Look Bloggers, it's 5.20pm, do you know what time it is? I do: it's Third Date time, that's what it is.
I've been behaving like a flea on crack all day, the poor man won't know what's hit him when I get there. Wish him luck!

1. Bloggers! Hello. I've missed you. Here's what happened: after much chanting and jumping up and down to make time fast forward a wee bit - it didn't work- Thursday finally came, grey and cold as fuck and rainy and utterly loaded with Januaryness. Hurrah anyway!

2. The plan was to handle work and the post-work meeting (yes they are trying to kill me, clearly) with calm and poise throughout the day, than jump into Normal Person clothes at 6pm and make a mad dash out the door by 6.03, in order to be in Leicester square at 6.45 precisely. This dating life requires excellent organisation, you see.

3. Grazing Plan A (no proper date can happen without some form of grazing, I am sure you will agree) was a tapas bar with hyperbolic food - too full. Grazing Plan B - sudden inspiration- was a mellow Morroccan restaurant with candlelight, suave wines and welcoming low sofas -  my heart leaped when I saw that yes, there was just enough room there for us to be very, very close to each other and I made a mental note of tipping the lovely waitress very generously.

4. Mandatestuart was rocking the understated white shirt with rolled up sleeves look again - aaah, how very distracting. Does he even know? I suspect he doesn't. Really.

5. There was red wine and tagine and mellowness and words; and accidental contact between out arms, legs, hands. We considered begging the waitress to let us sleep on those sofas, the outside world being just too cold and grey and dark and January-like. Perfect.

6. 'Take him home!!' a girl yelled at me outside the tube station as we were kissing.
Oh, I've said it now - I wasn't sure what to expect, holding myself back you see - but it just happened and it was slow and warm and delicious and not at all January-like.
'She's ruined the moment now' he said.
'No she hasn't', I said, picking up where we had stopped.

I can't wait for the next instalment, bloggers.

Is it Thursday yet?


What about now?

Bloggers, there has been more activity on the dating front - so much in fact that this serial dater has not found the time to blog about it.

At this point, I would like to do a little dance and declare that yes I shall see Mandatestuart again, and no later than Thursday night when I plan an evening of fun, food and frolics. Oh yes.

Thank you for stopping by; be well!

1. This morning, bloggers, it's ALL HAIL THE NEW BOILER! Warmth and high spirits have been restored, hair has been washed properly.The cat doesn't want to kill me anymore, arguing that the staff (me) doesn't take care of him properly.
I am watching the winter rain drip pathetically outside my bedroom window and I don't even care - I'm warm and there is brioche to be had with my tea.


2. Friday night was mandate night, and my mandate was Stuart.
Mandatestuart was shy at first but I am fairly good at breaking the ice if I sense there might be some chemistry - and boy, was there chemistry.
Mandatestuart has a big brain and is passionate about what he does and if I used his real name you could google him and you would be impressed too.

Mandatestuart has an open, sensual face, a big smile and bitable lips.
Mandatestuart has wide shoulders under the white shirt, and strong hands.
Mandatestuart is seriously sexy, in a slightly guarded kind of way.

As a child, Mandatestuart was probably a secretive insect collector.
I suspect that Mandatestuart doesn't know how sexy he is.

Mandastuart is probably too romantic, too deep and too easily hurt for me.


We drank wine, walked in the rain, had tapas in a suitably overcrowded bar, walked in the rain some more and stopped and looked at the view from the Jubilee bridge. We talked about what you talk about when there is chemistry with someone you hardly know.


At the end of the evening, Mandatestuart said I was 'everything I was hoping you would be'.*
I am still glowing from that, blogfolks. And yes I would love to see him again, and I'll try to not hurt the romantic, secretive insect collector inside if anything does develop.



*Not to self: Must write it down and keep it for future use when ego deflates life a soufflé.*

1. Bloggers, it's still friggin' cold in the House of Y; George the plumber harrumphed and aaahed and sort of promised to 'get onto it' by Wednesday.
Fingerless gloves and a fluffy Peruvian hat are being worn. To bed too, yes.

I'm surprising myself by how stoic I am about the whole thing.

2. Added to the niggling matter of discomfort of the cold, brain-numbing variety, I have to find a new place to live within the next few weeks. A place not too far from work; a place I can afford. There aren't many of those in London.

3. On the dating front.... yes I do have a couple of dates lined up for the end of the week. As it happens,  two of my potential dates have the same surname.
I certainly hope they're not related; they kind of look alike, too...

Stoically and hopefully yours.

I'm invited for afternoon tea at the Dorchester next week end!

I've browsed feverishly through my closet - I have nothing even remotely smart to wear!

It's official!
I'm frumpy!
My government might have to take my passport away!

 That's all. I've used up my daily quota of exclamation marks.

1. Blogfolks, I am cold.
My boiler has died again; the end of the world feels pretty fucking nigh: I am currently under two itchy camel pube blankets, typing with fingerless gloves and not looking forward to more cold showers - how very Dickensian.
I'm considering having watery porridge for dinner just to stretch out the theme a little.

2. Just when I was having a non-date weekend, eyeing up that ever growing pile of DVDs. I should have gone out tonight, really I should have, and warmed myself to the flame of casual banter and light flirting with a stranger - don't you think? I do. Instead, I'll put on a woolly hat and watch 'let's talk about the rain' ,  feel slightly sorry for myself and polish off the rest of the brownies. Aha, not feeling so flirty now, Y, are we?
No, we're not. Meh.

3. I find myself somehow addicted to the constant stream of attention that comes from all this hectic dating I have been doing. 
Blogpeople, I check my email three hundred times a day, give or take a few.
I shake my phone just to make sure it's still working.

4. I saw Mandatearnold again yesterday. In fact, I went round to his place for tea and cake.
Tea and cake, blogcitizens!! That is far too civilised.
I should be ashamed of myself.
We just...chatted. Then had tea, and cake.

This is going horribly wrong, isn't it.

Blogfolks! I've slept and been watered and yogaed and fed - ah, synapses are happening again now.

Over the past four days, I have:

- been called 'desperate' by an ex-lover who clearly resents not getting all my attention anymore. It was also warmly recommended that I 'get a life' and 'get over the boy-fixation because relationships are fucking overrated'.

It didn't hurt. Well, it did a little - for him.

- slipped on icy pavements, trudged in sludge, regretted wearing those boots.

- been enthusiastically encouraged by my mother to carry on with my dating activities.
It made me smile.

- seen Mandatearnold again, three times. Three times, Blogfoks! For some people, that's practically a relationship. He definitely doesn't deserve this stupid name and I apologise to all that is sacred and kind.
He cooked me dinner, told me I was pretty and made me laugh til I cried. I basked in his attention and went home feeling like a well-stroked cat.

- spent an afternoon in the National Gallery with a tall, blue-eyed, bushy-haired, shy individual. It was a lot of work getting more than monosyllabic sentences out of him. At the end of the afternoon, he made it clear - monosyllabically - that he was really quite into me.
I'm not sure what to do. See him again just to check that yes, I'd probably get bored with him?

- been surviving with a broken boiler. No heating, no hot water. I can tell you that cold showers in a very cold bathroom are one of the most depressing things to do at 6 am on a work day. Don't try it at home. Just don't.

Today, all is quiet on the dating front.  Batteries need to be charged up, work needs to be done. Be well, thank you for stopping by!

Blogfolks, this serial dater has stayed up late, very late for the past five nights - almost as many dates as nights, in fact.

Is dating burnout looming already? Surely not, I'm only getting started.

Off to bed I go - breathtaking revelations tomorrow.