Big Head, Big Head, Big Head!

Have you ever seen that episode of Friends where Mr Heckles dies and they are clearing out his apartment? Chandler finds his High School Year Book, and realises they had a lot in common....More so when he realises that like him, Mr Heckles listed faults with dates. Big nostrils; piggy eyes; and loud - the list was endless, and Chandler worries he will also turn into a sad, old, lonely man, unable to ever settle due to his fussy nature. He then dates a woman who he previously rejected, and all he can think is "BIG HEAD, BIG HEAD, BIG HEAD".

I've been told a lot in the last year that I am also too fussy. I pick faults in my dates, and use it as an excuse not to venture onto a date number two. I personally see it as a pure and simple rule that I will not settle - this Lady knows what she wants and likes, why should I settle for someone who isn't right, and who's fault will annoy me?! I mean, if you didn't like walnuts, you wouldn't pick them as your food of choice to graze on for the rest of your life would you? Or if Noel Edmunds makes you want to throw things at the TV, you wouldn't happily watch repeats on loop of Noel's House Party would you? NO. So why should I have to put up with premature baldness; annoying accents or midget men just because I am single and should "look" past the flaw!? I'll end up in prison for some kind of rage related incident....Drowning the midget in a puddle; sticking the shiny bald head through a window - you get the jist. (LD has a temper when annoyed....It's not an attractive trait, I'll be honest).

OK. I admit, I sound shallow. I am no super model, and I'm in some areas, a little on the high maintenance side, but I am willing to compromise in some areas. If they don't earn buckets, but love their job I'll happily pick up the tab. But if they are a layabout with no ambition in life? REALLY? I think not.

So my list of pet hates and turn offs are really just me saying NO to settling and I'll be honest, they are deal brakers. Fact.

1) Accents.
Some turn me on, some make me cringe. Give me an Aussie, Kiwi, Irish or Scottish accent, and I'm putty in my dates hand. However, some I just cannot visualise ever finding sexy, and if I think I'd laugh if they shouted my name in the heat of passion.I mean, a Welsh accent makes me want to vom...probably due to dating a Welshy for way longer than he earned. Or a West Country accent - double vom. Scouse - makes me far from "calm down". I want an accent that makes me want to melt, not throw up, so unless they are going to willingly visit a vocal trainer, and have a Higgins style makeover ("the rain in spain falls mainly on the plain") then there's not much point in a date one. I'll possibly want to throw things at them. Even one of my celeb crushes, David Tenant, I only fancy when he talks in his Dr Who accent. When he's a Scot (which I normally like) I don't see us marrying....And I have the wedding all planned - it was to be at Edinburgh Castle, in the little chapel that seats about twenty people. He'd wear a kilt, I'd have a demure little number on, and we'd party after Scottish stylee in a quaint pub style place. But he isn't sexy when he's not talking like the Dr, so like I said, a deal braker.

2) Height.
A very recent topic. I met a guy through match.com a few weeks back, and being a bit of a dim witt, I didn't realise HOW short 5'5 was. Now, I am 5'1, so to be far, he's taller than me. But we looked like oopma lumpas having a day out. Even I laughed when I saw our reflection in the mirror at the bar. I sliently cringed when I saw him standing at the bar waiting to be served....It was like a kid reaching up asking for a squash. However, I had a good time, as he was pretty great in all other areas, and at least when we kissed I didn't get a crooked neck (as a sufferer of neck problems for the last 14 years this was a bonus - but to be fair, I like getting massages so it is cancelled out as a plus). BUT really? I like a tall man so I feel all protected - it's a bit of a big thing for me. I couldn't get over it. That and he turned out to be boring as fuck when I wasn't gin fuelled....To the point I actually did the whole "hello? hello? I can't hear you...my signal's going" then hung up when he was boring me the other day on the phone. But the height was the main issue. I even googled small celebs to work out HOW short he was prior the date. If you're interested, he was taller than Jamie Cullum (5'4) but shorter than Richard Hammond (5'7). And the same height as me in heals. He'd have drowned in a puddle, whether I was holding his head down or not.

3) Profession
Ok, here is where I can sound really stuck up, but to be fair, is it wrong to at least want a man that has a profession?? I'm not saying I want a Dr (unless the Dr is the previously mentioned Mr Tenant), but signing on whilst pursuing a dream of a music career, when really they are spending their days playing Call Of Duty; getting stoned and watching Top Gear repeats on Dave, does not cut it with me. If they are good at their job, love it, and have passion, then as long as said job isn't something like a taxidermist or undertaker, then fine. But lets be honest, some jobs are more appealing. Bankers make me want to throw things at their head. IT geeks bore me under the table. Creatives tend to be a bit too serious at times for me. a nice normal job would be fine but let there be one. I'm not very good at making small talk about Jeremy Kyle, or Janice, the woman at the local job centre who told you she'd stop your money if you didn't go on a job interview - uhhhh NO. have an ambition by all means, but have the talent to go with it, and a bit of drive. It's sexy. I won't pass if you do.

4) The English Language
My biggest turn off with any man, and what could actually make me turn down Gerard Butler.....Text speak or bad spelling. The use of "hehe" has actually made me finish a flourishing dating romance - it made me cringe and get really mad. I can handle "lol", "wtf" and "ffs". But "2morrow" "b4" .... No one over the age of 17 should use text speak. It's chavvy; lazy and stupid. I will be honest - I will tell you to do one. And whilst we are on texts / calls - i hate men that bombard me with "why haven't you text me?" (worse, "y no txt?") - i have a busy job, i don't have my phone with me at work....Needy before date one? Really?

There are many more deal brakers. We know about my worry of dodgy names. Dress sense Reebok Classics? Football shirts when your teams not playing? Umbro? Keep walking. A love of motorbikes? Never going to stand in a field watching you race them, and the chance of getting me in a leather all in one and helmet? Pretty slim. I sound fussy. I sound shallow. But why on earth should I settle on things that i don't like for the sake of getting off the shelf? I am fussy because I know what I like, and if i'm screaming "BIG HEAD, BIG HEAD, BIG HEAD" then you will be crying in your cornflakes and not seeing me again. Perfection is hard and rarely found, compromise is needed, but I know what I want, and the big things matter. That includes height, so midgets, please do not apply.It's been raining a lot lately, and I like walking through puddles!

First Dates. The One Rule is Stick To The List....

As you may or may not have surmised from my blogs, I have not been that lucky with dates of late. In fact, due to a random array of faults (admittedly some mine) I have not made it passed date one for a very long time. Some of them were just awful. Exhibit number one - the touchy-feely middle aged ex game show host, who stank of Cool water, and looked like he'd been dressed by a gay Star Wars fan aged 15. Or exhibit number two - the Dennis The Menace lookalike, who was so boring, the best alternative was to talk to a hammered fire fighter who was accidentally drinking candle wax thinking it was his gin. Or my most recent disaster - the fabulous date that immediately asked me out again, to never return from his climbing holiday (my good mate LK still thinks he is up that mountain - bless her optimism). So I am scared and excited all at once, to tell you I am off to the land of Date One again tomorrow night. AHHHHHHHH!

I was given a list of "can talk about / can't talk about" conversation subjects by a very lovely friend after I told her off a disaster date, where the eine had flowed, and my tongue had runaway with mr. Lets just say, I have had a very varied life, and have therefore been told I have to ensure I have a spin doctor style chat with friends pre dates. Some subjects are really hard to avoid, but I have been instructed to use diversion tactics, to not scare them off. Some of these subjects are quite serious, and to be fair, are a part of me, and who I am - every experience moulds us into the people we are, whether good or bad. So, some of these maybe a bit different from my normal source of blogging. But you know what - hard times have given me the ability to laugh at life and myself, so hopefully you can too.....

My "NO Go subjects:

1) Mean exes. Unfortunately I have a few. The worse of the bunch was thankfully nearly 10 years ago, but was by no small feet, to put it mildly, a mean bastard. Why I stayed with him, I will never know - friends and family loathed him and his power over me. He was one of those men that use subtle tactics to control their women - never would he dare raise a fist to me, but one comment / look could make me feel about an inch tall (those that know me, know I am a few inches taller than that - although not many). Nasty bastard, or Moley Moley Moley as my nearest and dearest called him behind my back (he had a rather large mole on his face - I'd love to tell you he was a looker - I'd be lying), berated and bullied me for the duration of our relationship, resulting in 2 years of quite bad depression. Hence NO Go subject Number One & Two - Nasty, mean abusive exes, and mental illness. Both make first dates look nervous, show pity and move table knives away from me. I however see my experiences as a great achievement - I got rid of MMM and got through a few dark horrible years where things like KFC adverts could reduce me to tears. (The one with the bucket in the garden - it was used for a football goal / to water the garden / as a kids helmet, then ends up muddy in the bush. The line was something like "not all buckets are so unloved" - I sobbed for about 2 hours). Possible happier spin on this subject - "a man i dated was a bit of an arse. I dumped him and cried a bit. Now I'm fine. So what do you think of the X Factor this year?"

2) Well officially "NO Go" number 3. Being proposed to a scary total of four times. Saying yes 3 of those. OK, this number is a bit excessive, but can I help it if I seem to be the kind of girl men seem to want to marry??? I don't get it either. I used to be a right pain in the arse to date - I assume as it's been so long, I will have mellowed with age (we can only hope). The first was due to me being young and foolish. I lived with him in an awful flat in London that was a health hazard and a dump; and he microwaved his socks dry far too often for my liking. The second proposal was the prior mentioned MMM. He didn't actually propose, more assumed. I think his words were something along the lines of "so when you move here (Wales) and buy Mum out of her share of the flat (WTF?), we can get married and start having a family. I was thinking one boy and one girl? OK with you?".....At this point there was a LD shaped hole in his shitty new flats wall (my supposed future abode). Then there was the LOML who's proposal was hardly the most romantic, but had the most potential. We'll come to him in a sec - he's a no go subject all on his own. Then an Aussie who friends reckon was just after a visa. Tell a first date the 4 times proposed to, never a bride stats!? Errmmm, they would either think one of two things...I'm either a commitment phobe / runaway bride or I want to get married REALLY badly. Spin Dr says...."I have had a few serious relationships, but unfortunately none of them were right. Do you know what 2 down was in todays Times' crossword?"

