The last straw

I have no idea what I am going to write about from here on in.
I do know it won't be dates.
before you all go 'oh there she goes again, with that I can be private about my love life nonsense, before spilling the beans for our amusement', I'll say it's not that.
It's not that I'm going to have loads of amazing dates and keep them all as a sexy lovely secret to myself. How horrid would that be? Too horrid.
Nope, I'm not having any.
Before those of you who know me best go ' uh huh, a Julie celibacy, off dating spell, that'll last a week', I'll say, it will. And longer.
'What?' I hear you cry, 'could have brought this on?'.
A singles night brought this on.
Nettie sends an email. 'single gorgeous gals, we're taking life in our own hands, sod the speed dating, sod the nasty cattle market events, sod dating agencies and personal ads and hoping the guy who smiled at you on the tube is not wearing a ring cos he's unattached rather than just messing round on his pregnant wife indoors.... Or allergic to gold'.... It didn't say this exactly, I'm improvising, it did say
'come to (some trendy hard surfaced bar) in Liverpool street, bring a man you don't fancy.'
Nettie brought two. I tried to invite the millionaire, but he was househunting in Sark. She covered me with a spare ex boyfriend she found hanging around in her garage.
Dad rang on the day of the big event
'want to go out?'
'sorry Dad, can't, out with Nettie'
'Just the three of us then' asked Dad hopefully (he has a soft spot for Nettie')
'Nope, we're going to a singles night'
'singles night? Can I come, I'm single?'
'nope'.
Net says
'ah let him come, your dad's a laugh'
then, worryingly
'don't let me snog him'.
I tell her
'honey I've told him he's not your type, if you decide to revise that, fine, if you want to kiss my dad, ewww, but fine, just don't ask me to referee it.'
The whole thing is feeling like a really bad idea at this point
I ring dad. 'you're coming'.
It's tragic. Dad and Net behave.
A table full of the most gorgeous, gregarious, witty women you've ever met. Two of Nets exes (off limits), my dad, and a man who looks like he has downs syndrome and tries to impress with 'I have no idea how much I earn anymore, lots, but lost count....'
Enough to put any woman off dating. Even me.
So looks like I need to find other things to write about.

I'd forgotten

How marvellous time with my neices and nephews is.
Suddenly the world lifts, rubbish dates, working late, bah humbug, give me the kids.
Ben and I went to see Harry potter 4. He's 11 now which amazes me. How did that happen? The phone call annoucing he was heading down the canal seems so recent. The night little sis said 'don't let him get smothered by the duvet cos that's how cot death happens' and I spasmed and duvet flapped every 30 seconds, seems months rather than over a decade ago. The film was marvellous. The nephew who has, for 11 years, been the total apple of my eye, a tad too teenage to fawn over. Yet the fact he still does the 'not big enough not beig enough' cuddle routine, even in public, compensates for the hormones.
Then there's the girls. Isobella Queen of crowhurst, regal at three. With the best sense of humour I have ever come accross. She's lost the self-consciouness of only a few months ago and was dancing and flinging her arms around a very narrow car seat as i joined them; despite half a brother wedged up against it (the other half was sandwiched between his other sisters seat), and a seatbelt.
Evie, the baby, is walking. Well, running full pelt without any regard to objects, surfaces, corners, rugs, or her own safety. She also gurgles, does 'uh-oh' and lauches herself full throttle like a nappied tornado at members of the family for a hug.
I had less than 24 hours with them, feel a decade younger.
Note to self, do it more often.

