was seeing how things went.

"Ahh, one of those," I said, knowing exactly what he meant. I wished him the best.

On the train home that evening, I ruminated over what had happened, what had been said and what I should do now. I had earlier that day read Melissa's comment on my earlier post, in which she stated that she doubted Lara's sincerity and didn't understand why a person would bring friends along on a date. I thought about the incident with the flapjack and all that that entailed, the asking of Senior Colleague whether she wanted to join us, and all the anxiety and worry (and consequent trouser difficulties) that the whole thing had occasioned me over the last few months. I resolved to stop pursuing her. I would still go to the Science Museum with her, but I couldn't go any further. I had had all the anxiety that I could cope with, and there were increasing reasons to doubt whether it was all worthwhile, whether I was chasing a pot of fool's gold at the end of an illusory rainbow. I felt relieved - for the first time in a long time, I was (comparatively) relaxed. The next evening, when I went out to dinner with some friends, I was relatively relaxed, and had no trouble finishing the entire main course and pudding.

On Thursday morning, as I was emerging from the Underground to go into work, I received this text from Lara:

" so sorry, but going to have to bail on today. Nan has an appointment at 3, so am going to stay here until she goes. Sorry."

There was no suggestion of an alternative date this time, and the tone was different from before - less jovial, less engaging, less friendly. I also noticed that there was a rogue space at the beginning of the message and it didn't start with a capital letter - as if she had edited her message and not cleaned up afterwards. Something had changed for her, too. I replied,

"Very best wishes to her - I hope that all goes well. Another time, perhaps."

I have not seen her or heard from her since. She has not mentioned the treasure hunt. I will not be asking her out again, or playing with labels or otherwise flirting with her. I will be polite and friendly, but I won't pursue her. The anxiety is too much to manage, and both the prize and the prospect of obtaining it appear to have diminished significantly this past week.

I am still determined to find a little flat in London somewhere. I must watch my finances carefully, as I cannot stand the thought of living beyond my means, but things are slowly improving. The whole Lara episode has made me realise just how much that I am missing by not having a good relationship (or even a good social life more generally), and how much that living so far away is contributing to both problems (and the latter to the former).

I tried last week sending out lots of e-mails on Match.com to try to find a sensible plan B - although I did end up corresponding from an earlier e-mail exchange with a lovely young lady, she shortly told me that she had started seeing someone else from Match.com, although it was early days yet. I appreciated her openness and told her so, and she sent me several more e-mails in a generally friendly vein, but I haven't heard from her in a while. I am fairly sure that a large part of my poor hit rate on Match.com comes from the combination of living with parents and seeking people in London whilst not actually living there myself.

I am very much aware that part of the reason that I become so anxious when a potentially suitable prospect presents herself is the lack of alternatives, and am increasingly frustrated that I live so far away and not in a flat of my own. At the time that I had initially met Lara, I had not been seriously seeking a relationship immediately because I knew that the prospects of finding someone very good were greatly diminished by my current living situation. With Lara, there appeared to be the prospect of somebody very lovely - a real catch - even before I had organised my position. She appeared to be willing to take something of a risk with me, and I thought it worthwhile doing the same with her. I cannot help but be most disappointed that things have not gone rather better, as I once very much hoped that they would.

However, with disappointment comes determination, and I am more focussed than for a long time on finding suitable accommodation in London and finally coming to live independently and build a social life and a network of friends with whom to go out regularly, with the prospect, perhaps, of meeting more suitable people. Any tips from anyone about budgeting for food and general expenses when living alone would be much appreciated.

Insight

...clarity and competition

AS WE had discussed, I saw her at work again yesterday evening, and, as we always do, got talking. I showed her some photographs that Senior Colleague's friend had taken of the party that we had had at work some months ago, the occasion when I had first met Lara. We joked about one of the people who had attended the party, whom she had said was "very big". I pointed out, a little sarcastically, that that might just be because he was standing closer to the camera than anyone else, and made a vague reference to the wonderful moment in Father Ted, my favourite situation comedy ever, when Ted was trying to explain to Dougal that, "The cows on the table are small; the cows in the field are far away". She responded by quoting the well-known line in an attempted Irish accent, and we laughed.

At some stage, whether before or after the above I do not now recall, she asked me in passing what I was doing for the week-end; I replied,

"Sleeping!"

"What, all week-end?!"

I told her that I had not slept well in the hotel in which I had stayed after our little adventure on Wednesday. She repeated that I really ought to have called her, that she had told Romy about it the next day and that she had agreed, that she was always having people sleeping on her sofa, that she didn't mind at all, and that if ever that were to happen again, I really should call her.

At some point, I cannot recall whether before or after the above conversation, I put my next step plan into action. I went into her room specifically for the purpose, and asked her when she was next free on the week-end daytime, then joked that it would probably be in November 2012 given her diary. She replied that it might actually be in November, and checked her iPhone diary. She then said that she was free on the week-end of the 24th and 25th of October, and recited all the things that she was doing on week-ends between then and now, comprising mainly parties (including Romy's birthday to which she had invited me on Wednesday), and an impromptu trip to Zagreb with Romy and Romy's new boyfriend (whom she had met, interestingly enough, at work) relating to some sporting event in which he was involved (Lara being a big fan of sports generally).

I said,

"The 24th and 25th?"

"Yes, I'm free all that week-end."

"Meet me at the Northbound platform of [Underground station] at eleven a.m. Wear sensible shoes"

She looked as though she was trying, only partly successfully, to suppress a grin. She hesitated for a second, as if she did not quite know how to react, then turned to her diary.

"The Saturday, the 24th?"

"Yes, probably better the Saturday."

She entered the date into her diary, still looking as if she was suppressing a grin with limited success, and did not even try to question what I had planned for her. I decided to leave it at that, which, apart from the distance of time ahead, had gone rather better than I had expected.

Later, I had cause to see Senior Colleague in her room. Lara was also there, signing a small gift that Senior Colleague had bought for a young lady who had come in to work for us temporarily whilst somebody was on holiday. I knocked on the door, and listened for a response. I do not think that Senior Colleague heard me the first time, but I overheard Lara say that the "last guy that I was dating" worked in a bank. I knocked again, louder, and she heard, and invited me in.

"Lara's got a date!" Senior Colleague announced, playfully.

Lara had said to me a few minutes earlier, when we had talked before, that she had planned to meet "a mate" for dinner, that she was already late, that she had planned to go home and change first, but now simply planned to go and buy a new top, and return to work briefly to collect her things. She said a few times, "Why am I still here?", and went through her planning process aloud, mentioning in passing that she was likely to get drunk that evening. She had asked me whether I'd be there in half an hour (to which I replied that I probably wouldn't be), and then said to have a lovely week-end, and asked me whether I'd be in on Monday, to which I replied that I'd be in in the afternoon. She said that she'd see me then. In the event, she did not leave until a good few minutes later, having been distracted by Senior Colleague asking her to sign the book.

"Now, it's no holding hands until the second date, and no kissing until the third date - isn't that right, CoatMan?" Senior Colleague said with a mischievous grin. (I think that Senior Colleague might initially have said "Lara's got a second date", but my memory fails me on that one and I am not really sure).

She then turned to me and said, "It's not with you, is it?".

"No, that was Wednesday!", Lara replied, and grinned broadly in my direction. "I had two puddings!".

Senior Colleague replied playfully, "Ohh yes! I know what goes on around here, you know!", just as Lara disappeared down the corridor, still grinning.

I had previously showed Senior Colleague my holiday photographs from Brighton, which had included at the end the photographs of Lara sitting next to both of her puddings, uneaten, looking excited, and thereafter sitting next to two empty plates, sitting back and looking proud. She had at that time reacted with the sort of intrigue normally associated with the exchange of thrilling gossip, and said something about eating two puddings being "naughty", a word that she often uses in various contexts.

I signed the book, and left the room. Lara was standing at the end of the corridor.

"You're not still here, are you?"

"I'm waiting to go down in the lift with a friend", she replied. I wondered whether she was going to pull the same bringing friends along trick with her date yesterday as she had with me.

I then remembered that I had still not replied to the invitation to Romy's party on the 19th. Coincidentally, shortly afterwards, I had received an invitation to an old friend's thirtieth on the same day. I told Lara that I had been invited to another birthday that day, but was thinking of going to the other one first and then to Romy's, and said that I had checked and that the other one was in Clapham, which should not be too far away (I had mistakenly assumed that the party would be at their house).

Lara, whom Romy had asked when we were all together in the bar on Wednesday to help to organise the party, replied that the location had not yet been set, but that it "might well be" in Clapham. I asked her to let me know where it was when she had set the location, and she agreed. We bid each other a good week-end, I wished her a good evening, and I retired to my room.

So, it seems that she really did consider our outing on Wednesday a date (I am still not sure of the significance of inviting friends along), but also that she is seeing other people. That is, from what I understand of the protocol on such things, perfectly acceptable in itself, but I worry, as ever I do, that her other date will be more relaxed and experienced, more accomplished at flirtation, and the whole thing will move more swiftly than I am able to keep up with. Indeed, to put things in chronological perspective, around the time I first asked Lara out, she had gone speed-dating with Romy, the latter of whom at least was trying to meet somebody. By now, Romy had met somebody new entirely whom Lara had called her "boyfriend".

