Tag: mystery

Raining.

I feel I should apologise to all the tourists who are in London right now, who came here on holiday on the understanding that June is summer. It is dark and it is pouring with rain. It makes me want to be somewhere with sun. Abdul has a new photo up and he looks delicious and so does the beach. I love his face and his body language, he’s full of attitude. He’s really intelligent and political, but he’s also quite aware of his own beauty, with the result that he looks great in photos. We are chatting a little bit. Nothing too heavy. I don’t think we are quite finished with each other. I feel like I just need about two or three weeks with him, actually, that would be enough. Just enough time for us to say all the things to each other that need saying.

In other news, I am seriously, calorie-counting, Proper Dieting as of today. My fridge is stuffed with fresh vegetables. Oh yes, and I bought digital scales at last. They did not immediately knock five pounds off me but at least I believe what they are saying. There’s a fifth date with Mr Environmentalist coming up so there’s every reason now to get back in shape.

Let’s have a tune. Let’s have some Wu-Tang.

Wu-Tang Clan: Gravel Pit (2000)

Love, Etc.

Well. That was an unexpectedly nice evening. I even scored an Art point.

So it was my third date with Mr Environmentalist. As you know, in the fickle and consumerist culture of online dating, while no date is ever really that bad, only about 10% of first dates turn into a second date. Third dates almost never happen. In online dating years, three dates is a long, serious relationship.

So we had our third date (omg yay). I asked him for suggestions of things we could do. He came up with quite a few good ones. Because I wasn’t feeling very attractive, I opted for a date where I could keep my clothes on, so we went to the cinema. This was the only reason we went out. Otherwise I totally would have picked an indoors date.

Well, the cinema turned out to be great! We went to the British Film Institute and saw The King of Marvin Gardens (dir Bob Rafelson, 1972), starring Jack Nicholson and Ellen Burstyn.

marvin gardens

Blah blah, intelligent film reviews, you can find them. Let’s cut to the good part.

The mood was romantic and kissy and discreetly sexy. He is really sweet. I like him. He isn’t overbearing, he’s self-effacing if anything, but he likes to hold hands and kiss and say ‘you are beautiful’. It is very hard indeed not to like him. There totally is going to be a fourth date, this weekend and I am wondering where I can get emergency liposuction.

And THEN, as I was on my way home like a good girl who has work in the morning, I received a text from Abdul in Egypt. It didn’t say ‘Come out here to Egypt nao and be my wife’, it was just a hello, how are you kind of thing. It made my heart do a little skip and a jump when his text arrived, something I haven’t felt since the JC era. Oh, readers. Let’s all cross our fingers for a sensible outcome here. We are pretty much relying on his common sense.

The Melodians ft. U-Roy: Everybody Bawlin (1971)

Brad

Bloody hell. The Xmas holidays are definitely over. My work diary is back with a vengeance. Points I have scored: Housework (1), Chinese school (1).

Weakly Weigh-In: I seem to have regained two pounds, great. Bah. I am so annoyed I am not even writing it on my chart. I will have to completely cut out sugar and live on vegetables. This is especially relevant in light of:

Dating. WELL. Things on the dating front are unexpectedly exciting. I am still seeing Marcel, he is still behaving himself, I can feel that he hasn’t properly formed an attachment to me yet but we are working on it and I have been taking it that it will come in time, he just needs to settle in to the cosy, British, tea-drinking, mildly disciplinary moral and erotic regime that I am very kindly providing for him.

I took down my dating site profile as I did not require any more new dates for the time being and wanted to concentrate on Marcel, who I enjoy and find attractive. I did, however, have a couple of people in my diary who had already made dates with me which I felt I should honour. In fact, if we want to look at it from a 12 Dates of Xmas perspective, I guess these would be contestants 7 and 8.

