No point to this one, just rambling

Well, we've come to the end of another weekend, not as great as the last one but did meet some fantastic people as well as some knob heads but that's just par for the course in this day and age I guess.
I met a girl who was over here from Guernsey (I know, poor her right?!) She's so tiny you could fit her right in your pocket. It makes me feel like gigantor but never mind, at least I don't have to worry about wearing heels around her hey!
I also gave a guy another chance to make a good impression at which he failed at miserably. I'm not saying that I need to be courted, impressed and wooed by new friends or potential bed mates (of which he is neither) but a bit of courtesy in this mad world does make a huge difference.
The first time I ever met this guy he came to meet me straight from having dialysis. He asked me if I knew what dialysis was and I was like "duh, I'm a vet nurse of course I know what dialysis is" although I said it in a more polite and socially acceptable way at which point he looked all disappointed like a dog who has had a sausage waved in front of his face (of the meat kind, you dirty minded miscreants!) and then seen said sausage disappear into the meaty mouth of his owner. Come on you all do it. At which point the conversation seemed to stumble slightly as you could see his brain searching lists of conversational topics which didn't involve dialysis.
Turns out there was none.
After the preliminaries, you know, what do you do? Nothing at the minute, I'm having dialysis, the conversation reached it's final death throes and we sat there staring at each other for what seemed like decades. I was on the point of faking an epileptic fit just to get out of there when the alarm on my phone went and I gleefully passed it off as "the emergency phone call" thankful  that my alarm sounds just like a ring tone. Don't judge me.
I know you've all done that too. Got a friend to call you half an hour after you go on a date with someone so if they do turn out to be crazier than Russell Brand on acid with the looks of a Gordon setter you can just high tail it out of there with a sunny "sorry my friends hamster just attacked her! Went straight for the jugular, gonna have to get her to A and E pretty sharpish so she can have her tetanus jabs so her head doesn't fall off" and then canter off into the sunset without a backward glance shaking the guilt off like misplaced rain drops.

Now, luckily this wasn't a date. It was a meeting of two people who on paper seemed to have similar interests to bring happiness in small increments into a world that is about as friendly as cancer.
I met him to have someone to go kayaking with which seemed like a sensible idea seeing as I have never been kayaking before and wanted to have someone there who a) knew what they were doing and b) would be able to record my last will and testament if I was pitched over the side and sunk like a stone to the bottom of ole Davey Jones locker. Why they call it that I don't know but still, that person could tell my mum to look after Ringo, divvy up my meagre possessions amongst my closest friends and referee the fight over who gets to keep Slash.
So, that's why I wasn't too bothered that he seemed to be a big dull dud. Plenty of fish in the sea so to speak. Actually he wasn't a big dull dud, he was a small dull dud. About the size of a hobbit but still a dull dud nonetheless. It was as though his illness defined him which is what I have found about people who are ill. I noticed it with my Dad as well when he came out of hospital and would announce cheerfully to anyone within hearing range "I've just had an operation" and many a time we've had to shuffle him away, crimson with embarrassment, muttering "they don't want to see your scar Dad".
And if it's someone you care about, you tend not to mind because yes, it has been a big thing in your life as well. You've lived through it too but when it's someone you've only just met, hoping to find some common ground, well...you just couldn't give a fuck really could you?
Be honest.
The only reason you engage that person is to be polite and what you're really thinking is "Oh God, how do I get out of this conversation without seeming like a callous, uncaring bastard? I wonder what to do for tea tonight? Ooo the new series of Dexter is on" and so on until you notice that they've finished and are waiting for your input at which point you just mumble an insincere "ooo I know" said in a northern accent of course and start winding the conversation to a hurried close.

Anyway, he contacted me again a few weeks ago saying that he was arranging a couch surfers meeting on the island (look up couch surfers, it's totally awesome) and would I like to be involved?
I thought, meh. It can't be that bad there will be other people there so it won't be like I have to keep the conversation going all by myself, there may even be some interesting people there so I said yes and arranged to meet at the weekend. Also all part of my new "lets say yes to things to have a more interesting and varied life" thing. Working wonderfully at the moment I don't think.

It didn't start off too well. He messaged everyone in the group saying that we were going to the battle of flowers and if anyone couldn't get into town to get a ticket to message him and he would pick one up. Seeing as I work weird hours and don't get into town very often I thought well, seeing as he's going in anyway I will see if he can pick one up for me too so I sent him a message to that effect and got the reply "sorry, I don't live or work anywhere near town so you'll have to get your own".