3) The next, as mentioned above, is the LOML. Now, this story does not have a happy ending, but the long and the short of it is, for many years he was my one. The closest LD came to getting down the aisle - we had a church booked and everything. Unfortunately when we moved up North, I discovered living together was a whole different kettle of fish, and that the LOML liked a drink. Fast forward a year, and we were separated, arguing over custody of the cat. Fast forward another year and we were friends. Add 6 months and he was dead from an accidental overdose. It seemed the LOML, who I thought was a bit too drink happy with a bottle of red, actually had a serious drinking issue - I'd just never wanted to admit it. However on this occasion, my hand was forced.So when they ask, "have you ever been in love / Or are you still friends with your ex? (and they do tend to ask these kind of questions - don't ask me, I'm not the one doing the asking), it is really hard to divert their attention. If this does come out, they tend to think one of a few things (you can see it in their eyes) "Is she over him? Is she going to cry? What do i say now???". Spin Dr diversion - "yes, I stayed friends with the LOML. We don't see each other anymore though. Distance issues, you know how it is. Is that Vanessa Feltz sat over there?"

4) My wild youth. Stories I am not to tell - my affair with a married aging DJ when I was 18 years old. Streaking at my friends engagement party with her Sister after WAY too much sambucca. knocking myself out falling backward over a grit bin, after WAY too much sambucca and tequila. Going clubbing on my own and ending up at a random industrial estate with a group of guys, who in hindsight could've been really dodgy. Partying with a cab driver on a Sunday night at a Casino. Being adopted for the night by a stag party from Geneva, and waking up in a hotel with no way of getting home (a 60 year old waitress gave me a lift - I think they thought I was a hooker). A few funny, but not date-one subjects. To add to this, my past job as a manager of a well known sex shop is off the list. All of the above scream PARTY girl, not possible girlfriend. Spin Dr says "I've done a lot for charity. I like small children and puppies. How much did you give to Children In Need last year?"

5) And lastly, the main killer of any first date. The admission that I write a blog. On dating and relationships. Men immediately assume I will write about them, when to be fair, I only put them in here if they are tragic and awful......SO most of the dates (OK all) have ended up in here! Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. LD has to remain anonymous for the long haul I think!Spin Dr "I like to write. Poetry and children's stories mainly. I am very guarded about my work. You have very big muscles, do you work out?"


But then, as I said earlier, all of the above are a part of me, and how I have developed as a person. If the datees can't handle the list, then they are obviously not the one for this Dangerous Lady. I won't of course freely discuss these subjects - but if they come up, then I won't lie. It was one of my all time favourite icons, Marilyn Monroe that once famously said "“I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” I concur Miss Monroe, and LD salutes you. Lets be ourselves and see where that gets us.....Probably another blog, but c'est le vie!

And Your Time Starts Now.....

A lot can happen in three minutes. You could listen to your favourite song. Write an email to that person you haven't spoken to for a while. Or have sex with the guy I lost my virginity too (including foreplay I'd like to add). But is three minutes really long enough to decide if a guy is a potential Lord Danger?

Dating in the 21st Century. It is tough - we all have busy lives and less time to actually meet people the standard way - whether that be in a bar over cocktails; through a mutual hobby (in my case, that would be in a bar over cocktails mind you) or through work. I've met people online; through ads (literally - my best mate advertised me); blind dates and so on. We live in a world where everything is done at a pace likened to a cheater, and so have come up with weird and wonderful ways of meeting people. I mean, seriously if you'd have told me 10 years ago, I'd spend time trawling the Internet through pages of Gavin's and Derek's who love their car, and once read a book, I'd have told you to do one. But we lead busy lives, and busy lives mean as with all things we have to compromise and do things differently to make sure we fit everything in. And that depressingly includes the ongoing search for love in my case...

A few years back, I was asked to go speed dating with a friend, who'd heard that a friend of a friends sister had met the man of her dreams and subsequently, her husband, through three minutes of stimulating conversation. How could I resist! It was quick, fairly cheap, and I would obviously meet the man of my dreams.(This was prior to my love of Gerard Butler - he was probably in the Phantom Of The Opera at the time, bombing all the way to the bargain basement section of HMV). So off we went, to the lovely world of Windsor with high hopes and good old LD positive mental attitude.(PMA people - if you are single, and in your thirties, it is your most powerful tool).

Anyway, back to the night in question, where I was to meet the man of my dreams in three minutes of wonderment and unspoken passion. Oh how wrong I was. Firstly, we had stupidly decided to go during the World Cup, meaning we were a little outnumbered in the male / female ratio. On the plus side, none of the men were lager lout football hooligans, and a game involving Germany, playing on the big screen, was a good distraction during some of the "dates". The nine men that had dragged themselves to the bar were a right bunch of IT freaks - yep, every single one, apart from Bulgarian George and a crazy postman, worked in IT. Oh, they all tried to glamorise their jobs, but whether you call yourself a Database Analyst, System Engineer or Flash Developer - we all know it means you sit at your desk, tap-tap-tapping away, rarely seeing sun, and interacting with the fairer sex only when Mavis, the tea lady, brings you a custard cream for elevenses. But, I'm namest, not jobest, so I was happy to sit and sit through the three minutes of their charm offensive. Unfortunately, the most good looking man that night was a tad full on, and asked as his first question "so, what are your three main goals in life?". My response was "to be happy, healthy and my family the same" - quite good I thought, but fit/serious man tutted and rolled his eyes. Bulgarian George spent three minutes telling me how much he hated the UK and wanted to get out - whilst looking at the door, and all available exits. I think he may have been on drugs. The postman, who's name now escapes me, was a roller coaster fanatic, and travelled round both speed dating events, and theme parks throughout the world. I was not impressed with the pickings, I'll be honest. I did not see the future Lord Danger anywhere in this random batch. The last guy,was a magician (who worked in IT normally - standard). He was rude, claimed to be a gherkin slicer and hand model, and a real pain in the ass. But he was at least interesting and is still on my invite list to all birthdays - even though he does do that Harry Potter shit all the time. My friends think he's magic - boom, boom. (I was also his date to his Christmas party one year...bad choice and a last resort on his part....I got him drunk on tequila and told his work colleagues that I was actually an escort. One believed me and tried to book me at a later date - flattered or insulted? It was a tough call).

Needless to say, my first experience left me a little dejected - I hadn't met the man of my dreams. No wedding was being planned.....although I now had the number of a magician to entertain guests when I did capture the heart of my Lord. And I also knew that my phobia of buggy looking fish eyes was just one of the many reasons that Bulgarian George did not get a "yes" in the tick box.

Amazingly, a few years later, I decided to give the whole thing another bash. This time it was to be in London (better pickings I figured) and I was going with a guy. A guy that at the time, I fancied the hell out of, and had slept with. My flash of genius was to go along, look gorgeous, and for him to realise how amazing I was, and sweep me off my feet. Buy one get one free on Pinot, and skipping lunch, meant the only thing sweeping me off my feet was the wine, and my plan turned into a colossal fail. The fact at the time I ran a borderline sex shop, and had mistakenly told the first "date", was my first rookie error. I was stalked all night by those more perverted of the group.The tables were so close together, they could all hear what was going on next to them - and lets face it, men have picky hearing, but "sex" is one word they could hear a mile away, whilst a million drills were being used around them. One guy was so awful, I refused to speak to him for the three minutes - I think he asked if I got to wear the outfits I sold, and if I was wearing anything kinky at that point - it is very possible that he is locked up for being a sex pest now. Anyway, my plan to seduce my male "friend" I'd gone with did not work - shocker. LD got very emotional when my plan of seduction and sexiness failed to work, and I called my "friend" a few home truths and stormed out. To then storm back in when I realised I had no idea how to get out of the worlds biggest bar. I won't lie, there were tears and a scene. Speed dating strike two - not so good, and not even a juggler or fire eater to add to my phone book.

Then we have the charity speed dating event, I helped a friend out with. It was for Breast Cancer Awareness, and my involvement was simply to sell tickets. Easy peasy - I worked in a local pub and managed to sell a range of tickets to gorgeous female friends, and a lot of make tickets to a very random bunch of middle aged men (I swear we had the worlds most boring man; the Catholic sweetie who refused to take off his wedding ring despite being single for years, and a bald Northerner who looked like the guy from the Goonies - as in "hey you guys"). I amazingly had a boyfriend at the time (from the advert my friend placed looking for a date for my birthday - amazing what you can get on Gumtree) and so I was safe from the actual dating. Until the second group of women were subjected to my batch of men disappeared halfway through. During the break, they went for a cigarette, never to return. Panic set in - we were about to have a lot of empty seats for the second halve, so I stepped up to the mark and agreed to take part. Only to have to speed date a guy I'd blown out when the organiser had set us up....Time seemed to stand still for all the wrong reasons when we'd worked out how we knew one another. Buggeration.

So for me, three minutes has only ever led to disaster; hangovers; and a life long friendship with a budding Paul Daniels. I am however, as mentioned, a big believer in PMA, and so I have booked myself onto a new course of speed dating for next month. I must be mad, but I also think that it can't be that bad, can it? I no longer work in the sex toy industry; a will be going on my own (unless my wing man agrees to come with - this will be worked on); and I have a good knowledge of the IT industry thanks to previous speed dating experience (And the worlds best roller coasters)...It's got to work, after all my friend of a friends sister managed it. So all I can say, is come on down Lord Danger, your time starts NOW!

One Night In Heaven?

So, recently the Lady Danger score sheet has lacked any notches on the bedpost. It's frustrating (in more than one way) and quite unlike the whirlwind of craziness and sexual escapades of my late twenties (OK, ALL my twenties). Dates have gone from bad (Dennis The Menace); to worse (Keep Smiling - the ex game show host); to the damn right awfulness of going well and him never calling again (he is still climbing the mountain, I'm sure of it). This array of awfulness at the first hurdle, led me to think that maybe I just needed to get back in the saddle and have a bit of a fling - a one night stand. After all, it works in the movies - Andie McDowell ends up with Hugh Grant (Four Weddings), Julia Roberts gets with her man, and gets paid.....and they all live happily ever after. So, sod it I thought, lets do this!

A lot of shots and a night out later, and I'm shuffling a man who's name was either one of two possibilities, out of my house. The night was a blur; and he seemed really pissed off that a)I wasn't up for round 2 in the morning (exact words I believe were "unless you have two nurofen in that, you can forget it") and b) I live no where near him and was in no fit state to attempt to drive him home. "This isn't how it is in the movies" was my thought once the taste of tequila had worn off, and then past nightmare one night stands and their consequences came flooding back.....

