Friday, 28 March 2014

When Having An Affair.


Recently I received a phone call from a man I used to know. Well, I say know, more accurately, have sex with on occasion. The man in question was married. He was in an allegedly happy relationship but enjoyed extra marital sex, with women foolish enough to agree to those extra marital activities. *Raises hand*. 

I don’t look back with starry eyed illusions that I was anything more to him than a bit of fun on the side, or that he was anything more to me than a reasonably attractive man with a fairly large penis who served a purpose at the time. He was, what I like to refer to, as a total waste of time. A person with very little respect for his wife, his lover or indeed himself, also known as a complete knob jockey. (the type who shaves off all of his pubic hair and ‘surprises’ you on your birthday by wearing a gold cock ring ...  but that’s for another day.)
Oh, the joy of hindsight. 

And yes, before you throw the woman’s solidarity book my way, I take full blame and responsibility for my part in the ‘affair’ and recognise, with age, and a considerable amount more respect for myself, that the time spent in his company would have been far better spent, on the sofa/asleep/filling in my tax return form. Perhaps not quite as exciting, but in the long run, far more nourishing for the soul. 

Married men who say they’ll leave their wives and don’t ... do not leave their wives. Ever. 

So, the adulterer in question called yesterday. He wanted a catch up and it took him, oh, let’s see, all of about 4 minutes to divert the conversation onto sex, as in, can we meet up for. He threw in a ‘miss you’ which I thought was chivalrous of him, shucks, he nearly had me there. 


You see, here’s the thing. A man who consciously and continually cheats on his wife (and never leaves) isn’t a person of passion, but with too big a heart to destroy his partners life, he’s not SO nice that he doesn’t want to disrupt his daughters GCSE year or create unnecessary anguish within the family. He is a cheat, with a hard on, who wants a fuck. 

Isn’t this easy!

Of course, I am a woman of open mind and recognise that people are in wrong relationships, they meet other people and fall in love, its a sad fact but life goes on, and should such a situation occur the only man one must have any respect for is a man who tries his very best to avoid genuine long term hurt and sadness. He takes responsibility of his actions and recognises that although painful, the fewer lies told the more he is giving his partner the respect in a desperately sad situation she deserves.
 They don’t make excuses about GCSE’s, step aunts mastectomies and pre-booked holidays that cannot be cancelled they stand up to the responsibility and they let that person go. 

To reassure those who I may have confused about the benefits of cheating, I’ll tell you what I got out of having an affair with this married man. The odd pair of shoes, the occasional dinner, brain freeze from staring at my phone for so long and an aching jaw, and, no, it wasn’t from the riveting, intellectual conversation we shared. 

Nay, It’s not even the wife that should be in the forefront of your mind when embarking on an affair, hell, lets be brutal, you’re not married to the women, and have most likely never met her before in your life,  it is the fact that the man you are shagging isn’t man enough to be brave, to be honest to somebody he has shared a decade/home/family with. Nope, he is a coward, which I think you’ll agree is not the sexiest state of being for a man, no not at all.

The simple message is this, when you fuck a man who isn’t yours make sure you’ve got a stop watch near to hand, give him a time limit, no excuses, ask for more than a fuck once a fortnight and THEN see how much he loves you. That big family graduation party? Yeah, that’s bullshit, if he loves you he’ll leave and if he doesn’t, by all means continue, but remember, it is not you he is interested in, it is your vagina and no doubt numerous other vaginas to boot. 

Affairs can be fun, they can also be fucking exhausting and a total waste of everybody's time. His wife doesn’t understand him? Yeah I bet she doesn’t settle for sucking his cock in a hotel room now and again either. And who wants integrity and genuine commitment when you can have a a couple of hours at a west end bar once once a fortnight. Tsk, some women don’t know how good they’ve got it. 

Monday, 3 March 2014

Game Playing.


As one gets older, there are certain things one feels are no longer necessary in one’s life. Alcopops, 18 to 30 holidays in dubious Mediterranean locations and social networking sites such as MySpace, for example. There are, too, certain things that one feels very much compelled to start including, a warm coat when there's a nip in the air, slightly more expensive wine at dinner and regular gym sessions, to name a few. 

When it comes to relationships, the concept of dating men I have absolutely no intention of sharing a future with is something I prefer to leave in the last decade. For example, whereas I spent many a blissful night with the local bouncer I dated when I was 17, far less concerned with intelligent conversation than I was with the bonus of free entry to the local club, I, now, prefer that my suitors can at least keep me intellectually stimulated for the duration of a dinner. 

