The L Bomb

When I last spoke to you dear people, I had just begun my foray into the uncertain world of dating. And with all the enthusiasm of a kid going through the autumn/winter Argos catalogue (I still get excited thinking about the possibility of getting a Mr Frosty for Christmas). Everyone was telling me to enjoy being single, to play the field, to make the most of my freedom. And the idea was exciting. At first. But what I didn't realise was that online dating is a bloody minefield, littered with liars, players and dick heads.  And that, while some men can behave like prize twunts in real life, when hiding behind the safety of a screen they can really go to town on the dickheadedness.

Tinternet dating is not for the faint hearted. Or insecure. Or anyone who hates rejection. You're judged on your looks (I had a message from someone who said "You're way out of my league but can I speak to you on the phone so my personality shines through?". Bless.) and rejected on the basis of a big nose, bad haircut or a shit photo. I should know, I ignored people because their faces were a bit too long or they had Transformers posters on the wall behind them). That alone can be crushing enough. But when you've been chatting to someone who suddenly buggers off without a bye nor leave, or led right down the garden path by someone who paints themselves as Mr Perfect from Keensville when they're actually Mr Knobber from Bullshittown, it all becomes quite boring.

I did have date which was fun and with a really genuine guy. Who was weeks away from moving to the other end of the country.  Really. But that was about as successful as it got. So, with one day left of my subscription I was quite happy to email my deets to the local nunnery and resign myself to a life of getting up at 4am to praise the Lord.  And then I got a 'wink' ( a Match.com equivalent of a Facebook poke). I didn't intend to wink back. Honest guv. But something made me think  "Fuck it, why not?". The wink turned into a message, the message turned into a phone number, which turned into a date for the next night. And the rest, as they say, is history.

I'm not the type to gush. But prepare yourselves for some serious gushing. *Those with a sensitive digestive system should look away now* I never really understood what all those sappy Instagram posts were about; what people meant when they said they'd 'just clicked' with someone. Until now.  There actually is someone in existence who ticks all my boxes - who makes my stomach flip just thinking about him, who I fancy the absolute pants off, who makes me belly laugh because he's so daft, who I have a ridiculous amount in common with and who is literally the male version of me. And I'm 50 types of awesome which speaks volumes about how shit hot he is! I want to be with him allllll the time. There's nothing about him that makes me want to punch him; I can even tolerate eating with him without wanting to shove the plate up his arse and the cutlery up his nose. And that's never happened before, believe me.

We've spent every possible day together, talked about the future, met the kids - all the stuff which should be scary but has felt as natural as taking off your bra after a long day.

And to think I'd all but given up, that's what makes this all the more perfect. All those clichés about finding love when you stop looking for it, all that shit is actually true.  And so I find myself in a permanent state of happiness, walking around with a daft grin on my face, waiting for texts like a lovesick teenager and looking forward to whatever comes. Which reminds me, I'd better email Sister Josephine of the Holy Order and let her know I've changed my mind..

The (nearly-halfway-to-80-year-old) single girls guide to dating

Let's face it, nobody wants to find themselves single at nearly 40. Nobody. But sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you thought it would and, after literally decades of being either married or in long term relationships, I find myself on my own. Well, apart from 2 kids, 5 cats and 2 guinea pigs, but you know what I mean.

After a period of sadness for what had gone,  followed by 'Shit. What now?', and then acceptance that - hell, I'm not a bad old stick ready for the scrapheap just yet, I've decided that sitting around waiting for life to just happen around me really isn't the way to go. And so the time has come to write a new chapter. A new chapter in the form of a dating website. Now, I know what you're thinking because I admit I thought the same once upon a time. But the truth is, I'm a single working mum; my days of being able to drop everything and go out on the manhunt are far behind me. They say dating is difficult enough in your 20's, but when you're near the end of your 30's it seems about a daunting prospect as throwing yourself from the nearest cliff. Add to the mix a significant amount of baggage and, well - you get it. Having tried Plenty Of Fish and quickly realising it was a breeding ground for sleazebags, liars and dickheads, I thought I'd sign up for one that you have to subscribe to. For a better class of sleazebag. Dickheads with money, if you will.

The first challenge came with writing my profile. You literally have to sell yourself. Which means no listing your hobbies as 'cleaning the cat trays, standing on Lego and shouting "Teeth! Shoes! Teeth! Lunchbag! Shoes!" like a demented fishwife for an hour in the mornings'. Then came finding the right profile pictures, or - more specifically - finding ones that didn't make me look like I felt (of pensionable age and knackered).  So I did my roots, dug deep into the Facebook archives and got snap happy. Writing my 'About me' bit was easy if I'm honest. I haven't got to this age without learning a few lessons about what I DON'T want from a relationship. I was very honest. I didn't want to be messed about, lied to or to waste my time with someone who's got one foot in the relationship and the other halfway down the road. I made it clear I wasn't interested in hook-ups, hoping to whittle out some of the sleazier creatures out there. More on that later.

And so my profile went live, with a mixture of excitement and papping myself at what I was letting myself in for. But I have to admit, it's been a hell of a lot of fun! So far I've had an offer of a holiday to Barbados, a shopping trip to New York (obviously I politely declined, not least because he was 4ft 3" and looked like Roland Rat) and an invitation to be someone's wrestling partner. Seriously. Yes, there are have been chancers who are just looking for a quick bunk up, but they've been relegated to the 'Blocked' bin. As have those who've just sent "Your stunning". But not before I've quickly fired a message back saying "*You're". Well, if I didn't pull them up on their grammatical errors it would keep me awake at night and I can't have that.

Who knows where this chapter will go? If  all I find is a few mates to chat to, great. If I find true love and a future with someone perfect for me, even better. I've chatted to several really decent blokes with offers of dates in the pipeline which, again is both exciting and terrifying.  But I won't know unless I try. And it's given me a much needed boost to my fragile self-confidence, reminding me that I do still have a lot to offer the right man. #loveyourimperfections.
So while I never knew the troubles of dating in my 20's (does he like me? will he call? does he fancy me?), I think I can sum up dating at 39 as 'So are we doing this or not? Cos I've got shit to do'.