Firstly, where I met my various one night stands has been random over the years, but lets face it, they tend to have drink involved. I once met a guy at a friend of a friends birthday party, and I'm ashamed to say, we left after about 20 mins. (Yes Kaz, you weren't the only birthday I ditched for a fella!). We'd downed rather a lot of wine on the coach on route, and I was smasho on arrival.I think I'd even fallen down the stairs into the bar (classy). As we were in London, and didn't live there, we cabbed it back to his. £60 and some rather rude back seat fumblings later, we arrived at his house. Unfortunately, he lived with his Dad. And had forgotten his keys. So in my drunken Lady Danger state, I had to have a nice "chat" with his Dad, who offered me tea (bless him). All I can remember from this cringing affair, is that my hair was everywhere, and that they had teddy bears in frames in the kitchen (fucking bizarre). Hollywood it wasn't. To add to my misery, this one night stand, also folded his clothes prior to sex; ate a garlic clove (admittedly he did offer me one as well - but really? WTF?) and in the morning, I found out the house had cameras in all rooms. Thankfully this was before the world of Youtube. Would love to tell you it was worth it, but the sex is a blur...maybe i should've asked for a copy of the film to refresh my memory?!

Another one night stand I recalled, was the kick boxer, that I want to call John....We'd had a rather raucous Ann Summers party at mine, involving vodka jelly, a lethal punch that would've sunk a sailor, and a lot of wine. We rocked up at our local shit club, wearing meddles with our names on them. I won't tell you mine, as to be fair, it was quite shameful, but it helped attract "John". I took the poor man back to mine, and we had a match of our own. Only to be interrupted by my mate ringing my bell as she was staying at mine. She had also decided to bring back half the club, who were met my me dishevelled wearing nothing but a towel. I palmed them off with Doritos and vodka, hoping this would entertain them. Unfortunately, they decided to turn into loons and would give us no peace. I think sleep overtook us in the end, and i paid the poor guys cab fair in the morning. He was a nice guy, and sent me a cheque paying me back - bless him. Again though, I don't hear LA asking for the film rights...

Then we flash forward a few years to a rather gorgeous farmer, who was a friend of a friend. Now he was fit in all senses, but trying to get me into positions that would be more at home in the harder pages of the karma sutra, led to me putting my neck out, and having to do the walk of shame without being able to move my head, and looking like a tramp (and possibly smelling like one too). Not my favourite walk of shame though - the classic LD was probably after a wild night at an ex FB of mines. When I woke in the morning, I realised I'd made him pay for the cab I'd taken from the West End to his in South London, and had no money to get back to my train station. Too embarrassed to ask for the change (yet we'd done some things the night before to make a hooker blush), I called my work, where I knew my assistant would have her car. True to form, the rather lovely J not only came and picked me up, she dropped my FB at a station on route too as he was off to meet friends. Thankfully no one ever found out about this abuse of my assistant - it certainly was not on her job description to "locate your Manager, and rescue her when she's had a skinful and got the horn the night before". Who'd play me and my FB do you think? Kate Winslet and George Clooney? No?

These are just a few of the nightmare one nighters I've managed to get myself involved with. Not all have been horrific - and a few to be far have been worse (fear of getting recognised on one in particular - lets just say there was vomiting, and no actual sex as I passed out - again, classy). None have led to long lasting relationships, although one has led to a friendship of 4 years. Only one has been great and really amazing, but then if you looked at my strike rate, that aint that great! So, for now, I am back to celibacy. One night stands seem to lead to nothing but walks of shame, hangovers from hell, and possible YouTube stardom. And this Lady does not want to be the star in her own movie thank you very much! Less is more - this is my new motto!

But Why? Part Two

OK, so last week, I wrote about the nightmare that is not knowing why a man does random things. Like taking our number and not calling. Like saying he wants to see you again, then never calling. Or saying he's single, and you actually find out that he's married with kids (Facebook stalking has it's merits ladies and gents, I assure you!). We end up asking why, pulling our hair out, drinking to access with our girls, and calling him every name under the sun, whilst hoping we're wrong.(If this occurs, may I strongly suggest deleting his number - drunken abuse texting / stalking is really not going to make him think "I was wrong - she's a keeper").

In said blog, my good male friends shared with us their thoughts, and made a fair amount of sense. So all was well - we had an answer of sorts. I was content. Until the unspeakable occurred. I have not been called by my date, and I am the one now asking WHY???? I have turned into a phone checking wreck - a mixture of Catherine Tate ("am I bovered?") and a sad girl from a rom-com book, I so despise. (Although if I was in a rom-com book, it'd all come good as I would meet the tall, brooding man from the house on the hill, who I will embarrass myself in front of etc etc - read Happily Ever After for my full theory).

The history - a month ago or so, I had a very nice date with a very nice man. That's the best way to describe it - it wasn't my usual "danger" date - I was highly well behaved, drank soft drinks all night, made good conversation, and stuck to my list of things I am allowed to talk about (penguins; my job; tigers) and avoided the off the list subjects (my old job; exes; drunken stories involving tequila or sambucca). It went so well dear readers, that the unthinkable happened - he asked me out again straight away that night - AND I didn't have to get him trollied first.Result.

The next date though, was to be after his holibobs - a trip somewhere in Europe to climb things (assuming mountains). At this point, I'll be honest, I wasn't that bothered by the whole thing. He was nice, I liked his company, and he hadn't worn a Dennis The Menace jumper; plied me with wine; and wasn't an ex game show host with a dodgy catchphrase. But I wasn't jumping through hoops - my friends were concerned....normally LD would be shouting from the roof tops, and skipping along, singing love songs. So, really I was not that bothered.....

So a week goes by, and in my head, I have this as his rough return day. No call or text appears after a few days, but I'm still not bothered. I still send him a "hey" text asking how the holiday was. When I receive no reply, I'm still not bothered. Theory Number One - I got the holiday dates wrong. He's obviously away for 2 weeks.

Life carries on. Birds keep singing, money keeps getting spent, and the rain appears as the schools break up. Another week goes by. And still no text. Hmmm, OK, so maybe I should text again? obviously. Another LD cheeky text is administered. Yet still, no reply after a few days. New theories start to appear:
Theory Number Two - He's still away...maybe he's climbing a really big rock?
Theory Number Three - He's injured and in a Swiss hospital with his legs, arms and hands in plaster, unable to call or text me. The nurses can't help - predictive text in another language confuses them(they will be Swiss or French - can't remember where he was going in fairness).
Theory Number Four - He's met the LOHL up said rock, and is wildly in love with her.

I go with theory two, against my better judgement....

So, we are now on week three, and guess what? NO communication. Coming from a guy that asked me out straight away; text me telling how he'd had a great time and we'd meet up again after his holiday, this is weird to me. OK, he never said which holiday - he may mean a trip in 10 years all I know, but I assumed he meant THIS particular one. Theories are now getting a bit wayward....
Theory Five - He googled my name, discovered my blog, and has gone off me (a dull shit then if he doesn't get my humour)
Theory Six - The girl who he is friends with on Facebook, that bullied me at school, has warned him off (Facebook stalking slightly admittedly).
Theory Seven - Karma has caught up with me for not replying to the annoying stalker man who keeps sending me weird "I scored a goal at football" text messages. I've not stalked Rock Man, but to be fair, karma might not be bothered. The universe is playing a trick on me. Bitch.
Theory Eight - It was all a terrible hoax - he was a set up from some evil nemesis and was sent to upset me and make me feel shite (there must be one out there somewhere....Mistress Mayhem maybe?)
Theory Nine - He really is highly injured - he was so sincere....and seemed so kind and nice. Of course, he will text, as soon as he is fit and well, and has escaped the rock / kidnappers / nurses etc.

Or, plain and simple, he's just not that into me. And I have to man the fuck up and get a grip, because lets face it, as much as I have said I'm not bothered, I am. At one point I got cross and ranted about being bothered that I was bothered, especially as I wasn't bothered in the beginning - hence sounding like Catherine Tate. But whether I sound like her, Vicky Pollard or Edina from Ab Fab, the point remains that for the time being, I remain unlucky in love, with no reason WHY.

But WHY??????

WHY hasn't he called? The age old question that has been asked for centuries - well as long as phones have been around. Before that, it'd have been "why hath he not called by?" ; "where for art that bastard?" or "he clubbed me over the head; said he'd call by the cave, and hasn't so much as smoke signalled me" (ok, might be mixing some eras there, but point made). Now, I was having a chat with one of my besties tonight, a lovely gorgeousness of a girl, who currently has a nack for men striping in front of her. Not a bad nack to have by any stretch of the imagination, IF she actually fancied the men in question. The men she does fancy, date her, like her (so we think) then after a few dates never call again. And we are all left with a few bottles of wine, stratching our heads, asking that one question, we never get an answer to.....WHY?

Now this is not exclusive to her. This happens to us all. Guys we meet out, who ask US for OUR number, then never use it. Guys we go on a date with, and have a really nice time with; who there and then ask us out again. To never call. (FYI - me at the mo).

I decided to try and get to the bottom of this, and for help, asked a few of my male friends....All of whom have had their share of the ladies, and left them hanging on more than one occasion I expect....

Ex Local Lothario says:
"Well, it could be bacause they either didn't enjoy the date and will say just about anything in the heat of the moment to get away, and then never call," he says on the subject of never calling....."Or they really did enjoy it and are scared that you didn't and basically don't know what to do because they've tried there best already."

But then why that they've had a good time, or suggest a date two? Or really confuse us and snog us?

"Coz every guy likes a snog, wants to feel like 'the man' coz a second date is arranged and doesn't want to commit to anything serious for at least say 12 months?"

12 months?! 12 months! Seriously us women are rarely THAT patient...But then a little confession.....

"I hate to admit it, but it really was a case of get as much as could, from wherever I could, however I could. The lies and twists and manipulation are quite horribly brilliant, but now regrettable". (In fairness to this young man, and without sounding like a bitch to my fellow females, he was a slight evil genius with the ladies at times).

"The life of a player is not for me anymore. Tooooooo many mind games fuck up eventually!As some sort of defence, it actually took quite a lot of work to pull off, so it wasn't bad intentions just mis-spent energy that should really have gone into one worthwhile positive realtionship". Ahmen to that - on this occasion, we have one Ex Local Lothario turned good, but do they all see the light in the end?

