'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.

Flogging the Match.com donkey

...any signs of life?

I HAVE recently attempted a mini-blitz at Match.com, running searches to include people who leave the "religion" section blank (but who match all the other criteria), winking at the ones who I consider to be borderline interesting, and sending e-mails to the ones (all right, one) who appeared to be more decisively interesting.

She's 24, from Guildford, likes chocolate and going on "mini adventures", and is trying to write a sitcom, apparently. I do like somebody who's good with words. I wrote:

Writing a sitcom - goodness, that's awfully impressive (and rather ambitious). Judging by your profile, does it perhaps involve a chocolate Tardis going on mini-adventures?

Unfortunately, I entirely forgot to specify a subject (having planned to do so after writing the message, and then forgetting to do so at the end, because I usually do it at the beginning). Will that make me seem lazy/semi-literate? What would have been a good title for that message? And was it too short? Find out in next week's thrilling episode of... no, wait, just post a comment.

Oh, accursed Cupid, why do you taunt me so?

...with just a little bit of history repeating

READERS with a good memory might remember Anya, the lovely young lady from the course who seemed to be flirting with me, then disappeared on the second day before I could get her number. She just added me as a friend on Facebook. And is spoken for. Rats.

So, did I horribly misread the signs back in June (see previous post for details), and she was just being friendly? Is she one of those people who flirts while spoken for (and why on earth do people do that anyway)? Or have I been the victim of yet more bad luck, entailing her falling for this other character after we met? Answers on a postcard (or, preferably, a 'blog comment), please. First reader with the correct answer wins a bag of marshmallows.

Trying again

...another online prospect

THIS one is a non-smoking atheist who claims that she probably doesn't want children. I wrote:

You're right - there is something terribly charming about the Waterloo bridge, especially at the Southern end: I have had a picture that I took of the bridge from the South Bank as my desktop wallpaper for years. Another favourite of mine is walking Westwards along the Victoria embankment at dusk.

Tell me, though: where exactly does one take somebody who works in the restaurant industry on a date?

Any glaring errors?

Cynical? Moi?

...thoughts on improving hit rates on Match.com

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

MATCH.COM is annoying: it has a specific section for one's income, but insists on representing it in dollars, which is terribly confusing, since one either has to convert one's actual income figure into dollars (and assume that everybody else will assume that it means US dollars), or use the figure for pounds, and, either way, hope that everybody will correctly second-guess what one has chosen. Until now, I thought that the whole shenanigans were entirely too cumbersome to bother with, left the "income" section blank, and put this at the bottom of the "your job" section:

The UK version of this website persists in asking the "income" question in US dollars, which seems to require an unreasonable level of mental arithmetic to make any sense of.

However, I have, as (both) regular readers will no doubt know, not actually had any success with Match.com so far. I have an inkling that that might be to do with leaving the "income" section blank. So, I have now remedied that:

Nota Bene: this is an American dating site. As with many things American, appreciation that things are done differently in other parts of the world is not what it could be. For example, over here in the UK we have a currency called the pound. We use the £ symbol for it. The "income" section, however, insists on using the $ symbol. Ignore it and treat the numbers as if they were in ££s, and perhaps send a snooty e-mail to Match.com on behalf of all Brits reminding them that we have our own currency, thank you very much.

I have just winked somebody, and am about to send an e-mail. We shall have to see whether this makes any difference.

A tag and a match

...'blogging insanity meets best Match.com prospect since last week

Pargolo seems to have tagged me, so, in the spirit of 'blogging honour, here are some things that you all never knew about me and probably had no interest in finding out:

Four jobs that I have had:

• Saturday assistant, photographic shop;
• temporary document logger, British Gas;
• barrister (present); and
• panda (extra for "Trigger Happy TV"; was paid the princely sum of £20 for the privilege).

Four films that I can watch repeatedly:

I cannot watch the same film over again no matter how good that it is: I can't stand repetition.

Four places in which I have lived:

• Oxford (while studying for master's degree);
• Thames Valley (now);
• ...that's it. I've only ever lived in two places. I need to move.

Four places at which I have taken a holiday:

• Edinburgh;
• Isle of Man;
• South Wales (with grandmother, many times); and
• Isle of Wight (when a small child; multicoloured sand is pretty).

Four of my favourite dishes:

• Yoghurt (favourite food - does it count as a "dish"?");
• lasagne (home made);
• lamb jalfrezi; and
• fruit crumble.

Four websites that I visit daily (other than 'blogs):

• The Times;
• Dilbert;
• BBC Weather; and
• Facebook.

Four people whom I am tagging:

• Bluesoup;
• LondonGirl;
• Ashi; and
• Emma.

I trust you all to spread the banal mind-virus well...

Match of the day

Out of the oceans of Catholics with which Match.com has inexplicably started to bombard me, I found a good one. She's 21, writes well (enough detail to be interesting, not so much as to seem insane) plays in a string quintet, describes herself as "logical" (big green flag (I am assuming that a green flag is the opposite of a red flag: it works on the railway)), is in her final year of a four-year engineering degree, comes across as markedly old-fashioned, is "not sure" about wanting children (and doesn't specify that her match has also to be "not sure" or want them "someday"), lists "braniacs" in her "turn-ons", knows how to use grammar and punctuation, describes her politics as "Conservative", and is pretty. She also describes herself as "curvy". Yum.

I winked her. I sensed that she wanted to be winked rather than receive an e-mail; it was hard to discern, but I think that there was a very subtle hint in this pargraph of her profile,

"If you'd like to discover what I am all about, then give me a 'wink' (urgh what a cringe-worthy name) and I guess we can work out something interesting to do in an afternoon or evening to start with."

No reply yet, but I only winked her an hour or so ago, so we'll see.

Ohh, Match.com...

...why do you taunt me so?

WHY do so many of your members have to be smokers or religious nuts, or want children? Why do so many such unsuitable people have to show up as "matches" when I have marked my preferences for non-smoking atheists who wish to remain childless? Why does eHarmony pretend to have sophisticated matching algorithms, yet still present me with no more than a tiny handful of matches, most of whom are semi-literate football* fanatics from Manchester, and where the one person who looked half worth talking to never replied?

Why are all the best people either already spoken for or not interested, or prone to disappear into the ether, never to be seen again, for no discernible reason at the drop of the proverbial Trilby? And why do the ones who are interesting but taken have to engage one in lengthy and delightful Friday afternoon banter and make themselves seem even more interesting? I think that this is what it must be like to live in a Romantic sitcom. Would anybody like to swap lives?

* I don't do sport, darling.

Mini Match

...a brief message; but is it too brief?

LAST week was my 27th birthday, so to-day, I thought that I had probably better increase the upper end of the age range on my Match.com profile from 28 to 29, and I am rather glad that I did so, for it uncovered a most interesting (and, dare I say, rather ravishing looking) young lady with a wonderfully pithy and confident profile. She wrote,

I'm a confident, feisty girl. Enjoys socialising, drinking, eating good food. Love a variety of music, going to live gigs. He should be tall, prefer dark, handsome, funny, intelligent, confident, passionate, bit cheeky is always good too.

Never one to resist a confident young lady who likes her food, I resolved to message her. The problem is, of course, with such a pithy profile (she did have more information under specific headings, but not much more) that it is rather hard to find anything specific to write about in response, so I settled on the following reciprocally pithy reply (which I hope that she would find "cheeky" enough):

I have to say, your profile is refreshingly direct and to the point: are you like that in person, too?