The speed with which other people seem to get things together sometimes amazes me. I never quite understand how people are able to negotiate the slow reciprocating dance of courtship and getting to know each other in a few short weeks, days, or, sometimes, it seems, even hours. It worries me, too, as there have been many occasions in the past in which I have been interested in someone who also appeared interested in me, for us to have made some tentative steps towards seeing each other, only to be entirely overtaken by somebody who seemed to go from stranger to boyfriend in less time than I would consider the normal separation distance between two dates in the early stages of things.

The most memorable occasion, about which I have 'blogged here before, when I first started this 'blog, is a young lady whom I had known in secondary school. We had studied A-levels together, and she flirted with me quite outrageously (and consistently) for years. I had not really been ready for any sort of relationship at the time, and was orders of magnitude more clueless then than now (and that is quite something), and consequently had no idea that she might genuinely be interested in me, rather than just being playful. We kept in touch through university, and I eventually realised that she was probably interested (she had had boyfriends on and off at university, but nothing particularly serious). I considered her to be quite a catch - not only was she a lovely person, fun and sweet at the same time, but we shared political views and she had expressed on one occasion, quite firmly, that she never wanted to have children. We had always got on very well, and I was really quite taken by her. I asked her out, and we walked around my university campus and we had dinner. That was the first date that I had ever had. During dinner, she had disclosed that she had a boyfriend, but that "it wasn't going very well" because "he thinks it's more serious than it is".

I was most disappointed when she mentioned that she was taken, and still being clueless, did not get the hint about him thinking that it was more serious than it is. I decided instead to wait until I saw her again (which would likely be soon; at the time, we attended regular get-togethers of former school-friends) and see whether she was single by then; if she was, I resolved, I should ask her out again and see where it went.

By the time that I next saw her, however, just over a month later, she had a new boyfriend, and seemed very happy indeed with him. They got married last year. A vaguely similar pattern has repeated itself on several occasions since, although, perhaps fortunately, never with quite the same poignancy.

So, time is probably of the essence. I cannot control how well that her dates with others go, but I can at least try to ensure that we spend time together. In that respect, working with her is a distinct advantage, as I will see her regularly in any event, and have a myriad opportunities to talk to her, flirt with her, ask her out. My disadvantage is that I have never really been an accomplished flirt, never really known the dividing line between excitingly and playfully risque and downright inappropriate, and always erred very heavily on the side of caution, being terrified of coming accross, even slightly, as the thoroughly cringe-worthy dirty old man type character who is rightly despised by any woman with a modicum of standards and is frequently on the receiving end of employment tribunal claims relating to sexual harassment. Added to that, I am doubly hampered by always being very anxious, not talking to women in general, nor even talking to attractive women in general, but whenever I think that I might possibly be getting somewhere with somebody whom I very much like; I become terrified of saying the wrong thing, and find it hard to be as spontaneous as I'd like. I often think of flirtatious comments that I could have made well after the time in question, which I did not think of at the time because I was concentrating too hard on trying to say the right thing and act appropriately. It's not something that I consciously choose to do - it's automatic.

In any event, it is plain that, whatever the position with the other date, the 24th of October is far too far into the future to be our next date. It might also be a bit chilly to fly a kite by then; I have been wondering whether I should write to her and say that I have been a bit daft, and, actually, it doesn't have to be a week-end, do you have any free week-days coming up; but, then, I think that a week-day would not be as good for the purposes, and that it might somehow ruin the lovely little moment when we set the date without her having the first idea what we are doing, and the wonderful anticipation that I hope goes with it.

Perhaps I could do something else on a week-day - ask her on Monday or another convenient day whether she is free that very afternoon, then take her to the Wallace & Gromit exhibition at the Science Museum (she having previously confessed to being a "big fan of" Wallace & Gromit, which I am, too; we seem to have almost exactly the same sense of humour), without telling her first where we're going.

If we do that, I'd have to plan ways of making risque yet appropriate comments, of flirting with her, even perhaps of touching her (should I offer to hold hands, perhaps? When does that become appropriate?). But would doing that - asking her out again next week - be too much, too soon? Would it come accross as a bit needy, a little overwhelming? One fug of ambiguity has been cleared to make way for quite another. She does like me and is interested - but how on earth to capitalise on that without going so slowly as to be overtaken by the competition, or trying to go too quickly, or acting inappropriately and putting her off? I wonder sometimes whether all this worry and anxiety is really worth it, but I know how often that I think, whenever I go on holiday, however much I enjoy it, how much better that it would be if it was shared with somebody special, how I have passed London attractions and thought how good that it would be there to go with a partner, and, right now, I cannot think of anyone better with whom to do those things than Lara. If any regular or passing readers can help with suggestions, I'd be a very appreciative 'blogger.

Game on - and off

...swimming in the fug of ambiguity

I SPENT much of this week in Brighton, having arranged an impromptu mini-break there when I realised that I had a case there on Wednesday morning - the day that I was due to meet Lara. I took a great many photographs of seagulls.

On Wednesday morning, she texted me:

"Hullo! Are we still on for drinks later? I'm off to Grantham this afternoon, so it may have to be a late evening thing if that's ok!?"

I replied at lunch' time, asking whether she thought that I'd really forgo the possibility of cake, and not to worry about being late as I'd been held over lunch' in Brighton and would also likely be late.

Later, she sent another message:

"Should be back at 6.45ish, all being well! See you in [work]."

In the event, I ran into her on the street just outside work. She took her iPod earpieces out and smiled, asking me if I'd ran to catch up with her, to which I replied that I had merely walked quickly. As we approached the entrance to work, I saw Lara's house-mate, whom I had met on one previous occasion, standing by the doorway.

"Romy's joining us for a drink - I hope you don't mind"

That was not quite what I had expected. The last time that that had happened, I had somebody out and she had taken her friends along with her (coincidentally, to the very same bar - and then recommended the place as a good location for a "hot date"), it transpired that she was not single. Back then, we all had a good evening, and I thought it a very sporting way of her to have handled the situation.

But yesterday, it rather threw me. Had Lara had a change of heart, either met someone else (later in the evening she referred to going to a museum in Bristol with an unidentified but singular "mate"; and there was still the matter of the "very tall" banker and Neal, any two or all three of whom might well be one and the same) or decided that I was friend material after all; or had I horribly misread the signs and had she never shown an interest in me as anything other than a friend from the start? Had she, in effect, planned something similar on the first occasion, when she wanted to take me to see her friend performing in a band?

We went upstairs into the office, which was by then empty. I had a short report to write. When I told Lara, she asked whether it could be done the next day, but when I told her who the client was, she seemed to understand. I had brought rock from Brighton for everyone; for everyone but Lara, I had put it in their pigeon-holes, but I had kept Lara's to give her in person. I had bought most people ordinary rock, either pink or rainbow coloured, but, knowing that Lara is a "big, big fan" (to use her words) of football, I bought her a rock with the name and colour of the football team that she supported in it (I had had to text D from Brighton pier to enquire as to the correct team).

When Lara went to check her pigeon-hole, she asked,

"Everyone's got rock! Where's my rock?"

I fetched her rock and told her that I was planning to give it to her in person. She said to Romy,

"Aww, he was going to give it to me personally," and then, when she saw what I had bought her, said with delight, "You got me football rock! I'm special!".

After I had finished the report, we left and headed for the bar. I noticed that she did not change into more casual shoes as she usually does when she gets back from court, but stayed in her rather smart heels. Because we were later than I had originally anticipated, and the bar is very small, it was crowded when we arrived. We were able to find seats, but only just - and not in an ideal location. I offered to buy the first drink in any event, to warm up for The Challenge. Lara and Romy ordered cocktails, and I (being a non-drinker) ordered an orange juice.

I proceeded as planned with the challenge, adding a little theatre, asking her, Who Wants to be a Millionaire style whether the quote on which she eventually alighted (having steadfastly refused to give her any clues) was her final answer, produced an envelope from my pocket with a piece of paper containing the correct answer, said that, once the envelope was opened, she would not be able to change her mind, confirmed the answer, and opened it. Lara got the answer wrong. It transpired that the correct answer was something on which her mother, to whom she had sent the quotations, had alighted early on, and was sure was the right one. (Incidentally, Lara revealed that, as a result of The Challenge, she herself had started a diary of quotes on her iPhone, and at one point during the evening, added to it something amusing that Romy had said).

As planned, I then offered her double or quits. We would go to dinner. If, I said, she were able to eat two puddings in addition to the main course, I would buy her dinner, too - but if she failed, she would have to bake me two cakes.

"I can't eat two puddings - I'll be sick!" she said.

But then she thought about it a little more, asked whether a fruit salad might count, then accepted. By this time (although I forget now the exact sequence of events), she had also invited another friend of hers, Darren (who was also with us when we went out with a group on the last occasion, and who will also shortly be joining our place of work), who had come along. Everyone had a second round of drinks - the same cocktails as before (whilst I had graduated to mineral water). I spent much of the time showing the group my holiday photographs from Brighton (which afforded only limited opportunity for banter), although there was a considerable time during which Romy was talking to Darren and I was showing Lara the photographs.