Strange, I thought. Why would you offer to do something that you clearly couldn't do? But, no matter. I shrugged it off and said it's OK, I'll buy my ticket on the door. Mildly irritating like thrush but you just shrug it off.
On the day of the battle, I turned up at the meeting place and there was no one there so I called dialysis guy (lets give him what he wants; a definition of himself by his illness) who said they were running late and would be there soon. I was with some other people as well, I thought the more the merrier so I said well we'll go in and meet you in there and I gave them directions to where we were standing.

A bit later I get a phone call asking where we were (I just told you that but never mind) so I told him and he says "Oh we're on the other side and it's easier for you to move than for me to try and move ten people" as if they were cows or window lickers not in full control of their own capabilities but again, only a mild irritation, so off I go, dog in hand again to find the missing couch surfers. A bit like wheres wally without the stripey jumpers. We meet and he hugs me on my arrival which I thought was a bit strange but went with it thinking maybe the first day we met he was having an off day. He had just come from dialysis after all.

I didn't really talk that much to him that night which was a bit of a relief but I did meet the girl from Guernsey so it was a nice night prettily rounded off by some lovely fireworks.

The next day we had arranged to go for a BBQ but the weather wasn't amazing so I didn't think it would be happening so I text DG (Dialysis Guy for those of you who haven't been paying attention) and asked if they were still at the tower and all I got back was "well, we are at Big Vern's"
Seriously, that was all. I started to get a bit brassed off with it all then so I didn't bother to reply thinking I'm not going to chase this ignorant ass round the island plus I didn't have a lot of credit and didn't want to waste it on him so I left it.
That night we had all arranged to go to the Splash and watch some bands, Rick being one of them and I had already got my ticket so off I toddled on my lonesome which is OK, I don't actually mind being by myself. I'd rather be by myself than in the company of idiots.
It was all going rather well and then the couch surfers turned up and it continued to go rather well seeing as I couldn't really hear what DG was saying given the difference in time zones between our heights. Sorry, that was mean. What I meant to say was that it was loud and I couldn't bend down enough to hear what he was saying. STOP IT!!!

Anyway, I had a lovely time with Guernsey Girl, we exchanged phone numbers and nurtured our fledgling friendship like a little baby bird and when Lloyd Yates came on I decided it was time to go as they are a bit of a yawn fest. Plus I was hungry not having had a BBQ that day.

The next day was sunnier and GG (Guernsey Girl- keep up will you) had said that they might try the BBQ that day as it looked nicer so I called her once I had finished interviewing Israel Cannan (you can check that out on Ringo meets next week) and asked what the plan was. She said they were going to ouaisne beach (however the fuck you spell that!) and I said OK cool, where abouts is that?
She said "you're asking me??!!" and promptly handed the phone over to DG whereupon my day got a lot worse.
He said (and I'm pretty much quoting verbatim here) "You'll have to look at a map because I'm a local and would have different land marks than you so it'll be easier for you to just look at a map and find it for yourself OK?" and then he passed the phone back to GG without even waiting for me to utter a response.

"Easier for who?" I thought. Anyone who knows me at all knows of my complete inability to read a map and my absolute lack of any sense of direction. I've even got lost in a car park for Pete's sake so this information was entirely useless to me. Not to mention the fact that I was parked in a lay-by with no map and no Internet access which made his "look on google maps" even more frustrating. The thing is, I know how to get to ouaisne, I just didn't know where they were going to be so what I really wanted was a landmark to meet them by. Maybe I should have made that clearer but I thought it would be universally understood that if you're meeting someone you say "I'll meet you by the such and such" so that there wouldn't be any confusion or abundance of lost souls wandering aimlessly, clutching their hair screeching "but he said meet at the beach, but where on the beach? Where?"

Needless to say this pissed me off and I was in no mood to go and find the sodding beach so I just said to GG "You know what, lets keep in touch, I'll come to Guernsey, you come to Jersey, we'll meet up and have a good time without that little Gollum man"

She was pretty understanding so I went off to play some guitar in an angry manner and when I got home I got a text from DG hobbit man saying " Ouaisne beach, google maps" That was all it said, the arrogant little fucker.

So I sent him a message back saying "Condescending twat, wikkipedia"

I think he got the message.