Love the red hair, by the way.

I had wondered whether to write more at the end, linking into the part about red hair, asking her about her "Welsh roots" to which her profile alluded, noting that my grandmother lives near Swansea, but I thought that would lose the impact of the message, and that such exchanges were better saved for subsequent e-mails. What do people think - interest-piquingly challenging, too droll, or just plain odd?

Tragedy and comedy

...the eternal undulations of romance

SHE DIDN'T come the second day. Her name was there on the signing-in sheet, devoid of a signature, as we all filed in for the introductory talk. Perhaps she was delayed on the train, I thought. By chance, she was supposed to be in my small group again: I noticed Anya's name listed in the same box as mine, a coincidence facilitated by the alphabetic proximity of our surnames. But she didn't come.

By the morning coffee session, she had still not arrived, and I realised that she was not going to come. It was not supposed to work like that. She had seemed so pleased the day before when I said that I was coming to the second day of the course, and she had been the one to ask the question, after all. It is not the kind of thing that one would miss on a whim, either: these courses are compulsory if one is to practise. She will have to attend an equivalent course on a future date.

Perhaps she was ill (although, she seemed fine on Saturday), perhaps some mishap befell her, perhaps some untold emergency. Why she didn't come I don't know. What I do know is that I now have no easy way of getting in touch with her. I know her full name: I could in theory look her up in a professional directory and find out how to contact her, but she is presently out of work, due to start a new job next month, and planning on venturing to a distant country in the meantime to deliver a human rights seminar. Even if I was able to contact her that way, it would seem peculiar, stalkerish: I had only met her for the one day, after all. I did try to track her down using Facebook (that might seem more innocuous), but she didn't seem to have an account, at least, not one that I could find.

It wasn't supposed to be like that. We were supposed to meet again on the second day, exchange more banter, find out more about each other and then, at the end of the day, I was to ask for her number and suggest we go out sometime, then call her a few days later. If I'd have known she wouldn't be there the second day, I'd have done that on the first. She was sweet and friendly and pleasant and pretty, and I haven't been flirted at by someone remotely suitable in a long time. What on earth does one do in circumstances like these?

On a slightly more upbeat note, I messaged the winker. The text of the message follows:

A degree in political science and a job in food - that is an interesting combination. I imagine that there must be more politics in food (and food in politics) than meets the eye. Dare I ask what recreational cooking involves; does it have anything to do with cake?

I had wondered whether I should have included reference to the fact that she had sent me the wink on the same day as I went on holiday, thus explaining the delay in replying, but I decided not to do so in the end, for fear of seeming too keen, too apologetic. I wonder whether that was the right decision. We shall have to see.

Omnibus post

...'blogging catch-up

I HAVE been a bad 'blogger and failed entirely to 'blog during the months of April and May. This has largely been due to being busy at work, and being busy building some new computers at home. To compensate, I am posting this general omnibus post covering all of the subtopics that, had I been a diligent 'blogger, I should have made into individual posts.

Cake

Over the Easter bank holiday week-end, I baked a simnel cake, recipe courtesy of LondonGirl. Here is the photographic evidence:

Unfortunately, due in part, I suspect, to a worn tempreature dial on the oven, I baked it too hot, and it came out partly burnt. Still, it was edible enough. There is still some left in the freezer. (Incidentally, LondonGirl, that is a rather curious recipe, involving putting the flour with butter and condensed milk, no sugar, in a saucepan and boiling it up first, rather than creaming together flour, butter and sugar in the conventional way - where does that come from, may I ask?).

Shoes

My new made-to-measure shoes finally arrived in May. Here they are:

They really are lovely, and I should recommend the firm that made them any day. Really, off-the-shelf is so passée, darlings. That and they fit properly, which is rather more than can be said for my previous shoes.

Catelyn

It turns out that Catelyn is spoken for. Rats.

Online dating

Being busy, I have not had a great deal of time to do much with that, although I discovered on my return from holiday (see below) on Thursday that somebody had winked me, and, what is more, she seemed as if she might even be half-way suitable. More on that when I get back to her. Also, one or two potentially messagable people turning up in search; more on those, too, if/when I message them. The Teacher never did reply, and I do believe that she has not even logged into Match.com since before I messaged her.

Edinburgh

For the last week or so, I have been on holiday in lovely Edinburgh:

Unfortunately, it rained on two of the days that I was there, and I got rather damp trying to take photographs in the rain. I am hoping that the photographs will be worth it. I also saw Scotland's smallest distillery, which was probably not as interesting an attraction as it would have been had I not been teetotal. I suspect that the tour guide must have raised an eyebrow when I snuck into the free tour without taking the free dram. Despite the dampness, though, it was certainly a worthwhile trip - Edinburgh Castle is most interesting.

Anya

To-day I took one of the compulsory courses that one is required to take every now and then if one is in practice, and wants to stay in practice, and I do believe that I was being flirted at. A young lady, whom I shall name Anya for the purposes of this 'blog, ended up in the same smaller group as I was, and sat next to me at the table (whether purposely or not I cannot tell). I cannot remember all the little signs now, but she would often make little comments just to me, came up and talked to me (and deliberately touched my arm in doing so) during the morning tea beak, and there was some definite eyebrow-raising, too. At the end of the afternoon, we walked back to the Underground together, talking, and, when it transpired that we took trains in different directions, she asked whether I should be attending the related course to-morrow, and seemed most pleased when I said that I was. Do watch this space for further updates. (Any tips on how best to deal with that sort of thing much appreciated, as ever).

Here goes nothing

...e-mailing the one interesting one

Hello

You seem like a jolly decent sort of person: somebody who works with words and likes a good walk is always an excellent start.

I am intrigued, though: if Battersea Park is your favourite place in London in the summer, what is your favourite place in London during the other three seasons of the year?

I thought that I might try a more straightforward approach this time, given the feedback that I had from all you 'blog readers last time, and given that the target (the teacher) seemed to be a pretty straightforward sort herself. I hope now that the thing isn't too straightforward (i.e. boring), or that she doesn't think "My goodness, this fellow's far to far away for me, thank you very much", or "twenty-six and living with parents?! I don't think so, dear". She really is one of the only truly interesting ones who have appeared on Match.com over the past few months.

As to Miss Transatlantic Wink, I decided not to reply to her: I don't want to lead the poor thing on, and she was really quite unsuitable; the main point of messaging her would have been to discover why on earth she would have winked me from afar, and my dear 'blog commenters seem to have provided a jolly good lot of answers to that question already.

Playing with Match.com again

...transatlantic winks and potential quarries

WHEN I arrived home this evening, I was (pleasantly) surprised to find in my e-mail inbox an automated notification from Match.com that somebody had winked me. Intrigued as to what poor hapless creature might think me worth winking at (but not writing a full e-mail to), I checked her profile - and discovered that she resides somewhere in Mississippi. In the United States. About five thousand miles away. Considering that the first person whom I messaged on Match.com rejected me, purportedly at least, because of distance, she living in North London, and me living a little way West of London (making our total distance perhaps forty miles), I think that half way around the world is perhaps a smidgen far for conducting a presumably romantic relationship of an unspecified sort.