I was trying carefully to keep a lookout for any signs of flirtation or interest from Lara. I was thrown somewhat by the unexpected additions to our soiree, however, and could not help but be rather anxious about whether I had read the whole situation correctly, and what was appropriate to do in the circumstances. That, and because it had been a somewhat long day, I was not entirely on top form either for noticing signals from Lara or giving any myself.

There was no unusually prolonged eye-contact; she touched me once, if I recall correctly, when I nearly dropped my camera - a sort of reassuring pat on the arm. The bar was cramped and crowded; I was sitting opposite her, and on several occasions genuinely accidentally brushed my hand into her knee (she was wearing an above the knee skirt, so I'd have brushed her actual leg). I apologised each time, but she didn't seem to pay much attention either way.

At one point - I do not now recall exactly when, but sometime when we were in the bar - she referred to me as "adorable" (which is frustratingly ambiguous as to whether it discloses attraction), but also said a number of times that I was "mad" when I told her that I do not own a pair of jeans, and prefer to holiday in a three piece suit (and was not dissuaded from her conclusion when I told her that I was considering purchasing a linen or brown suit, and seemed astonished that anybody could go around without owning a pair of jeans or a t-shirt). She said it in a somewhat playful way, and I pointed out, again playfully, that this was rather rich coming from somebody who is afraid of big fish and is determined to swim the channel (I had not connected the two at the time, but, on reflection, there does seem to be a potential contradiction there, too). Despite the somewhat playful tone, however, I got the vague impression that there was some undertone of really thinking that a dislike for wearing casual clothes was really quite mad. The extent to which she considers this unattractive is not, however, clear.

After a while, Romy, who had been complaining of being tired since we first met in the office, said that she ought go and have an early night. At around the same time, Darren said that he had another engagement (which turned out to be a date of his own - something that seemed to make Lara quite excited, in the sort of way that one becomes excited when sharing a particularly juicy piece of gossip). Thus, Lara and I were to go to dinner, whilst Darren and Romy went their separate ways.

As we left the bar, it was raining. Lara had her own umbrella this time, but Romy did not. On the way to the bar, I had sheltered Romy under my umbrella, and Lara had carried her own. I offered to take Romy under the umbrella to the nearest 'bus shelter, but she was quite insistent that the rain was not that hard, and in the event, went on her own.

Lara and I were then left alone, in search of a restaurant. I had already worked out a suitable place, and produced from my bag a Google map that I had printed earlier. Lara asked what the restaurant was, and I told her that it would be a surprise, but that I was sure that she'd like it. She said, in an excited voice,

"Ohh, how exciting!".

We walked to the restaurant. By this time, I was really quite tired and still somewhat anxious about the situation. We made conversation as we went, and I made her laugh a number of times, but I was not as witty and spontaneous as I'd have liked to have been. The conversation was easy, but there was not quite the same sustained hilarity as there had been on previous occasions. On the way, we talked of the annual sketch/song comedy show in which she regularly performs (and which is directed by R). We talked about a particular subject that might make a good sketch; she suggested that I write one on that subject; I suggested that we could write it together, which she thought was a very good idea.

We arrived at the restaurant fairly late, after Lara had taken over navigation part-way by inputting the post code on the map into her iPhone and cunningly using its GPS navigation to find the location. When we arrived, and were handed the menu, Lara's face lit up.

"It's a vegetarian restaurant!" she exclaimed with glee.

She had complained before that, being a vegetarian, she was often restricted to only one or two dishes on the menu, and was visibly excited at the thought of being able to order absolutely anything on the menu that she wanted. Despite having accepted the challenge of eating two puddings, she ordered a starter consisting mainly of cheese (her favourite type of food), and was quite insistent that I tried a bit, which I did, and found surprisingly tasty, and then had a full main course.

By the time that we had reached the restaurant, I was quite tired, and I always find that being anxious about how to deal with this sort of situation adversely affects my ability to eat (indeed, I have noticeably lost weight since I first met Lara for that reason), and also tends to make me default to whatever conversation is least likely to be socially inappropriate, which, I suspect, makes me come accross as formal and reserved (a pattern which Lara seems to have spotted to some extent already when she called me a "slow loris" a short while ago). It is rather hard to be spontaneous and witty when one is tired and anxious about being in an uncertain situation. I was only able to eat about half the main course, and half the pudding that I ordered, and Lara seemed a little disappointed that I had not eaten more.

Again, I looked carefully for signs of flirtation, but found precious few. She did not lean inwards (except when looking at the photographs on the small camera screen), did not touch me or maintain prolonged eye contact or do any of the other things that I remembered at the time to be important signals of attraction. She did not even that night ask a great many questions about me (she had in the past asked a fair few), although she did volunteer a fair bit of information about herself: perhaps rather more than one would expect in a more formal situation (such as the number of bones that she has broken in the past, the fact that she has to read or watch DVD every night before she goes to sleep, and other such things). Nonetheless, the conversation was pleasant and, aside from a few lapses where not a great deal was said, congenial and free-flowing. At one point, we were discussing Eddie Izzard (a comedian of whose comedy we are both very fond, and the well known parts of whose shows we can both quote at some length, and did during the dinner), and she offered to lend me her numerous Eddie Izzard DVDs, which offer I gladly accepted. Nonetheless, not seeing any signs of flirtation from Lara, I felt inhibited from instigating any myself.

She mentioned several times in passing her most recent boyfriend, Steve, saying that, when they had first started going out (in around January or February of this year), he had taken her to Brighton, and they had ridden on some of the rides on the pier of which I had taken photographs. She mentioned later, when discussing vegetarian food, that he had initially seemed to enjoy vegetarian food, but had, as matters progressed, fairly quickly reverted to eating a great deal of meat (exactly what one should take from that is unclear - she did not seem to expect him to become entirely vegetarian for her (and she knows that I eat meat), although she did seem to prefer that he like vegetarian food in itself).

When it came time for pudding, she browsed the menu carefully, and seemed keen to pick something that would let her win the challenge. She had described herself as very competitive and stubborn, and seemed quite determined, now she had accepted my challenge, to win it. I cannot now remember whether fruit salad was on the menu, but she eventually alighted on creme caramel, and said that she thought that she could eat two of those. She initially ordered only one, saying that she would order the other afterwards, but the restaurant seemed to be closing down (we were the only people there by this point, and the waiter had mentioned that the kitchen was closing), so I said that she would need to order the two.

"I can't order two!" she said.

I reminded her playfully of the consequences of the challenge, then she called after the waiter, with slight trepidation, "I'll have two, please!".

After a short while, the waiter arrived with our puddings, and placed the two creme caramels in front of Lara, and my fruit crumble in front of me. I took a photograph of Lara sitting next to the two puddings looking excited before we started. She tucked in, determined to win the challenge, and seemed to enjoy the puddings in themselves, remarking that creme caramel is second only to creme brulee as her favourite pudding. At one and a half puddings, she seemed to struggle a little and remarked at one point that she might start to feel sick when she got home, but pressed on regardless, quite determined. A short while later, she finished both, and posed with a proud expression on her face in front of the empty plates whilst I took a second photograph. I had still not finished my single crumble by this stage.

She remarked, at least partly jokingly, that it was a "mad" challenge, and, when I told her how impressed that I was that she had completed it, said that it was likewise a "mad" thing by which to be impressed. When the bill was presented, Lara took the receipt and looked at it, and, initially, insisted that she should contribute towards it, despite having won the Pudding Challenge. Nonetheless, I was resolute that the rules were the rules and that she had won fair and square and that I should pay. I did not heed her protestations that she had had the pleasure of eating two puddings and therefore should contribute something.

She then gave in, but referred to a Sri Lankan restaurant which had been discussed earlier in the conversation, and said that we would have to go there sometime, and that it would be "[her] treat". Indeed, that was not the only time that she had mentioned a suggestion of us doing other things together - she had mentioned at one stage coming back to that same restaurant (as she was very keen to try other items on the menu), although she had also mentioned the idea of going to that restaurant really very often indeed, with lots of different friends, and I think that she had mentioned something else at one stage (probably another restaurant) that she was suggesting that we visit, although the details escape me now, and, given what had occurred earlier in the evening, it was never quite clear to me whether these suggested trips would be just her and I, or whether it would involve a large group of friends.

We walked back to the Underground station together. I had initially offered to walk her to her door, a suggestion which she seemed to find somewhat incomprehensible (her initial reaction being that, of course she would not be walking all the way home, but she would take the Tube). She said not to be daft, that it was a route that she took regularly, and that the Underground station was only a two minute walk from where she lived. She then said that she would text me when she got in, and that I should do the same, and that we could walk to the Underground together, as we would go from the same station.