The most amazing weekend

Well, I've got to say that I've just had one of the best weekends ever. It started on Friday I went up to Durrell to watch a performance of the most Scotish of Scottish plays; Macbeth. It was hilarious! Which is no mean feat with one of Shakesperes darkest plays but Oddsocks pulls it off wonderfully with some fantastic Scottish accents and lots of audience participation which I love!

Then on Saturday I went to Jersey Fish Festival where I played on the small stage for about half an hour although I don't think many people were actually listening but Jersey Bob gave me a free gate pass and a pass to the hospitality tent which was a little bit awesome to be honest. I did feel like a bit of a fraud sat up there with all the proper musicians cos I still don't actually believe I'm that good. It still feels as though people are just being polite. A little bit like "Aw go on, let the lil window licker sing. She bought a guitar along, give her a go!" Still think people clap at the end as a relief that I've finished but anyhow it was still cool. They fed me crab and lobster and cheese and grapes and even gave me free wine so I just kept quiet about being an imposter and accepted it all very gratefully.

Living it up with the pirate dog in the hospitality suite!

It was in the VIP (ha ha) area that I met Dave. A musican with the greatest beard I've seen in a long time (I kept wanting to touch it but people think you're strange if you do that). Dave is from New Zealand so don't ask him what part of Australia he's from, he gets a little upset by that. He took some great shots of Ringo the pirate dog and we chatted for a while about inconsequential crap. I don't remember the details but he seemed like a nice guy.

Ringo had a great day too.....

He sat on the stage behind me while I played waiting patiently for me to throw his sock. I did explain that I was a little busy but he was having none of it. I actually think he got more attention than I did. Everyone walking past was like "mmm, singer? Oh look at the dog, isn't he cute, how adorable, what singer?"
Then splats of rain came so I finished up and went off to find the hospitality tent, dog in one hand, guitar in the other and I bump into Murray Norton; radio presenter and owner of one of the nicest resteraunts in Jersey.
He asks me if I'm going to perform and I tell him I've already done it and he says "oh that's a shame but we can talk to you anyway" so I say "sure" then stand around for a bit while he talks to someone chattering away in his ear (live on radio I presume) then we have a little chat and once again I do believe I came across like the village idiot because the pressure builds, the excitement rises, I become a rabbit in the headlights and can say.............



fuck all.

Well, I don't mean I said nothing and just stood there staring at him like a deaf mute, I mean that all that came out of my mouth may well have been jibbering nonsense but I don't know because when I came to out of my waking coma he was off down the pier to talk to the nutters launching themselves into the harbour with their homemade flying devices.
I shrugged it off womanfully and head off to find the hospitality tent and the free wine.
Oh and Ringo had a great day too playing with the kids and adults and a plastic cup. Who says you need expensive dog toys?!

SUNDAY!!!
On Sunday I woke up and did the obligatory facebook check and saw that mejulie said there was surf so I checked to see that they were Ally sized waves (ie not going to kill me sized waves) and went off to play in the water in my new wetsuit that I only just discovered fitted that morning as the last time I tried it on I was totally hungover and too feeble to do anything other than pull it just past my knees before collapsing in a dehydrated crumple on the living room floor.

So, bodyboard in hand (not graduated to proper surfboard yet) I went down to St Ouens hoping that the real surfers wouldn't laugh at me or kill me in a point break kind of way.
After surfing (well, I say surfing, I really just stand in the sea with a wetsuit and a board while the waves hit me) I go and collect my guitar from Ricks house as he very kindly took it home for me as I was getting too inebriated on free wine to walk home with it plus dog. It would have made life slightly more difficult.

I then realise that I hadn't thought things through very well. I mean, there it was, 1pm and I'm due to sing at 2.30pm at Regstock 4 and I have swallowed half the ocean and snorted the other half up my nose. Not in a "lets get high in a natural way" but in an "I've been battered by waves too big to be funny" kind of way. But I soldier on and get to Regs garden and do my thing while some nice hippy couple look after Ringo. Everyone was really nice and said it sounded goo (really???) but I'm still terrified and wondering if the audience would notice if I vomit up the fear and carry on regardless?

Anyway, Ringo and I stay the day and he makes loads of new friends by basically just barging up to people and demanding that they throw the ball for him and I sit there, lil billy no mates like some ugly sister who no one wants to dance with at the school disco. I reckon if he had a facebook page, he'd have way more friends than me in no time at all.