Likewise, I would profess that the idea of ‘game playing’ is something I don’t relish the thought of. That is to say, that when dating a man in his mid 50’s I'd hope that our connection represented something deeper than a competition to see who could hold out on sending the next text. Of course I recognise that an element of chase is necessary in any blossoming romance and no man is too old to fall for the ‘you can’t have me’ school of thought at the beginning. However there is a limit. 

On this theme, I had a most interesting conversation with a gentleman recently who took this theory to quite a new level. 

As research for the new matchmaking service, which I have recently launched, I have been using, infrequently, an app called Tinder. For those of you unaware of said app, it works by listing local singles. An online dating site without the drama and headache of filling out a profile, listing your favourite animals/countries/sports. It is certainly not somewhere you are likely to meet your husband but may well be somewhere you will meet a local bouncer for an alcopop and free entry to the local club. (Yes, I'm too old for it.) 
I rarely use it, but, noticed recently that I had been matched with a gentleman in my area. He texted me and asked to speak on the phone.
Fine. 

After a brief conversation, (one which helped me to decide that we definitely were not compatible) he ended the conversation with this corker ... 

‘Great to talk to you, actually you’re the first girl I've spoken to on here. I can’t believe what a connection we have! Now that I've meet you I’m going to come off Tinder.”

Now, before you condemn my cold heart and mean spirit, could I just emphasis that I'd never actually met, nor had any intention to meet, said gentleman. We had absolutely no connection, nay, he spent the best part of the 10 minute conversation telling my about fibre glass boats (his business) and what a cunt Janice was (his ex-wife). 

That day I received no less than 7 ‘daily update’ texts and 3 missed calls. 

Deciding that it was best to nip the ‘romance’ in the proverbial bud I text him to explain that it had been nice to chat but felt that we should leave it at that. 

I was met with the following - 

WHAT!!!????? why would you lead me on and then say you didn’t want to see me, I thought we had something together and suddenly you’ve gone cold!!!!? I WON’T bother you again. Maybe you should stop treating people like shit!!!! Thanks for nothing.

Now, forgive me, but, at what point, did a 10 minute conversation constitute ‘something together’ and, pray tell, and I'm genuinely interested, how one should ‘end’ ‘something together’ in a way, other than a polite text to SOMEONE YOU HAVE NEVER MET BEFORE that doesn’t constitute ‘treating someone like shit’.... Flowers? A notice in the local paper?? A barber street quartet!? 

Men, some advice, take it gracefully. If a girl isn’t interested, and politely tells you so, accept it. Yes, we all profess to hate game playing but, please, at least meet the girl before you ask her to move in with you. Playing it slightly cool when you first meet someone (anything under 7 texts in one day is a good start) doesn’t mean you’re a game player, it means you’re an adult who has more important things to do than obsess about a girl you have never met. 

Saying you don’t like game playing and then stalking your intended for 24 hours is like saying you don’t like foreplay then coming before you’ve taken your trousers off. There is a middle ground. 

Oh and that thing with the exclamation marks? yeah, don’t do it. 

Monday, 10 February 2014

VD ... And How To Avoid It.


So, it’s the week we’ve all been looking forward to, ahem, the day that has our hearts a flutter and our perfect relationships celebrated in all their heart-shaped glory. Yes, of course! it’s Valentine’s Day this week. And, what, pray tell, could a single person possibly enjoy more than a whole day dedicated to reminding them that they are alone, solo, totally and utterly relationship free!


For those of you not so over zealous about the idea of this (surely not!) there is hope. And not just hope, there is a genuine and solid reason why, in actual fact, a day like St Valentine’s, Or VD, as I prefer to call it, (oh, how us singles laughed!) should be celebrated. 

A brief list, if you will, of reasons why all singles should enjoy VD. 

  • You are saving yourself a small fortune in money that, otherwise, would have been spent on over priced flowers, bad set menu dinners and tacky love sonnets inside Hallmark cards. I would imagine this tidy sum amounts to at least, hmm, let’s say, £50. With this nifty saving in mind, why not, instead, treat yourself to a good bottle of expensive wine? a  fabulous haircut? 2 lap dances at Stringfellows, some illegal drugs or a quarter of a face worth of Botox?  From my experience, all far more satisfactory and memorable investments than petrol station flowers.

  • You are not in a shit relationship that suddenly ‘comes good’ once a year. That is to say that, one thing more avoidable than the year round ‘smug marrieds’ are the ‘fucking miserable marrieds’ who pretend to be fine because Hallmark demands it. That same couple that only shag, pissed, on a Saturday night, once a month ... with their eyes closed ... thinking about someone else.  Instead you are drinking wine (expensive) and masturbating ... there by, coming as many times as you want without having to think about Craig from accounts. What joy. 