We walked to the station (there may, but I now do not recall exactly, have been a further suggestion from Lara about some future restaurant or other venue to which we could go), and we briefly discussed my route (somewhat more tortuous than hers): I had to change lines at some point, and I chose a route that meant that I could ride the Tube with her one stop and change for my train there, a suggestion which she seemed to find most agreeable. We talked on the platform and on the train - she remarked that she felt no ill effects of eating two puddings, and was feeling "remarkably chipper".

Thus, our parting of the evening was sitting opposite each other in a late night Tube carriage. There was obviously not going to be any romantic kiss - her lack of overt flirtation had made me reluctant to attempt, and the unsuitable surroundings sealed the matter. As my stop approached, Lara stood up and went to embrace me - the same twin cheek air kiss that she had used now twice before. (I cannot now recall whether she had done the same to Darren when he had parted our company, but I have a vague suspicion that she did not).

We parted ways, and I headed to my mainline station to catch the train. Much to my consternation, however, just as I was ascending the escalator into the main station concourse, the last train for an hour was pulling out of the station. It was by now half past midnight, and I had a telephone hearing in work at ten to-day. The thought of not arriving home until well gone two in the morning did not appeal. Knowing that I had with me my overnight bag from Brighton, I searched for a suitable nearby local hotel that had a room.

Whilst I was looking for an hotel, Lara sent me a text message:

"Am home! Thanks so much for a lovely evening!"

I considered taking her up on the offer that she had made when we had gone out before, to put me up on her air bed if I had missed my last train. I was still wondering whether or not I should do so when I sent my reply:

"Et tu aussi - merci pour un soir excellent! Incidentally, missed the train by a minute..."

I then found an hotel that charged a sensible amount for a night's stay, called my mother to explain why I should not be home, and checked in. I then realised that I had promised to text Lara when I got home, so sent her a message explaining that I'd arrived in the hotel, and why I was staying there. She replied:

"Oh no! Did you miss the last train? That's a nightmare! You should have called. You could have stayed here. I suppose you're just prolonging your holiday really though! Sleep tight!".

I replied saying that I had considered calling her, and that it was very sweet of her to suggest it, but that I had decided against it because I did not want to impose.

In the end, I did not sleep well - the bed was uncomfortable, and I often find that when I go to bed very late, it is very difficult for me to sleep because the adrenaline needed to keep me awake for that long then inhibits sleep. I arrived in work this morning very tired, although was at least able to conduct the telephone hearing competently.

Whilst I was on the telephone, Lara arrived. As she always does, she came and spoke to me; we spoke about her case, and also about the previous evening. She seemed friendly as ever, and laughed when I called her the "queen of puddings". I had noticed that she had updated her Facebook status the previous evening to say, "Lara just ate two puddings", which had attracted a number of comments, which I "liked", then added a comment of my own, "I remain impressed, oh queen of puddings!". (I calculate that she must have updated her status whilst I visited the lavatory just after we finished dinner). I asked her how she was feeling after eating two puddings the previous evening - she joked that she felt fat, and that, despite having had breakfast, she was hungry again, and that she must have stretched her stomach. She said that she was "doomed to be forever hungry", to which I suggested that a further two puddings would see to that, to which she laughed.

She asked whether I was in court this afternoon, to which I replied in the negative - I then asked whether she was coming into the office again this afternoon, to which she replied in the negative, but said that she would be in to-morrow, and she expected that she'd see me then. Again, being tired, and the time being limited (she left shortly after that), there was not much opportunity for banter.

So, now I am again swimming in the treacle fug of perpetual ambiguity. She does not appear to flirt (although I have not done enough of that either), and the body-language clues are not entirely favourable, she invites her friends on what one would imagine would be fairly obviously intended to be a date, but she repeatedly suggests future activities to do together (and enthusiastically agrees to my suggestion of writing a sketch together), sends a text message saying that she had a "lovely" evening, took me up on my pudding challenge (and won), and seems as keen as ever to find out when she'll next run into me in work.

My plan at this stage is this: I will try to step up the banter a little if I can. I will also ask her out again. The plan is to buy her a kite and take her to Hampsted Heath to fly it one week-end (she previously mentioned that she is very fond of flying kits, and used to have one until her sister broke it). To make matters more entertaining, I plan simply to ask her when she is next free in the week-end day time, and tell her to meet me on a particular platform of a particular Underground station at a particular time, to wear sensible shoes, and that there'll be a Plan B if it rains. I'll then invite her to guess what the outing might be, and, if she guesses correctly (I will give two clues in the form of yes/no answers only), I will bake her a cake and deliver it to her personally; if she does not guess correctly, she won't find out until we get there. That is a slightly bold plan, I think, and not entirely without its risks, but Lara has always reacted positively to that sort of teasing and mystery in the past, so I think that it's worth a shot. I was planning to ask her when I see her to-morrow, and I'll keep people updated on how that goes down. In the meantime, if anyone can shed any light on the soup of confusion, I'd be one very grateful 'blogger, and likewise if anyone has any ideas about whether my plan for our next expedition is sane or not.

If I could save time in a bottle

...there never seems to be enough time to do the things that you want to do

SHE SENT me a text message just after three:

"I'm so incredibly sorry but I'm not going to be able to make it tonight - my nan has gone into hospital, so going to travel down with my sister to see her. Can you do any night next week?"

I replied,

"Goodness, I'm very sorry to hear that - I hope that it's nothing too serious. Very best wishes to her. How is next Thursday for you?"

"She's had a stroke, but not sure how serious yet. Thursday is perfect! Sorry!"

And, then, a few seconds later,

"Ouch, I lie! Thursday is actually the only day I can't do!"

I replied,

"Ohh, goodness. Again, very best wishes to her. Wednesday?"

"Yes, Wednesday it is!"

"I shall look forward to it! In the circumstnaces, your muffin interest will be commuted for this week. Very best wishes for her... see you soon. x".

There never is an opportune time for one's relatives to be taken ill, but the timing in this case is particularly unfortunate. I was most looking forward to our evening - Lara really is very pleasant company indeed. The proverbial silver lining to all this, however, is that I get the distinct impression from her texts that she is no less disappointed about having to cancel our evening, and no less keen to arrange a substitute time soon, than I am.

I hope that it wasn't too serious - I know a fellow in his eighties who recently had a stroke (and a heart attack), and still spends hours a day in his workshop at home (on one occasion whilst doing some filing, accidentally triggering the emergency alarm button hanging around his neck, and finding some time later paramedics shouting to him from his back garden, shortly followed by the police (telling him that they had just called off the fire brigade), and at least two sets of neighbours who had been telephoned by his children who lived at the other end of the country). I am rather fond of my only remaining grandmother (and not just because she bakes excellent cakes) and would hate for anything like that to happen to her. I shall have to text Lara to-morrow afternoon to find out how her grandmother is, I think.

Challenging times

...temporal anomalies and improving fortunes

I RAN into her in work on Friday - I was worried about how I should talk to her, whether being too friendly might make her uncomfortable if, unaccountably, she had lost interest in the interim; but she seemed as friendly and happy to talk to me as she ever had done before. We spoke for some time, and I showed her the joys of Muffin Films on her laptop.

I cannot quite remember how, but we got to talking about what animals that she thought that people were most like. One colleague she called a warthog (intelligent and determined but disorganised and messy), another an ostrich (tall and elegant), and another a bulldog. I asked her what sort of animal that I resembled. She thought that that was a difficult question, and thought about it for a while.

"A cat?" I suggested, being fond of cats.

"No, you're far too personable to be a cat", she replied immediately, and thought about the question some more.

"I think that you'd be some sort of tree-dwelling creature," she said thoughtfully. "A slow loris. You'd be a slow loris".

"What's a slow loris?" I asked, quizzically.

She showed me this video: When asked how I resembled a slow loris, she said that a slow loris was,

"Reserved at first, but very sweet when you get to know it".

Her house-mate, with whom she is very close ("If we don't call each other at least three times a day, we'll explode!", she quipped) called during the muffin film watching. I remember her telling her that she was meeting an old friend with whom she used to work for dinner. She said a number of times "No, nothing exciting", and at one point "He's quite boring, actually", and then, shortly afterwards, "No, that's Neal. This is John", or something similar, referring to her dinner partner for the evening.

After the muffins were over, I decided to take the advice of those who responded to my previous post (whose replies I was reading just as she arrived) and be direct.

"Our challenge - will I be winning by default, then?" I teased.

"No!" She seemed determined and a little playful.

"Well, if we don't do it by the end of August..."

"We're doing it on Tuesday, aren't we?"

"Are we?" I was confused. "I thought that you'd wobbled...?"

"No, I wobbled before that, then you sent another message... I thought I replied?"

"No..."

She checked her iPhone and realised that she hadn't replied. She seemed a little embarrassed. Tuesday - to-morrow - was the date that I had suggested.

"Oh, well, we can go on Tuesday".

She said that she had arranged to go and watch a friend who is in some sort of band play that evening, and asked me if I'd like to come with her. I asked what time that it was on, and we talked about when we'd have time to eat, and I agreed that I'd come. After we'd been talking for at least an hour or so, she had to leave to meet her friends for dinner, for which, she said, she was already running late.

