Thursday, 14 February 2013

Doing Romance

Happy Valentine's Day.

I suppose you’re wondering how such a vibrant and attractive woman is able to find the time to write a blog post on this of all days.

WELL, let me tell you, I have been asking myself that very question.

Some of you may be aware that I am actually involved with someone. In the loosest possible sense. More than one person, arguably. So, I suppose I could have spent Valentine's Day with SOMEONE if I had wanted to. Probably.

That said, why would I want to break the tradition of a lifetime and actually spend Valentine’s Day with a boy? Because, at the grand old age of twenty-five, it is now almost amusing that this occasion passes me by so reliably every single year.

Like I've said before, I don't hate Valentine's Day. I actually think the whole thing is rather sweet. My problem, really, is with all the other days.

It's a bit like when, at Christmas, people go on and on about how we should be spending more time with families and having a bit of Christmas Spirit all year round. APPLY THIS TO TODAY. Do you really need a specifically sanctioned date to do a romantic thing? No, of course you don’t.

People get romance wrong anyway. They think it's all about flowers and declarations. No.

I, for example, was once bowled over by a a trip to Red Hot Buffet in Manchester.

I suppose what I am trying to say that romance is not about grand gestures. It's about little things that make your tummy flutter when you think about them and about making your feelings known. If flowers and chocolates are how you choose to express yourself or how you would like your significant other to express themselves, then that's fine. But it should not be reserved for one tiny grey day in February.

As my little gift to you, I will now treat you to the Top Seven Most Romantic Moments Of My Life That Do Not Involve Valentine’s-Specific Activities. Not a flower in sight, I promise.

(To avoid upsetting any current girlfriends of the boys I mention - because apparently that happens a lot now - I'm not going to tell you who was responsible for any of the following. But, rest assured that you have read about them all previously.)

7. The time someone hijacked a third-floor flat on campus that was directly opposite my Psychology lecture theatre. Then, on the front-facing windows, wrote “I Love You” in pink post-its. Before killing the whole moment by attacking me with actual eggs.

6. The time someone drove for two hours to buy me some biscuits.

5. The time a boy downloaded, and listened to, Taylor Swift’s entire back-catalogue because I decided it was a relationship requirement.

4. The time I was surprised with an overnight trip to a hotel that had been my favourite as a child. Nothing says ‘love’ like the world’s best breakfast.

3. The time I was kissed in a train station by a boy I had been fighting with for three months. A moment which was sadly ruined by my ridiculous purple hair. The kiss itself was outstanding, and the evening that followed was, essentially, the only enjoyable time we have ever spent together.

2. The time a boy wrote a Christmas song for me after we broke up. Not to get us back together, but merely to express an ongoing affection that would not be ruined by our traumatic separation. Or so he said.

1. The time someone wore a Spider-Man outfit to a party that was not specified as 'fancy dress' because, on the previous evening, I had complained that I was never going to get THAT KISS.

All dead nice, innit?


But, also, I hope you enjoyed Valentine’s Day. Even if you were by yourself watching Crimewatch like some of us.


(Note: When I compiled these - which took no time at all, because those things were all pretty memorable - it became glaringly obvious that I am remarkably easy to please, romance-wise. I know. It came as a shock to me too.)

Tuesday, 5 February 2013

The Scottish One

Before we begin, it's probably important for me to tell you that I don't really approve of my ex-boyfriends 'getting over me' or 'moving on' or 'being happy'. The entire notion of them carrying on with their lives sickens me.

If it were up to me, they'd form a club and spend a couple of hours a week CRYING over how brilliant I was.

Unfortunately, many of them refuse to do that.

At the end of last Summer, you may remember, I wasn't very active on the ol' blog.

It was mostly because I got myself a boyfriend.

I haven't spoken about it yet because it was all a bit sore on his end. BUT HE APPEARS TO HAVE MOVED ON, so it's fine now.

(On twitter, we refer to him as The Scottish One, so that'll probably do here as well. It is unlikely that there'll be another Scottish boyfriend. For various reasons.)

In many ways, I started dating him because of circumstance. I don't mean that unkindly at all, because I actually thought quite a lot of him at the time. But, in my increasingly calamitous life, there had just been all that unpleasant business with Doughnut and I needed, really, someone who was going to worship me unquestioningly and keep me from falling apart at the seams.

And The Scottish One did that. For a little while.

Until I quickly realised that I was the least of our troubles.

In hindsight, I suppose, I could have perhaps chosen someone a little bit less complicated. He was, after all, afflicted with depression and anxiety like you wouldn't BELIEVE. Not ideal for someone like me, who has a psychotic crisis every couple of days.

In the end, I was holding him together far more than the other way around and I'm, frankly, too selfish for that kind of thing.

Outside influences didn't exactly help either - his family were in a class all of their own. I didn't hear much from them at the time, but I've heard more than enough since we broke up. His friends were good lot - give or take a philandering actor, a desperate recording artist and a Scottish Nationalist - but almost entirely ignorant of his ongoing problems in favour of their own.

I was who he talked to, who he cried on, who he shouted at...

And so, we broke up. And eventually stopped speaking.

The final straw, apparently, was my confession that I did not find him even remotely attractive. (I put it much more delicately though, I assure you.) That, to him, negated everything good that I'd ever said and meant that we couldn't even be friends anymore.

We literally haven't spoken since.

I've sent a few messages here and there, mostly because I am insane and I hate being ignored, but overall I don't think I actually mind. I was certainly never upset by how things ended, just a little put out.


I had a naughty little look at his tumblr - because it's my week off and, as mentioned, I am ridiculous - and discovered that he has found himself a new girlfriend.

She, herself, does not provoke any jealousy within me. (I rarely get jealous of women, oddly, and the ones that I do get jealous of would not be appearing in this scenario.) So, as far as I am concerned, that can all carry on as it is.

The only thing wrong with this situation is that, as far as I can tell, he is no longer IN PIECES.


Gone are the lengthy emails about how wonderful I am. Gone are the vaguely suicidal goodbyes. Gone are the assurances that I am the most important person in the world. Gone are the promises of eternal love. Gone is my back-up plan.


As you can see, it's all very selfish of him. Exactly how is my ego to cope if there are not devastated men scattered about the United Kingdom?

This will not be allowed to happen in future.