Had she not read the part of my profile that stipulated that I am interested only in those residing within 75 miles of where I live? Her profile, curiously, specified that she was seeking men "in the United Kingdom" (it being no more specific than that as to location, one can but assume that anybody interesting from Land's End to John O'Groats might be up for consideration). The mind boggles at what sort of (and how many) relationship disasters that she must have had in order to conclude that her entire continent is devoid of potentially suitable mates, such that she has to scour the British Isles from afar for putative romances. I am rather tempted to message her, expressing my surprise at being winked transcontinentally, pointing out that, whilst it is flattering and all that, I am somewhat sceptical that transatlantic romance is really so terribly practical, but that I am most intrigued as to why somebody from plumb in the middle of North America should be seeking a mate in Britain.

As to general suitability, whilst she registers as one of those hardy (but tiny) band of very sane people who have decided never to bear children, she is a full six years older than I am (at 32), and claims that, whilst "technically" an Episcopalian, she is "now just making [her] own way in the world with [her] own path/values" (whatever that means, although, given that she describes her religion as "other", rather than "agnostic" I suspect that there would be a decided clash with my "up with Richard Dawkins!" stance). (Incidentally, I browsed the profile to-day of a young lady who claimed in her "religious beliefs" box that, whilst she did not believe in God, she did not believe in brains, either: the mind boggles at what, exactly, she thinks resides inside her skull; perhaps in her case rather little, which might give one to understand where she is coming from, I suppose).

In other online dating news, I have recently spied and favourited a potentially suitable young lady: a 28-year-old media studies and English teacher from London who, improbably but happily, responds "probably not" to the "do you want children?" question, is an atheist non-smoker who can punctuate properly (which, given her profession, is somewhat reassuring), and on top of all that is really rather pretty in her profile picture, and describes herself as "fun, independent, looking for same". Really, though, I do worry that Ms Fun, Independent, and Highly Desirable would be really very unlikely indeed to fall for (or even message back) Mr. Inexperienced at Romance, Overworked and Still Living with Parents. If you were her, would you?

'Blog rejuvenated

...new form, same content

AFTER reading certain complaints about how my previous white-on-black arrangement made people dizzy, and noticing that I had yet to take advantage of the new Blogger features offered following Google's takeover of the service, I thought that it might at last be time to redecorate my 'blog (and simultaneously to reassure certain regular readers that I am indeed still alive and well). I was somewhat disappointed, however, that I could not, unlike one can with Wordpress 'blogs, use the picture of London above (which I intend to be a permanent feature) part of the title background. All comments on my new redesign are welcome.

Returning to where I left off some time ago (my absence explicable through a combination of being very busy, very tired, and having discovered the delight that is Snopes.com), I have seen Cetelyn a several times since the last post, sometimes fleetingly, other times having lengthy conversations. On each occasion that I see her (and sometimes on numerous occasions in between) I seem to reach the opposite conclusion of whether or not she is potentially interested.

For example, last week, I was in the office of the legal charitable organisation for which I sometimes work (I shall have to think of a snappier pseudonym for that place), and again encountered her. She had finished the previous case on which she was working, and started a new one. The difficulty with 'blogging so long after the event is that the potentially all-important details are lost in the mists of forgetfulness, subsumed by subsequent memorisations of the evidence and issues in the cases on which I have worked since then, and of subsequent life-miscellany. My patchy recollection seems to involve meeting her by chance in the lobby; I said, "hello" , I think, as she was standing by the lift (although, thinking about it, she might have said it first), and made some quip along the lines of, "you're not using the stairs?", before joining her in the lift.

I seem to remember that we had a long conversation (whose length I seem to recall was mainly perpetuated by her, although I was hardly an unwilling conversation partner), mainly about her career, which started (lest anyone think that she is self-absorbed) when I had asked her about it casually, then shown interest by asking numerous follow-up questions. She is currently studying for the Bar, and, as is very common for even many of the most able students, has not yet secured a place in chambers (it took me three years to find one), so she has applied for a stage in the European Commission, which would entail spending five months in Brussels. She tells me that they are rather hard to come by, but that she is very much hoping that she will be selected. I pause to note that such an endeavour has the potential to create logistical problems (similar to London Girl's Pointless, but somewhat less severe, owing to the relative proximity of Brussels, and the comparatively short duration of the Stage) if she really is interested, but, at present, the prospect of having such a problem is akin to the prospect to a pauper of having the problem of deciding how best to invest a very large sum of money.

The conversation only ended after she realised that she was getting behind on her work (she was already feeling guilty for having spent the week-end shopping, rather than working on the papers as she had hoped (it being Monday)). I did try to keep a track of those complicated non-verbal things, but, being a man, and thus constitutionally incapable of both making intelligent replies and scrutinising body-language, the best that I managed was to notice that her eye-contact seemed to be what I think that I have read somewhere is the appropriate standard for ordinary acquaintances, that is, several seconds of direct eye contact, followed by glancing away to the side for a second, followed by resumed eye contact. I had noticed on a previous occasion when she was talking to me that her pupils were quite contracted in a moderately lit indoor office building.

Following that conversation, based on the eye contact observation, and the lack of any more positive signs that I could find, I suspected that she was not interested, but then began to have second thoughts, and have a vague recollection of doing so after she made a point of saying hello to me on one occasion, although, too much time having elapsed between incident and 'blog, the relevant details now escape me.

Thus, as with nearly every individual in whom I am interested, at the relevant time, rather than looking back on it in hindsight, as far as I can tell, Catelyn's potential interest is entirely indeterminate. On the one hand, she seems keen and willing to engage in often protracted conversations with me, despite the fact that we have not actually known each other terribly long; on the other, I cannot find any noticeable signs of attraction (however, what is noticeable to me may be rather different from what is noticeable to many others).

The lesson here, I suppose, is to try to 'blog about such things sooner to their happenings so that more of the original detail can be preserved for my growing cohort of 'blog commenters (who, hopefully, have not all slunk away in consequence of me not having posted for a little while) can help to decipher.

In other news, I am expecting to take delivery of my first pair of made-to-measure shoes in a couple of weeks - stay tuned for a sartorial special when they arrive.

A new approach to prospects

...flag, tag and bobtail

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

FOLLOWING my singular lack of success in matters romantic, to which the very existence of this 'blog attests, I thought that I should make some further attempts to develop the way in which I respond to women in whom I am provisionally interested. Having read from numerous sources that women are very often put off by a man appearing to be too keen too early (by being overly attentive), and having read about the "pickup artists" on Dolly's fantastic 'blog (whose approach is premised precisely on not appearing too keen or easy), and suspecting that the frequency of times that I find myself being flirted at by people in whom I am not interested, and shunned by those in whom I am interested, I resolved that something needed to be done.

Not wanting to pursue the scripted routines approach of some of the "pickup artists" (the approach of whom seems to focus too much on short-term relationships for my liking), I thought that I should try my own structured approach to women in whom I am interested, based on the "not too keen" principle, but that is rather more natural and suited to my personality than at least some of the "pickup artists'" routines. I will call it "flag and tag".

The approach is essentially simple: first of all, I flag in my mind those people in whom I am potentially interested. However, instead of, as I have often done before, trying to be extra-friendly to them and generate lots of light conversation right from the start, in the hope of them eventually becoming interested, I instead take a more passive approach, and wait for them to tag me, that is, show a decisive sign of interest herself. Following a flag, instead of trying to appear friendly, I try to appear interesting, in the hope of maximising the prospects of a tag. I do not, of course, do anything to be unfriendly: that would be ungentlemanly, and in any case, anybody who would actually be attracted by that sort of approach would probably be mentally unstable; instead, I act towards the person largely as I do towards anybody else, interacting with the person to the same extent as I do anyone else. The aim is, at this stage at least, not to make friends.

