Disclaimer: I wrote this article eating a chocolate mini roll that tasted like it was made in my dreams.
This time last year I got a very nasty shock.
My love life as of recently has been even more dire than usual.
I know…I mean… I also thought we’d hit rock bottom people but APPARENTLY NOT.
With the online dating world full of freaks and IRL men proving to be disingenuous dickheads my current mood is basically this:
So, it’s kind of strange that my new obsession of the moment is a show in which the end game is to fall madly in love (and win loads of cash – this at the very least I can get on board with.) Yeah you guessed it, it’s Love Island.
I’ll admit I’ve been keeping this corker under my hat for a good while.
We Brits are not built for the heat.
The weekend away! The unsung hero of the holiday family. Short enough to be spontaneous and affordable whilst long enough to get yourselves into the kind of high jinks that the Famous Five* would be proud of!
*if the Famous Five had been less into exploring smugglers coves and more into pounding rose like it might run out in a pub that resembles your local in all ways except that its 100 miles away from it…
It’s been pointed out to me recently that this blog makes dating sound as fun as having to sit an exam naked whilst all your ex boyfriends eat dinner with their new girlfriends in a circle around you.
It was a pretty typical Sunday morning when my phone rang.
Typical here meaning that I was hungover, hungry yet aware I had only a pomegranate and some gin in the fridge and in a spiral of shame because I’d been on a tinder date the night before and fallen asleep at the table.
It was about this time last year that I found myself in a bit of a trough in the peaks and troughs of life. I had been dumped twice in the space of six months, still wasn’t 100% over my horrid ex-boyfriend, had started a new job that was not at all what I was expecting and was poor as an actual mouse. In the midst of all of this I’d started to develop a feeling of unease and anxiety that seemed to be largely comprised of a lot of questions I didn’t know the answer to:
Why do I only manage to go on dates with psychopaths? Why have I only got five pounds in my bank account? Why did I drink all the wine and text my ex a nonsensical message that ended in ‘and I broke my arm!’ when I didn’t break my arm at all? When is life going to feel like it’s supposed to?
T’was a mystery.
There’s a few things I’d like to get straight before embarking on this article.
Firstly, Summer is a bloody magical time. Everything seems better when you cast a hazy dappley sunshine glow over it. You can even find yourself sitting in a questionable park in Soho exclaiming ‘gosh isn’t London so BEAUTIFUL’ despite the fact that you are sitting about 10 metres from a heroin addict shooting up directly into their feet.*