Another male friend is still in the midst of his playing days, and hence forth will be known as The International Playboy....(FYI - when asking him just now what he wanted his name to be, I said "The Player seems too easy - and boy, is he!!)

At first he was apprehensive....

"You know by the law of man.......I'm bound to secrecy on this subject and should it come out that I have divulged said information to any member of the fairer sex I would be cast adrift by my fellow man leaving me with only my own mother as a potential wing man!"

I promised this would not be the case.....and after a few hours, he opened up the can of genius that is his opinion....

"This is not a subject that men talk openly or honestly about so I can only explain why I haven't called women back in the past. Its not because I'm trying to hurt someones feelings, its not because I'm an arse, its not even because I didn't like them as I probably did. There are factors to consider here, firstly, I'm pretty sure this is genetic amongst men but...............I have the emotional maturity of a monkey, everything is a joke with me and lets face it, relationships are serious business". (Hmm, he has a point there).

"The next thing to consider is that no matter how confident a person you may be that second call can be scary and even worse awkward........you've gotta think that we go through some of the same thoughts and worries that women do except if we seem too eager we come across as creepy or desperate! The only difference between us is that we don't constantly go on to our mates how she hasn't called / when will she call? / do you think I should call? / when would you call? As the only response we would get is HOMO!" (Loving the honesty - come on, men don't DO sharing as a rule).

"Fact is, if I really liked her, we got on well and I was very attracted to her........I would call next day, stuff rules, stuff mates I would just call. And if she likes me in the same way then its not creepy, its not desperate, it's made her day.............tell me I'm wrong??" (You're not wrong, God damnit!)

So there we have it. Simples. If he likes you, he will call. "He's Just Not That Into You". Men seem to think that this is the end of the argument, but we all know it isn't. We know that saying to our mate "he's just not that into you" will lead to us turning into a 6 year old child, and simply answering "but WHY?".....pass the corksrew; get the Ben & Jerrys.....it's going to be a lonnnnnnnng night.

As for my young man, well I hope he calls, we had a nice evening, but if he choses not to, I will be an adult. I won't call him every name under the sun and make up a nickname for him. I will simply scream "NEXT" and see it as a nice evening that didn't go anywhere......Will I heck - I'll be calling him mean names, and asking my friends over wine "whats wrong with me? WHY?!" - I'm a female after all - and this Lady is like all the rest underneath. I'm sure that out there right now there is a a group of men asking the same, whilst watching Love Actually, with face packs on, drinking wine.....they just don't want us to know. (FYI - Ex Local Lothario and The International Playboy did actually confirm this happens. They both opening admit to having said nights, and crying over lost loves, whilst working their tea zones...who'd have thought it boys?).

Summer Loving, Had Me A Blast?

Sun, sand, sea and sex on the beach, the ingredients for some for a perfect holiday. We've all had those holiday flings - you know the ones, where the sun is shining, the skin is glowing, and after a few free shots, the guy who back home, would make you run a mile, suddenly turns into George Clooney. Before you know it there's sand in places you never thought possible and you're being arrested for public indecency.....just me? (Kidding - I am a Lady remember). But a holiday romance should last as long as your sunburn, and my rule is to get out before the skin peels. Relationship "experts" say that rarely do holiday romances lead to a long term commitment - no shit Sherlock, my cat could have told you that! We do it because we are at our most relaxed (unless like me you have a thing for holiday locations beginning with B and have got so far down the list that you're in Baghdad...) and the romance of the sun and sea lulls us to fall for that tanned Adonis over a Pina Coloda.

But how does it happen, and what happens next? Well, I reckon I've sussed the three main options of men we fall for on our hols, and in Danger world, this is how it'd go:

Types:
I reckon, over the years, I have met and fallen for three types of men.
1) The Waiter. Come on now, we've all done it. For starters, they are always tanned. They are normally met at night, when we are tanned and relaxed, and drinking. Due to said tan, Goran will look even hotter in the white shirt with the open top button. Add into it a little necklace - think leather chain with a coin or something like that. You get the picture.....I'm fancying Goran as I type....passport and ticket for one to Rhodes please Mr Cab man!
2) The Traveller. You'll meet him on the beach, where he'll be sat on his own, chilling, or possible doing yoga. Tanned, shaggy haired, and with piercing eyes, you'll fall for his care free spirit and one man attitude. His stories of trekking in Tibet and saving turtles will inspire you, more so if you've shared his rolly (which will probably be a joint). The fact he's currently in Benidorm won't even come into question - he's so out there and cool, you'll over look it. (For now).
3) The Brit Abroad. Dave we'll call him, as it sounds very lads on tour. He'll be away with the boys, and you'll meet him when he's playing volleyball in the pool and the ball accidentally hits you when sunbathing. He'll be tanned (a re-occurring theme) and be a jack the lad but has bought one of those necklaces with the coin on (after potting it on Goran the night before and deciding it looked cool) so you will be strangely attracted to him....

The First Kiss:
1) Goran. You'll have dragged your mates to Goran's restaurant every night for the past three days. Sick of eating dodgy paella, your mates will insist tonight you talk to him, after days of gazing at him over the menu. So tonight, you flirt, talk, and after being fuelled by free shots after dinner, that taste like mouth wash, you agree to go on a ride on his motorbike. Well, it'll be a moped, but you'll not care. Clutched onto Goran, you'll speed along the deserted roads, to a secluded spot. He'll tell you in broken English, that "your eyes, they pierce my heart. I feel alive" (or "your ees, that peeerce me hurt. I fell aleeve" - not sure what accent that is, but you get the jist). Then, you kiss. He tastes of Marlborough's and smells slightly of fried food. But the moon shines, and for now, Goran "hes your hurt".
2) The Traveller. You've joined him for a moonlight sing song around the camp fire, with the locals (in this case, as we are in Benidorm, Mavis the ex-pat and her husband Mario). After a few more of Phoenix' rollys, you are feeling fuzzy and warm. And slightly sick. Phoenix takes you off for a walk, when he tells you he feels like you were meant to meet, and the universe brought you together for a reason. That reason is planted on your quivering lips (due to being stoned) and you feel like the world is spinning and there's never been a more magical night. You're also pretty sure that the tree behind Phoenix just winked at you..
3)The Brit Abroad. Dave and his mates, will be watching the hotel entertainment with you and your girls. It'll be some hideously bad local singer who can't pronounce his R's properly. After, once you've laughed your make up off, Dave will challenge your group to a game of pool, and you accept. The Stella's will flow (better than the nasty wine the hotel serves) and after excessive cheating on your part, you beat Dave. Flirty flirty, more Stellas, and Dave and you continue playing long after the others have dispersed and gone to bed. Dave will then start a play fight, leading to the kiss over the table. A cheer will be heard - his mates are watching over the balcony. Nice.

The Holiday unfolds....
1) A week in and Goran has driven you half way round the island, and spoken "sweat nofings" into your ear. His lack of vocabulary is starting to grate a bit, and you gave in last night and made "swaet loove", and it wasn't that sweet, or very long. And the necklace you thought was so sexy earlier in the week, kept whacking you in the face during the deed. But more concerningly, Goran keeps talking about when he comes "to the Inland". You think he means England, and are wishing you hadn't swap addresses and numbers after the kiss under the moonlight. Bugger.
2) Phoenix on the other hand won't be telling you stories of when he comes to England, but will be trying to convince you to jack it all in and go travelling with him. Tempted as you are, you've started to notice a strange smell around Phoenix, and have ascertained that as you only making the loove (sorry, that's Goran) under the stars by Mavis' campfire, Phoenix doesn't actually have anywhere to live. Or wash. Hence the smell. And as a few of the kids staying at your hotel have been caught smoking drugs behind the bar, you've got an inkling, that the little money he does have is through dealing. And he keeps begging you to cash in your remaining travellers cheques, and give it to him to buy you both tickets to Pathos....
3) Dave is now sunburnt, and seems to have developed a slight Stella belly. You found his impressions of Roy Chubby Brown endearing at first, but now you realise he is slightly racist, sexist, and you're pretty sure that the itching you've developed since sleeping with him, isn't heat rash. You've also found out he lives with his mum, and only afforded the holiday after suing the police for false imprisonment. Only it wasn't false imprisonment. He really did punch a kebab van owner for there not being enough chilli sauce on his donor.

The Tan Fades....
1) The tan is fading; the pics are developed. You didn't realise quite how much Goran looks like a young Danny DeVito (with hair and height), and that he is a bit cross eyed. Those pics are so not making it onto facebook - maybe the ones he is wearing sunglasses in. All is going well, until the fist letter arrives. It speaks of the impending arrival of Goran. And his mum. You now have to move house. Or contact Phoenix and take him up on the offer of Pathos....
2) However Phoenix, or Malcolm as you find him to be called, is in prison. The Spanish police caught up with him after Mavis got so stoned she nearly drowned in the kiddies pool at the nearby hotel. Mario thankfully got her out in time. Turns out Phoenix, sorry Malcolm, is a wanted felon, and after showing her your holiday pics, your mum recognises him on Crime Watch.
3) Dave meanwhile is back in Wigan, and back in work. His mate Deano got him a job in his local Polish club as a barman. He keeps texting you asking to "cum down 2 LDN" but you still can't forgive him for the STD he gave you. You ask him not to contact you again, but he is pretty persistent. Until his credit runs out.

So, the tan fades, and so does the thrush given to you by Dave. The coin necklace Goran gave you snaps, and the last rolly Malcolm gave you, is discovered at the bottom of your case. Thankfully found by you, and not customs. Next years holiday seems a million years away, but when you get there, Mehmet / Rainbow / Darren will be waiting to sweep you off your feet. And have some Summer loving baby....

And We're Off....Wedding Season 2010

Over the past few years, wedding invites have started to become more frequent, mainly due to my membership to the 30's club. Last year, I had 2, this year two, and already a few lined up next year. As a singleton, and one of few spinsters left in the village (literally), weddings are a mixture of fear, excitement and a wee bit of "whens my turn?" (Obviously when GB works out i am the one for him, and whisks me off to LA. Actually, he could whisk me off to Skegness during rainy season and I'd not care).

