Bank holiday, wank holiday

Today would’ve been my 20th wedding anniversary. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to go back to that life, however today social media seems full of loved up couples and people pretending to be happy. I say this, not as a cynical person, but because, behind the “spent an amazing weekend with my soulmate” bollocks,  I know that these are not essentially happy people, because I know what their real life is like because they tell me about how shit it is and I always feel glad that I”m single.

But it would be nice to find a person I could call my soul mate. Do they even exist?

My daughter came home for the bank holiday weekend. We had the loveliest weekend, full of wine and food and shopping and laughing and looking at pictures of her dad now and wondering what has happened to him with his gigantic nose and his hideously frizzy hair he is growing long to cover up the thinning. But we walked through the streets of Cambridge and looked at all the couples and felt irritated. Really fucking irritated. I hate happy couples. My daughter is single too and we signed up to the same dating app. I have to say, her pool is much more attractive than mine….mine are all big belied 50something year olds in mine who will no doubt need viagra to fuck once, never mind all night, who would be happy laying on the sofa or going to the pub…..or even worse going to the pub every sunday afternoon and drinking bitter and then farting all night. I’m not happy to settle for that. Lots of my girlfriends have boyfriends post divorce but they are physically unattractive and they tell me tat the attraction grows, that they are lovely people. Well, I don’t want to suck the cock of anyone unless I find them attractive from the get go.

Sometimes, although I know in my heart that I did not cause him directly to have an affair, I know I played my part, as we all do. My safe place to go is to wonder if I was too fat, too ugly, too boring, too anything, too not enough. I know in my reasonable head its not true. Ive been called beautiful, I’m a model in my spare time. I have an amazing body, no stretch marks, no baggy bits, a peachy arse. I’m fit. Interesting. Funny. Educated. Intelligent. A high sex drive.

So why am I single?

Am I too fussy? Is that wrong?

The guy I was seeing who had a depressive breakdown last month is still depressed, not in contact due to wallowing in his own self pity.

Towards the end of our short relationship, and the reason I suspected he was depressed, he started falling asleep all the time. Once while I was giving him a blow job, how rude of him, and once while he was down on me. Now, a normal person would rationalise that but no not me. In my self blame personal culture, I decided it was because my clitoris was too small and became paranoid that I couldn’t come in 2 seconds and that was why he had fallen asleep.

And I bought a clit pump.

I mean, really! I wasted £40 on something that I have never used and because of him being a fucking depressed cunt. I’m not so annoyed with him as I am with myself.

So, here I am today, feeling sad. Not sure why. I wouldn’t go back, our anniversary was always a rowing day. Always. A disappointment.

I’m waiting for the arrears he owes me to get to court and I think that shall be his anniversary present from me. 20 years on and I am so much stronger, that he cant fuck me around and I will stand up for myself which I never did when I was with him.

Happy Anniversary shit cunt. And thank you for the present. The present is me.


Priorities and Liberation

I have decided to take a break from on line dating.

My girlfriends have all been asking me how Saturday night’s date went and when I tell them he had a handgun, they look horrified. But worse than that, I tell them, he had a 13 year old son. I mean, holy fuck!

And I realised I’d rather date someone who is a raving nutter than one with children under 20.

And that’s not entirely healthy or entirely normal.

So I have come to the conclusion that 3.5 years of on off on line dating has absolutely warped my standards and acceptability.

So I’ve joined the dating agency of The Universe. I will ask The Universe to send me a partner who will be right for me (handgun or not, but no children under 20 please) and I shall trust the process.

And I cannot even tell you how strangely liberated I feel with this new mindset. I feel free. I’m just going to be me, living in my very lovely life, with lots of friends and lots of fun stuff and lots of creativity, and loving my work and I’m not even going to think about dating. Or destroying my soul as it has become.

Today I have clients, but in between them, I may crochet. Or lay on the sofa, or read a book, or paint a wall. I will not be trawling through a number of odd looking men and feeling sad for them that they are out there in the world feeling lonely (it’s the empath inside me) or that they might be a total fucking nutter (it’s the cynic inside me).

Of course all of this may change by tomorrow. But for today I am feeling happy and free, (and aware I haven’t had sex for 3 weeks eeeeeeeek).

Introduction Agencies….worse than on line dating


Around a year ago, a friend and I paid a considerable sum of money to join an introduction agency. Sounds posh hey? Don’t be under any illusions. We paid our money to join, and then we had to pay to go to a function. SO we chose a black tie ball.