I saw her again to-day. She really is quite an interesting character. She said that it was her ambition to swim the channel by the time that she was 30, having somewhat randomly come up with the suggestion when drunk and later reflected that it was not such a bad idea after all (she used to be quite serious about sport when in university and school, and won some sort of medal on one occasion for swimming fifteen miles, so is not entirely unaccustomed to athletic feats). When asked in which direction she would swim, she eventually resolved that it would be from England to France, so that she could look forward to eating large quantities of bread and cheese when she arrived - she said that she was a big fan of cheese.

At one point she mentioned that she was going to another friend's wedding over the week-end (having been to one only a few weeks ago). I quipped that she seemed to have lots of friends who were getting married, to which she replied, in jest,

"Yes, the bastards!"

As I was leaving, I stopped in to say good-bye to her. I said that I'd see her to-morrow, to which she replied,

"Yes you will!" with pronounced enthusiasm and a degree of playfulness.

Despite worrying, as always, that I'll do something wrong, I'm rather looking forward to to-morrow.

Wobbling, wavering and worrying

...when courtship is not so fun

BY TUESDAY evening, I had still had no response. I started to worry - had I said something wrong? Had she lost interest? The fun of the previous day's exchange of banter was replaced by growing anxiety that, yet again, things were slipping away before things had got anywhere. Perhaps it's because I have had so little luck in the past, because my circumstances mean that the opportunities for meeting new people are very limited, this all matters rather more to me than it might to somebody who has the confidence of having successful relationships in the past to know that it's likely to happen again in the future, sooner or later.

When I meet someone whom I like who appears to be interested (which is rare), I get a tantalising glimpse of the sort of happiness that one can get from being with somebody special, and reminded how drab that my ordinary existence seems by comparison, only partly anaesthetised by intricate hobbies (computer programming being the latest) with which I otherwise fill my spare time. I'd love to be able not to care, to think, "if it happens, it happens; if it doesn't, it doesn't" and carry on as if practically nothing had changed, but my mind, keen to embrace any opportunity for a more pleasant existence, and not let it slip away at almost any cost, is not willing.

I didn't sleep well and mis-set my alarm clock, waking late and having to forgo breakfast. I arrived at court on time by some miracle of transportational happenstance. I had a long wait for the case to be called on, which did not help matters. Only when I was actually working was I able to put the matter entirely out of mind. It was not a happy experience.

When I returned to the office, she wasn't there. We're all self-employed, so attendance isn't compulsory, and only a fraction of the people who work there are usually present at any one time. I checked my personal e-mail - which I do not normally do at work: no response. I set about my work as best I could.

Shortly before I was going to leave, my telephone alerted me that I had a text message. It was Lara.

"Hullo! Do you know the web address [for remote access]? Just using a different laptop and can't remember it! []L[]"

She was after information - no response to the suggestion of a date and time, but she seemed friendly at least, and had chosen to ask me rather than anyone else. I replied,

"Yes, I do,"

attempting to maintain the banter.

"Could you please send it to me? (I suspected you'd do something like that!) []L[]"

"Did you, now? It's [address]. Incidentally, what are those two characters around your initial, added by your fancy iPhone that appear to my humble mobile to be boxes?"

"Thank you! It's a tag- I've done it ever since I got my first phone, and carry it on now! It started as a little sunshine on a nokia and is now a little ball on the iPhone. Odd, I know. []L[]"

At least I know what those boxes are supposed to be now. Wanting to prod the banter a little further, I replied,

"Odd indeed! Does it work, incidentally? If so, do I get to be your hero for the day?"

The "hero for the day" reference was not a spontaneous invention - it is a phrase that she often uses to describe somebody who has done something that she particularly liked that day. She appears to maintain it almost as an institution, meticulously assigning no more than one hero to each day (although that might be more appearance than reality). She replied,

"You are indeed the hero if my day! []L[]"

And a few seconds later,

"'of' even! Damn autocorrect! []L[]"

I replied,

"Glad to hear it! Have a good evening..."

I didn't expect a further reply to that, and, indeed, didn't get one. However, later in the evening, she sent me an e-mail with all the quotes that I had sent her for The Challenge. She wrote,

"I forwarded these to my mum- she was most amused!

X"

I responded,

"Then your mother evidently has a fine sense of humour! I have some new entries, too. I'll show them to you when we do The Challenge - if there's ever a mutually free evening! Glad to have amused,

[CoatMan] x

PS: See you in [work] to-morrow?"

To date, I have had no further response. She wasn't in work to-day, either. She updated her Facebook profile in the middle of the day with pictures of her and her housemate going out, so she can't have been bogged down with work or social plans. I had suggested a specific date on Monday, and it's now nearly Friday.

I worry that she's wavering. I worry that either I've said something wrong (perhaps the "see you in work to-morrow?" was too much? Perhaps writing that I wanted to spend more time with her than a few quick drinks before she had dinner with her friends was too intense?), or that she's having second thoughts about whether I'm that interesting after all (she knew that I lived with my parents still, at the age of 29, right back at the garden party, but did not seem to be dissuaded by that then; perhaps she has reconsidered), or whether she's met somebody else, far more experienced, more financially independent. It's odd that she seemed so keen to go out when I first asked her but is now avoiding fixing any definite date.

Coincidentally, perhaps, trying to arrange to go out with all sorts of friends this past week has met with little success in fixing final times. I sent a Facebook message some weeks ago to two old school friends suggesting that it had been a long time since we had last met for what we quaintly call "Dinner Club"; a week or so later, I heard back from one and set a provisional date - he contacted the other, but he has yet to reply. I contacted D (who, incidentally, looks likely to come and join the place where I work) and suggested that we have lunch' one day: he didn't get back to me for a few days, then suggested two days that I couldn't do - I am still waiting to hear back from my latest suggestion, although his Facebook status tells me that he and R are attending some concert in the North, which might explain his lack of response. A friend from Australia is currently in the country with her new boyfriend (about whom she has told me at great length, such that I am intrigued to know what he's like) - I sent her a message suggesting that we meet sometime while she's in London, and she could introduce me to the new fellow; she replied that she was thinking the same, and suggested some dates that I couldn't do, and still hasn't replied to my alternative suggestions. Another old school friend whom I sometimes meet for dinner hasn't replied at all, although might be on holiday.

I'd like to think that Lara's non-response is like the others, that it's all an ordinary part of social diarising, but I have a suspicion that there's something more than that. She's communicated with me since without mentioning the point. She's not been on holiday or Up North in the meantime. There's a certain sense of deja vu with so many of the others who slipped out of my clutches rather mysteriously at the early stages of things, not least Disappearing Girl, whom I had come into contact with through this very 'blog, and seemed most keen when I suggested meeting her in person (saying that she would get back to me with the dates that she could do) then promptly vanished. I was anxious and worried about Disappearing Girl, too, but I'd never actually met her in person - she was less real than Lara, less immediate. She was always a remoter prospect.

I'm also reminded pointedly of the handicap of living with the parents in the suburbs. My mother is an excellent cook, but that is only partial compensation for the tortuous commutes and the relative lack of privacy and solace. I had resigned myself to a scant and meagre social life owing to the unpleasantness of travelling so far to get home after a late evening. After a rather poor twelve months owing to various matters to dull to recite here, my income is picking up. I have resolved to monitor it over the next few months and see whether I can afford to rent somewhere in London. Some friends have recommended a good place to rent if I can afford it. I'd hate to be living with my parents at the age of thirty, which age I will reach next year. Perhaps if I can't fix the "celibacy" any time soon, then I can at least get out of the suburbs.

And, as a postscript, just as I was writing the closing paragraph, one of the school friends of Dinner Club wrote back, apologising for being busy, and suggesting some dates in September. Perhaps not significant, but he's suggested dates faster than Lara.

Playing the game

...the fun of flirtation

THEY say that all is fair in love and war - only war has the Geneva Convention. They call men who only want One Thing (and with as many people as possible, preferably more or less simultaneously) but pretend to want more in order to get said One Thing "players", and call them on their "games". They say that women who follow The Rules are insincere and manipulative because they play games.

But they, whoever "they" are, are missing something. Far from being, necessarily, something that only sly, manipulative romantic ne'er-do-wells engage in, I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that courtship is all about playing games, and that there is nothing wrong with that at all - provided that one plays the right type of game; the type of game that is a game properly so called, intended to be fun for all participants in which the taking part is rather more the point than winning.

Good courtship is like a family game of Monopoly around the table at Christmas time or a group of friends playing pool in a bar - there may be overt competition, but everyone has fun whether they win or lose. With the possible exception of the gold digger or the One Thing brigade (both of whom, I suspect, are missing out on companionship and real affection in the long-term, and are rather less cunningly hedonistic yet immoral than sad and lonely characters with a misapprehension about what will make them happy), there is nothing to gain in the long term by getting one over on a potential mate. If two people want different and incompatible things out of life, neither of them are better off with the other. So followers of The Rules and, what appears to be, broadly speaking, the trendy but controversial male equivalent, the various methods propounded by Seduction Community, as with the straight-laced brigade, are rather missing a trick.

