I’m a picky, picky MF when it comes to dating. If you don’t fill the criteria you’re not getting a first date. I’m like a medical trial. So many quotas to reach and boxes to tick until I decide you can test trial this amazing new drug that makes it’s gay subjects stop clubbing, go to more restaurants, argue outside said restaurants about what kind of food they want, put on weight, stop calling their friends, stop calling their family, cut their sexual activity dramatically and get a dog. 

Sounds like a great drug right? Let’s call this magical drug……. a boyfriend. And considering I have had nearly three boyfriends in my lifetime, I’m basically an expert. Honestly. Ask anyone. 

I dated an older man when I was about seventeen. He had recently come out, which would now set off gigantic alarm bells in my cynical but totally fierce (am I using that work correctly. Note to self- check with the younger boys at work) 29 year old head, but in my stubble free, chubby teenage head it was the dream. We had a whirlwind of a relationship and got in WAY to deep WAY too soon, you know like you do at that age/this age/on a first date/on the Sheikh’s sex yacht, and we parted ways when I moved to London to work in “theatre”(say it like Jenna Maroney. Kids, look up Jenna Maroney). 
My first real proper London boyfriend was an absolute dream boat of a man. If Heineken made boyfriends………. (may have used the wrong beer advert reference there, but I tried Dad) I was 21 ish and had lost my teenage puppy fat, however in my case it was full blown dog eating pizza fat and I was feeling myself (gay slang for I looked fucking hot) in Soho. Me and “the pack” as an older friend once/repeatedly endearingly referred to them as would be out almost nightly “hunting” for men. I put hunting in commas there but there really was no need, me and my friends were on heat. I mean, what’s sexier than a group of horny twenty one year old dancers wearing the sluttiest shorts and vests they could afford(/steal from the various clothes shops we all worked in) in freezing cold February? Totally got side tracked about how hot I thought I was in my early twenties but back to the dream boat boyfriend. Tall, handsome, funny, rich and really into me………… oh and from Saudi Arabia. Course. As Jason Dickie from the RVT told me at the time- “there’s always an Arab”. It was doomed. Like a ticking time bomb. (Please note the unintentional semi racial/xenophobic reference there. I’m so good at this writing stuff) He moved back and I took myself off on a cruise ship to ‘Eat Pray Dance’ my way out of the emotional mess we’d made. And maaaaannnnnn did I eat! I came back from my nine months at sea a whole three stone heavier. We’ll get to that another time, perhaps in another blog entitled “Emotions and how to eat them”. I’m basically an expert. Ask anyone. 

So my most recent boyfriend/heartache/Adele album came along five and half years later in the form of another tall, handsome, rich guy from………. Sydney. Phew. You know those people who meet each other and everything just fits perfectly. And those people are the bar that other people in the pub set their Sunday lunch fun levels against. We laughed the hardest, we were smashing it in the looks department (ask anyone), we had such a lot of fun together. I was touring and he basically works for Satan’s meaner cousin which meant not seeing each other as much as we’d like. I did of course manage to eff this one up too. I ended it. Grass is always greener. So many guys so little time. Taller. Buffer. Funnier. Nicer jumper. Want more more more. 

I didn’t need more. I needed to chill the fuck out. I needed to appreciate the things that I had. Be a little less of that archetypal gay man with his gym membership, Grindr chat and his 32 waist. I learned a lot. And will try to change. 

And now I’m single. Again. And the Sheikh won’t have me back on his sex yacht after the Vienetta incident (a story for a different time). 
Luckily I’m fairly good at being single. But on the off chance you know any tall, handsome, rich men who are into out of shape dancers……

Ta Rah 



One thought on “Eternally Single. 

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