  • You can totally avoid forced intimacy. I embarrass easily when it comes to public declarations of affection. God knows, I think I would rather have a 12 inch vibrator seized by customs from my hand luggage at the US border than be bought a 5 pound rose by a man in a restaurant. And, please, don't let’s even get started on the ‘romantic’  Kosovan gypsy quartet that plague every outdoor eater within a 3 mile radius of the West end. These “romantic” situations? yep, Ok ... as I say vibrator, US border ... no contest.

  • You can go out on Friday knowing that anybody who is out, partner free, is most likely to be single. I often hear singles complain about Valentine’s being a bad night to go out as everywhere is full of couples. Utter nonsense! VD is the one day a person can go out safe in the knowledge that if a man/woman is at the bar they are either single or in a really shit relationship that is likely to finish at any moment. Dive in, February 14th is the biggest single’s night of the year! ... if you know where to look and avoid Pizza Express. 

  • You can use February 14th as a most excellent point of reference to remind yourself of relationships past. Times, in the, not so distant past, that you shared with a loved one, (or, as it turns out, not such a loved one given that you are getting pissed and masturbating alone this year. Which is NOT  a bad thing.) Use this time to think about the pricks you have dated in the past, and yes, dear readers, I speak from personal experience. The arseholes whom, regardless of being in a relationship with you, did fuck all for you on Valentine’s Day anyway. The knob jockeys who where, as you have thankfully realised, no good for you then and no good for you now.  Wankers, pricks, arseholes, fuckheads, twats, morons, dickheads. Ah, say it loud sista! Now isn’t that more fun than a ‘VIP’ seat at the Odeon?

  • THESE are the reason to celebrate being single on VD. You are free, you made your choices and you stuck with them! And that should be saluted. There will be many more VD's, with more cheap roses, more bad meals and more tacky cards. Of which, I’ve every faith, you will ‘enjoy’ many. But for this year, you're single, your fabulous and you have a most excellent bottle of Premier Cru and some extra long life batteries on your shopping list. 

  • ENJOY.

Monday, 27 January 2014

Fussy Fuckers.


So, last week I was asked on a date. He was an attractive chap, not my normal type in that he was nice, or at least as nice as a man you don’t know can be. Saying that, a few weeks ago, I thought that a policeman, i.e. an upstanding member of our community, was nice until he sent me pictures of his truncheon and told me what he’d like to do with it, but I digress. That little gem, I’ll save for another day. 

So, as we were, I went on a date last night with a 'nice' man. We met at a local bar and, to his credit, he drove from the other side of London to see me, (which always earns someone a few brownie points in my book). He was well dressed, tick, and text me before I arrived, asking what I’d like to drink. Double tick. 

So far, so good. For a highly critical and hugely cynical dating pro like myself, the above points put me at ease and bode well in encouraging me to think he might be a chap I would enjoy spending time with. 

We chatted for a while, the usual boring small talk regarding place of present domicile, jobs, holidays, and of course, previous relationships. 

Now, as a rule of thumb, we are told, by various self help/dating coach books, and the like,  not to talk about past relationships on a date, that discussing your ex will have your date running for the hills. Utter nonsense, I like nothing more than a good dig around my date's baggage, if, for no other reason, than that it will save me a vast amount of time, in the long run, when a man discloses the reason his past relationships didn’t work. 
“I cheated so she dumped me” ... "she said I was too nice so she dumped me" ... "I asked to call her Mummy and wear nappies and she dumped me.” These are all things, I think you’ll agree, one would rather know on date 1 than date 32. 

So we talked about relationships briefly, and what we were looking for in a new partner. Me? Oh, honesty, kindness and sincerity of course! ... (a bottle of wine and a good fuck.)  
And then he came out with this beauty. 

“As a rule I don’t date fat girls or women with children, but you have an amazing body and, actually, I'm cool with you having a kid.”

Hmm. 

Is that a fact? 

Shucks, thank you. 

This, my friends, is NOT a compliment. This is, actually, another, more interesting way, of saying I am a complete wanker and it is no wonder I am alone and childless at 47. 

Interestingly and luckily for him, as a 'rule' I don’t date people who say they don’t date fat girls and women with children, and he probably doesn’t date women that say they don’t date men that say they don’t date fat girls and women with children. 

And so the happy, single cycle continues. 

Most perfectly of all, perhaps, he admitted to being lonely. To having had 25 Tinder dates in the last 3 months, and being desperate to have kids in the near future. 

You couldn’t make it up. 


Read this, single 47 year old men. OPEN YOUR MINDS. 