That does not, however, mean that I do not do anything to try to get to know flags better. The approach is a subtle one: the idea is to generate reasons for her to notice me or interact with me without it appearing, for most of the time at least, that I am initiating the interactions.

Once I get a tag, the intention is to respond with a combination of faux obliviousness and witty scepticism (of which I hope that the "I'm not sure that I've much of an idea either" response to the "You know, I've got no idea what your name is!" line from the conversation below is an example) and see whether or not she pursues further. If she does, that is the time to start (cautiously) being more friendly (reciprocating fairly precisely the degree of friendliness that she shows by, for example, saying "hello" when I see her only after she starts doing the same to me), and, once she has shown enough interest, get her number and ask her out (and not by text - thanks to London Girl for that tip). Obviously, if I am approached with a tag from cold (i.e., from an as yet unflagged person), I can skip pre-tag part.

This is a largely untested approach, since I have only just thought of it (not that it is terribly original in anything other than nomenclature, I suspect, but it is new to me, which is what matters for 'blog purposes), however, I have been trying it on one particular prospect, "Catelyn", in the last week or two. Catelyn is somebody whom I encountered through the legal volunteer work that I do; she is a student studying for the Bar, is quite tall, has dark hair, has a decidedly elegant look, and is intelligent and witty. She is very friendly (but obviously not in a romantic way) with a very pleasant chap, who studies with her, and who also works in that voluntary organisation, and whom I know independently through that organisation and am quite friendly myself.

I flagged her a little while ago, but had not been into the offices there for a while, having been busy elsewhere. I was pleased that she was still frequenting the offices. Instead of trying to chat to her a great deal, I thought that I should put this idea to the test. I engaged in witty conversation with her friend, and sometimes responded to his responses to her in their conversations (where appropriate - we were all sitting in somewhat close proximity in an informal, open-plan office, so that was not too hard), and managed to get a number of laughs out of both of them. She also joined in some conversations that I was having with him and another chap on one or two occasions, in a similar way.

The next day, I think, when we were all in the office again, just as she was leaving (she now always says good-bye to me when she leaves), she said,

"Will you be in to-morrow?"

"Ahh, that depends where the clerks send me," I replied.

"It seems like you're always here when I'm here!" she said.

"Aha, maybe I'm stalking you!" I responded.

She laughed and made her way out of the office. I had hoped that that was a tag, but, having seen her several times since (although, not the next day, since the clerks really did send me some distance away: I had hoped to go in, though), I have not had much in the way of signs of interest or initiations of interaction, apart from saying "hello" when passing on a staircase on one occasion, and her asking me whether she had put the paper in the correct side of the photocopier on another, but we shall see. I shall, of course, keep all regular (and, indeed, irregular) readers of Celibacy and the Suburbs updated on any developments apropos Catelyn, and the efficacy of flag and tag in general. Any feedback, meanwhile, on the approach in general, or Catelyn in particular, would be much appreciated.

Of nocturnal maritime traffic

...a very brief encounter indeed

ON THURSDAY, I attended a dinner event with lots of other lawyers. It was pleasant: there was good food, good pudding, and were amusing speeches from important people. After the pudding had been consumed, and the speeches delivered, and as I was making my way towards the lavatories, I was accosted by a young woman, whom I had followed for several meters on my way out of the dining room, with a crowd of people.

"Hello - weren't we in bar school together?" she said, enthusiastically.

I had no idea who she was. A lot of people whom I do not recognise seem to recognise me from bar school for reasons that I cannot entirely fathom, although it may have something to do with the fact that I used to sit near the front in lectures and ask a lot of questions.

"I don't know", I replied, "I was at bar school with a lot of people; what year were you there?"

We established that we were, indeed, in the same year at bar school.

"I'm afraid that I have absolutely no idea what your name is," she said.

"I'm not sure that I have, either," I replied.

She laughed. "Oh dear. My name's [Carissa]," she said.

"I'm [Coatman]," I replied. We talked a little about our work (the details of which conversation elude me now, alas), but she seemed bright and enthusiastic and keen to talk to me. She was smiling and making eye contact and asking questions and things.

After a short while, I said, "I was just on my way to the lavatory - I'll be back in a minute or two."

"Oh, I was going there as well, actually," she replied; we ended up walking towards the lavatories together, making small talk along the way. When we reached the doors, we both agreed that we would see each other in a minute or two (although, I cannot remember the exact words used). She still seemed smiling and enthusiastic and keen to talk to me.

After I emerged from the lavatories, I could not immediately see Carissa, so I went back to the dining hall, and noticed that they were putting out chocolates on the tables. I scanned the room briefly, and, seeing no sign of her, went back to where I was originally sitting at dinner to retrieve a chocolate, thinking that she would emerge presently. A pleasant gentleman who had been sitting at my table then started talking to me, and kept introducing me to High Court judges and book authors, and, although I occasionally scanned the room for Carissa, could see her nowhere.

In fact, I did not see her again at all. Of course, I had not spoken to her long enough even really to establish whether she was actually showing any real interest beyond "Hey, I remember you from bar school - small world, isn't it?", or, indeed, whether she was actually interesting, but that is rather the point: from the brief conversation that we had had, it seemed that there was at least some non-trivial chance that she was both, and it was jolly annoying that she disappeared before I could find out. She was at least a prospect of a prospect, and an uncontrollable and unpredictable set of circumstances, it seems, precluded any potential developments.

Oh, accursed chaos theorem, why do you mock me so?

Happy 'blogging birthday to me

...Celibacy and the Suburbs one year on

TO-DAY is the first anniversary of Celibacy and the Suburbs, a year since I wrote the first posts about living in the suburbs and not having very much luck in romance. A year on, I still live in the suburbs and still have no luck in romance. Rats.

At least, however, I have acquired a small band of followers who post encouraging and helpful and lovely things and make it all more pleasant; thank you to all the regular (and not so regular) readers over the past year who have made running a 'blog worthwhile (even if the update frequency last year was a little on the low side).

Incidentally, that cake is one of my own creations: I made it for my grandmother's birthday a year or two ago. It's a vanilla flavoured Victoria sponge for anyone who is wondering. Recipe available on request.

It can't be that hard

...common mistakes in online dating profiles

I HAVE seen a great number of online dating profiles. I am also very picky: I reject as not worth contacting most of the profiles that pass the great many automatic search filters that I set up on Match.com (incidentally, has anybody else noticed that the website has been painfully slow for at least a week now?). Despite the reams of advice given on the site itself, it is most surprising just how many people make basic and silly errors of judgment in writing their online profiles (or "portraits" as Match.com insists on calling them). So, partly inspired by this 'blog giving men some tips on online dating, I thought that it might be worthwhile to compile a list of a similar ilk as regards women's profiles.