This weekend, I attended, and helped celebrate the wedding of two of my dear friends, and I have to say, it was the most gorgeous day, and even I got a tad teary during the ceremony (a first). It was everything a wedding should be - the ceremony was short and had no hymns (not a fan); the bride looked gorgeous yet understated, and the venue was simply divine. And a free bar is always a plus in my book. But not all the weddings I have been requested to attend (and some I've not - plus ones r us), have followed such a divine pattern.....

My guide to a perfect wedding for a dangerous lady...

1) Plus ones - if I'm single, don't put a plus one. I know your trying to be nice, and "hopeful", but it makes single people feel like we need to magic a superman out of thin air. Or we take another single friend, and just cackle and get drunk together. Or we find a suitable man, but scare the shit out of him when we ask him to be our plus one. I did this a few years back, and it was like I'd proposed. There was a man shaped hole in my door, and dust blowing up from his quick exit. I went alone, and felt worse. NO plus ones peeps....it is not helpful.


2) Ceremony - not too long is the key for me. I've attended some I thought would never end - singing, praying, hymns, readings....we get it, you love each other, but lets not be bored beyond belief by it! 30 mins is the perfect amount, then the celebrating can reallllly start. And I love it when people write their own vows....normally because they are bloody hilarious and slightly vomit inducing - think the expression is "so bad, its good". " When I first saw you snuggle-kins, across that crowded bingo hall, I knew from the way you stamped your card, that you had stamped a mark on my heart forever". Genius and horrific all at once.

3) Entertainment - magicians are annoying. Comedians are generally not funny unless you've booked Michael McIntyre. DJs should be vetted thoroughly so you don't have a "scream if you want to go faster type" or someone whos most recent track is SClub 7. And for the love of god, no tributes. Five overweight men sat on stalls, murdering a Boyzone medley is just wrong. A good mixture and a right knees up is all we require to do a bit of drunken dancing...My personal fav was the wedding I went to that had Irish dancing. I decided I could do it just as well, and if it wasn't for the strong arm of my friend, I'd have been right up there. I've watched enough River Dance - it can't be THAT hard.

4) Table placement - don't put the singletons with the smug marrieds, unless you want LD drunk before you've done the first speech. Some hotties are always welcome - the wedding where myself and my lovely fellow spinster H were sat with 8 single men was a personal fav.And keep me away from emotional parents unless I like both the groom and the bride. I got stuck for an hour with a sobbing Father of the Bride once, and couldn't stand the girl, but had to sympathetically nod whilst he sobbed about her. Sambucca was my only cure.

5) First dance - another often genius "so bad it's good moment" - and you can normally tell the length of the marriage by the choice of the song. Not exposing my theory on this, because a few people are in the wrong category. Tragedy by Steps....hmm, funny but a bad sign. Celine Dion - My Heart Will Go On - errr, hello?! NO! And for fuckety fucks sake, Police - Every Breath You Take - I didn't know where to look. You may as well say "I'll stalk you if you ever leave me. And I saw you smile at Des from the greengrocers. He'll have a brick through his window Monday".

6) Throwing your bouquet - DO IT. Yes, its a tradition, and yes it's false hope, but for heavens sake ladies, give us something! You've had your perfect day, and we want ours. Catching your bouquet, or trying to, is a glimmer of hope through the spinster fog. These days, it's all "but I want to keep it and press it, and have it as a memory forever". You have a husband love, at least give me a bunch if dying flowers. I'll even lie and tell you I love the fact you have modelled your hair on Jordan and have about three horses' worth of hair extensions piled on your head like a cheap hooker. Fairs fair.

Thankfully, the wedding at the weekend ticked all the boxes of glorious-ness, minus I believe the bouquet throwing (to be fair the free bar means I have no sodding clue if it happened....so I am willing to let it slide!). I truly believe the gorgeous couple will grow old like the two lovely Dinosaurs in their reading. Now, as for those that have subjected LD over the years to shite cheap champagne; crappo DJs; and sat me with smug marrieds....if you get married a second time, do me a favour and through the bouquet my way. If I'm going to get GB I need all the help I can get.

Flash Forward 10 years.....Courtesy Of Kaz

I'd like to take you back, if you'll allow me. Harold Shipman is the talk of the news - a Dr gone bad, off the rails, and turned evil. The Millennium Dome's future is in turmoil, and we all moan what a waste of cash it was - to all one day pay through the roof for tickets to see our favourite band whilst squinting. (FYI - I still say the Spice Girls could've been 5 men in drag I was sat so far away). We had all survived the turn of the century, and computers were all fine - but Internet was fucking slow as standard. Britney Did It Again, and launched her schoolgirl self to the world, with a full head of hair, and sexy innocence. Billie Piper; Geri Halliwell; and S Club were all also hitting out number ones (bad year for the music). American Beauty swept 5 awards at the Oscars. The Olympics reached Sydney, and we can only dream of having the same honour here in the UK. The Playstation 2 is launched - and a wee was something we did, not played on. Bill Clinton hasn't yet had "sexual relations" (or not) with any women other than Hilary that we know of. The International Year Of The Culture Of Peace. The year a three day summit is held in Kuala Lumpur for al-Queda - in attendance 2 of the future hijackers of 9/11. The year is 2000, and LD is the ripe old age of 21, and life is very different....For one, I am in the process of getting my first ever 10 year passport.

Back then, I really thought that I had it sussed, and was funky, forward thinking and with it. I had a dump of a basement flat in London, in an area that was so crummy, we had a metal shutter like you get on shops, as a part of our front door. We paid no council tax, as the place was illegal, and a health hazard to boot. I worked in a job where I earned about £14k a year, and would rock up off my face on whatever had been on offer the night before. I was engaged, in a passionless relationship with a grumpy chef, who had a tendency to dry his socks in the microwave. The Cross was my favourite club, and I partied like a trooper with my best mate Tinkerbell. This snapshot looks back on me every time I travel. The short haired, pale skinned (no fake bake in them days girls) 21 year old has haunted me and made passport control laugh ever since. And the fact I look slightly like Myra Hindley has caused some issues too. Until now. It has finally expired, and I can start a fresh! No more Myra! (I'd like to add I haven't learnt my lesson - I got my hair dyed bright red the day before my passport pics - doh!)

Anyway my point is that if you asked me where I'd be in 10 years time when I was getting those god awful passport pics done, I'd have said the following.....Married. Two children at least. A husband who works whilst I look after the house, and maybe have a part time job. A 4x4 in the drive, and a dog. Happy, healthy and well off, we'd holiday in the Med for a short Summer break, and maybe further a field for special occasions. And where am I? Living with the folks due to crippling debts (nearly there on that front); single; doing the same job more or less, than 10 years ago (albeit paid a hell of a lot more than back then). But, life is good, because I can now re-think where I want to be in 10yrs time, and focus on the new goals. My mate Kaz and I had this discussion the other night, and she came up with my future, and I came up with hers...so here we are - when I am next changing my passport pics again, I will be....(in Kaz's view)...

Living - apparently in Chinner. Not sure why Kaz chose this as a location, but I think she was trying to be middle class. My house will be Edwardian, and very tasteful. 5 bedrooms, a indoor pool and a tennis court (OK, I've added these bits) Up to this point I was very happy with the future LD, but she'd just got going...

....Married to a Greek called Bavros Theodopolopodos. And my good friends like Kaz, (who I will get back in a moment), will annoyingly refer to him as Barry - as if Bavros wasn't bad enough. So I am Mrs Lady Danger Theodopolopodos. Bavros will be a buyer and seller of yachts, and I will meet him in Dubai. Dubai is where the lovely Kaz will be living, and I will be staying on her yacht. Kaz has had to take on lovers (plural), as she foolishly married a gay Aussie - the pet Pug called Bruce should've made her realise he was more Martha than Arthur and in denial.She has since become a Barbara Cartland type figure in Dubai and has a merry band of young lovers, who she helps integrate into the social scene (and her bed). I have gone to help pick up the pieces after one such young man spurned her advances, for those of a Armenian go-go dancer.

...So we meet, Bavros is selling a multi million pound yacht to a Arab Prince, and Kaz introduces us at one of her functions. Distracted by her gay husbands amorous advances to his new male secretary, I am left talking to Bavros, and despite the fact I find his name stupid (and I'm namest); and hate hairy men (a general Greek affliction), we fall in love...

...Our lovely house in Chinner is one of a few we have scattered round the world - the others are mainly used for Bavros's work. I am always secretly concerned that he is on first name terms with a few of the worlds dodgier leaders, and have a niggle he isn't just selling yachts. But this isn't literally Birds Of A Feather (I figured where the surname came from thanks Kaz-meister), so there is no trips to jail. Our house is busy as I fill it with pets...and children....

...Two cats, one called Puss Cat Theodopolopodos 1st; and Lolita. We also have two dogs, Westwood the Westie and Marlborough Light, a retriever...

...Children have been a blessing, and I have two boys (really??). One is Bavros Junior and at 6 years old (I get knocked up quickly) is already showing a taste for business like his father, and trading whatever he can at school. (Until he steals and trades the Head Masters car keys for a bottle of bleach with the school janitor. This leads to a police call out by the head and a very stern pow-wow with the parents of a fellow pupil who is sporting bleach blond highlights. I'm mad because he's broken the law. Bavros is mad because the highlights look quite good, and he is concerned he is showing an early flair for hair dressing. This is not the way he wants the first son to go). Aristotle, our baby, is showing to be a thinker already...I have high hopes he will be the brains of the outfit (in a non-criminal sense).

So there we have it - Kaz'z vision of my life flash forward in ten years....Married to a slightly dodgy yacht salesman from Greece, with stupidly names pets, and children. Hmmm, I'd like to say I don't believe her, but the way things turn out for me, I think my dream of being healthy, happy, and married to a man I love (who has a normal name and career) is more far fetched. Oh, and of course, I will have to have a random yet funky hair style in ten years time, that I will regret when I am 51 years old, getting my third passport. (Having divorced Bavros for crimes against names, and using some of the divorce money to set Bavros Junior up in his own salon, he will have given me the mad hair style I will be sporting. Partly to annoy his Father).

Britains Got New Talent or The Ex Factor?

Recently I seem to have bee stuck in a bit of a rut and more recently, a time warp. The rut is the lack of normal, single blokes - I've had a few dodgy meets, and a few non starters, but no spark has been ignited. Then, we have the time warp - a string of exes and past datees popping up like the Spring flowers in my garden, professing that we "have to meet up". I truly refuse to believe that there is no nice men out there at the mo, and I have always disliked going back. But, I'm in a rut, so here are my candidates, some up for re-election, and some newbys. (FYI - I'm thinking an election style debate would solve this conundrum, but I'm not sure Sky would pay....)