Finally we have a date

The work goes public 2 weeks Monday. I'm suspect they'll be days when I wish I'd taken a sleeping bag with me before then. The eye of the storm has sailed into the horizon, leaving behind a tornado, that keeps causing the piles of paper on my desk to get muddled. My social life is on hold. I'm back in the midst of more noughts than Delores, the Irish woman, scooped on Euro-Millions. Every day there's some new 'urgent in the next half hour' request from someone who has 'career defining' power.
The girl who's been there holding it all together from the start has gone on holiday, gets back the day it goes live. My team are doing better, but still struggling. The fast-streamer has conquered word, as long as there's no table requirements, but is having trouble using her brain. I ask her to do things, have an hour of blank stares, two hours of questions and answers, then more blank stares. When a week later, after a series of mini refresher seminars on the task in hand, she gives me something, it's basically well short of being deliverable beyond me. Then she sporadically throws her toys out of the pram because she doesn't have enough to do, which usually means she's avoiding doing the loads of stuff I have assumed she can manage, but is a bit dull. We then start again with a new task, only actually I feel like I get bullied into handing over things that she thinks she can do but can't, which means me or boy wonder end up spending a few days trying to provide decent feedback and coax her towards the goal of something bearable, before the task becomes so urgent that a complete rewrite is the only way, feeling for the first time ever like my leadership skills are a tad under par. Either that or she smokes too much pot and can't get her brain to focus.
The boy wonder is all depressed. There was a job with his name on. Only then the bosses boss decided maybe not, so it's been snatched away from him. I'm in the midst of applying for my own job. It's a crazy farce, I keep saying stuff to the boss like 'advert looks good, I'm thinking of applying' he keeps saying things like 'shut up, don't tease'. The leaderless team under the job that it looks like the boy won't get, is hilarious. They are supposed to be supporting the big agenda we are all on, and doing a bit of other stuff. They have just pretty much stopped coming to work. When they do come in, it's usually for a couple of hours or so, then puff.....
We're so manic that doing anything about it would take more energy than the two or three of us doing any work, have. They would be incapable of taking one single bit of pressure off anyway.
Amidst it all the boss is marvellous, I like him more all the time. We have a real giggle. I am getting loads of excellent feedback on my work, and building some lovely friendships to boot.
Sadly though, as we head into the final furlong, all I want to do is sleep. One week off in five months, loads of late nights at and outside work and too few really relaxing weekends have left me crying every time the alarm goes off. 17 days, I can do it.

p.s. I meant to mention

That domestic harmony is restored. A grown up chat, some sensible ground rules and a vat of delicately spiced dishes have ressurected the karmic glow.

Getting a grip

There's a feature on dating direct, whereby you can 'add to favorites'. This means you get two lists, the people you like, and the people who like you.
I've given up 'searching' for men to add to my favourites, as, invariable the men I (initially) find attractive have expressed a preference for girls aged between 18-21.

I had a quick look through the 'who likes me' section tonight. Bar the men I've met, who, admittedly have all been people perfectly capable of meeting women in more personal environments, it's depressing. The coach of people who like Julie oscillates between a Saga holiday and a Sunshine bus, with a few characters who wouldn't look out of place on Little Britain thrown in. Or they're photoless and 'separated'. Uh huh. Or, they seem nice enough for the first message and then spew out the bitterness for the ex who 'chewed me up, stole the kids and turned all my mates against me'.

I thought about quitting the site this week, then decided just to take it a lot less seriously. From here on in rather than assuming everyone is bound to be marvelous because they sound it at first, I've decided to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised.

Meanwhile, back on the far more creative and playful space of the pink sofa, I'm dealing with a clash of cyberspace and real world. I had a few messages from a sane and beautiful woman, who then noticed I worked for the Government. She wrote telling me which department employed her, and yes, it was mine. She wrote telling me which building she works in, and yes, you guessed it. She sounds cool but I find bumping into a cyberchat in the work canteen a tad strange. Worst still, she works with the worst ever boyfriend of the previous post. Disturbed but undeterred, I agreed to meet for coffee next week. It's not a date though, that would be too weird.

I realised this week that I'm really not that bothered about 'finding someone'. That may sound strange from a woman who's blog is full of postings detailing the search, but, actually, I'm happier than I've been before. I won't pretend that I don't miss curling up with another body, I won't pretend that being treated like a princess wouldn't go down a treat, but, having looked for a bit, being single seems a perfectly glorious alternative.

I've decided to limit dates from here on in to people who not meeting is not an option for. No more ' I said I would' dates. No more 'he may be ok, you never know' dates. Yes, I want to date, but only if it's set my world on fire, get my libido into a hamster wheel frenzy dating. Anything less just feels like time I could have spent writing.

I've also decided whilst I'm commuting for two hours a day again, to write properly. No more 'I don't know if I can do it' self flagellation. No more 'I've tried before and failed' self doubt. Maybe it won't be an award winning novel, maybe it won't be published, but it's gonna get sodding written. Ten hours a week, traveling time, 8 weeks, maybe not enough to do the whole thing, but enough to get well past not starting. Please don't ask me about it though, I don't know the answers yet, but promise, if it's any good, you'll be the first to hear about it.