Women: top ten tips from a picky man on online dating profiles

1. Any man intelligent enough to be worth wanting him to message you will realise that leaving the answer to the "do you smoke?" question blank means, "yes, like a chimney".
2. Similarly, anything that you leave blank gives the impression that you're ashamed about revealing the true answer, which makes you look like a secretive sort of person, and I, for one (and I strongly suspect that I am not alone) find that openness is a very important quality in a prospective mate.
3. Only use the exclamation mark when you really want to exclaim something, which will not be often in an online profile.
4. In most sites, there is a specific section for listing your hobbies/spare time activities. It is a separate section for a reason. In the general, "tell us about yourself" section, we want to know more than that you like reading books and going out with your friends, because lots of very, very different people also like reading books and going out with their friends. More obscure hobbies don't help either: that you like fencing doesn't tell us more than that you like fencing. We want to know about your attitudes to life, since that's the fundamental thing that will make a relationship either work or not work.
5. Similarly, never just use a string of vague adjectives such as "funny, caring, kind, outgoing, romantic" in such a description, since there are lots of different ways of being funny, caring, kind, outgoing and romantic, and we may have different ideas to you on what "funny", for example, is. Be specific: let the readers of the profile work out for themselves that you're funny, caring, kind, outgoing and romantic in just the way that they want.
6. If you don't post a photograph, we'll think that it's because you're either (1) ugly; (2) not ugly, but you have such low self-esteem that you think that you are; (3) technically incompetent and have no friends; (4) very lazy; (5) painfully shy; or (6) paranoid. We don't need to know which of those six is the real reason to know that we don't want to message you.
7. Never, ever start the "tell me about yourself" section with anything remotely like "I don't know what to write here but here goes...": it makes you look as if you haven't put thought into your profile (even if you have), and have just typed whatever it was that came into your head at the time. There are times and places for spontaneity, and a profile isn't one of them.
8. Your keyboard has an "enter" key for a good reason. Use it to create paragraphs in the "about me" section.
9. Avoid clichés like the plague. Phrases such as "if I tell you, I'll have to kill you", "desperately seeking [insert 'original' word of choice here]", or anything else that was funny and original when it was first used but most definitely is not now should be extinguished from your repertoire.
10. Don't tick the "not sure" box in the "do you want to have kids?" section, if the only things that you're not sure about are when you want to have them, how many that you want to have, or which school that you want to send them to. (We can tell that you don't really mean "not sure" when you do things like specify that the person that you're looking for should have ticked the "definitely" or "someday" box).

The North wind doth blow

...and we shall have snow

VISUALLY spectacular, yet cold and inconvenient, to-day is the day that a North wind brought Southern England a centimetre or two of crystalline water. The inevitable railway-related consequences would have afforded me an extra opportunity for train-sleep, were it not for the man on his mobile telephone in the seat in front of me loudly and ineffectually complaining to the train company about the delay (and singularly failing to comprehend the distinction between the people who run the trains and the people who maintain the track and signalling, the latter of whom are responsible for most delays, including to-day's), much to the amusement of the non-somnolent people in the carriage. The central heating in the court having broken, I was most pleased when the defendant decided to plead guilty so that I could catch an early train home.

Meanwhile, all is quiet on the Western front: I had a "thanks, but no thanks" e-mail from person no. 2 (who cited distance as her concern - she lives in London; I really do need to move); the first did not trouble to send such a thing. I have looked at a few more profiles (one of which looked interesting until she uploaded a picture: note to self, do not send people without photographs any messages), and, although some look to be interesting in some respects, there are an uncanny number of "Hi! I'm really active and I love snowboarding and climbing mountains and abseiling! I want to travel around the world before I'm 30! Send me a message if you like adventure!" people, far too many "I'm a very happy person and I like to smile. I like cuddling in front of the TV and drinking hot chocolate. Life is too short, let's grab the moment while we can; anybody want to grab the moment with me?" people, and more "OK here goes Ive no idea what Im going to write so lets see what happens... i work in sales, but i dont like it so Im training to be a teacher! Im fun and outgoing and like a laugh down the pub now and then, especially when Ive had a few hahaha! I like to watch the footie sometimes too. Message me if your kind & caring & can make me laugh!" people than I could shake a rather large stick at. Give me some wit, genuine originality, and a bit of nous and tenacity any day - at least, give me somebody who can punctuate properly.

Respondents to my last post suggested that I work on my profile as well as on my e-mails (and comments about scarily-specific subject lines duly noted - but I do hate to be bland; any non-bland, non-scary subject line suggestions?), so I produce an extract from my "portrait" below for comments:

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.

Is that challenging enough - does it have a sufficient self-centred twist of wit to make it interesting, without coming across as just plain unpleasant; or do I come across as Mr. Nice Guy (or Mr. Insane Guy)? All feedback is much appreciated.

Incidentally, following LondonGirl's suggestion, I did wink somebody last week (she had a rather incomplete profile, so I thought that, if she was not going to bother writing a full profile, I was not going to bother writing an e-mail), but did not receive a reply. Perhaps she thinks that the suburbs are too far away for her, too. I suspect that living in London would make this whole thing significantly easier.

Playing with Match.com

...the dating game goes online.

IN PURSUANCE of new year's resolution no. 4, I have (finally) taken out a subscription to Match.com (and they are not cheap, either; over £10 per month), and, in pursuance of resolution no. 2, I am 'blogging about it.

Match.com is good for picky people like me: I can set a whole host of parameters: I can specify a non-smoker without religious beliefs in or around London, with at least a bachelor's degree, who does not want (or have) any children and who has never been married. From there, I can then look at the profiles, and weed out all those who do not use proper spelling, grammar and punctuation, who do not write eloquently, who appear to be unintellectual or unoriginal or insane, who do not appear to be ambitious, who have conflicting long-term goals, or do not seem to be interested in the same sorts of things as I am. After I applied those criteria, I gathered a list of people in whom I was interested, and e-mailed both of them. So far, I have had no reply from either.

The first one I e-mailed on Sunday; she is 27, works in advertising, likes baking cakes and exploring London, stated that she was an abstract thinker, enjoyed surreal conversations, had an eloquently-written profile and is pretty. I sent her this e-mail:

Have you seen the old man in the closed down mark*

Greetings from a fellow cake-baker and biscuit dunker (who also likes the eclectic and innumerable joys of London). Should love to exchange abstract ideas and surreal conversation (and maybe some cake recipes) sometime. Have you ever been to the Charles Dickens museum in Camden?

Shall look forward to exchanging entertaining e-mails,

[my real first name].

* It was supposed to read "Have you seen the old man in the closed down market, kicking up the papers with his worn out shoes?" (quoting the opening line from "Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London" song, referring to the fact that she had recently moved to London and enjoyed exploring it, but the stupid Match.com e-mail system truncated the subject).

I know that she has read my message because she is recorded as having looked at my profile recently (to-day or yesterday, I think), so, either she has (perhaps wisely) decided that she is not interested, or takes even longer to work out what to put in an e-mail than I do. I suspect the former.

The second I e-mailed yesterday. She is 24, works in London, is a writer (big plus: I cannot resist a woman who is good with words), professes herself to be interested in hair-brained schemes, including the one which, she writes, concluded in her signing up to Match.com in the first place, namely getting a date by her 25th birthday sometime in mid-January, also professes an interest in the interesting side of London, and is also pretty (if maybe a smidgen thin - but looks aren't everything). She wrote that dating had "become a lost art", and her tag line was, "Let's make dating fun again". I wrote her this e-mail:

The same thing we do every night, Pinky: try to t**

Quirky London, hair-brained schemes, boat trips; that all sounds very fun indeed. Have you ever been to the jazz bar on the Strand that was once an underground gentlemen's lavatory, seen Dr. Johnson's House or the old steam pumping engines in action at Kew Bridge? London really does have more eccentric delights than a retirement home for mad scientists (and I kick myself for not having heard of Dennis Severs' House until I read your profile - that place sounds fascinating).

