Speed Dating? Not again!

As a writer I feel it’s my duty to have lots of adventures so that my writing can reflect the breadth of experience…or maybe I just like to get out and have fun….
Anyway, last night in the pursuit of fun and adventure I was persuaded by Jo to have a crack at Speed Dating – having now been an innocent bystander twice, she thought it was time to get my hands dirty, so to speak. The whole experience was made all the better by having not just one female friend there, Jo, but coincidentally, three others – one I’d met at the last Speed Dating event, she too had been a chaperone, and also two other fellow Rugby club members.

So there I was looking reasonably glamorous and above all, eager, sitting at a table in the window of a bar waiting for my first victim, erm, no, date. Jo was at the table next to me looking stunning as usual – imagine a near six foot, size 10 (UK) version of the actress Sarah Lancashire with a platinum blonde bob and that’s Jo – so she’s pretty eye catching. Jo jokingly says to me, wouldn’t it be funny if your ex was to walk past on his way to the cash point. Ha ha I say. And then Jo went white…..he DID walk past! Twice! Jo and I dissolved into embarrassed giggles – I was mortified and wanted to climb under the table – particularly as the organiser was giving her pep talk at the time, she saw us in uncontrollable giggles and asked what was wrong, “Her ex husband has just walked past!” shouts out Jo cheerfully. Thanks.

Well it did effectively break the ice and I don’t think that Jo and I were as nervous after that, well, not nervous of our ‘dates’, I was slightly nervous that my ex would come in and ask me if I had taken leave of my senses, or worse, stand outside point at my 3 minute victim and laugh….


So, the Dates. 17 men all supposedly within the ages of 35-45, were they? Maybe one or two was actually in his 30s, the rest were at least 45 but more likely nearer to 55 or even 65. If I was to attempt Speed Dating again I would either go to the 30-40 bracket or more likely 25-35 at least that way I would perhaps meet someone only a year or two older than me and not from an entirely different generation!

Most of the men seemed to be reasonably nice people, some were more charming than others, some more interesting than others. One was more mad than any other man I’ve met before….he had arrived with a mobile phone clamped to his ear and an ordnance survey map flapping out of the waistband of his trousers. He also possessed what I think is the last pair of NHS glasses in existence which is shocking considering we were only a couple of hundreds of yards from SpecSavers. He sat down and mumbled on about the recent earthquake that we experienced down here in Kent. Much of what he said I couldn’t hear but I did make out his general annoyance with local government who apparently contact him every time there is a natural disaster – the earthquake, a hurricane (this happened last month according to him, I missed it myself) – they contact him, ask for his ‘expert’ knowledge (on what I have no idea) and then they don’t even offer him payment or a permanent job. I made all the right noises and nodded encouragingly. He was clearly impressed by this and asked me if I listened to Radio Caroline….I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s been gone for a long time, so I said I remembered it (that was a lie, I have heard of it, know some of the stories about it being the forerunner to Radio 1 and so on, but it was before my time I think). He then went on to tell me about a Dutch radio station that operates next door to Caroline (erm…wasn’t Radio Caroline on a boat?) he gave me the frequency to tune into and then asked me what my favourite song was….My mind went blank except for two things – James Blunt’s You’re Beautiful – no good, no good at all, it would give him all the wrong ideas! Or alternatively someone has been attempting to convert me to Leonard Cohen – now that would send out all the right messages, so Leonard it was. So if I tune in today I could hear a Leonard Cohen song which he would have broadcast just for me. Afterwards I discovered this man had told at least one woman that he finds it very hard to meet women for sex. That’s a great chat up line.

Aside from him I also managed to put my foot in it with a chap who works as a Safety Officer for a Nuclear power station – “You’re Homer Simpson!” I blurted out without giving it a second thought….

I also had a rather pained conversation with an older man who told me he drove a lorry. I attempted to draw him out and ask which firm – no reply. So I asked what he carried in his lorry – he told me the firm was based in London and did contract work for the local government. Oh, says I, that sounds interesting, and then I repeat my question, What do you have in your lorry? Finally I get a reply – Household Waste Management……Yes dear reader, he was a Bin Man. Now don’t get me wrong – there is nothing at all wrong with being a Bin Man – it’s an essential job that all of us rely on each week, or every other week in some areas around here…And not a job he should be ashamed of having, but he clearly was and didn’t have a sense of humour about it, and as we all know, humour cures all.

The end of the evening saw me with a score card filled with crosses all in the Miss column – maybe some of the men were very nice, but I’d rather stay single than settle. In fact I’d go so far as to say that I’d seriously consider taking up lesbianism as a lifestyle choice if the men last night were truly representative of the single men out there.

The Yellow Wallpaper

I’ve got one bit of work out of the way – an article written and submitted so that’s one thing crossed off the list. Now I’ve still got some redrafting to do and an academic essay to write too, but none of that needs to be in until Friday….

So I’m writing more for the blog…

Are you beginning to see a common thread here? It’s true what they say about writers – that we *have* to write – but that said it doesn’t mean that I get things done.

I’ve always been that type of writer – as a child I kept a diary, in fact sitting in an attic somewhere are volumes of my teenage diaries – tens of thousands of words, all teenage angst, all written in longhand, every day for years. I guess keeping a blog is no different – maybe a little less of the teenage angst and more of the thirty-something angst...

I know that if I went and looked at those old diaries now just opening them would slip me back into my 14 year old self – I would still remember writing those words, feeling those things and very possibly experience the same shock and embarrassment that we all suffer as self-obsessed teens. Or maybe I’d look at it all and not remember any of it and it would feel as if a stranger had written it – that often happens to me with fictional short stories I have written – I no longer recognised sections and wonder if I really wrote that – particularly when it strikes me as being good.

I think that keeping a diary is like holding a conversation with oneself and I suppose depending upon the state of ones’ mental health it will be calm and considered or mad as a box of frogs.

I had a long conversation with Roo the other day – we met for lunch (anything to thwart my deadlines) we were discussing mental health and as she is a nurse and my novel is about a mad woman we’ve both got bits of knowledge about some of the issues surrounding being barking. Aside from which as we both went to the same all girls’ boarding school we spent many years sharing confidences with plenty of crazy females.
One of the best fictional accounts of a woman’s descent into madness is the story The Yellow Wallpaper – it’s about a woman during the late 19th century who is suffering from post-natal depression, she’s alone in an attic room and pretty soon she begins to see figures in the yellow wallpaper and ultimately she swaps places with the wallpaper woman and loses her mind. The story is told in lucid detail and every step of the way the reader can see both sides to the story – yes she’s going mad, but also haven’t most of us seen faces in inanimate objects and then if you’re suffering with an elevated temperature the faces may move….It’s all within the normal bounds of experience and all too easy to understand this woman’s slide into insanity. I think that’s what frightens so many people about mental health problems – we wonder if it’s catching because we understand it so easily….

Or is that just me?

That formed part of my conversation with Roo too – if you’re aware that you’re unhinged does that mean that actually you’re sane? It’s a paradox…And Roo admitted that when she did her psychiatric rotation as part of her training she went to an open psych ward and didn’t know staff from patients….