…Because I was by myself…
Hello dear readers! So let’s dive in and explain how I found out that one is the loneliest number. The other day I had plans to meet my friend for sushi and cocktails, it sounds much classier than planned I assure you.
Disaster struck on her end but she is flakier than puff pastry so who really knows? By this point I’d already bought a train ticket and I’ll be cold in the ground before I just give Boris Johnson my money for no reason (I hate him an unreasonable amount). My next cunning plan was to phone an Ex for catch-up coffee which I secretly hoped would be catch-up inside me coffee (minus any actual coffee). His crazy sense must have been tingling because that invite was cleverly declined.
Being self-empowered and luckily having a book on me, I decided to do the most single person thing I could think of: have a date with the city itself.
I felt sassy in an all black number, it was very 60’s stereotypical Parisian beatnik with a splash of John Lennon (say enough words and no one can argue with it…) Something about wearing a good outfit took the sting out of being alone, it was my Topshop armour against judging looks. Sadly the weather was about 5 degrees away from the sun but I could stay alive if I walked fast enough to generate breeze (essentially I was a fashion shark). So far London had been a good date, not too talkative but still impressive, just how I like my men.
I began by visiting round some old haunts. It was nice at first, I sauntered round some clubs I hadn’t seen in a while, a couple of museums, that one back alley… I realised that this was probably the first time I had been to these places single, as if avoiding places I loved would help me get over the people who took me there. You should never avoid something you enjoyed, it just lets your ex-whatever’s memory own it like an emotional ghost. We didn’t share shit whilst we were together, why am I suddenly being so polite to an entity in my head?
See I’ve already broken the golden rule of first dates, never mention your last relationship. It was time to make some new memories, I decided to head the other side of the river and catch me a man. With any luck, the chill from the ‘water’ in the Thames might prevent me from pruning in my woollen oven.
I crossed the river but Southbank did NOT turn out to be the mantown I expected. I’ve always wanted a French boyfriend, but not by snatching him from a school trip. After dodging all the tours outside the Sealife centre (at least the starfish are getting touched) I slowly melted inside my beatnik cauldron. I toyed with the idea of going into the London Dungeons, if not to get touched by Jack the Ripper then just to escape the heat. Regrettably I decided against it, if I was after a thrill which would have left me disappointed I’d have pushed harder for the Ex sex.
Ultimately I decided to cut short my date with London, three hours seemed fair and I was running out of fluid in my body. I always like to leave my dates wanting more but I’m not sure what I left London wanting… maybe back-sweat? My second dating tip had been learnt; wearing black will conceal and create a swamp in your clothes, great for the gal who wants to look great but touch no one.
My date rating out of 10: a solid 7, he didn’t mind when I eyed up strangers and it was wildly more fun than some of the other tragedies I’ve experienced with real people (how depressing).
So yeah, put in the comments if you’ve ever had a better time with an inanimate object (that DOESN’T vibrate) then you’ve had with actual humans. Who knows, maybe it’s the way forward?
Cigarettes: I’m calling the chimney sweeps on Monday.
Diet: Mouse portioned (self-control?)
Dates: 1/2, London didn’t call back
Exercise: I stared fiercely at a jogger and got a contact jog.