Oh, and it seems we have gone full circle too. Biker guy turned up in a silly hat (but we like silly hats) and once again I sat across the ampitheatre from him not saying anything and surreptitiously glancing  over at him when he wasn't looking and still too chicken to go and say hi. Although, if you've blown someone out, it's your job to go and say hi if you see them otherwise how do they know if they're still allowed to talk to you? If I went and said hi would he think that I was stalking him? I still like him cos I'm a twat and he seems to have been relegated to pushbike guy but that doesn't sound as good so the name stays. And he does look fit in his biking outfit.

Sigh.

The death of childhood

We all have that defining moment when our childhood comes shuddering to a halt and we have to face the fact that it's not all banana milkshakes, soggy chocolate cake and dressing up as rainbow bright but I had managed to push mine into the dark recesses of my brain where I store useless information such as the Pythagoras theory, who Henry the eighths wives were and the fact that the egg Mcmuffin was invented by a man called Ed Peterson.

It only came screaming back to me when one of our receptionists at work (Sarah) was telling the story of the couple who lived above her.

One evening her and her boyfriend were sat at home enjoying a bottle of wine together when Sarah heard a noise. She and her boyfriend looked at each other and carried on, not thinking much about it. Then they heard it again and Sarah did what most of us would do in that situation; she turned the TV down for a proper listen.

At that point the words "Get on your hands and knees" swiftly followed by rhythmic banging that can only be attributed to one thing came floating down from the upstairs flat.

Mortified, Sarah and her boyfriend turned the TV back up and pretended that their ears had not just been violently assaulted whereas if that had been me, I would have started jumping up and down on my own bed making energetic sex noises so that they would realise they could be heard and stop or they wouldn't have cared whereupon we would have been locked in a noisy sex versus fake sex competition. Oh, and I probably should have mentioned that the upstairs neighbours are well into their sixties which makes the whole situation even more cringe worthy.

This story in the staff room gave way to all sorts of embarrassing sex stories (love the stuff we talk about at work), then it was my turn and I recounted the following story which left my childhood as broken and battered as an unloved train set.

When I was a kid, probably about nine or ten, I used to go out and see my friends and my parents would tell me to be back at a certain time or when the streetlamps came on depending on the time of year but sometimes I would come back early and find that the front door was locked. Very strange thought my juvenile brain seeing as most of the time, if my parents were in the front door always remained unlocked but being very naive at that age (and who wouldn't be!?) I didn't really think too much of it.

Until one day.

One day, I was cold or I wanted to build a den or something so I  decided to go and get a blanket from the drawer under my parents bed. I innocently opened the drawer and took out the top blanket when something fell from the folds of the cloth.

It was a Polaroid.

Now, had I just picked the Polaroid up from where it lay face down on the floor and put it straight back into the drawer my childhood would probably have remained intact for a good few years until my friend and her boyfriend started having special time underneath the duvet that we were all sharing while watching My Girl one rainy Sunday afternoon or until the time when I bumped into creepy David on the way home one afternoon and he tried to shove his hands down my pants whereupon I punched him in the face so hard that one of his front teeth came out and embedded itself in my knuckle.

But I've always been an inquisitive sort of person so my hand reached out and plucked the Polaroid from the beige coloured carpet, turned the picture over and burned my retinas with a picture that my brain has erased from my memory seeing as it was something that a ten year old should not see especially in her parents bedroom.

I think I must have sat there in slack jawed silence for a few seconds although it felt like decades had come and gone before deciding that I had had enough of holding a picture of my dads willy and chucked it back in the drawer fighting back tears and the urge to vomit.

But wait, there's more....

Surely not! I hear you cry. Surely that's enough to send even the happiest child down the dark spirals of despair but no dear reader, there's more.

As I flung the Polaroid back into the drawer my eyes were drawn to the corner of the drawer where lying innocently was a rubber contraption, white with little nobbles on it, a string of beads which looked like a pearl necklace but wasn't bendy, it was all straight and rigid and what looked suspiciously like one of those egg shaped fridge fresheners but with a string dangling from one end.

At this point I was debating whether a den was worth all this trauma or whether I needed the den to go and hide myself in for twenty to thirty years to recover from the shock.

I decided to go with plan A and stuffed the blanket back in the drawer and went and made a den in the woods with far less dangerous objects such as sticks, stones and left over pieces of barbed wire.

Ode to what??