Predictably Perhaps

It wasn't possible to like to millionaire more than he liked himself. The gardener was gorgeous, but, attached.

I was stood in my work receptionist this week, for the second time, saw a guy who looked very much like my least fondly remembered boyfriend. Lest you should think this is an exaggeration, let me elaborate.

I went out with Dylan, at a time when my self-esteem was lower than now. I didn't fancy him, but every time I tried to brake things, he cried. I'm a sucker for tears.
After a few months of his tantrums and aggression, I realised I just couldn't do it. Called it off. A few weeks later I got a letter from his long term live in lover telling me she'd found letters from him to me and thrown him out. I didn't know about her. She thought I was a 'lesbian friend, dying from HIV'. Nice excuse for weekends away, she said, with a really rubbish taste in her mouth. Turned out he was sleeping around, big stylie, on both of us with a host of others.

After we split, Dylan turned up on my doorstep, crying. Later that night he climbed into my bed and despite some serious struggling and protestations, refused to get out. Until he was finished with me.

I hate him.
I checked on the staff directory.
He works in my building.

I saw him in the canteen today.
Have decided the only course of action is to do totally deadpan and pretend I don't remember him.
Actually, I want to ring him up, tell him I'm the bomb, and he's a junior contractor, and frankly, if he wants to ever work for the government again, he should leave right now before I post this post on the internal discussion forum.
Only, then he'd know he got to me.
I wouldn't give him the pleasure. Resolve instead to climb back into my happy clappy, dixie chicks, place, and not let him do so again.

Sweet and Sour

Went out for a quiet drink with Jane and Nettie Friday night. T'was a very old fashioned night of feminine story telling.

At the end of the night a group of men joined the table. Amongst them, Fraser. I noticed him immediately. He he was the only person, besides me, wearing a hat, he was extraordinarily pretty. Ten minutes into the conversation we were being thrown out of the bar. Fraser asked, quietly, if I wanted to go home with him. I don't know what prompted me to say yes. Just, I think, that yes was the truth.

Nettie was not happy. 'We will fall out over this' she warned me. She was right.

It was, I realise, a stupid, high risk, course of action. It's not something I would normally do. It didn't end in tears, and it won't end in marriage, it was a night I'll remember warmly.

We chatted, smoked, inhaled the sexiest bits of his music collection, kissed, it was lovely enough to persuade me out of the no kissing rule. We danced at 5am. Stroked, soothed and cuddled.

His house was horrid, the worse I've ever been in. So bad I was compelled to clean his lounge before staying, kitchen before leaving. He lives by himself although his brother stays sometimes and his Dad likewise. He had all the signs of a kid that probably spent a great deal of his life on an 'at risk' register. He lives with Dad as 'someone had to take care of him when mum left'. Mum left with the other brother, Dad works on a farm in Sussex and sleeps in a barn mostly. He turned up at midday the next day and was immensely proud of his son, but so damaged that nurturing was obviously beyond him.

I wanted to mother him, splash his place with some feminine magic. I wanted to look after him. His father told as he dropped me home that 'we are like brothers you know'. They were. His life is utterly chaotic. The signs of too much pot clearly visible in the wreckage, the stacks of unopened bills, the way he felt about himself. I wanted to put the chaos right, would have taken years.

Yet, from the kind of life you don't want to see anyone you care for leading, he'd got himself to university. Qualified as a marine biologist. Had big plans I hope the pot doesn't stop him actioning.

I felt marvelous with him, he had beautiful manners, was utterly charming.

Felt rubbish when I got home the next day.

Nettie & I haven't talked properly since the shouting at me stopped, need to, but I don't think either of us are up to it yet. I know it's not clever, I can take responsibility for the fact she worried, have copiously apologised for it. Not sure the the differences of opinion on the 'stupidity' of going to a council estate, or the judgments about me, made because of it, are going to be so easy to reconcile. Love her, will give it my best shot. If not, I may be moving.

sssssssssshhhhhhhhh

the most beautiful thing just happened.

Two whole posts and not a mention of dates?

Better bring you up to speed then.