We had high expectations on our 2 hour drive to the venue, only to have them totally dashed, no smashed into the side of a rock face as soon as we walked in. It was like a glam evening at the old folks home. Which then developed into an evening from the set of The Undateables. I sat next to a guy who was seriously autistic and who had never worked for starter, a guy whose best friend was his spaniel Ralph for main course and for dessert, a man who could’ve been my grandad sat next to me. My grandad’s been dead 40 years, so I made my apologies and went and sat with the other disillusioned women.

Need less to say, I have never attended another do of theirs, should’ve rung all my alarm bells when the registration lady told us upon signing up that it was LIFETIME MEMBERSHIP. On a dating site. Really. Not filling me with hope.

Anyway yesterday they advertised a Sunday lunch in Cambridge. It was £45 a ticket (no wine, and believe me you’d need wine. A lot of wine) My friend and I decided that, rather than buying a ticket, we would go and lurk in the bar and watch who came in. Win win situation as if they were all minger, we would be glad we hadn’t wasted our money, and if any were potentials, we could snap them up in the bar.

We waited and all we saw was a convention of elderly people with walking sticks, coiffured hair, highly hoisted slacks and big ears.

It was them! We toasted our savviness with a few glasses of sauvignon blanc and some brie and basked in our triumph. The over 50s lunch had been taken over by the over 80s brigade! And we hadn’t wasted £45 finding that out!

On my way home later tho, I felt sad. Sad that 3 and a half years later, I’m still looking. Sad that every man I see while I’m out I wonder, are you taken, are you happy. Every fat or ugly girl I see with a boyfriend or a husband I wonder, how did you do that? Ive got it all going on and I had such a lovely message from the handgun guy from Saturday night saying how I was the complete package and I would be snapped up quickly. Well, I’m still single. Maybe I’m too fussy, but my fear is that I would compromise and settle for someone who wasn’t perfect for me and then my Mr Perfect For Me would come along maybe a year later and it would be too late. I was messaged by a man on POF last night who wanted to rant at me for being beautiful and how he would never date me as I would mug him off as the woman who he left for cheating 2 years ago broke his heart and we are all dishonest. I was annoyed and answered him, as one thing I am, especially after what my ex husband did to me and my daughter, is loyal and honest. Anyway he messaged this morning to apologise, and he had sunk a bottle of wine and got ranty.

I get that. And it showed me that not all men are cunts, there are cunty women out there too, trampling over peoples feelings without any thought for anything other than their egos and their sex life.

My daughter is home next weekend, it being a bank holiday, and I am kinda relieved to be absolved of the duty of having to go out on a date! Yippeeeee…..might not check POF once this week…..oh wait, what if Mr Right messages me………

Another weekend, another date….this one had a handgun….

I kid you not.

Ive been chatting to this guy for a few days. Lovely guy. On my level in so many ways. We decided to meet at a hotel far from my town last night for a drink.

I have started to do these rendevouz far away as I became aware that using the same 3 venues, after 3 years, I may have been starting to become a story for the staff of the places I met men for dates. you know, oh here she is with another one, weekend after weekend. Well, as a people watcher, I would, wouldn’t you?

So, I had spent the afternoon with my dad. Now that’s a whole other story. My dad, the serial adulterer, who killed my mum inadvertently with his ways. My dad who went for a younger model. My dad who turned into an old person long before his new model did. My dad, who stupidly let her sign his whole life and bank accounts over into her name and then she left him a solicitors letter in the kitchen evicting him from his home. Which was now legally hers. My dad, who totally deserved all he got in my opinion.

Anyway, he now lives in England in a tiny 1 bedroom flat, and has no friends, no life and a huge psychological dependancy on the health service thanks to being with a hypochondriac for 30 years. (secretly I’m laughing)

My afternoon with him was spent shopping in a supermarket while he shuffled along at the speed of a snail, stopping to look at everything, and commented on anything he picked up. Critically. He’s very opinionated. Hence no friends. I do have 3 sisters who could share this burden of my dad, and one does, well, did until he told her exactly what he thought of her husband. And now, understandably, she keeps him at arms length. One of my sisters lives white far away in an imaginary fantasy perfect life with 2 little darlings (she’s an older mum) and they are odd brats, and my youngest sister is a lazy arse who would rather sink into a bottle of red that discipline her children never mind make any time to see our dad. Hey ho, it’s all about personal choice.

I struggle with the feelings I have around him. I have never liked him. He’s very handsome and very charming but he took us to live overseas when we were children for 5 years and my mum told me years later that the reason was because one of his girlfriends moved there with her husband and so he followed her. With a doting wife and 4 small children under 9.