Proper, friendly, on-the-same-page game playing can, from what I must confess is my somewhat limited, but happily, expanding, experience of it, be rather fun indeed. I rather suspect that the intelligent, secure types (who, I have found, usually quite irrespective of their level of visual attractiveness, tend to find other intelligent, secure types and have happy and long-lasting relationships with them) use it as a way of ferreting out other intelligent, secure types: those who have a good sense of fun and of humour, those who can tease without being cruel, those who are attentive enough to remember and follow through the accumulating series of in-jokes and creative and intelligent enough to put them to good effect. That, and it's jolly good fun.

As the above prelude might implicitly foretell, Lara is back in town. Her Facebook status told me that she had returned on Sunday. I was in a distant Northern Town for work on Monday, but, forgoing my usual reticence to contact people early for fear of coming accross as too keen or just plain bothering them, sent her the following message at lunch' time:

"Welcome back! Hope that you had an excellent holiday. Are you free this Wednesday evening?"

I wondered for hours after I sent it whether I was right in contacting her so soon after her return, and so bluntly to try to fix a date. I wondered whether I should have been better off waiting a day or two more, or waiting to see whether I'd bump into her at work, or there was some other pretext to talk to her. Several hours went passed, and I still had not heard from her. However, by early evening, I had a reply:

"Thank you! It was an interesting week! I'm afraid I'm not free on Wednesday, but may be on thursday? []L[]"

I am not sure what the boxes were supposed to have been - perhaps special characters that her iPhone put in that my rather more basic mobile telephone did not detect. In any event, I replied by e-mail thus,

"An interesting week? I hope that you managed to avoid any bubble bath/jacuzzi incidents this time. I shall look forward to being regaled with all your holiday tales! Thursday should be fine - shall we say five-thirty outside [Interesting Bar]? See you then if not before,

[CoatMan] x

PS: I know of some good websites with cake recipes, if you're stuck for ideas..."

Shortly afterwards, I had this reply:

"Oooh the cheek! It appears that once again I have been stupid with my diary. Going to blame it on the post-holiday stress!

I don't think I'm going to be free this week at all, unless we just go for a few before i have to dash off for dinner on Wednesday?

Sorry to keep wobbling!

[Lara] x"

Not thinking that half an evening in a hurry would make much of a useful night out, I replied (quite late in the evening, as I had work that I had to do),

"My dear Miss [Lara's surname], you are indeed the Queen of Wobble (as well as the Queen of Bubble)! Now, I think that you're just trying to delay the inevitable of having to bake a cake. I shall have to start charging interest in muffins (at the rate of one muffin as at the date of this e-mail and continuing at a daily rate of one twenty-first of a muffin until The Challenge or sooner baking).

And, really, a quick few before you pop off to dinner will never do - I intend to gloat about your having to bake a cake enjoy the pleasure of your company for a little longer than that! I can do Tuesday the 25th - is that good for you? (And you are allowed to 'phone a friend before answering that one - indeed, I positively recommend it).

See you soon, I hope,

[CoatMan] x"

I enjoy playing the game, but still worry. I worry that I haven't heard from her since yesterday, that we don't seem to be able to find a mutually convenient time; based on her behaviour so far, I don't think that she is playing the wrong sort of game with me, that she really does have a crammed social calendar (she certainly seems the sort), that her lack of reply to-day so far is because she has been busy during the day and evening (as she had said in any even that she would not be free this week), and that she still seems keen. But I worry still that I may do something wrong, or already have done something wrong; that there might have been something adrift in my last e-mail, or that commenting on one of her Facebook photographs of her on holiday (she seemed to have ended up at one point in some sort of foam party, so I made some comment about the bubblebath in the jacuzzi incident that she retold so hilariously when we were out with friends) was somehow inappropriate. (I must confess, I could not resist looking at all her holiday photographs, including the ones of her in somewhat revealing attire).

So far, Lara seems to be good at playing all the right sorts of games. I hope that I'm making a good job of playing back. Time, perhaps, will tell whether we reach the end-game or not, but I am at least somewhat relieved that we both seem to be on the same page with the rules.

Intermission

...patience is a virtue

ALL IS quiet on the Western front - Lara is now on holiday for a week, so there'll be nothing to report until she returns. In the meantime, sit back and enjoy one of the most talented and by far the most camp pianist on Youtube play "Chopsticks" in his own inimitable style...

Somewhere a hill, blossoms in green and gold

And there are dreams all that your heart can hold

I HAVE just had the following e-mail exchange with Lara:

3rd of August at 2147h
From: Lara
To: Coatman
Subject: Re: The quotes

"Wow!

That's a huge list! And to be honest, I think it's a bit unfair! I thought it would be a list of 4 or 5, not a million!

I have realised my error in saying I'm free this week- I totally forgot that I'm off on holiday on Friday, and have a friend from law school coming over from Malaysia one day and then another going off to Canada on Thursday! Can we postpone till after holiday? Might give me a fighting chance to read all the quotes!

X

Sent from my iPhone"

3rd of August at 2350h
From: CoatMan
To: Lara
Subject: This message will self-destruct

"You didn't think that I was going to make it easy, did you? I am rather fond of cake, as it happens. Although, really, it's not that hard if you exclude all the quotes that say 'sign in café window' or 'woman to man on train' or similar.

We can indeed postpone The Challenge until after your vacances Français, although the cake deadline of the end of August will still stand. Besides, it'll give me time to dream up an even more devilish challenge should you lose and want to play double or quits.

I'm sure that I shall see you in [work] some time before you jet off on your glamorous camping adventure, but, in case I don't, bon voyage and have an excellent week;

[CoatMan]
x

PS: I'm particularly partial to a bit of fruit cake."

I think that she's sincere, especially as she seems reasonably specific about doing it when she gets back, and I know that she does tend to be rather busy socially. But, after the last incident in which somebody who seemed keen and interested entirely evaporated the moment that it came time to set a precise time and place, I worry. What if whatever inexplicably put off Miss Disappearance has given Lara second thoughts? Any clues for the clueless would be greatly appreciated, especially on the whole protocol (if any) with the "X"es - I don't normally sign anything with "x" except when I send flowers to my grandmother, but thought it appropriate to reciprocate. Was that correct?

Dusting off the cobwebs

Dusting off the cobwebs

...a new lease of life?

IT MAY not escape attention that I have not updated this 'blog for rather a long time. Largely since the last update, I had got to thinking that, whilst I was still living at home with the parents in Outer Suburbia and spending hours every day commuting in and out of London, nothing very much romantic was likely to happen - living with the parents at the age of twenty-nine is, I should imagine, a real turn-off for prospective mates, and the opportunities for meeting women when one has to commute for hours a day, and cannot stay out too late, are somewhat limited.

Aside from an occasional exchange of e-mails on That dating website (none of which lead anywhere), and occasionally being flirted at by smokers or people who were already spoken for and other such unsuitables, very little has happened since my last post over a year and a half ago now. The last Interesting Thing to happen was actually around the time that I stopped posting - I had meant to document it but never got around to it and decided to focus on work and hobbies instead: I ended up exchanging regular e-mails with one of the people who had recently started commenting on my posts on this 'blog (she was also a user of the Dating Website and had directed me to her profile); it all seemed to be going rather well - I asked her out (to Tea at Liberty, if I recall correctly) and she seemed enthusiastic (but had to "check [her] rota" at work), but then disappeared. Completely.

Twenty-one months on - I am still single, still living in the suburbs. Moved jobs (within the same profession), and, at last, some good progress is being made professionally - not enough yet to move into the sixteenth most expensive city in the world, but moving in the right direction.

Then, out of the blue, I meet somebody attractive, interesting, available, apparently interested in me, and, almost miraculously, with no deal-breakers. There is, however, a complication: Lara, as I shall call her, and I work together. Not together in the sense of having to interact directly to do the job, but it is a small organisation and we occupy adjacent rooms.

Ironically, some good friends, D and R, met in exactly the same way, even more ironically, at about the time that I stopped writing this 'blog, and are now living together in romantic bliss (although, R has since moved to a different workplace). More ironically still, they are good friends of Lara's too; indeed, the first thing that Lara said to me when we met was, "You're [CoatMan], aren't you? You're a friend of [R]...".

I shall skip the usual blow-by-blow account of every potentially flirtatious gesture and arguable sign of interest (recounted with the hope of feedback on whether I have correctly interpreted the signals or not), because I think that there is little doubt of interest in this case, and present instead the edited highlights: the suggesting we link arms as I sheltered her under my umbrella as we departed from a garden party in a particularly ferocious downpour (only our second occasion of meeting); the inviting me out for drinks with her and her friends on successive occasions (and expressing great enthusiasm when I later agreed to join them also for dinner); and remarks and questions too numerous to record. She knows - and did since just before the arm linking episode - that I live with parents and seems entirely undeterred. We share a sense of humour (and perhaps also mischief) and often make each other laugh hilariously. Examples are too numerous to recount, but I recall one occasion in particular when we were out for drinks with friends when she had told some amusing tale, and I responded, "That reminds me of a French and Saunders sketch - there was a meeting, and Jennifer Saunders was chairing it Dawn French was... no, wait, I think it was the other way around." and then, instead of describing the rest of the sketch, just stopped. After she had been laughing for about thirty seconds, I added, barely able to keep a straight face myself at the time, but attempting dead-pan, "It was very funny.", which she found even more hilarious.