This song is never played at open mic nights because it's just too embarrassing! It was written in response to listening to everyone singing about how great their boy/girl friends are and I thought "well, I can't do that cos I don't have one" and I remembered a writing workshop I went on once where we had to write an ode to something  normal so I just took that one step further and wrote this. I'm not going to tell you what it's an ode to, I'm pretty sure you're all clever people and can figure it out yourselves.

Dating hell- a Katy Perry parody.

This song came about after a series of very bad dating experiences. My friend was raving about a well known dating website and said "ooo why don't you have a go, what have you got to lose?"

 My self respect and faith in human kind apparently but hindsight is a wonderful thing and like a lamb to the slaughter I created a profile that was both honest and engaging for that is me! Ha! No, really. Anyways, I got a few responses and being the polite well mannered person that I am, I answered them all even if it was to say "No thanks, I really don't feel like tying you up in bondage gear or meeting in a secluded car park in the New Forest and no, I don't have my own ball gag" but it's the ones who made it past the initial screening process that freaked me out. The fact that they can appear so normal (well, normal-ish) and then turn out to be crazier than Norman Bates on acid!
I mean, I'm a tolerant person but seriously, what person in their right mind thinks it's OK to ask a veterinary nurse if she's ever had sex with her own dog? Or say that she really should try it and they would love to join in? Who does that??!!

I mean weird sex is OK, who doesn't like the odd bit of spanking and a bit of damsel in distress tied to the bed post action but doggy sex? No freaking way. He tried to back out of it, say he was joking but even so, you don't joke about that with someone you have only just met.

There was another guy who was really sweet but he was in his late forties and was obsessed with his motor bike. He messaged me every day asking how my day was, what I had done and if I had any plans for the evening and I thought "Aw bless, he's just lonely and wants to talk" but jeez did he go on and on about his motorbike! I know nothing about motorbikes so my questions and interest in it ran out after "what colour is it and is it a Harley?" That's it. That's the extent of my knowledge on the subject. At one point I thought he was going to tell me he was one of those guys who put padding around the exhaust pipe and called the bike Miranda.

Then came the guy who seemed OK at first, we'd exchanged a couple of messages and then he came out with "Do you fuck on the first date?"
Bit shocked but I thought "OK at least he knows what he wants from the experience" so I politely told him that no, I don't remove any bits of clothing on the first date apart from my cardigan if I get too hot or my shoes if you take me bowling so he then asked "what about make a video of giving a blow job?"

Seriously??!!

I won't take my clothes off on a first date but yeah, stick the camcorder on, whip your cock out and let the good times roll!! WTF!? I like to think he was just kidding but the dark place in my heart tells me that no, these people are actually out there and he really didn't think that filming me giving him a blow job was that big a deal.

Then there was the guy who actually bought his sister on our first meeting. I'm all for being safe when meeting strangers but she was fifteen. He bought her a glass of coke and we sat in the pub garden under her watchful gaze for about 20 minutes (the time it takes to finish a pint) and then oh no, what do you know? I had a family emergency that I had to leave for right away. I figured he'd understand seeing as he was obviously close to his family.

There was the guy who was married but it was OK, his wife dated other people and if I was up for it, all three of us could go on a date (???), then there was the guy who was still living with his ex and sharing a single bed because she had no where else to go.

Looking back on it, I'm amazed that I left my profile on there for as long as I did but I guess I really wanted to believe that yes there are weirdos out there but I can't be a beacon for all of them? Surely one of them must be a decent person with no extreme love for animals (a love of animals is OK but let them lick themselves!) someone who wants to get to know a person, who's not out to just get laid or recruit cheap labour for an adult film. Turns out, I really am a magnet for the disturbed so it looks like I really will have to buy a dozen more cats and snakes, stop washing and piss myself every now and then and become the crazy cat lady.

A note about this song; I recorded this when I was very hungover and using my phone so the quality is not amazing but it's the words that are important. Enjoy. xoxox

Look at the shiny new buttons!

If you like this please share it using the shiny new buttons I found. Can't you just tell technology baffles me! I can't believe 233 people have read my blog. Mind you it's probably just my mum reading to find out what I've been up to so she can berate me for not contacting her more and for being a very bad girl. Sorry mum.

Chapter one. The shallow man with the big cock.

I'm such a bad blogger, over two months since I last posted but I have just been having too much fun. I do have a story to tell though.

I don't think I told you about Biker Guy. Some of you know but anyway, there was this guy who I saw when I first got to the island. I was at Regs Garden watching some music in the sunshine and I noticed this guy sitting there who piqued my interest a little. Being a massive scaredy cat I did nothing and fantasied about him for about 6 months romanticising what could have been if I hadn't been such a yellow belly.