Later, when we returned to England my dad worked away and came home at weekends, which we all dreaded. I was the main sport on a sunday lunchtime, when he would pick on something I, as a rebellious teenager believed in, communism, anarchy and so on and then use the 2 hours to make fun of me and humiliate me in front of the rest of my family. Who let him. (I’ve just realised how much me ex husband really was like my dad)

So I wrestle with loving him, hating him, feeling pity for him and his current position, hating that as he was a wealthy and self sufficient man (who got done for tax evasion) and also knowing that what has happened to him some would call karma and some would call justified.

Back to my day.

We walked around and every 10 minutes he would say shall we go for a coffee after this? (Big social trip out in his world…..doctors surgery ad supermarket) but I had my date to get ready for.

So we repeated the conversation and few times, No dad, Ive got a date. Oh yes, course you have darling. Shall we go for coffee after this? And so on. I’m sure you can imagine.

I dropped him off and got home, only to find that the stray cat who had been trying to bust through my cat’s cat flap for a week, and crying loudly outside my back door, much to the terror of my elderly cat, was till there. I decided to post a picture of him on a local selling site only to get a message from a guy saying it was his cat, missing for 3 weeks (no wonder he was so thin) and could he come now to collect him.

This date was doomed from the start.

I pitched up, late (as usual) and instantly thought that there was no physical attraction for me. But he was such a lovely guy, great company, good conversation, fab manners, AND when we went for dinner, he could hold his knife and fork properly. And that together with my other 2 criteria, of blow job and my daughters wedding is an absolute must.

We talked all night about our lives and our dating and our dreams and he told me he always wears pyjamas and indeed they were under his pillow at the hotel, ready. I said what about if you were sleeping with a woman? And he said he would wait until after they had had sex then wait till she was asleep and put them on. In case he had to protect himself from a burglar. I said how likely is that? And he said I always carry a gun when I travel in case. I think he expected me not to believe him, but I actually did.

He had booked a room at the hotel we had initially met in and he asked me if I wanted to go back for a coffee. I was tempted. He said nothing else, I’m a gentleman and theres 2 beds if you wanted to stay. As much as I may have had a couple of wines and it was soon tempting I declined. For 2 reasons.

He wears pyjamas

I cannot trust myself. Sex is sex and it’s been 3 weeks

I would have to wake up in the morning and do the awkwardness (although I have snuck out of a hotel room in the night before while the guy was asleep)

So I drove home.

He sent me a message saying come back, we could have a party and sent me a picture of his handgun in the drawer. He’d had to move the bible to put it there.

We have messaged this morning to say we will stay friends. I liked him and a gun is oh so exciting in my villagey world!

Today I have had the usual post date messages form various friends, especially the ones in relationships. The ones who are single are realistic about the fuckery of the dating world, the smug ones who are in relationships are ever hopeful that I might meet someone I like and when I don’t they say things like

Well, couldn’t you overlook that bit of him?

It’s not all about looks you know

Don’t worry, stop looking and you’ll meet Mr Right.

I am fast losing hope that this person actually exists and fast embracing the fact that actually, my life is pretty fucking awesome without Mr Right’s farting, snoring, opinions, scabby feet and possibly young children in it.

Wait till you hear later what I’m doing today……..


On line dating……

…is a quagmire.

I have a fake profile. I set it up to try and trap a married cheater I once dated (thinking he was single). The picture is a generic english girl look, nicey nice kinda girl, and every now and then she gets messages.

This morning she had a message from a Moroccan guy I dated…let me describe him.


Very overweight

8 year old daughter

“ex” wife who lives abroad and visits once a month with the daughter

Argumentative and opinionated

The first time I went to his apartment, he put a pair of mens’ slippers in front of me and said “for you to wear”

I mean REALLY? I’m happy to wear stockings, suspenders, crotchless knickers, short dresses and even a butt plug. But the only place I wear slippers is in my own house on a cold morning on a Sunday. I was offended. Insulted.

He liked me to insert dildos into his arse. He also liked me to pay when we went out. He also liked me to drive as he had limited mileage on his insurance. 3000 miles. Like I’m believing that.

Anyway, his wife and daughter came to visit and I ended it when I realised that she was bank rolling him in his peanuts job, and she held all the power. Good for her. And I don’t like children.

SO he messages my alter ego this morning and I looked at his profile.

And suddenly this is how he describes himself.

Tall (I can give him that)

Body type: Althletic (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha)

Do you have children: All my children are over 18 (how quickly his daughter grew up in less than a year)

Job: Professional (call centre phone answerer)

Personality: Free thinker (opinionated cunt)

It did make me smile to myself, so I messaged back. I shall lure him down a road and then tell him I think he dated my friend. BUSTED LIAR!