It would be lovely to hear from you; maybe, one day, we can devise a cunning plan to replace all the missing apostrophes in public signage in London, or something similar -

[my real first name].

**Again with the truncation: this one was supposed to read, "The same thing we do every night, Pinky: try to take over the world!", a reference, of course, to Pinky and the Brain, which was, in turn, an oblique reference to her preference for hair-brained schemes.

Of course, as LondonGirl pointed out in relation to the Chantelle fiasco, when it comes to dating, at least, I am, in her words, a "muppet". Consequently, I imagine that I have made at least several hilarious and cringe-worthy mistakes in both of the above e-mails, which, no doubt, all of my commenters will gladly tell me about; I shall then learn things, find some new people to e-mail (if any new people sign up, or if I re-evaluate my "maybe" list), apply the lessons, still get no responses, learn some new things, and repeat for a number of cycles until, perhaps in, say, mid 2008, I get a response. As usual, all advice (and incidental witty commentary) is much appreciated.

Happy new(ish) year

...expositions and resolutions

I DO NOT usually make new year's resolutions: I generally consider that, if one genuinely needs to resolve to do something, one should not wait until the first of January to do it, and, if one does not genuinely need to resolve something, it is folly to invent something to resolve just to maintain a somewhat questionable tradition.

However, it just so happens that, this particular year, the new year approximately coincided with a juncture at which I thought of genuine things that I ought be resolving to do, so, I might as well make them (and 'blog about them) now as any other time. They are:

1. 'blog more;
2. socialise more;
3. move into London;
4. create more opportunities to meet potentially suitable women;
5. ask more potentially suitable women out; and
6. advance my career.

In pursuance of no. 4 (and recognising that my somewhat picky approach, combined with dwelling a long way from work, makes a chance-encounter meeting of Ms Right (or, at least, Ms Suitable) even more hit and miss than it is for most), I have created a profile (or "portrait" as they like to call it) on Match.com, which seems to be the most popular of the online dating services, which means, as any picky person will know, more choice, which can only be a good thing.

Granted, I have not actually (1) paid a subscription; or (2) sent anybody any e-mails yet (the former being required in order to do the latter), but I am cautious about sinking hard-earned finances into such an endeavour without a good reassurance that there will potentially suitable people to contact, which I am still in the process of establishing.

Meanwhile, if anybody reading has any tips or suggestions for the hapless newcomer to the whirlwind world of online dating, then comments would be, as ever, much appreciated.

It's Christmas time

...there's no need to be afraid

REGULAR readers, if I have any, may be forgiven for thinking that my 'blogging endeavours have become a regular, quarterly event. According to that pattern, this would be the "winter" post. In fact, I should 'blog a lot more if:

1. I had something to 'blog about; and
2. I had more time to 'blog.

Now, the reality is, of course, that I could devote more time to 'blogging if I diminished other spare time activities, but, without more material, that would not seem to be a very sane prioritisation of my time.

Of course, having no material in this context means no flirty/promising encounters since the Chantelle fiasco in October. There was the one young lady who sent me a message on OkCupid: unfortunately, however, she was:

1. from Northern Ireland (nothing against the Irish in principle, but one has to think about practicalities here - who would want to cross the Irish sea just to go on a date?);
2. "somewhat serious about" being a Christian, wheras I am "very serious about" being an atheist (and see previous discussions about Jo); and
3. "likes children", which, whilst I have nothing against children in the abstract, would not actually ever want to have to look after any for more than, say, five minutes every year or so, and only then if pressed.

I am sure that she was very nice and everything, but, really, it would save time if people scanned the basic user information for incompatibilities before they send messages. It is flattering, of course, for a reasonably sane (and, by all accounts, not entirely unattractive) person to take an interest in me, but flattery is not the same as romance.

At Christmas time, however, one has more time for these things: more time to 'blog about romance, and more time to lament the lack of it - and 'blog about that, too. It also gives one more time to read others' 'blogs on the subject. One of my favourite 'blogs at the moment is Girl Dates London (a very wittily written saga of one London woman's attempts to find herself a decent prospective husband, and the amusing encounters on that as yet unfinished journey), in which a commentator on a recent post remarked, in respect of the question of whether the 'blog's author, "London Girl", was wise to keep to her "iron pants" policy despite first-date stirrings that, as far as men are concerned, there is no need to buy a cow if one can get the milk for free. Call me old-fashioned and romantic, but I think that there is more to a metaphorical cow than metaphorical milk (although, don't get me wrong: I like the milk); I want somebody to talk to, to tell the things that I'd never tell anyone else, someone to explore (or re-explore) the touristic delights of London with, someone upon whom to expend affection, to make happy in a thousand little ways, someone to share things with, jokes, knowledge, ways of looking at the world, someone with whom to exchange anything from inanities to intellectual insights, and someone to whom to turn, when everyone else seems to be insane and unreliable, as rational and sane and trustworthy. A relationship is not just the milk: it is the whole multi-layered trifle that is best enjoyed served as a single dessert, and can even be enjoyed when the milk has run out and there is no more custard.

For fear of doing any more grievous injury to that metaphor, I shall move on, and point out what is probably obvious, namely that one must always retain a sense of perspective in these things. The one thing that is guaranteed to scare away all but the most desperate and hopeless prospects (and there are enough of those already) is undoubtedly feeling sorry for oneself, so one mustn't do that. So, in the spirit of being positive, thoughts must turn to the solution, as opposed to the problem. The solution undoubtedly entails meeting more potential prospects; that, in turn, is not easy given how far away that I live from where I work, and how much time that I spend travelling. Living with parents also has the potential not only to deter prospects (it is hardly a status symbol), but to make the mechanics of any romance somewhat difficult, as anyone who has ever attempted such a thing, I imagine, can attest.

The problem as regards living accommodation is similar to the problem with respect to potential mates: I am very picky. I refuse to live in a rat-infested dive, or to share with total strangers, and, as any local will know, London is expensive. Now that I have (recently) finished repaying a loan that I took out in order to study my master's degree, however, the budget might just stretch to something sane, not shared. I shall have to see.

The other potential way of meeting people (other, that is, than living closer to London and, presumably, socialising more there) is to try more in the way of online dating sites. I have already been a member of OkCupid for quite some time (having been attracted by the idea of their matching system that ranks people by how much they are likely to like each other), but, either their matching system is nothing like as good as they claim that it is, or there are just very few suitable people using OkCupid, as even those with relatively high match percentages turn out to be smokers or religious nuts or people who want to have children. Any suggestions for other, better online dating sites, filled with oceans of sane, intelligent, rational non-smokers who don't want children and who can spot an out of place apostrophe at fifty paces?

