Holy Christ the internet is a weird place, isn’t it? It’s one of my favourite things about it, if i’m honest. That there is a small corner of the internet carved out to serve just that thing that makes you tick. A space for everybody no matter what their beliefs, interests or sexual preferences that is open to everyone with an internet connection regardless of how many pounds in the bank, legs, arm, teeth or morals they have.
Internet dating is a microcasm of just that. There really is a place for everyone out there no matter how off the wall or mainstream your preferences are. Which makes internet dating bloody good fun but also sometimes a wee bit strange.
I joined both Plenty of Fish and OKCupid after recommendations from friends recently and have been having some great, and some not so great conversations with the men of Manchester and further afield.
Whilst POF seems to be mostly full of vanilla seeking tradesman – with the right kind of profile I suspect you could get everything wrong with your house and car fixed for a non monetary price – OKCupid seems to be attract people that are a little more on the fringe, as it were.
Within minutes of signing up I’d had messages from two married men – one who was looking for a mistress solely to perform cunnilingus on – and one cross dresser.
Within a few hours the married man count had gone up to three and there was a lady looking for me to have a dalliance with her husband and then tell her all about it.
The next day, no less than two young men got in touch wanting to be my slaves. Which after further questioning seems to involve them doing the housework, jobs around the house and giving me massages. All for the heady price of denying them sex and being a bit mean.
And these were just a handful of the unusual requests that kept my phone buzzing through the evenings. God I love that place, it’s stinking marvelous. How wonderful that the Internet makes it so much easier for people to be their true selves somewhere at least and talk openly to people about it. Now if only the real world was like that.
Sadly, as well as these quite frankly brilliant conversations, there have been some that make me want to bash my head repeatedly on the table.
Every girl deserves a bit of luxury in her life, right? Something soft to wrap around herself as she settles down for an evening of wine and admiring Pacey Witter’s finest attributes on Dawson’s Creek (Yes, I am watching Dawson’s Creek. Shut up).
Everyone wants something soft to snuggle up with that doesn’t hog the remote, laugh at your choice of viewing pleasure or get the hump when you find yourself murmuring ‘Oh, Pacey’ out loud for the 5th time in the episode.
If that sounds like something you’d enjoy – it doesn’t have to be used to Watch Dawson’s Creek, I suspect it is just as delightfully smooth and silky to watch Great British Bake Off in or cover your eyes from the weeping angels in Dr Who with – then the Soak and Sleep Luxury Mulberry Silk Throw could very possibly be your perfect viewing companion.
I don’t think the above picture really captures just how deliciously stroke-able this throw is. Here, you can see it better on this one…
Not only is it the perfect size for one (140 x 200 cm – it could cover a single bed) and softer and smoother than the fur of baby unicorn; it’s warm, enveloping and won’t try to steal your wine. I suspect it also would also make a great outdoor evening drinking companion, would help you feel better when ill and would be in its element on a camping trip or a plane journey.
And it has very cute tassels.
The perfect date, really.
The Soak and Sleep Luxury Mulberry Silk throw comes in a range of colours and costs £46 from the fab Soak and Sleep website. I’m eyeing up one of their pillows to go with it.
Sadly this post is much more about why I shall be going out to buy myself a sleek, shiny new fridge for my lovely kitchen this week and in the mean time eating mostly dried products and take-aways than it is a reference to one of my favourite crochet blogs.
I went away last week – being freshly single and without child for a few weeks whilst my little hooligans were off terrorising Lapland for a while it seemed a great time to begger off and enjoy some sunshine. I went off to Gran Canaria once again – this time to stay with my hilarious friend and awesome drinking partner, Sarah from Losing My Lemons.
Well, what’s the point of having friends in warmer climes if you can’t take advantage of them?
Mush drunken fun was had, sun soaked up (not that you can tell from looking at me – I am still as pale as pale can be) seafood eaten and whilst I was sad to be leaving I was looking forward to getting home. Home being where the heart is and all.
And nice it was. My lovely kitty welcomed me back in a very uncat-like manner by draping himself around my neck and purring, refusing to move for a good half hour, and even the dog was pleased to see me. Ah home, I thought, happily surveying my little semi detached house and all it’s nick-knacks. It is good to be back.
And I carried on thinking that right up until the point where I opened the fridge to check what needed buying and what had gone off and found the worlds largest, slimiest slug slithering indolently up the the inside of the door, smug in its glistening, glutenous state.
Of my fridge.
The place where I keep the things that I willingly put in my mouth.
Sweet mother of Joseph, I do not even want to think how it got in there or how long it’d been there for. In fact I don’t want to think about it at all. Or food.
This might be the best diet ever.
This is not a spoof. It’s an actual real thing.
Never mind the lack of jobs; the soaring costs of fuel, food and well, everything; to hell with the ludicrous bedroom tax and the hundreds of disabled and poverty stricken people committing suicide after horrific and frankly quite evil cuts. Hang the fracking that threatens to destroy vast swathes of the UK, public forests being sold off for profit that will profit nobody that lives near them and a school system that is being systematically destroyed by people with no actual teaching experience who think they know better than those that have been teaching and nurturing young minds for years.
Never mind the way the country is being run by a bunch of elitist, self serving, condescending cretins whose only interest is in keeping the perpetual circulation of money moving between them and their old school chums.
Let’s get to the heart of the real issues that affect the working classes: beer and bingo. Cause that’s the sort of thing ‘they’ like, isn’t it?
What next, free flat caps and copies of The Sun newspaper for all?
It’s the political version of being petted on the head and told not to bother my poor little girly head with trying understand some big, complex thing that only a man can truly fathom. And it makes me burn with the very same ball of incandescent rage.
“Mummy, were there vikings around when you were a little girl?”
I think I’ve just had a change of favourite child.