Simon called said 'actually, I really want to see you again, but call me if you want to after your other dates'. Fair enough. I totally understood that. Think it's fairer if I don't.

In all honesty, whilst I liked him, I just didn't fancy him. I kind of knew I wouldn't before I met him. When he moaned about the price of a glass of wine, in a beautiful bar in a park, when it wasn't extortionate, and I didn't expect him to pick up the tab, I thought, not very me really. It's a stupid thing, maybe, to base a decision on, but I found it ungallant. I thought, 'hey boy, it's just a drink, and if it's too much, have a coke, don't complain'.

If there had been loads of chemistry I'm sure I would have got over it, but without that, I can't be bothered.

I see Sven Monday. He's a millionaire and makes little secret of it. Actually, I'm only sure of this cos I googled him, but he is certainly not shy of giving out details about his lifestyle that let me know he's loaded. He'll probably be worse, probably bring his own wine. It's the way isn't it, so often. No one in my family ever had any money, but we're always fighting to pick up the tab and spoil each other.

I'm really not sure I want to meet him, he has the weirdest accent in the world, two parts German, two parts Uber-Chelsea, one part camptastic. He's taking accent removal lessons, which, I'm tempted to say means he has more money than sense, although having spoken to him, I'm not so sure.

He sounds very decadent, and I don't know I can be arsed with decadence. I suspect there's a rich kicks thing going on with him too, that he liked me because I was honest about my sexuality which made him go 'racy'. Maybe I'm just a cynical old witch or maybe it was the reference to S&M, who knows? S&M baffles me. Actually, I'm intellectually curious about it, but don't get it. If I want to hurt myself I'll set up camp in the fridge and stop writing.

I wouldn't want to combine pain, for me, or anyone I wanted to sleep with, with sex. You all know me well enough to know I'm hardly prudish, but really, sex is supposed to be a nice thing, and pain hurts. It's like putting mushy peas on a cheesecake.

He also describes himself as 'very attractive' and whilst he's certainly not ugly, he's not the gardener or anything.

Who strictly speaking, should be in another post, as he's not a date, but me, strictly, not good together. I have managed, largely through attrition I suspect, to talk him into being my friend. Honestly, it's been much harder work than such an offer, so sparingly proffered, should merit. Nevertheless, having battled over the criteria for friendship, and offered a cast iron guarantee that I won't jump his bones at Waterloo station, I'm genuinely delighted that I get to meet him.

Welcome back Gavvy bear

There's this man I know. He's called Gavin. Those of you who visited or knew me in Sydney will undoubtedly remember him. He made me smile so much my cheeks hurt. Made me laugh until I coughed in a 'rubbish, she's a smoker' manner.

He is very like me in an 'oops there goes my street cred, bugger it, there's a story there, tell it' attitude. He is one of the softest, most loyal, most loving men I've ever met. He dances in a way that makes the whole room want to dance with him, always in time, but never swaggering. Just wrapped up in the pure hedonism of the music, letting his body show it. The last post was written yesterday, but then I pressed some crazy key that made everything go mad and put the a 3 in every word (I got if off, but have no idea how!). So I post to say the world's fab, last nights entry, and what do I find? Gavvy. I thought I'd lost him, in the divorce settlement. Seems not. I told you, someone up there loves me.

Natural Head Rush.....

I have had the most fabulous week. Max and I played 'entrepreneurs' for two whole days. We went to the 'ideas space' (how PC is East London these days? It's a library) and found our name. We'd been brainstorming as we meandered along the South Bank. Decided it had to be something unconventional, had to say something about us. We settled on the name of a nomadic tribe from Botswana, in tribute to our inner gypsies and desire to explore Africa. It also reflects of the fact that her stuff is really tribal, really natural, raw and breathtaking in a why would you bother polishing it, just serve it up as it is, way. Naturally the name's all hush hush until we get it registered, but I can tell you, as it's you, that we've got what I think is possibly the most beautiful looking word in the world.

We designed our business cards, talked strategy, and managed to explore the best bits of London at the same time. We talked about the kind of stuff we want to sell, the kind of ways we want to sell it, defined our ethos and still had time for dancing.