6 months later I am at a bar watching Rick Jones do his thing (he's a singer and guitar player by the way not a Chippendale although maybe he could work that into his act and give the bored housewives of the rock some extra entertainment. I might mention that next time I see him. Or maybe not) anyway, watching Rick and go to get a beer at the bar and who is stood in front of me? If you didn't guess Biker Guy (who we will now refer to as BG) then you are stupid and need to go and do some brain training and come back when you have more brain cells. If you thought "BG" then well done you, you can keep reading cos it gets better.

I do a bit of a double take because you know it's been 6 months and I want to be really sure that it's him but yup it really is and then I panic. "What to do now?" I ask myself. No, not out loud as that's a good way to get sectioned but in my weird head. I do the only thing I can do which is text Josephina something along the lines of; "OMG BG is here. What do I do?"

She text back something unhelpful like "Er, say hello"

I mean if I could do that I wouldn't have needed to ask for help in the first place would I because that would mean I was one of those confident girls who can just go up and say hi to guys in bars. That's quite a lot to put in a text so I just put "I can't do that" and she started texting back equally unhelpful suggestions such as "say that's a nice jumper, it would look better on my floor" and such like.

By the time I had realised that Josephina was going to be of no help whatsoever, Hamster had started a drunken conversation with him. Not as helpful as you might think seeing as Hamster is one of those girls that men just fall over themselves to get to. She has men falling at her feet when ever we go out. We can't venture anywhere without mens jaws hitting the floor, coming up to chat and going all gooey eyed at her. It's not just that she's pretty with big boobies (which are about the same as mine I reckon) it's just that she has this quality. I can't put my finger on it but if we could bottle it, we would make a fucking fortune

Anyway, I manage to get into a conversation with BG and somehow the conversation turns to kung fu and karate and debating which one is better. I maintain that I prefer karate but he's of the "I like kung fu" school of thought. I think I probably said something like kung fu's rubbish, karate's better (yes I know, scintillating conversation but I was about 4 pints in by this point) and that I missed karate because I didn't know anyone on the rock who did the style that I like. To which he replied that he knew someone who taught karate and he would check which style it was.

We're getting a bit bogged down in detail at the moment so I'll just say that it was the style I liked and he gave the number of the instructor. So we chat for a bit longer, all the while Mr. Jones is still doing his thing, oblivious of the drama in the corner and I ask if he's going to the rock night after and he says "Fuck yeah!" A bit too enthusiastically for my liking so I ask if he's being sarcastic and he's all like "No way, I love rock night" so I say"great, that's where we're going you want to walk with us?" or something like that. So at the end of Ricks set (which was awesome, as ever) we set off, a little drunken quintet, me trying not to appear too drunk and attempting some normal conversation so I can come across as alluring and potential girlfriend material to BG.

Needless to say, this doesn't work as we split off into our original groups once we get to the rock night but in spite of this I have a great night dancing to some decent music for the first time since I came to the rock. Before I know it, it's the end of the night and I am pretty much twatted and it seems like a good idea to stay behind after my friends leave because I haven't got BG yet and being an only child not getting what I want doesn't sit well with me. So I drunkenly jabber away to him, God only knows what I was wittering about but it worked as we left together arm in arm, got into a taxi and went back to my house.



Anyway, in the morning he went all weird saying he was to old for me which was strange as he didn't even know how old I was and that he'd just got out of a big relationship and blah blah blah. So I just said "relax please, lets keep this in perspective. Lets have a bit of fun and see what happens" and by that I meant lets keep having fun and see where it leads not that was great see you around sometime but being hungover and tired I couldn't articulate that.

So he left and I spent the next few days boring my friends to death with "Why didn't I give him my number?" conversations. In the end Hamster said "why don't you try and find him on facebook?" This is where it might get a little stalkerish.