There are beautiful women everywhere. Some have kids (the horror!) And some are carrying a few pounds (the shock!) Some might have sold their bodies to get through university, tried crystal meth at the Burning Man festival or accidentally slept with their first cousin when they were 14. Who gives a shit! You're single and nearly 50 ffs, enough of the judging and the rules. 

It’s not going to be a dating site that gets you a girlfriend, it's going to be getting off that high horse and removing that stick from your ass. 

Oh, and you text this morning saying you wanted to see me again? Hmm... I’m sorry, I'm too busy eating cake with my daughter. 

Better get back to Tinder. 

Tuesday, 21 January 2014

Un Imbecile Francais.


It probably hasn’t escaped anyone’s attention, in the last week or so, that, Francoise Hollande, the President of France, has had an affair. Apparently, such news has been swept under the carpet in France itself, being discarded as unimportant tittle tattle, and the private life of Hollande, which has absolutely no bearing or concern of the general French public, despite the fact that he is in full control of destroying, forgive me, I mean, running the country. 
We in England, however, despite having very little to do with the man himself (bar chuckling quietly at how one man could quite so effortlessly destroy an economy in such a short space of time.) have taken it upon ourselves to fill much of our daily newspapers with updates on the story. Private life? bah! not in Blighty, my friends, not in Blighty.

And so, thus far, we have learnt that Hollande has been having an affair for approximately 2 years to date. That his mistress, Julie Gayet, is pregnant, and that his wife, Valerie Trierweiler, an otherwise strong and determined woman, has been committed to a hospital, giving stress and exhaustion as the reason. 

Sigh. 

Sigh, sigh, sigh. 

You see here is the thing. The French, it would seem, take great pride in the fact that it is standard protocol to 'keep a mistress', that the news of there President having done such a  thing should not be seen as shocking but more as confirmation that, far from being the limp-dicked little man we first thought he was, he is in fact, a stallion! A man who can juggle 2 women at the same time AND destroy an economy, what a hero! 

I don’t know if i find it depressing or completely hilarious that, according to the French press his popularity has risen by 16% since it became common knowledge of his wandering penis. Boff! ce n'est pas un probleme that I have no security job, pay extortionate taxes and live in a country of complete social discord, my President can get it up!

I can imagine the brain storming meeting at the Parlement Francais, as we speak "but Monsieur Hollande, the entire country hates you, whatever shall we do??"
"I know! I must fuck someone immediately! magnifique! je suis un vrai homme Francais! 

And so the reputation continues, France, a country of passionate lovers who prioritise ‘love’ above everything ... the respect for their wives, the people around them, and it would seem the entire economy of a country. 

My thoughts, are this. Shagging an actress for 2 years does not make Hollande a stallion, or a national treasure (why break the habit of a lifetime) it makes him selfish and insecure. A man, so consumed in self gratification that the entire well being of everyone around him becomes totally irrelevant (wife stressed and exhausted - read : utterly devastated and betrayed by a man she had committed her life to.)


He’s destroyed his wife, and made a mockery of the whole country. In fact, far from wallow in the romance of another French affair, it seems that the rest of the world now, simply roll their eyes and laughs at another French middle-aged adulterer who can’t keep it in his pants. 

Because the most brilliant thing about the story, is not the fact he proves himself to be yet another man who morphs into a complete dribbling fool when there is an open pair of legs in front of him, but the fact that he didn’t even have the sense and ability to keep it a secret, he rode to his mistresses love abode cunningly disguised by a moped helmet, oh how we laugh!

How genius, how French.

My advice to Hollande? you want to shag around and run a country, for fuck's sake, try and be discreet. A discreet affair might just pass as something passionate and French (yawn) ... a moped helmet, tells me you don’t give a shit about your wife, you don’t give a shit about your country, or what the people of that country think. You give a shit about your penis and when you can next insert it into a vagina. 

A romantic french lover, showing the world how to do it best or a middle aged fool who’s made a joke of an entire country. 

Vous decidez. 

Wednesday, 15 January 2014

Four Letter Word.



Following my last post, regarding online dating, (or the want to steer clear of it for the rest of my life!) I am excited to announce the launch of our brand new, and super exciting,  concept in dating. An Introduction service with a difference!


As the Near Year begins, it would seem I’m not the only person who is tired of the online dating formula, that trawling through endless profiles on sites such as Match.com and apps such as Tinder has lost it’s magic. People, it would seem, are tired of the throw away aspect of meeting people online, the ‘needle in a haystack’ approach to dating and the flexibility with the truth many people appear to adopt when it comes to writing profiles. But at the same time, people don’t have the time, nor the want, to stand around in bars hoping to meet ‘the one’. 