Anyway it got me to thinking. I am obviously, with my fake profile, just as bad. Nothing is what it seems. Nothing is real except where we are and what we have and what we know.

And I do think that social media has a lot to answer for. I look at my friends who I know aren’t in happy marriages, but to look on FB or IG, you would think that they have the perfect relationship. And sometimes that can make us feel inadequate, not enough, not worthy. Even thought we know it’s all bullshit for the on line cameras.

Why do we do it.

However, equally irritating to me are the attention seeking brigade. The posters who put shit like “Feel so down”. Just to get the comments “what’s up hun?” (I hate the word hun) “you ok?” and never answer except for a comment at the end of lots of concerned friends that says “PM me babe”. (I don’t mind babe quite so much as hun)

Why cant we all be genuine? And I know more than most that we all need defences and we all need to look after ourselves, but really, where will this end? Will we all end up living in a virtual reality where nothing is real, or tangible or enough?

I’m off to paint skirting boards. They’re real enough for me.


The French sub/switch has been messaging me.

Yes, the one who wanted to be my slave, and when I said Friday was the only night I could make then just sent me the odd Bonjour (rose emoji) over the weekend and then wondered why I wasn’t interested.

Well, you see, I texted back, I gave you an option, you didn’t respond so I assumed you weren’t interested.

Oh I really am, he replied, I am so sorry for not texting back.

Well, I explained in my final reply, the thing is this. I need to be adored. You failed the first test. You’re out. I wish you well.

Too harsh? Maybe, but I’m done fucking about with wasters who live in a room and a shared kitchen who don’t show proper respect but want to come and clean my house and have me humiliate them for free. It takes some adoration to earn that abuse.

Sounds maybe warped and the older I get, the more fixed I become, the higher my standards become, the less shit I will endure.

Oh, in other news, I went to visit the Depressed One last night under the guise of collecting something from his apartment. He is very poorly. In PJs. He worried me. Which means maybe I still have feelings for the straightest man I ever did meet. I’m not sure which worried me more….I don’t normally go for men in PJs. And slippers…..

Apart from my ex husband. Now there was sexually straight. Repressed. We weren’t even allowed to talk about sex toys in the bedroom, never mind have any. And a different position??? Please……oh, the drama while I was reading 50 shades….and the secretly hidden vibrator….thank god for that.

Which reminds me, a year ago he told me, that as part of his 12 steps programme (I’m sure he’s not really doing it, it will all be for show…), he told me that when he gets to step 9 he will need to call me to make amends for the fucking torture he put me through for 23 years due to his alcoholism. Then messaged me 3 months later to tell me he had to do step 9 with me then. Right then. Time limited.

Nah. I’m resistant to rules and boundaries. Fuck you you nasty little fucked up man. My rules now, not yours. I didn’t of course say that. I stand within my role as a victim psychologically abused ex wife role and said I didn’t know if I was ready to hear it. To be fair I’m not sure I actually have the time, that’s gotta be one fucking monster of an apology which may take some considerable time….

I still haven’t heard my apology……funny that.

Did I mention I’m a psychotherapist in my day job?

Another day, another date

Much against my better judgement, I have been on a date today. A 90 minute date. In all honesty, as soon as I saw him in real life, in his black trainers and short black socks with cargo shorts, I could’ve happily said no thanks, but my mum bought me up to be polite.

We had been chatting on line for 24 hours.

I didn’t even know his name.

So I drank a diet coke (too dangerous to drink wine while my mind was feeling that way) and listened to him talk about himself for 90 minutes. Each time I started to talk about something to do with my life, he interrupted me and steered the conversation back to him and his various injuries, accidents and mobility issues. Yes, I kid you not.

I did contemplate the cancer card, having had 9 months of chemo for it in my 20s, which tends to trump all mediocre illnesses and injuries, but decided against it. Wasn’t worth it.

So I politely made my excuses after an acceptable amount of time and went. An awkward hug and I was so glad to be back in my car and heading home.

My afternoon was spent in my loft, which was miles more exciting, looking for the jar of £1 coins I seem to have lost in the move 2 years ago and will soon be unchangeable, and I know there’s at least a thousand £s in it. At least…..

I sent the message I have ow got off to a tee…….nice to meet you, you’re a lovely guy, but I didn’t feel a spark and I need that, so I wish you well in your search for Ms Right.

Cheeky wanker replied nice to meet you too, no I didn’t feel it either.

Hellloooooooo you were on your bike and I was driving an Audi. Fuck off.

Remind me not to date ever ever again. I have truly kissed enough frogs now.

Oh, and he wasn’t even worthy of the daughters wedding/blow job quality control test.

Where’s the wine……..