Contestant 7 was a very nice, intelligent man who I could easily be friends with but there wasn’t quite enough chemistry for much more than that. So that left just one person for me to meet: Contestant 8. All I knew about him prior to meeting him is that he’s very direct and straightforward (this I like), he seems quite laid-back and he can talk. Dude knows his own mind and has plenty to say. You obviously never can tell about the chemistry until you meet someone. So I went to meet him with no particular expectations, in fact I regarded the appointment as probably the last time I’d date anyone but Marcel for a while and I was glad to have cleared my diary. I also wasn’t even looking all that fabulous as I was tired. (Wardrobe notes: knee high black leather boots because snow, long purple skirt by Joe Brown, soft wrapover black top by Betty Jackson, nice garnet ring that I bought about 10 years ago from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York).

Readers, this guy. Let’s call him Brad. He was great. He was a big, sturdy, vivacious, confident, smiling American. As semiotic signs go, he was a strong contrast to Marcel who is delicate, elusive, shy, light-of-touch. They are the same age: 36, 37.

Brad and I spent the whole evening together talking on a sofa in a rather luxurious hotel bar and there was all the chemistry you could wish for between us, fizzing away like freshly-poured champagne. I told him all about Marcel. Eventually we didn’t care so much about talking and I ended up comfortably wedged in next to him on this sofa, with his arm around me and my head resting on his big American shoulder. It was really relaxing and therapeutic. Man oh man. We like each other. Where this goes from here, I don’t know.

Dating. It doesn’t get any less complicated over time, does it. Brad and I are comparing diaries and trying to make a date for this week. And now I need to stop enjoying myself and DO SOME HOMEWORK. Get on with it, Gloria.

Let’s have some music. This is a beautiful song, listen to Big Youth preaching respect for women. This for me is one of the essential differences between rap and reggae. Rap is hard on women but reggae embraces them because we are all Jah’s children.

Big Youth: African Daughter (1982)

My good boy.

Can repeat the rules from memory. Understands why they are there. Is responsive to instructions. Is always polite. Showed up looking carefully-groomed and bearing a small gift (Men! Bringing a small gift of flowers or chocolates to the woman who is granting you sexual favours is never the wrong thing to do).

I squashed his face into my bosoms and told him I loved him. It was our fifth date. I think we are in a relationship now. I might stop writing about him until it all starts to go wrong, lol.

Yes. Weekend on track.

Dentist: done. Wasn’t that bad, best of all – no antibiotics. Awesome. Also my much-loved usual dentist wasn’t there to see the state of my teeth and be disappointed by the crap job I’ve done looking after them lately. So now I have a month to get them cleaned up and looking good before I see him again. I love that man. 1 Health point.

Dating: Marcel swears he is being a good boy, turned in his homework on time and is expected to report for duty on Sunday. G-style. Gangsta style.

Ice-T: G Style (1993)

First World Problems

I am overcome with self-pity because the Xmas holidays are about to be over. It is Friday, I am already answering work emails, I have more massive dental work tomorrow morning, just to enliven Saturday and then I am back at work properly on Monday. It is RUBBISH and I want Xmas to go on for ever so I can go out on dates and sit around eating bacon.

At the same time, I also feel thoroughly over-privileged and frustrated because homelessness. I went out the other night to meet a friend who had completely forgotten that we had a dinner date. So I’m standing at the tube station and this very thin young man approaches me and asks me as politely as possible for money for food. I ask him a few questions like how old he is (23), where he sleeps (on the tube, in a hostel if he can raise enough money by begging), how long he has been homeless (six months) and when he last ate (not today). So I take him for dinner, listen to his story and give him enough money for a couple of nights in a hostel, and I give him as many words of encouragement and reasons to have faith as I can muster up. Then I go home and cry my eyes out all over Little G because this is a rich country and we should not have 23-year-old kids supporting themselves by begging. He gets no state benefits at all because his Employment Seeker’s Allowance was stopped, he has no shelter and it is the middle of winter, FFS.

Rough sleeping in London went up 43% in a year. Young Rajesh was one of those casualties.

I am hopping mad  and I want to know what I can do about it because I can’t take everyone in London out to dinner one at a time.

Dating news: no firm arrangements right now, probably just as well since I’m about to be reintroduced to the joys of a full time job. Marcel continues to be unpredictable. I can see him logging into the dating website.  Not that I have told him to stay away from it, but I have made it clear that I am not having him casually shagging around while he is seeing me. If he wants to sleep with someone else, he can ask me for permission and right now the answer is going to be no because frankly he is a bit scattered and emotional and he needs to focus and concentrate. So those are his options. Keep seeing me or casually date everyone off the internet but not both.