So, running for re-election, we have three candidates, all equal in their good and bad points.....

The Paramedic...
Previous Position - Ex Datee
Age - 31 ish me thinks
Profession - have a guess
For: Fantastic body. Amusing. Phones me drunk on occasion, thus can't moan if I ever do the same. Fantastic body. Saves lives for a living - a very sexy trait. Did I mention his fantastic body?
Against: Doesn't get when I'm joking - slightly insecure I think. On our date, he let me pay for lunch. Slightly big nostrils. Has a tendency of sending me random naked pics when I haven't actually asked for them, or had pre-warning. Once caused a very embarrassing moment when one came through as I was sat next to my boss and she saw. And then showed everyone else at the table. My colleagues. Saving lives, though very sexy, means he is always working.

The Copper....
Previous position - Ex Datee / semi boyfriend
Age - I'll say 34
Profession - guess.... you're getting good at this..
For: Really nice guy. Easy to talk to. Has family nearby, so can multi-location date. Good in bed. Nice body. Has access to handcuffs.
Against: Makes no sound during sex - highly off putting, and at times, confusing. His bro has dated my mate - all a bit incestuous within the area. Has disappeared off the face of the earth not once, but TWICE. The first time, not actually telling me why for 3 days, then getting a friend to finish with me via text. (NB - I found this out when we dated the second time - he had no idea how he'd done it - twat head). Both times, he had books of mine, so both times I had to become a nutty librarian to get them back. Those that know me, know i am passionate about my books.

The Colombian Drub Dealer
Previous Position - friend and Ex datee
Profession - got ya - he's in sales at the mo
Age - 30 going on 13
For: Very funny. Knows how to make me smile, despite the fact that it annoys me (I don't know why - analyse that all you like). Good kisser. Very good dancer. Serenaded me in the street twice. Amazing phone jacker impression.(FYI- NOT GAY MH, if you are reading this!)
Against: Lies a lot. Goes through jobs like a hooker goes through condoms. Speaks a bit "street" at times. Calls me "babe" alot. Didn't turn up on my 30th birthday when he was supposed to be my date. Has a whole blog dedicated to why I would never date him again. (Oops - I have agreed to see him for a drink Saturday....)

The newbies:

The TLC Man
Profession - something very professional & managerial to do with IT
Age - 37
For: Good job, knows what he wants in life. Good looking. Seems normal. Likes to tell me I'm gorgeous. Has invited me for a romantic candlelit meal - LD likes a bit of romance. Asked what I'd do if he whisked me off to Venice. ("GO" was my answer).
Against: His excessive use of the term TLC and asking me if I need it (TLC that is). He also seems to think my career may infringe on my time with him, as I work weekends. Assumes I would want to spend my weekends with him. Seems to want to find a wife.

The Arty Man
Profession - media
Age - 34, but looks 40
For: On the surface, shares similar interests with me - ie films, books etc. Is Northern, and I do like a Northerner. Made a really funny joke the other day, very dark, but clever. Comes across very self assured. Quirky but good looking.
Against - If it wasn't a joke, then it was in fact very weird....Seems to always be wearing a hat, suggesting an issue with baldness. The films he likes, seem to be weird and dark....like the joke....possible psycho nutter....hmmm...and the hats seem of the knitted variety worn by those on e-fits on Crime Watch....

The Child
Profession - banker, supposedly
Age - 25, hence the name
For: FIT FIT FIT. Lives locally. FIT FIT FIT. Won't want to get married quickly. Good job. FIT FIT FIT. Will have FIT FIT FIT mates for my single friends. Do like teaching a younger model some tricks...I'm like a female Paul Daniels me.
Against: He lives locally. I've probably met him when smasho, and therefore said or done something daft in his presence. Having to keep up with a 25 year old sounds exhausting....and if he truly is a banker, he will no doubt be a prize prick with money.

So they are my current "rut" busters, both past and present....Not a great bunch, but as I have always said, you have to shovel through the shit, to find the diamond. Not sure my diamond is in this bunch, or whether they all deserve a go, but if I don't get out of this rut soon, Lady Danger may well become Lady Docile, and no one wants that to happen, especially me....

Thank You Mr Cupid, But No Deal

A few days ago, I read an extremely disturbing article written by an American, forty something journalist, on the subject of settling. She had just had her first and only child via insemination, and wrote what came across as a heart felt article, on how if she had known what she knew then, when she was thirty, she would have settled. One of the boyfriends she had dumped ten years previously, she would have, in hindsight marched up the aisle, as they may not have been "Mr Right" but they were the basis (in her eyes) for long term happiness. I'm not going to lie to you, it maybe my naivety, as I am thankfully ten years this woman's junior, but this article made me so incredibly mad! For God sake, us single women don't have much to cling onto at times, but the universal hope that there IS a Mr Right out there, is one thing that keeps my heart warm at night, whilst the fluffy bed socks and fleecy dressing gown look after the rest.

The article got me thinking - will I be looking back in ten years time, asking "WHY??? Why didn't I give him a second chance?". Often my friends claim I am too fussy, but I see it as a search for perfection. Sure, I will be willing to compromise on some factors, that's natural, I really don't expect even Gerard Butler to be perfect, but settle for no chemistry, fizz and wow? No, no, no!

I remember a stupid bint that I used to work with during my second turn at recruitment. She was an irritating, overweight (I'm not a skinny malinky, but when you have issues getting in and out of a swivel office chair, you have a problem)and a loud mouth, with what seemed to be way too much time on her hands, and a lack of talent in recruitment. I got the honour (?) of being placed next to said bint for a while, and didn't I know it. At this point I was single, and rejecting a host of men on a daily lunchtime basis via the Internet. I forgot to mention that some how, the bint had managed to find herself a Mr Bint - I really couldn't tell you how - black mail maybe? No children suggested that the fact she claimed she had quadrupled in weight since that day they walked down the aisle, is an indication the bedrooms were separate. (I'd also like to point out, that if my memory serves me correct, she was an early placement of my then Director, and in a thank you card, sent a piece of her hair, or a nail - it was psychotic and crazy either way). Anyway, I digress. Settling. One day, she actually told me, she had settled, and it was the best thing I could do....she then printed me off the words to a song, which were apparently her inspiration into choosing to settle rather than wait for Mr right. After I had rammed the words down her throat (in my head only), I counted to ten, five times, and smoked about 5 cigarettes, until I could bring myself to sit next to her again. "This lady will never settle", I told myself," I've been through too much already to take the silver meddle". When I looked at this annoying excuse for a woman, I didn't see my future, I saw a divorce waiting to happen.

OK, so that was three years ago, and a million awful dates later, I am still out there, living the single dream (nightmare on occasion). But what if I had have settled? Where would I be now? I have been proposed to a ridiculous four times.....where would I be if I had said OK, and not run the other direction?

Settlement One:
Mr Dull. I'd be living in the arse end middle of nowhere, overweight (I lived on Pizza Hut during our three year relationship). He's still a chef and therefore never home, hence why I lived on takeaway during our time together. We didn't talk or go out, so I assume that'd still be the case. I was also informed he's had an op to ensure he never has kids, so I'd have a lot of pets to make up for the lack of kids. But considering we never actually shared a bed other than to sleep, he would've been able to safely save the money he spent on the op. We'd still be fighting over the fact he considered the microwave a suitable place to dry his socks, and that I had an awful lot of headaches, and too mnay shoes. So far, I'm over the moon I didn't settle....

Settlement Two:
The Welsh Wanker. So we were together for about 2 and a half years. He had a really big mole (and hence got the nickname Moley Moley Moley from my friends), and in hindsight, resembled Niles from Frasier. I was in a bad place when we got together, and I was actually settling for him as a boyfriend. What would have happened if I had settled for him as a husband? Well, as he was evil to the core (those that know him would not argue this point), I'd be clinically depressed, living in Wales, with kids with the surname LLwellyn (his Mum's maiden name that he claimed was more Welsh than his surname and therefore was to be our childrens name). I'd have to endure the horrificness of his family every Sunday, at least, as they paid for half his flat until I had the cash to buy them out. (I'd like to point out, I never agreed to this, he assumed I would want to move in and therefore made the decision on my behalf). They also lived about just round the corner. I'd have no friends, as they all hated him, and I'd be doing a job he deemed lesser than his, as being more successful than him was paramount to treason in his eyes. Drying socks in the microwave looks appealing....

Settlement Three:
Big Nose Twat Monkey.....now he dumped me, and although extremely upset at the time, looking back, I can see I would've broken it off in the long run. Had we worked and still be together? I'd probably have an STD as this man cannot keep his little soldier in his pants. I'd be bankrupt because he earned no money whatsoever, and therefore I always had to pay. I'd have a shit job, as I'd have to work near to him, and that'd mean out of London. He'd have probably tried to sleep with half, if not all, of my friends, and maybe given chlamydia to a few of the ones who aren't so loyal. Seriously, is this how I'd want my life to be??

So looking back, had I settled, I'd be extremely unhappy. This forty-something, sperm- donor - loving Yank can keep her opinions that side of the pond. So what if Carrie had to wait ten years for her Mr Big? She'd never have been happy with Aidan. And yes, Ross and Rachel did break up and make up a million times, but they lived happily ever after in the end. And so will we all, if we believe; have hope; and worship at the altar of faith and romance. Never settle people, it may give you a sense of security to have a man keep you warm at night, but a fleecy dressing gown does the trick nicely, and won't use the microwave to dry socks. No, settling is for loosers, and I am one Lady who will not loose in the game of love.

Cougar Or Cub?

There's a lot in the press at the moment, about dating younger men. Cougar Town, the hit US TV show, with the gorgeous Courtney Cox, brings the subject of the rules of dating and age to the fore front of the media. Demi Moore is the most obvious cougar out there, married to Ashton Kutcher, and on the other scale, we have Catherine Zeta Jones, married to Micheal Douglas.I myself have just turned a year older, and I have to say, men my age of a good quality, are a rare breed. Because of this, I have recently decided to investigate the pros and cons of dating up and down on the age front.