I already knew his name (which I am not going to divulge here just in case he reads this which is highly unlikely but not outside the realms of possibility) which I got from the karate instructor guy so I did what any self respecting stalker does and typed his name into facebook and sent him the following message:

• Please read, if anything it'll give you a giggle...
  Hi, I realise this could come across as quite stalkerish but I have a reasonable explanation: I was messaging .... about the Karate and mentioned that some guy called BG had given me his number and I hoped that he didn't mind and he asked "BG who?" So I said "I dunno, tall guy, long hair, glasses..." and he said "Oh it must be ..... cos that's the only BG I know"
  
  So I mulled this over for a while and thought that actually I hadn't made that good a first impression and seeing as I don't go out all that often it wasn't likely that I would get a second chance so I thought I'd look you up on Facebook, yes I know that's where it gets a little stalkeresque but I firmly believe that we regret the actions that we didn't take rather than the actions that we did so even though your Facebook profile is locked up tighter than a nuns knickers I thought I'd send the message anyway.
  
  (By the way, if you're not the guy I met on Saturday night, could you stop reading now? I'd like my humiliation to be contained to the right person!)
  
  Anyway, I know that I said it's just a bit of fun when you were getting all self deprecating and I meant that but it came out a bit wrong. What I meant was; can we forget(ish) what happened Saturday night and start over, sober. I'd really like to get to know you better and see how it goes. I'm not saying I want a serious relationship or anything like that cos if it transpires that once we get to know one another it's the wrong thing, then I know I won't have any regrets.
  
  So...if you fancy meeting for a coffee (actually tea) sometime then give me a text on (put my number but you're not getting it)
  
  
  And if this has weirded you out, don't worry, I'm much better with the written word than I am at actually saying the words out loud so chances are, if you don't reply then I would never say anything to you if I see you again anyway.
  
  Sorry, realise that was a bit of an epic but I do tend to ramble if left to my own devices. It could have been much worse!
  See, not too bad, fairly light hearted and breezy!
  I waited a few days and no reply and although I am a self confessed pessimist most of the time I get quite optimistic about my love life. It's quite pitiful really. A bit like a puppy that gets kicked all the time and then one day gets given a piece of cheese and spends the rest of the time getting kicked and wondering when the next piece of cheese is coming. So I think to myself "OK maybe he didnt' get the message, maybe he doesn't go on facebook that often. Some people actually have a life and others don't have a computer so maybe he hasn't read it yet.
  To me, not replying to a message is complete anathema to my soul (is that the right word?) Anyway, I just don't get it, if someone has taken the time to compose a message to you be it a letter, an e mail or a text, it just seems like the height of rudeness not to acknowledge it even if it's to say "sorry you remind me of the beast of Brighton and I would never go for coffee with you even if you were the last hairy back on earth" I mean that would hurt but at least you'd know right?. It would be like ripping of a plaster, quick and stings like fuck but once the stinging fades you get right back on that bike until the next owie. Probably not the best metaphor but I digress again.
  
  OK, now this is actually where it gets slightly stalkerish but again, if he had just answered my message it wouldn't have driven me insane. An unanswered message is one of the most irritating things ever. Even a message with bad spelling and grammar would be better than no message:
  
  "i h8 u fk of n dy"
  
  Again, at least you'd know. Anyway, I decide to go and find him because I know where he teaches some of his crappy kung fu so I go and wait outside his class and to say that he looked shocked to see me there is another understatement but all I wanted to was to get to know him a bit better, go for a drink and find out a bit more about him. It may have turned out that after a few meetings he was the most boring man on the planet but at least you'd know! That's what I hate, the not knowing. I also wanted to make a better first impression. I hate meeting people when I'm drunk because it gives entirely the wrong impression. I come across as a real fun loving happy go lucky party girl which is so not me. I'm one of the most cynical pessimists you'll ever meet. Hamster has been trying to teach me to be more optimistic but it's not working so far and I doubt it ever will.
  
  I mean, yes I like to go out and have drink but I would much rather sit in with someone who I love most of the time (tolerate the rest), cook a nice dinner, have some wine and watch supernatural while they make as many cups of tea as I like providing witty banter and "in" jokes but when you've only just moved somewhere how else are you supposed to meet people if you don't go out once in a while?
  
  I'm not a party girl. I write in a diary for gods sake! I write poetry, I have scars on my body that can't be explained in a rational way, I'm much deeper than I come across if you meet me when I'm drunk but do you think I could find the words to convey this to BG? Nope. Written word I can do, spoken word, forget it. Tongue tied, gibbering fool.
  
  Anyway, to draw this epic to a close, I asked him out, he said no giving some lame ass excuse like; I'm too old, I have no money, I'm an angry man blah blah blah. In essence he'd made a snap judgement on me and wasn't prepared to find out if his preconceptions were right which I somehow don't think they are which means he's just a shallow man with a big cock.
  
  Shame.