Football: I remember a very miserable afternoon - a rainy Saturday - spent in a pub that smelled of cauliflower and dog, staring with great concentration at a TV up on the wall. I didn't really dare look away in case I looked like I was bored and I couldn't have given two bronze f***s about what was happening...
Last year was my year for getting back out there and I still laugh about how many men I had on the go at any one time. My antics became so notorious at work that every day at 5pm a group of girls would make their way surreptitiously to my desk for a daily update. As well as Serge, the Stuntman, Email Sex Pest and Posho I made a brief foray onto an internet dating site.
Using Tinder for me is like eating a MacDonald's. It's something I do often but hate to admit to, however seek to it for some feeling of comfort or joy (that little air punch you do when you match with someone that doesn't look like a shoe)... then eventually having that feeling of guilt set in after my fast food flirting bender.
While researching for my book, The Flirt Interpreter, I interviewed 100 men in four different international, Western cities. I asked them if they would like it if a woman approached them and asked them out. The answer was a resounding 'yes!' on both counts. Followed by 'as long as it's not done too aggressively'.
The weather is finally, FINALLY on the turn and so it seems is my love life, although the outlook for the latter is not necessarily very sunny. The Stuntman has hilariously (and predictably) not troubled himself to get in touch since his effusive offer of the free holiday we were never, ever going on. Not a peep!
The true cross that every anonymous blogger has to bear is that most people don't know (or indeed care) who they are. For some bloggers, this adds to the mystery and appeal and so they value their anonymity (yes, I'm talking about me now), but others regret that their face sits behind a paywall that nobody is going to shell out the pennies to peek behind.