Thursday, 6 December 2012

The best revenge is living

An interesting couple of days, a new team in the work fold, a dynamic pair who understand resettlement and that we are not a one size fits all society. Two very fun Christmas parties yesterday, Women In Social Housing, an elegant affair in the shadow of the mighty Shard, God I love that building and the raucous Women in Journalism party at the Embassy, old friends and new  and the gorgeous Shaziah Mirza who I  forgot, used to write a column for the Guardian, diary of a disappointing daughter. Don't we know that one too well? Still waiting for Mummy Dearest to die so I can have a picnic and pour champagne on her grave?  I am.
I took one of these 2 new work colleagues,  a much younger man with me and people ass-u-med we were together. Deeply flattering. We weren't.
Tonight however,  dinner at Carluccios with a young man (31)  who wanted to   explore possibilities with an older woman. He is beautiful, 6'2", green eyes, dark hair, just got back from Vietnam, so slightly tan, model like features, works as a bond trader  and made me laugh into my venison ravioli, something I   haven't done openly  for  what feels like a  very long time.  Isn't it strange how sad times become telescopic in their endlessness, as if they won't end and then a single good moment can make you just snap out of it. So the delicious 31 year old wants to meet again and has promised to read up on tantric sex (not sure how we got to that).  I feel deeply flattered, quite amused and strangely content. It was all very chaste, barely a kiss on the cheek which  he misdirected to reach the corner of my smile, very smooth. I said let's go and see  DEATH at the Wellcome which I want to get to again. He doesn't like art.  Lost puppy, eager and friendly, needs some  training.

I sleep tonight feeling lighter than I have for a month at least. So much for man flu and the stress diet. And men who are too much work.

Here's a profile to avoid if you go on line dating. As if you ever would do such a thing...

Ladies, I present Thomas Cromwell. As in Woolf Hall. Literary pretensions so far up his ass he can't see the shit from the delusions anymore. Face like beaten leather or Max Clifford.  Has just had an AIDS test, so I should wait for the results of that before diving in. Not quite Shard like. Not a keeper, sort of  a part time indulgence, like a book you read then leave on a bench for anyone who might be interested. 55, lives at home with his mother in Devon.

                                          55 / M / Straight / Single      Dartmouth, United Kingdom

My self-summaryConvivial recluse.
What I’m doing with my life I'm a journalist. Reading. Writing rubbish. Swimming. Taking my grandson Oscar on steam trains and to zoos.

I’m really good at:
Lighting fires.
Making tea.
Breast stroke.

The first things people usually notice about me:
My Ronald Kray retro style glasses

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Books: In Which Piglet Is Entirely Surrounded By Water
Music: Sailing By, Dr Feelgood, Cesaria Evora, African pop.
Food: A free range boiled egg and a slice of bread and butter

The six things I could never do without
Fountain pen and paper, ink, toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, WD40

I spend a lot of time thinking about
What rubbish to write next.

On a typical Friday night I am
Adults only lane swimming session at the local pool.

The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I'm a fucking idiot

He’s looking for
Girls who like guys
Ages 30–55
Near me
For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating, activity partners

You should message me if

You've had one too many.

Yes. Quite.

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