By Friday of last week, I had determined to ask her out - colleague or not, it had been years since I had been so attracted to somebody who was available and seemed equally interested in me, and even then there had been a deal-breaker (her religion) lurking in the woods that scuppered the whole thing minutes before I was going to ask for her number. This character seems to be a real catch, and I was genuinely surprised to discover that she was single. And after all, I reminded myself (repeatedly), it had worked rather well for D and R.

So, just as I was about to leave on Friday, I got her on her own, and asked whether she had heard of Cellar Door, and whether she knew what it used to be. She thought for a moment and said that she had not been there, but had been told (correctly) that it used to be an underground gentlemen's lavatory. I told her that, if she hadn't known what it was, I should have taken here there and bought her drinks for the evening if she could guess correctly what it used to be. She replied, "Damn, damn, damn! Rewind that - I didn't say that. What is that place again?" in a mock-frustrated humorous sort of way, and agreed enthusiastically when I suggested that we should go anyway sometime next week and that I would think up another challenge.

On Saturday, I wrote (a Facebook message) with the challenge - to guess which out of a long list of humorous random quotes that I have gathered on my pocket computer over the years is actually a quote from our mutual friend D, who is a lovely chap, but occasionally comes out with some often unintentionally hilarious lines. I said that, if she guessed correctly, I'd buy her drinks for the evening, but, if she guessed incorrectly, she would have to bake a cake and bring it into work by the end of the month. A few hours later she wrote back,
"I accept! How exciting!!
X"

So, all seems to be going uncharacteristically well. But, I worry. I worry that things will go wrong because I have no experience with this sort of thing. I've never even kissed a woman, let alone anything else. I worry that, if she finds out that, at the age of 29 I have never really been with a woman, she will be put off. (I found an article on some dating advice website about the situation, which I hoped would be helpful, but it addressed it from completely the wrong angle, advising men on how to deal with a feeling of anger or jealousy that his partner had had experience and he had not, which I thought a very strange thing for anybody to think). I worry that I will get something wrong and mess things up that way, that I will not know when we should kiss, or be too rigid, or take things too slowly. I remember when D and R were courting, reading R's Facebook status updates that implied that she was frustrated that D was being too cautious. It all worked out well for them in the end, but perhaps Lara is more impatient than R: if she was suggesting linking arms by our second meeting, it certainly seems that she doesn't hang around. I suspect that D was cautious partly because he and R did work together, and that was probably very sensible.

Because of the work-related complication, my lack of experience and the way that I do things generally, I should want to take things slowly; but I worry that she will have found someone else in the meantime. She certainly seems to have no shortage of suitors. On Thursday of last week, she went speed dating - largely to accompany her house-mate, and she said whenever she referred to it that she was not doing it to meet anybody, but just "for a laugh", but she still went for a lunch' date on Friday with a banker whom she had met there the previous evening and whom she had described as "very tall". Finally, I worry that, if things don't work out, things will go horribly wrong in work in unspecified but generally dreadful ways, that D and R were just very lucky (and that R left shortly after they started seeing each other seriously in any event) and the fact that it worked for them doesn't mean that it will for me. But, given my record, as painfully chronicled in this 'blog, I do not think that I can let this opportunity pass me by, though it may have some risk.

Only time will tell whether this will end up as a comedy, a tragedy or a farce, but, in the meantime, any helpful advice on how the Dickens to go about this sort of thing would be very welcome.

'Blogging Blue

...offline encounters of the friendly kind

SOME of this 'blog's regular readers might also be regular readers of the (far more frequently updated) Bluesoup 'blog, the authoress of which has been commenting on Celibacy and the Suburbs since the beginning of the year.

Our sky-coloured* friend has been particularly kind to me of late in respect of my most recent romance-related mishap (details to follow), and I have, I hope, been able to be of like assistance to her. After ten months of Facebook pokes and instant messaging, we thought that it might be rather nice to meet in person.

I can now assure readers of Bluesoup that our eponymous heroine is indeed real, and not the workings of somebody's (very) over-active imagination, and is every bit as lovely in person as on her 'blog (although is a far faster walker than one might imagine). I do not yet know what she will be writing about me, but I have been warned to expect her wrath for having to stop before and after the ticket barriers in Charing Cross to get my ticket out and put it back again. I am afraid. Very afraid.

Whilst one might search high and low for romance, one should not forget the value of good friends, not just to keep one's Facebook walls or social calendars full, but to help keep one sane(ish), even when it seems that everyone else is not, to offer counsel on the less comprehensible aspects of the behaviour of potential romantic interests, and sometimes just to listen and to reassure (or point out the other's lax ticket barrier habits). All hail friends!

* She is not actually blue, incidentally. That's just the name that she uses.

Drunk and disorderly

...and let loose on Match.com

YESTERDAY, I was winked at by a run-of-the-mill unsuitable (smoker, religious, wanted children). I tried to use Match.com's "Thanks but no thanks" feature, but it did not seem to work properly (that feature hardly ever seems to work, which is most annoying).

I thought nothing more of it until I awoke this morning to find two messages from the same person. The first one was sent at 0018h, and read,

DO YOU BAKE CARROT CAKE?

The second one was sent four minutes later, and read,

i think i love you

So, to the well-documented drunk dialling, and the closely related drunk texting (and perhaps the occasional bout of drunk 'blogging, hm, Bluesoup?), one must add to the myriad hazards of inebriation the all new drunk online dating.

The rather ironic thing is that it is not so much the intoxicated indiscretion (which itself is easily forgiven if it is, as here, consistent with the person behind it being a decent and generally sane character: all sorts of lovely people commit all manner of indiscretions when in drink) that put me off so much as the usual indices of unsuitability, to which I refer above.

All quiet(ish) on the South-Western front

...holiday capers and other such joys

CORNWALL - land of pasties and abandoned tin mines, and some rather lovely scenery, as pictured above. Also, a rather good place to go on holiday and spend a few days relaxing, away from the treadmill of daily life; wandering atop a beautiful clifftop on a wonderfully sunny day, armed with nothing more than a camera and a good pair of shoes (and an umbrella - just in case) is a wonderful way to let the cares of the world pass one by, although I could not help but think from time to time how much more lovely that it would be to be able to share the scenery and everything else with somebody rather special. Still, a successful exercise in getting away from it all.

Well, most of it: the hotel had WiFi access, so I was able to check for replies to my latest Match.com correspondent (as well as keep up with some of my favourite 'blogs, of course). Improbably, she replied. She wrote,

Mainly close ups of flowers over the summer, then started playing round with a bit of black & white recently. Just playing around with my new camera really.

Not terribly encouraging, I thought, given the perfunctory nature of the message, but a reply is a reply, so, not being one to give up too easily (faint heart ne'er won fair lady, and all that), I replied,

Close-ups of flowers are definitely fun: always pretty and easy to find subjects. I am currently on holiday in Cornwall taking photographs of all kinds of pretty things.

Incidentally, the subject of my initial e-mail was truncated by evil Match.com: it was supposed to read, "I fear the words, 'I have a cunning plan' are rapidly marching towards this conversation with undeserved confidence". The best laid plans, and all thst...

By the way - do you like cake, by any chance?

Again, she replied; again, rather perfunctorily:

Bit of a non-sequitor there - yes, I do like cake.

Since she has provided no more than minimal answers to my questions, has not volunteered any information about herself, has not asked me any questions or commented on my profile, and has not been in the least expressive, I am driven to conclude that she is either not in the least interested, and is replying out of politeness (which, given that she is actually rather pretty, and comes across as rather fun and interesting on her profile, means that she is probably spending most of her days politely replying to people in whom she is not interested), or is interested, but is a total wet fish, and therefore not interesting in any event.

However, I am now compelled to find out to what non-sequitor she was referring (can any of you see a non-sequitor? Answers on a postcard, please): this morning, I wrote,

Ahh, an appreciator of fine cake - always a good thing. But where's the non-sequitor?

I may very well not receive a reply, but one can't blame a fellow for trying. Has anyone else here used Match.com, and replied perfunctorily to somebody who was of no interest?

Coatman would e-mail the strawberry blonde...

...and the band played on

SHE'S 22, lives in Oxford (query too far?), is an atheist who "probably" doesn't want children, describes her diet as "meat and potatoes", has lovely red hair*, and describes her figure as, "a few extra pounds". Very nice.

She writes:

Save me from my nauseating housemates!

This is a crisis. A large crisis. In fact, if you've got a moment, it's a twelve-storey crisis with a magnificent entrance hall, carpeting throughout, 24-hour porterage and an enormous sign on the roof, saying 'This Is a Large Crisis'. A large crisis requires a large plan. Get me two pencils and a pair of underpants!

Just got back from travelling around New Zealand and looking for a bit company and hopefully more! Just moved into my new abode which has 2 couples living in it so feeling a tad nauseated by their antics. Trying very hard to avoid committing domestic violence - save me!