We will see. He will either willingly comply with the regime or else he will go. I am not open to compromise.

Shiny shiny, shiny boots of leather.

Velvet Underground: Venus In Furs

All the news that’s fit to print

Happy New Year, readers! Here we are, hurtling into 2013 and TLYW is action-packed as always so let me see if I can condense it all into a few headlines.

What I did on New Year’s Eve.

Morning: got up early and cleaned the house for hours and hours (1 Home point). Shopped and filled up my normally-empty fridge with food, put brand new bed linen on the bed (300 thread count, if you please), swept, scrubbed, dusted, cleaned the floors and behind the toilet.

Afternoon: went out with Marcel (wardrobe notes: silver skirt by Jasper Conran, black chiffon top by Betty Jackson, big sparkly blasphemous cross, shiny black boots). Scored 2 Art points by going to see two exhibitions as follows. Firstly, The British Art of Illustration 1837-2012 at Chris Beetles Gallery, combined with an exhibition of Quentin Blake’s work. Very nice exhibitions, both open until 5th January 2013. Lots of Ronald Searle, Arthur Rackham, Kate Greenaway, Mervyn Peake and of course Quentin Blake, here is ‘Christmas Acrobatics’ (2009):

quentinblake

After that we went to the Barbican to see the exhibition ‘Everything Was Moving: Photography from the 60s and 70s’. An exhibition of about 400 photographs from 12 prominent artists such as William Eggleston, David Goldblatt and Li Zhensheng. These decades were obviously a period of great political and social upheaval, in various different parts of the world, and photography was an important means of documenting that change. Here’s a photograph of a mid-70s ‘Miss Lovely Legs’ competition in South Africa, taken by David Goldblatt. This exhibition is on until 20th January.

legs

Evening: I took Marcel home with me, fed him some dinner and put him to bed, with sexy results. In the morning I reinforced The Rules to make sure he is clear on everything and then he went home.

Right, where does this leave us? I have not done any Chinese homework yet, which is a problem because I am behind on it as always and there is class again really soon. I have time to pursue frivolous dating projects right now but only because I am momentarily off work. Once work kicks in again I am going to have to make some decisions. The fact is, I can date everyone in London or I can sustain a relationship but I might not be able to do both. After four dates, it is starting to look a lot like I am in a relationship with Marcel. I am dictatorial with him, inflexible, a moral absolutist (having graduated from the Ecole de JC, where I was impeccably tutored in these fine arts) and he likes it, and who can blame him.

Does this mean that The 12 Dates of Xmas is going to close early? Well, maybe. Some people are going to have to fall by the wayside, I think, which is sad. People who I will have to let go:

– Contestant 4.1. Damn shame. Such a lovely guy, we had so much in common. I don’t think I’m going to be able to free up any time for him, though. I will have to text him about it. A pity.

– Another guy who I had in mind, who I went on a date with once before and who I re-contacted recently. I don’t think either of these guys is offering anything different enough than what I can get from Marcel that I can justify squeezing them into my diary.

There still are a couple of dates that I will fulfil, if they still want to. One is a guy who I sort of have an arrangement with for Saturday, not that I have heard from him in recent days confirming this arrangement. One is a woman. In fact, she is Contestant 6 and therefore you need a picture of her, here she is.

12dates06

She’s much more attractive than that, actually, but you get the gist. Very nice eyes, teeth and hair. Very pretty. I will let you know how we get on.

So. That’s about where we are at. The Marcel situation is still far from certain and settled but it is rapidly heading in that direction and if things continue well I might soon close down my online dating account so I can concentrate on him. And then, readers, when I am finally sorted out with someone with whom I can sustain a relationship, I will at long last be able to stop dating, stop going out all the time, spend time with Marcel on a schedule that works for me and make use of all the wonderful free time I’ll now have by getting some homework done. Who knows, I might even set foot in the gym.

And that’s all the news.