She is everything I would want in a business partner, creative, imaginative, and with a 'you have to wear it all, be a walking advert' ethos. She's making me a costume, a theatrical full on, reflection of how she sees me, costume. I can't wait. She's planning to take lessons from a hatter next year. She kept asking, what did I want her to make? I just want her to do her thing, she does it so beautifully.

Then there's home, Nettie and I have created an oasis. I cook, she loves my food. Perfect combination. We laugh incessantly, chat, then just independently potter. It's very tranquil, the perfect balance to what lies beyond the front door.

Even work has calmed down, I had time to walk round the park for an hour yesterday. Got in at a reasonable hour, left at a reasonable hour, sure it won't last, but eased myself back beautifully after a few days off.

I've smitten with the city, exploring corners I'd forgotten about, finding glorious new alcoves in places I never expected. Spent a few hours walking the streets of Soho, Covent Garden and China Town with Dad and Clarence Tuesday, found myself fighting the urge to skip. Took Max along the river at night and gawped at it's majesty. Walked home through St James park, stared at the beauty of the ICA building spewing light onto The Mall. I find myself dancing at the traffic lights, and it's only two thirds due to the music I'm blessed with.

I'm in one of those places where everything seems amazing, the world is on my side. I get to a station and my trains in. I walk down a deserted path and have a pair of squirrels come and play at my feet. I get given a free gorgeous chocolatey thing by a man I buy coffee from. The Big Issue seller is sharing my headphones and singing with me to the Dixie Chicks, whilst explaining that other than the Beatles, it's his best too. I smile at the goddess in the sky who's looking after me.

Getting through the musical love affairs, faster than the fresh soup in our fridge

Winks at Alison Goldfrapp as she shows her the door. Flings herself at the temple of the Dixie Chicks.

A friend, who shall remain anonymous

Said, 'scrap the kissing rules, that's rubbish, snog their faces off, quickest way to test chemistry.' Or words to that effect.

Apparently, that way I'll know in about 3 seconds whether I want to date them.

In my opinion, kissing can be a chemistry climax or anticlimax, but, ultimately, enjoyable as it is if done nicely..... I don't need kissing to test chemistry. Chemistry can just wallop me off my feet without so much as a fingers brushing incident.

And a kiss can be more intimate than sharing your body with someone. Neon lights all around, much power, approach with caution.

Which is why, Sir, much as I appreciate your encouragement to get my lips wet, I'll leave the kissing in an envelope labeled 'special occasion', for now.

I'm a bit over internet dating actually. Tempted to drag myself out of cyberspace and back to the real world, after discovering that a man who has been emailing me intensely for the last 3 nights, actually has a girlfriend. Lucky I asked the 'so when did you split up?' question on the phone apparently, or he wasn't planning to mention it.

'Is that a problem?' he asked sweetly.

'Yes'.

He assured me that they haven't slept together for 18 months , and, tempting as it was to yell 'that old chestnut, grow up baby', I just pointed out that as a feminist, and a woman, that really wasn't my issue.

He did the biggest 'I want my cake and eat it' routine, whereby he was trying to get out of me an assurance that if he left, I'd wash his socks, or that's how it felt. I told him he sounded like a very mixed up man who needed to get himself together, and, sadly, I couldn't help with that.

Another day, another marvelous hat..............

So fickle

The bad boys of pop have been booted already. Replaced, by the infinately more foxy Ms Goldfrapp. I'm in love......

On a non-musical note, things are moving on a number of fronts.
Max, the fire dancing Goddess who lit up Bali for me, is here.
We've been plotting
To take over the world of accessories.
The business is growing from an idea into reality.
My stomach churns, her stuff is so marvellous, she thinks she needs me to sell it, I think it'll fly out the door.
I had a date Friday. Very nice man. The earth didn't move, but he is lovely. We're meeting again this week, I told him there are a couple of other guys I've arranged to meet. He said he's knocking it on the head, not dating anyone else, but happy to see how it goes, wait. How nice is that?
He's a tough cookie. But vulnerable and very keen, so I'm treading very gently and very honestly.

There are a couple of other guys who have captured my imagination more though. The timing is a bit off, I'm nervous about how to handle it. Don't like muliple dating, but also, such a romantic that settling feels beyond me.

Promise I'll be careful.
Promise I'll be kind.
Promise I'll be honest.
Think that's the best I can do, oh, and no kissing until I make a decision on whether I want to date someone exclusively.