Firstly, I am thankfully too young to be classed as a cougar. I checked this stat out straight after I was sober enough to use my laptop after my birthday celebrations. That aside, I did decide to look into broadening my age range criteria. I have always said, that I would never date anyone younger than my nephew (five years younger than me) or older than my next sister (11 years older). But, this week, I have two dates set up to test whether my rules need to be broken. The things I have considered are the obvious, and so far, from initial research; reading articles and talking to others, there is quite a clear divide to base my decision on...


Money:
The older man is a definite winner here 9/10. Most older men will have matured within their career, and be happy with their lot in life. Younger men might be a little flash with the cash if they have it, and want to wine and dine you at some restaurant or bar they class as "trendy", whereas your older date will take you somewhere "nice". The down side is, an older man is likely to be paying out for a string of ex wives / kids, and a younger man is more than likely going to be spending it on flash cars and thinking he looks the don, or have a ever growing tab rivalling that of a debt of third world country at his local boozer. One all here me thinks.

Conversation. It goes without saying that a older man will have had more life experience, and therefore more likely to be worldly wise. But a younger guy will have a little more zest for life about him, and want to experience new things. Saying that, I have had dates with older guys where they seem to yabber on about things I have no idea about (for example, the date who talked on and on about the death of John Lennon and where he was when he heard, then asking me where I was - I was 2 years old. Probably asleep or running round my garden naked. Ironically, that's what I was doing when i heard about Diana's death - joke).Or the worst - the younger, very fit guy I dated who thought Audrey Hepburn was a boxer. I kid you not. Wouldn't have minded, but he was shite in bed to boot. One nil to the older man on this one.

Sex. The last point leads nicely on to a very important factor, the seX factor. Now, I know sex isn't everything, but I am pretty sure, that the 59 year old, tanned, wrinkly man from Belgium that winked at me on match.com last weekend, would not have the sexual stamina of the 24 year old from Turkey that winked at me yesterday. (I really have to check the amount of "miles from" I have specified on my profile - unless I have moved, neither Turkey or Belgium are within 20 miles of my house). Anyway, here, I am a little stuck - I have had a variation in partners over the years, and I have to say a few of the best were the older ones. Admittedly, they were the ones with the confidence and bodies to match - I'm sure had the failed game show host get me THAT drunk (IE dead) his body would not have been a visual treat. (For those that know his current profession, I am ashamed to tell you he was recently dressed as a Play Boy Bunny on TV. I felt physically sick). But for me, the body isn't the bee all and end all....its the confidence and 007 of it all. The younger man may have the stamina, but the lack of confidence really does mean that the older men have this one. Just not the 59 year old ones with wrinkled skin and Viagra in their top draw. Two nil to the older man. Zero for the really older man.

Social Status. OK, say hypothetically, my dates go well this week, I will have to consider that I may have to introduce one of them to my friends. A critical / piss taking (but lovely) bunch at times, I'm trying to imagine which would fit in better? Would an older man be happy to join me and my lot getting smasho on pink fizz, and put up with my drunken theories on Al Qaeda using Subway as a front in the Western world? (Sorry Subway Brighton - it was quite simply because I hate your food. It was a pissed statement, and a mildly sweeping one). Although to be fair, would any man be happy to put up with me doing that???? Possibly not. But either an older man or a younger man would need balls of steel to a)meet my mates b)let me meet their mates. No points for either here.

Children. Either could have them, but lets face facts, an older man is more likely to have a band of children hidden away, or be on a time line to have them. Or not want them at all. So this poses an issue. Looking at dog eared pics of Sally and Tommy as babies on date one is a very boring first date occurrence. Having to potentially look after them - highly unappealing. Wanting you to knock a few kids out pronto is also off the cards. Younger men get the short term points, but not the future prospect.I don't want to be 45 and preggers. A point young-uns!

Dates. Future dates with an older man will involve: walking the dog; walks in the country; drives in the country in a nice car; work parties; golf parties; nice meals; weekends away. Very nice. But I need my pink fizz and kebabs. And so to the younger man - future dates with whom would be: festivals; concerts; the latest 3D film; their mates new bands first gig; trendy bars with gorgeous young people; their mates 25th birthday.......hmmmmmmmm. I'll either die from walking too much, or be jailed for shooting my boyfriend for making me use a portaloo for the weekend. Nil points!

The Future. One has one, one's living it. One is likely to whisk me away to a chateau in France where (guess what?) we'll walk a lot, but I can always marry his fit son from his first marriage, when he crocks from eating too much cheese and fine wine. The other, younger, will have me shacked up in a new build in some trendy part of town, and I'll be addicted to the treadmill in a vain attempt to hold onto him. He will still run off with the fit 21 year old from the office. Old man all the way!

So, from the above simple pros and cons, I have established that for me a older guy is the better option, but one that can put up with my wayward and sometimes childish lifestyle. I only hope that by the time I am telling two blokes just out of prison, that I'm a copper for shits and giggles, he's safely tucked up with a Horlicks and News Night. And he'll pay for the plastic surgery I'll most probably need after being headbutted. For now, I'll see how my two luncheon dates go - ones chosen Waggamama, the other afternoon tea. Dare you to guess which ones which.....

Daydream Believer

From a very young age, I have had an exceptional over active imagination. I put it down to the fact, that I was more or less an only child, thanks to being a late addition to the family (big shock when Mum realised it wasn't the change, and was in fact me in her belly). This, mixed with a difficult start in life, meant that I had a lot of time playing by myself. (All together - AHHHHHHH). As a wee nipper, (Lady Danger Junior),I spent most of my time either playing with my extensive Barbie collection, or playing Cinderella. Well actually, I was obsessed by a film called The Slipper And The Rose, based on Cinderella, and used to pretend I was the main character, and Richard Chamberlain was my prince coming to rescue me.(If you know who Richard Chamberlain is, please appreciate that it was a loooong time ago and I was about six).I'm still waiting for my prince. Richard Chamberlain is now 76 though so I'd quite like a younger model. A grand son would be acceptable. If he is good at swashing his sword, all the better.

Anyway, worryingly, my daydream and make believe thoughts haven't left me with age. I am still probably the worst for coming up with far fetched scenarios and situations that I hope to one day get into. Over the years, they have had many a main character, be it an ex who has been a twat monkey, and I get my revenge, or a celeb who I decide is for me, and therefore work out how we'll meet / fall in love. Here is a list of some of these, and how the stories went...they haven't got a lot better in some cases since Richard Chamberlain....

1) Donal McIntyre. The Irish bloke, who in the late 1990's had a show on TV called McIntyre Uncovered. In this programme, he infiltrated the dark and devious criminal worlds - the Chelsea gangs corrupting English football; the Nigerian mobsters scamming the Grannies of Britain, to the care home not caring for its patients. The fact he had to live in secret, away from his family due to death threats, made him all the more attractive. Mixed with the Irish accent, I was hooked. My Donal daydream, involved me meeting him at an awards ceremony, where he would be presenting me with an award (can't quite recall what for - Nobel Peace Prize maybe?). He'd be minus the death threats by now, and to Fatboys Slim's "Right Here, Right Now" we'd lock eyes, and fall in love. Not too sure when the Fat Boy Slim element came in - must've been my song of choice at the time. Now, after seeing him last year on Dancing On Ice, I'm a bit disturbed by my lust.

2) Moving on from the charm and danger of Mr McIntyre, my day dream moved swiftly onto another Irish rogue - Shane from Westlife. This was during a particularly tough Christmas at work, when Westlife saw me and my Assistant manager through the days. This caused the daydreaming to begin. This time, it started with the words of the glorious Shane being sung at me...in my mind it was all for me. I was even willing to get over the fact he's called Shane (which lets face it, is right up there on the namest scale). The day dream went that he saw me front row at a concert, and it was love at first sight (a theme is occurring, I know). This day dream got so far that I caused a rift in the band between Shane and Ronan (at the time he was managing them with Mr Walsh). Obviously, Shane chose me, and to this day, I still believe I could be the reason Ronan gave up his managing responsibilities. Anyway, I saw them live, and went off Shane when he actually got off the stool and tried to dance. It was like a bad Uncle at a wedding. Shame Shane, you had potential.

3)Now I'm sure that between Shane and about three years ago, there were many day dreaming subjects. I know I had a Tom Cruise fetish for a while, bought on by a revival in my video collection of Cocktail and Top Gun. But for the life of me I can't pin down one memorably one, until The Doctor. David Tenant. This one got so bad that when I got offered the chance to have one ticket for the closing night of Hamlet, or go to my friends birthday party, I was very tempted to say "alas poor H, somethings come up". I didn't however, and instead had an enjoyable evening dressed as a Mexican (with a full tash and fake cigar - it was a great look). Anyhoo, in this day dream, David and I meet on The Jonathan Ross show, where we are both guests. I am by now a world famous writer - the new Helen Fielding. David has just won an Oscar for his movie adaptation of Hamlet. We all go out to dinner after the show, and love blossoms. We get married in the little chapel at Edinburgh Castle, me wearing a lovely simple number, David a kilt. I only call him David, not Dave. He also can only speak in an English accent as i don't fancy him when he's Scottish. He won't mind this, as we are madly in love.

4)Obviously, you all know my current day dream - the gorgeous, and not with Jennifer Aniston (not in my world anyway) Gerard Butler. As I am still in the delusional believe that GB will one day be Mr Danger, I am bound not to divulge how we meet and fall madly in love. Because you will one day be reading about it in the News Of The World / Heat / Hello. But I will tell you that I move in next door to him. Even that's to much - I'm tempted to delete.

Now, most of you will probably have been reading this thinking that my lent agreement with the Big G (to give up men) has led me to madness, but I will now give you evidence of the contray. You see, daydreamers are some of the most successful people in history. Albert Einstein. Richard Branson. Walt Disney. Beethoven. All these great men focused on the path to success, through daydreaming. Now, if you therefore apply the same theory to me, we have a success story to end all success stories! I visualise my goal and the success - daydream as to how to get there, and before you know it, Gerard and I are walking down the aisle. Simples ladies and gentlemen! Visualise, daydream = success. Mrs Gerard butler, here I come! And all you nasty exes out there, be warned. I'm visualising a lot of sick willies and bad performing. Or is that I'm remembering a lot of sick willies and bad performances?

Romance Isn't Dead....It's Just Not very Well

"Romance Isn't Dead...It's Just Not Very Well" - the tag line of one of my all time favourite films; a Brit flick called Born Romantic. A movie about the lives of three hapless men, thrown together by salsa and their attempts to woe three women. Love, laughs and a good old British cast, the film shows that although romance is a bit sick, it's not dead, and there's hope.