I should not want to give the impression that my Christmas was a singularly depressing affair, however: my delightful grandmother from Wales (who makes the best Christmas puddings that I have ever tasted, and whose own relationship with her now departed husband was the sort that, unlike that between my parents, and despite the fact that they were wed when she was only 18, one of the sorts that all romantics dream of) came to stay, and we had the cake that I made and exchanged Christmas presents and had Christmas dinner (both my mother and grandmother cook very well), and I did take a certain delight in ITV3's Two-Ronnies-athon. It is also the time of year that I send a Christmas themed e-mail to all of my friends in (this year, reverse) alphabetical order of my e-mail address book, with a personal message in each, and therefore also the time of year when I occasionally have to remind myself that the fact that the friendly e-mail from the nice young lady whom I knew at university (and who is now a television journalist in an exotic south-sea island), stating that she is becoming bored with the lack of newsworthy events on said south-sea island, enclosing three videos of herself featuring in international news reports, and imploring me to keep in touch, is not an attempt to flirt with me, whatever a certain part of my brain (or elsewhere) might wish me to believe, and that, even if it was, it probably shouldn't be acted on as such, in consequence, at least in part, of the distance between London and said south-sea island.

I do hope that all (or, at least, both) of the regular readers, and anyone else reading, had a delightful festive season; best wishes to everyone for the new year, and particular best wishes to all those in the dating 'blogging community (London Girl, Dolly, OneGirl, the Not quartet, and everybody else whose names I have missed from the list) at finding a husband/boyfriend/wife/girlfriend or just someone with whom to share a steamy week-end, as the case may be, and thank you all for keeping me entertained (and particular thanks to all those who have posted on my 'blog since I started it near the beginning of this year). It can be said that the 'blog is the twenty-first century equivalent of the novel (some of the 'blogs listed above, and others, are certainly rather better written and more compelling to read than many novels); if that be the case, may we all be stories with a happy ending - perhaps more Jane Austin, less Charles Dickens.

Happy new year to one and all!

Long time no 'blog

...and a little bit of history repeating

IT HAS been a long time since May - the summer has come and gone, I have turned 26, and some interesting things have happened in the world of legal practice. Nothing, however, of any real interest has happened in the world of courtship: being busy and far away does that.

Nothing interesting until yesterday, that is. (To be fair, even yesterday was not the height of interesting, but, compared to the last few months, it is something at least). A long time indeed ago now, I 'blogged about Chantelle, a woman whom I had met on a three day course in spring 2005 and with whom I had had a somewhat racy, although abruptly terminated, text message exchange (full understanding is much aided by reading the archived post). Yesterday, I was at a conference in London, attended by, according to my rough estimate, well over a hundred young lawyers. About half-way through the day, I had spotted her briefly, although I lost sight of her shortly afterwards.

I was intrigued to know what she was doing, and even more intrigued as to how she might respond if I said hello. Would she remember who I was? Would she remember the bizarre exchange by text message that had occurred at least a year previously? Would she remember whatever reason that it was that she had abruptly stopped responding to my communications? By the end of the conference, I had found her again, queuing to return her badge and sign out. I hesitated for a moment. Perhaps it would be awkward. Was it really appropriate to try to talk to somebody who had obviously not wanted to talk to me?

Curiosity, however, got the better of me: I was determined not to miss the opportunity of finding out how she would react.

"Hello", I said. "I remember you from that course, don't I?"

She turned to face me and smiled. "Yes... [CoatMan] isn't it? That forensic accountancy course?"

"Yes - [Chantelle] isn't it?"

"That's right".

We talked briefly about what she was doing and what I was doing. She was smiling, friendly, and seemed happy to talk to me and interested in what I was doing. She asked me questions about what I was doing and where I was now.

After a short while, she said that she needed to go and sign out and hand in her badge, but that she would not be long, and that she would be back. I suggested that we meet at the cloakroom as I collected my coat, and she agreed.

I went to the cloakroom, and, a few seconds later, Chantelle appeared. We started talking again about what we were doing, how we were getting on, where we were. When that topic seemed exhausted, she said that she would need to finish a conversation that she was having with a colleague of hers before I spoke to her. I apologised for having interrupting her, and she said that I had not interrupted her. She lingered for a moment, not breaking eye contact.

"Well, best wishes in your... career..." She seemed slightly lost for words, still not breaking eye contact, still smiling. I reciprocated the best wishes.

She lingered again, still looking at me with her pretty grey eyes. "I'm sure we'll see each other at one of these things again", she said, still sounding as if she had not fully made up her mind as to what to say.

I agreed, and we parted company. As I left, I saw her, looking slightly lost, perhaps trying to track down her colleague. Perhaps I should have been more bold, and said something like, "Or maybe we could have a drink sometime? I know your number, don't I?", but I thought that that might be too pushy if she had previously rebuffed me and not made any more clearly positive signs when we spoke. Perhaps, on the other hand, I was right to be cautious: after all, a gentleman should never make a lady feel uncomfortable. If only I could read minds. Comments, anyone?

Too much court, not enough courtship

...action, and excuses for inaction

THE JOYS of combining suburban living with legal practice are manifold. Firstly, there is the delightful one-and-a-half to three hour each way commute to court every day on scenically slow and cosily packed commuter trains. Secondly, there are the blissful evenings of arriving home at half past eight and having papers to prepare for three trials the next day. Thirdly, there is the inexorable pleasure of waking at five-thirty in the morning to catch the train (and Underground, and other Underground, and train again) to go as far out of one side of London as I am the other, and get there by nine, conduct said three trials, and leave, if I am lucky, by four to five p.m., perhaps taking a detour on the way home to collect the next day's papers.

Such a commodious lifestyle, however, alas leaves little room for courting the fairer sex, so the past few months have, perhaps not entirely surprisingly, been unremarkably uneventful in that regard, hence the relatively sparse updates on this 'blog. However, not to be defeated, there are one or two small matters of progress to report since the last (and somewhat floral) occasion of my writing.

Firstly, there was the lovely night last week that I went out for dinner with two old school-friends, Arthur and Mark (I'm sure that I'm getting worse at inventing substitute names - Arthur, for goodness' sake...), the latter of whom, a cheery, intelligent accountant who one might put in the "not ready to settle down" box (he once dumped a girl by telling her that he'd rather play amateur rugby one week-end than see her mother; he is, I must reassure querying readers at this juncture, really a very nice chap) also has been speed dating once or twice. The topic of romantic interests arose, and it transpired that none of the three of us currently had any (Mark having dumped his most recent girlfriend not long after she suggested that they spice up their love life with cocaine and a threesome in which, he was somewhat unreassuringly reassured, he would get to pick the sex of the third person).

As the topic of speed dating had arisen, I suggested that maybe we could all go speed dating one night, a suggestion which, to my slight surprise, met with unanimous approval, with particular enthusiasm from Mark. I mentioned the relatively unsuccessful experience that I had had on the last occasion, and he did seem to think that ticking only three people out of the twenty-five or so attendees was a little on the picky side, but he cunningly suggested that it might be amusing to "compare notes", as he put it, on the female attendees if we were all to attend together, and I suggested that we each keep a record on the score-card of anyone that we saw smoking, and pass it on to each other at the end, just in case one of us missed one. Mark (who expressed a certain surprising enthusiasm for slightly older women, admiring, he said, their directness and life-experience) remarked, perhaps pointedly, that he wouldn't expect to meet the love of his life there, but that it'd be great fun.

I also recently decided to dredge up another previously abandoned scheme of meeting prospects, the dating website (specifically, OkCupid. Since it's free, I thought that I have nothing to lose (except, perhaps, several hours of answering endless matching questions: what do you find more exciting: cheese, lakes or hamsters?), and there was always the possibility that there'd be a new person on there since I last checked who not only matched according to their match percentiles, but who also seemed attractive and sane. I found four. I messaged them on Sunday, each with their own hopefully witty mini-message, based on their profile. So far, 0 responses. Three of the four have not logged in since I sent the message (one can check the date of last login of each member), although one of them (the most promising of the four) has, and has still not responded. Not a good start, but one must, I suppose, keep one's chin up for these things.