And so, after too many bad dates, a number of crappy relationships, with people met through online dating, and many conversations with equally exasperated single friends, we decided something had to be done!  


FOUR LETTER WORD is a bespoke London-based introduction service that matches dynamic and successful single people with their perfect partner.
We offer a tailored membership experience that takes the guesswork out of finding love, through close, one-to-one consultations with our clients. Think of us as your romantic PA, with all the dedication, confidentiality and discretion that comes with the role. We get to know what makes you tick, to find the right person to make you happy.
We specialise in pairing dynamic, attractive and successful single men and women with people who want the same thing: A lasting relationship. Our members know the special quality they’re looking for in a partner, we’re here to help them find it.
Our expert team of personal relationship consultants network at exclusive events across London to ensure we are continually growing our membership and seeking out single men and women of the highest calibre.
In other words, In the same way you would be more likely to hit it off with someone you have met through a friend, the chances of connecting with that person would be greatly increased. This is not random dating, it is a personalised service, with regular contact with a member of our team, ensuring that you will no longer find yourself out on a cold Monday night in a dingy bar with somebody who looks nothing like their profile picture! 


We are also excited to announce that to celebrate the launch of Four Letter Word, we are offering complimentary membership to gorgeous guys and girls who are interesting in  connecting with like-minded people across the capital. People don’t think twice about using using a personal trainer to shape up in the gym, a careers adviser to assist with a new profession or a life coach to improve their state of mind, why then, not take advantage of this exciting new service and get your love life ship shape in 2014. 

So come on gorgeous people, what are you wanting for? Join the fastest growing network of singles in the capital and make this year your year for fun and romance! 

Whatever four letter word you're looking for, we'll help you find it.

follow us on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/FourLW

twitter @FourLW

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We look forward to having you on board! 


Saturday, 11 January 2014

Offline Dating.


I've never been a big believer in New Year’s Resolution, thinking they are a far too ‘popular’ and predictable. Ok, Hallmark aren't quite making cards for dry January yet, but it’s a trend that, seemingly, 90% of the population buys into, and, preferring to swim against the tide, I’d rather take things up rather than give them up at the beginning of a new year. 

I also rather enjoy the odd ciggie and would prefer, hands down, to remove my left eyeball with a blunt fork than give up alcohol. How, in God’s name, anyone gets through a tax return during the grimmest month of the year, without the promise of a large glass of Sauvignon at the end of it, is quite beyond me. 

Saying that, I have been doing some thinking recently, and, have decided on one thing. Something that I am giving up. Not for a month, or 6 months, or a year, but forever. 

ONLINE DATING. 

It must be said, and without wanting to blow my own dating trumpet, so to speak, that there is one thing I know a fair amount about, and that is, indeed, dating. 
I enjoy it as a pastime. Meeting new people, visiting new and interesting places and should the mood take me, indulging in sexual adventures with attractive others. It might also be noted that I have signed up in the past to various online dating sites. An activity, considered fairly textbook in this day and age for people seeking significant others.

Entering myself into the online pool of people, has got me precisely one place - nowhere. 
And after much consideration, my conclusion for this outcome is as follows.


From my experience and, God knows, it’s plentiful, there are two types of men who online date. Younger men who, suddenly realise all their friends are paired up, and sign up to an online dating agency with the hope that they’ll be engage within the fortnight (run for the hills) and old men who are desperate for a bunk up and don’t have the social skills/can’t be bothered/have totally forgotten how to meet someone in real life.

(There is a third, Worse still, than both these categories, the man who masquerades as the first but is actually the second - but more of that later.)

I have experienced both these pools of people and at the ripe old age of 36 have come to the very definite conclusion that neither go anyway to enhance or enrich my life. 

Because the problem is this, when you meet a man online they are seeking, they are shopping for something that they want, be it a instant ‘long term relationship’ or a fuck. Either way, much of the time it is fairly inconsequential who these are achieved with, so long as they are achieved. 

Second to that, an online dating site is essentially a list. A list of people, who can be accessed for 30 quid a month. Meaning that not only is the whole idea of fate throwing people together totally obsolete but that, that list is (oh, too) easy to return to. I’d like a pound for every woman who found there ex back online 2 weeks after they broke up. 

Sigh. Where’s the romance? Where’s the effort? ... you don’t need it anymore because you’ve got Match.com.

Of course, it works for some and there is no doubt that the likes of Match and My Single Friend have been the start of many a happy relationship. 
But from now on you can count me out. As the saying goes, the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting the results to be different. 

I’ll also save myself 30 quid a month, which is one hell of a nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc ... Now you're talking value for money.