This film was released in 2001, and I'm convinced that romance went from the recovery ward into a major relapse, and now rests in peace. Gone, it seems, are the days of wooing a women with romance, be it learning to dance to sweep the love of your life off your feet, to creating a tape of your favourite songs and talking in between of your love. What happened to the days of mix tapes and love letters? Is romance dead as a door nail, or do we just need to wake it up?

Now, it's been a few years since I have had a Mr Danger. More than a few actually - three whole bloody years. So I have done plenty of dating, and you'd think, therefore, a bit of romancing. Unfortunately, mainly due to the fact that most of my dates have been shite, the most romantic we've had within this time, was having Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up" sung at me in the middle of the street. Hardly being swept of my feet - he forgot the lines and later swapped numbers with another girl whilst I was in the loo. But, if I go back in my dating history, I find the days pre mobile phones and Internet (those were the days) are the ones harbouring the romance. How did we do it 10 years ago?? We had no texting - you had to call their home phone (and risk their Dad picking up and mistaking him for your boyfriend and having a ten minute chat before realising - oh my that was SO embarrassing). And you had to write letters instead of emailing - and do the door drop, or send in the post....they were the days of anticipation and no risk of a lovey dovey email being used against you after an argument, and sent round the world..

Maybe I am just having a bad run, or maybe I was just a bit spoilt from a young age. My first ever kiss was on a cruise ship, under the moonlight, with a rather gorgeous Italian (who I'm still friends with and will probably be reading this - did you know you were Lady Dangers first kiss!?). That was a rather romantic start, which led to letters, and post cards over the years that followed.The bundle of letters are still kept in one of my memory boxes, and occasionally read to reminisce... oh to be in the throes of young love again! NB One bundle was thrown in the sea - a long story that involved me finding out that said Italian had got with another girl more or less straight after I'd got on my plane home. He had another week after me, and a year later, when I was back on the same ship,I met the girl he'd got with - I
was heartbroken! My perfect holiday romance had turned into a nightmare, and in a moment of ironic teenage angst, I took the bundle of letters he'd sent over that year (I'd taken them on holiday with me - not sure why) and went to the spot we'd first kissed, and threw them into the ocean.(I hope you feel very very guilty all over again if you are reading this!!).

Anyway, since then, I have grown up a bit, but do sometimes wish it was like the old days. Getting a romantic text just isn't quite the same is it? Letters are less easy to delete, you just hide them in a box, then once the pain has gone, you can re-read them. Texts get deleted the day he fucks you off and forgotten. And having a song - do people still have a song?! No clubs really play slow songs at the end of the night like they used to. What are the equivalents these days????

Maybe its just me, but I don't feel that these days we are focused as much on the romance of life. Where is my mix tape? Where is my love letter? And where is the man that can make Lady Danger melt again? Does such a man exist? Or for the reat of my life, is the most romantic experience going to be from years back?! Am I raising the bar too high? Will I be stuck with receiving random messages from scary Dizzee Rascal
lookalikes telling me I look like "his woman". (I'm very scared - he looks like an e fit off crime watch). I get the feeling that for me, for now, romance is dead, and the most I can expect is to be swept off my feet by some dick teenager on a skate board around Covent Garden. Where are you Mr Danger?! Miss Danger needs some romance pleeeeeeease! (Although can you wait a few weeks - it's still lent and the Big Fella's been good with our deal so far). For now, I will stick on the mix tape I found on my memory box, and have a sing along to a warped version of The Bangles "Eternal Flame", and hope that some day my knight will sweep me off my feet. And hope that I can also work out how to block the scary man on match.com.

(If I suddenly go missing, it'll be him - please send crack team of spinsters and cats to track him down).

I Do.......Need To Think Outside The Box

This month, I made a bit of a deal with the big fella up above. No not Step Dad Danger, but the big man himself, The Big G. Now, by no means am I a religious women, but I was bought up a hymn singing, church going, good little C Of E school girl, so every now and again old habits re-appear. On this occasion, I made a little request to the Big Fella, and said if he helped out a friend, I'd give up something for lent. At first, this was going to be chocolate, but then we had a hazelnut choccie cake at a meeting, so that was quickly changed to Diet Coke. That went out the window at lunch. The Big Fella was probably despairing at my lack of will power at this point and deciding to reverse his good nature. So I did the unthinkable and gave up men for lent.

Yes, Lady Danger has given up men - this includes dating; sharking; and horizontal dancing. And I have to say, its a bit crap, but I am managing. (Just). Anyway, it has got me thinking about life, and love, and how much it can all change in a year. So I need to be more savy. In a years time, there is every chance I could be loved up and on my way down the aisle....For those who mock this, think about where you were a year ago, and how quickly things change. Did Cheryl think her Ashley would have shagged a minging hairdresser and text pics of himself in his pants to random girls? (FYI - rookie error doing it on nights he was supposed to be watching her on X Factor - double "doh"). Did anyone ever think Mr High Pants himself, Simon Cowell, would get married? And who thought that Katie and Peter would split, and she'd marry a cross dressing cage fighter in Vegas? (Certainly not her agent, who is rubbing his hands together in glee, and skipping to the bank with a big smile on his face). So with this in mind, I've decided to get tactical, and have a plan as to what Lady Danger should be looking for in men, to be Mr Danger potential.

Oddly, a few sites came up when I Googled "what to look for in a husband" - more than a few actually. Advice on what we women should look for is slightly diverse and at times very businesslike. But here are the 4 steps to finding the man who will become your lobster and "complete you" (I have been watching far too many rom coms of late - please excuse me, but I have to have something to fill the time normally allocated to Internet dating - blame the Big Fella, not me). Apparently, this site reckons that finding a husband is like matching shoes to an outfit....a concern for me considering today myself and Kaz bought the exact same shoes, on the same day, in a different town. I don't share.

Anyway, I digress....Here is what I assume an American site has suggested we look for....


Step One:
"Think outside the box. You know that box--the one that holds the journal you wrote when you were a pre-teen and lay next to your dollhouse, gazing at the newly re-arranged furniture and decided what your future mate would look like, smell like, talk like. The sky-rocketing divorce statistics show that we don't always choose the one that best suits us, but rather choose the one who looks the best. A recent magazine survey showed that only 44 percent of the 3,000 married women who were surveyed said they would marry their husbands a second time."

LD Says:
Now, I have a few boxes, but I don't recall ever gazing into a dolls house (we were too poor - I used to use the book shelves in my bedroom for my dolls. The furniture was made by my older sister with the aid of Blue Peter - you may say AHHHH at this point). However, when I was considering what my future mate would look like, I had a weird list that included over the years: Craig Logan from Bros; Jon McIntyre from NKOTB; Nick Berry who plated Wicksy in Eastenders (later in Hartbeat); and Tom Cruise (Top gun and Cocktail, NOT Days Of Thunder). I'm no dimwit, I'm never going to date these men - and now I think about it, other than a young TC, I wouldn't touch the originals, let alone someone who looked like them. So for me, Step One is complete - yes! Awesome work.(I'm assuming this step only includes those we lusted after as kids, and not therefore when I now sit gazing into my framed picture of GB, muttering sweet nothings it doesn't count? Yes? Good).

Step Two
"Find a man who has the same moral values, social skills, political affiliations and financial status as you. This will make your march down the aisle a lot smoother."

LD Says:
Rigggggght. OK. Hmmm. Same social skills as me. OK, so they will not be able to handle their drink very well, and fall over / streak / talk shite after a few. Not the normal qualities I search for, but I'll get onboard. Morals? Lets not go there shall we? The Big Fella might be listening. Political affiliations depends on the level of wine consumed, but standard is Conservative - fairly normal on that one. However I have been known to call Mugabe a nutty twat, and voice my drunken opinions on Bush and 9/11 to anyone that'll listen. If your a Yank in my presence, you have no hope. Financial status - there aren't too many men who went on a massive shoe shopping expedition between the ages of 18-26, only to be left with a debt of a small country. If there are, I'm sure they are called Tarquin and have dated my cousin - the line dancer / DJ / huge queen. I'm struggling on Step Two. It started so well. Damn.

Step Three:
"Avoid the drop-dead gorgeous brawny man. Men with muscular physiques were rated nearly twice as sexy as non-muscular men, but they were also rated twice as intimidating and dominant. "Most women wouldn't choose to marry Brad Pitt because he has so many short-term dating opportunities," researcher David Frederick concluded after conducting a study of 300 college women. He found most women believe that someone that good-looking would not remain faithful to them. "The average woman would probably go for the Ray Romano guy as the long-term marriage partner," he said."

LD says:
Right, firstly, who the fuckety fuck did this survey? Ray Romano from Everybody Loves Raymond over the Pitt-meister?! Obviously he would cheat - he's taken for one thing. Now, I like a big guy, sorry, I don't want Arnie, but a there's something to say for a man who can throw you on the bed and later fix your fridge. Scrawny = booooooorrrrinnnng. I want a big man who can take on the LD and win! It's got to happen one day. (FYI - I once actually had a scary dream that I was Arnie's girlfriend. We broke up whilst on a plane. I asked him to give up body building for me, and he said no. WTF I'd been smoking that caused that dream, I'll never know).

Step Four
"Be smart. Choose a husband who is at least as intelligent as you. Marriage expert Dr. Willard F. Harley, Jr. writes, "You and he should be roughly equivalent in intelligence, within about 15 IQ points. "

LD Says:
My husband will have to have an extensive knowledge of the following to match my IQ....films, film stars, film stars relationships, Big Brother, Emmerdale, Hollyoaks, Eastenders, Corrie, Harry Potter, shoes, Love Actually, and Benefit makeup. Otherwise, no hope. Working for GB as his PA would add bonus points. Or just knowing his phone number.

OK, four steps, and we have a husband ladies and gentlemen...a winner. To summarize, I need to find a non-brawny man, who has extensive knowledge about Corrie, celebs and shoes (which he will as he owns so many); who isn't Brad Pitt or Nick Berry, who has loose morals (sorry Big Fella) and falls over when drunk. To say I'm not willing to compromise, would be the mother of all understatements if I go after this man...and I'm more concerned that he is actually out there! For now, until he appears (which will most probably on Crime Watch) I will keep day dreaming about GB and how we will bump into each other and fall madly in lust....I may have to start a new box, and get a Hollywood dollshouse.