In any event, I shall keep (ir)regular readers updated on the progress of both of those avenues of umm... attack, and on any new fronts that open in due course. In the meantime, anybody with any OkCupid or speed dating tips is encouraged to post me a comment, as is anybody else with anything interesting to write.

I love London in the spring time

...being overworked and inappropriately flirted at

LONDON is a wonderful place in any season, but, at this time of year, after months of skies the colour of the pavements and bracing winds, the spring puts a new shine on things. At around this time of year, the Victoria Embankment Gardens are open late enough that I can walk through them on my way to the station after work in the evenings, and its neat flowerbeds, serene ponds and languid but well-kempt trees incuce a welcome relaxation after a hard day's work.

To-day, as I was walking to buy my lunch', I happened upon a parade to celebrate the Queen's 80^th birthday, with the Lord Mayor and his yeomen in full ceramonial dress, a marching band with drums, and members of the Roayl British Leigion carrying flags, all lead by a large banner reading, "Happy birthday, your majesty". There's nowhere quite like London.

Regular readers, if there are any, or indeed anybody who knows how to read the dates on the posts, will notice that I have not updated this 'blog in a while. That has been for two (not wholly unrelated) reasons: (1) with a few minor exceptions (on which, see below), a lack of interesting things happening to post about; and (2) being very busy in work.

As to the former, I have two jury trials booked for the first half of May (prosecuting one, defending one: never let it be said that I am partisan!), and what was supposed to be a three day hearing in an Employment Tribunal this week that the members of the Tribunal decided was so complicated that they would need to spend the whole of to-day (originally scheduled as the last day of the hearing) deciding the issue of whether my client should win in principle, and set aside another day in June to decide how much money she should get if she does. It was because of that rescheduling that I was somewhat less busy than I might otherwise have been to-day, and thus able to enjoy the joys of spring and the City's birthday salute to her majesty.

Being busy has also meant very little opportunity for flirting (not having any intention to go speed dating again any time soon, although a colleague of mine told me to-day that she is going speed-dating with a friend of hers this week-end), although that has not stopped two slightly inappropriate instances of suspected* flirtation in court, one from a fairly attractive court clerk who complimented me on my suit, and then on the next day on my cufflinks, on the latter occasion actually grabbing hold of my shirt cuff to get a better look, and another from an opponent who was actually winking at me (either that, or she had a nervous tic, but she didn't seem very nervous).

All of which leads up to the latest non-event in the Coatman courtship saga: Rosaline. Worthy of mention more as an interesting aside than a genuine prospect, she is, unless I have (not wholly improbably) misread her entirely, an example of an interesting and perplexing phenominon: the attached flirter.

Rosaline is another volunteer at the legal charity through which I undertook the abovementioned case that the Tribunal needed all of to-day to think about, and, although I had seen her in the office once or twice before, I had not spoken to her terribly much until to-day (although she had mentioned in passing a boyfriend).

I had gone into the office to update people on how the case had gone, and, whilst I was talking to one of the other people who worked there, Rosaline, sitting at an adjoining desk, joined in, and we started talking. She seemed quite keen to be talking to me, and appeared purposely to prolong the conversation. I also noted query flirty eyes and a consistent, genuine smile. She was pretty (albeit more casually dressed than is my taste), and, although at 27 a little older than I normally prefer, had the intelligence, confidence, articulacy and poise to make up for it.

When I was about to leave, she pointedly enquired about the progress of my case, and whether, therefore, I would likely be in the office much any time soon.

Why do attached people do it? To the regular (or, indeed, irregular) readers who leave (always appreciated) comments here: have you ever been an attached flirter? Do you only do it when in a non-serious relationship, or one that is going badly? Do you flirt in a non-serious way, readily distinguisable from serious flirting? Do you just like the thrill of doing something slightly illicit that will never come to anything harmful? Or do you do it without really realising? I am intrigued to know what motivates these people.

Incidentally, I get to collect my new suit from my tailor on Tuesday. Heavyweight black/white narrow pinstripe three-piece with a cloth backed waistcoat and black lining in the jacket. I am greatly looking forward.

* I'm a man - I'll never know for sure.

How online dating should be

...or an early filterer's ideal dating site

THERE are dating sites that have personality tests, but none that cater specifically to the early-filterer market. What we early filterers really need is a dating site that works something like this: each person, as in an ordinary site, posts a brief profile, preferably including a picture. However, people cannot just send each other messages willy-nilly: in order to be able to send another user a message, a person would have to answer a series of questions posed by the person to whom the other person wants to send the message, and, only if the answers are approved by the person to whom the message is sought to be sent should contact be possible.

Specifically, each user would have, attached to her or his profile, a unique questionairre that he or she would have designed her or himself. It would be divided into two parts: (1) a series of multiple choice questions, the answers to which can be evaluated by the computer automatically based on acceptable answers pre-selected by the user; and (2) a further series of open-ended questions the answers to which the poser of those questions would evaluate manually.

If a user wanted to contact another, he or she would first take that user's multiple choice test. If all of the answers to that test were marked as acceptable answers by the person whose test it is, then the person would have the further opportunity of going on to the open-ended questions. Once those are submitted, the user whose test has been taken would be sent a message with the answers to the open-ended questions. He or she could then decide whether to approve the answers, and, if he or she does, he or she would then go on to take the other person's test.

If the person then passes that test (i.e., both approve each other both on the automatically and manually filtered answers), their e-mail addresses would be exchanged simultaneously.

Now, is that not an early filterer's dream dating site? Somebody should seriously make a dating site like that. Any pair of people who manage to get past all those tests would surely have a very high chance of being suitable for each other.

A curious affliction

I THINK that I have discovered an entirely new kind of disability from which a person can suffer: the inability to make oneself heard against a background of the noise of a lot of other people talking, or dysdictia, as one might call it. It is not the loudness of one's voice, per se, that is the difficulty, but the fact that the combination of the pitch and timbre seem to blend so exactly with the background noise generated by lots of people talking at the same time indoors at, say, a crowded bar, that it is impossible to distinguish the latter from one's voice.

I seem to be dysdictic, as was clearly demonstrated this evening when I went for a drink with some colleagues after work, and ended up in what would have been a quite interesting political debate with a chap, but for the fact that he couldn't for the life of him make out what I was saying much of the time. Even his voice was clearer to me than my own voice was in my head! I had that problem, too, to some extent, when I went speed dating, and have noticed it before, too. I try talking more loudly, but it still doesn't help much, and I get a sore throat very soon (which is not good when one has to talk for a living).

I also find it quite difficult to hear people above a background noise, the combination of which means that it is extremely difficult for me to communicate at all in crowded bars, parties, or similar social noisy functions, with the result that the very places at which one would usually expect to meet prospective mates are not the sorts of places where I can terribly sucessfully meet anyone. When I have to strain to hear and make myself heard, I cannot relax or concentrate on the substance of the conversation, or anything other than the mechanics of communicating.

Does anyone else have this problem? Does anyone know of anyone with this problem? How is it circumvented? Can anybody recommend some good quiet places to meet potentials?