I would say no squaddies (having had previous experience from living near a barracks) but then I did meet some wonderful kiwi lads who drove tanks... Are you prepared to change my mind?

P.S. Letting me drive your tank would be a good start - I know women can't drive, but really, is this really an issue in a tank? :-) I've heard they do tank paintballing on Salisbury plain...

for fun:

Like to keep active so do a lot of horse riding and a bit of jogging, but I love watching movies too - duvet days are great! I'm also a bit of an amateur photographer having got a fab camera for my travels. I like to explore my creative side.

I wrote,

I fear the words, "I have a cunning plan" are rap**

Ohh dear, stuck single with a couple of courting couples: I do sympathise. To get your own back, you could always endlessly regale them with the same stories about your recent travels, plastering the walls with photographs of you in exotic locations, and saying at opportune moments, "They didn't do it like that in Venice (etc.), you know". Although, actually, your cunning plan of using Match.com is probably better in the long-term.

Anyway, couldn't resist messaging a fellow amateur photographer. I will resist the male urge to ask you about your camera equipment, and instead just ask: what do you like taking photographs of, mainly?

One slight problem might be that she lists her age range of potential mates as 18-16, whereas I am 27. I am not sure how picky she will be about that, but worth a try, I suppose.

Any comments/suggestions/sudden desires to hit me repeatedly over the head and tell me that I've done it all wrong and that I'll send her running for the hills?

(Incidentally, defy regular readers not to be impressed by the lack of pickiness over the missing preposition in the phrase, "looking for a bit company".)

*Hair colour is, barring absurd shades of green and the like, rather low in my list of priorities, but red hair always piques my interest somewhat.

**I have had this problem before and forgotten about it: Match.com arbitrarily cuts off all but the shortest of titles without giving any advance warning of how much is to be excised. It was supposed to be a line from Blackadder, "I fear the words "I have a cunning plan" are rapidly marching towards this conversation with ill-deserved confidence.".

The curious and the pointless

...of conference flirting and injudicious winking

LAST week-end, I attended a residential conference: the sort where one pays over the odds to stay in student rooms in some distant university, and come away with one's clothes smelling faintly of toothpaste, in order to attend a series of varyingly interesting lectures on one's chosen profession (so as to accumulate sufficient CPD points to enable one to continue to practise in that profession), and mingle with one's fellow professionals over a fixed menu dinner on the Saturday evening, complete with truffles and second-rate after dinner speech delivered by a mildly inebriated after dinner speaker, who would probably rather have been not so mildly inebriated than have delivered an after-dinner speech. At least the pudding was rather delicious.

Such conferences can, in theory at least, be an opportunity to meet potential prospects, safe in the knowledge that they are at least intelligent and articulate enough to practise in a serious profession; although, in reality, such events can be terribly inefficient ways of meeting people since, being all terribly English, we all tend to stay in tiny groups of people whom we know, or to whom we are sat next by the names-in-a-hat style seating plans for dinner.

However, last week-end, I think that I might have been flirted at. Slightly. By somebody who lives/works entirely too far away. Rats. She was a friend of somebody whom I had known for a while, who used to work with some of my colleagues, but who had recently moved to East Anglia to escape London housing and transport insanity, who introduced me to her when I went to speak to her (my original friend) to enquire as to how she is finding practice in the provinces (she rather likes it, it seems).

I cannot remember the exact conversation now, but her friend started by saying that I had asked one of the more intelligent questions to the speakers earlier that afternoon, then went on to make some somewhat playful comments about the style of my dress (I tend to try to dress smartly, even if the occasion does not strictly demand it, and was thus wearing one of my tailored three-piece suits to the conference). She said something along the lines of "that's very impressive", and "do you always dress like that?" (to which my original friend replied that I did), asked whether my suit had a zip down the back (to which I replied that, except in the obvious place, there were no zips on it at all, which reaction generated a degree of mirth, especially from the lady in question), asked whether I was like Rain Man (referring, I think, to a degree of meticulousness of appearance, to which I replied that I probably was in some respects*), and mentioned something about a film (which I have never seen) called, I think, "The talented Mr. Ripley" (to which my original friend said something like, "he's not like that", and her friend seemed to suggest that my original friend had misunderstood what she meant in some respect).

When it was time to go for dinner, she gently guided me by the elbow for a second or two towards the dining hall, saying something (the detail of which now eludes me) conducive to making our way to dinner. Alas, we were not seated at the same table, and, by the time that dinner was over, being on that occasion extremely tired from a long week (and a journey to the distant university involving a rail replacement 'bus service), and realising that her being in East Anglia and me being on rather the opposite side of London did not make her the most practical of prospects, decided to make for an early bed, rather than venture to the bar, sacrificing the off chance that she would be there and engage in interesting conversation during which I could attempt to get to know her and discover whether she is unsuitable by reference to my usual early filtering tenancies, for a good night's sleep and being sufficiently refreshed the following morning to ask suitably challenging questions to the speakers.

I had thought that it might be good to attempt to speak to her at some time during the morning's session, but that was not to be: I had sat at the front, and she right at the very back. During the tea break, I ended up talking to a pleasant chap from Ireland about legal philosophy (although, unfortunately, he ended up being too tired from the previous evening's merriment to put up any fight when I pointed out that Dworkin's theory of legal interpretivisim about which he spoke in positive terms was simply incoherent, thus depriving me of an interesting debate - rats again). At some point during the conversation with the pleasant but hungover Irishman, the lady from the evening before came up to me from behind, and, without warning, ran her finger down the middle of my back and made a zipping noise, a reference, I imagine, to the previous evening's conversation about the suit having a zipper down the back. No sooner had she done this, as she walked away (albeit looking back and grinning rather broadly at me for a second or two), leaving me to continue unsuccessfully attempting to persuade the Irish fellow to have a proper debate. I did try to track her down a few minutes later, although she had entirely evaporated, and, before long, it was time to commence the final lectures. By the time that those had finished, she seemed to have snuck out early, since she was nowhere to be seen at all by the end.

The whole thing was rather pointless, of course, given her singularly unsuitable distance from both where I live and where I work, but, nonetheless, it would have been good to have been able to talk to her, at least.

On the subject of pointlessness, I was recently Match.com winked at by a religious smoker who "definitely" wants children - do these people even read my profile? It is all flattery, I suppose, but why do I always seem to attract the wrong kind of people, and repel the right kind?

* Although, I'd like to think of myself as rather more articulate and sociable than Rain Man, even if that is at the expense of never needing a calendar.

Match of the Day

...this one looks interesting

SHE'S 27, from London, doesn't smoke, is an atheist (and went as far as writing, "I believe religion to be the cause of most of the ills in the world" in her profile), professes that she has no desire to have children, states her daily diet to be, "meat and potatoes", and doesn't look too bad, either. She writes,

I'm an independent and witty bird who is looking for a decent, funny and attractive bloke to share fun times with.

I like to think of myself as a fairly average bird, but with an evil sense of humour, loads of independence and bags of common sense (unusual for a woman, I know!). I'm looking for a nice bloke who is quite nice to look at (in my opinion) and who can spell! It probably doesn't sound very important but it is to me! I'd also like him to have a similar evil sense of humour but not too much baggage, which is a lot to ask for these days, apparently. Nights out and nights in are always on the menu and chemistry is a must!

for fun:

I enjoy going drinking on the weekends with my mates & ending up in a random bar or nightclub dancing the night away. Or, equally, I enjoy sitting on my arse relaxing and watching DVDs 'til the sun comes up.

...

favourite things:

I love to eat, shop, drink, watch films, listen to music, see live bands, go out with my friends and sleep. Zzzzz

The only reservation is that she seems to be particularly into nightclubs (which I dislike largely because of the ear-hurtingly loud music, although at least people can't smoke there any more), although one can't have everything, I suppose. I wrote:

Do bicycle panniers count as "baggage"?

Goodness - a level-headed, straight talking, meat-and-potatoes eating non-smoker, who isn't a religious nut and doesn't want children: I think that I'd better e-mail you before you're snapped up by half a dozen dashing millionaires.

Do you like cake, incidentally?

P. S.: I'm with you on the whole spelling thing. Punctuation, too. Lynn Truss had it right there.

What do people think? Too sycophantic? Ought I have mentioned more of her attractive characteristics (such as "independent", which I forgot when composing the e-mail), or liking cats? Is the tone all wrong? Does the P. S. mess up the flow? Does the cake question make me look like a nutcase (and what on earth other question could I have asked)? Does the title display the requisite "evil sense of humour", or is it just an irritating bad pun? The best answers win the recipe to my apple flapjacks!

Apple flapjacks

...bank holiday week-end bakery

I BAKED some lovely apple flapjacks this bank holiday week-end to take into work, pictured above.

Apple flapjacks are just like ordinary flapjacks, except they have two stewed then mashed bramley apples, cinnamon and raisins in them, and are topped with a layer of brown sugar, which, when cooked, produces a delicious sweet, crispy layer on the top. I cooked them in a shallow round baking tin for want of a rectangular tin, although rectangular is probably better.