Psychics and Psychos.

I cannot believe it's been nearly two months since I blogged, and all letters of complaint can be directed straight to Stirling University who have been keeping me held hostage with numerous essays, scripts and lectures - which I now consider to be meditation hours. It's the only beneficial reason I can give for keeping my eyes closed. Pretending that my tutour's voices are actually the calming noise of whale calls has proven slightly more difficult.

So I was having a look at where I last left off and burst out laughing at the list of 'good points' I had applied to my new Turkish buddy. Unfortunately that relationship has turned sour - it's just never going to work when the non-English speaking member of the couple is sending abusive messages over Facebook because the other person went to a nightclub. I'm the one that speaks English by the way, although I am now also fluent in the broken form of my language and particularly familiar with the well known phrase 'you are slack girl'.

It got me thinking about the fine line between jealousy and full on psycho patter. I will be the first one to admit I can be jealous, but I believe most girls who have minor insecurities can be guilty of overanalysing things. However when you're being asked to delete all your Facebook photos that show you with boys (the one of me licking someone's nipple went down REALLY well), to stop speaking to any member of the male human race - although some of my boy pals might actually appreciate me not talking for a while, whilst running up phonebills which will no doubt be paying for every single O2 employee's Christmas Bonus, it's time to say "gule gule!" 

So once again I am on the rack of love, a lost soul...and to be perfectly honest, I'm much happier this way than I've ever felt before. Part of this new found feeling of contentment may be to do with the fact that I went to see a psychic! Now I'm normally quite sceptical about these things, but my flatmate Teacakes had been earlier that day and was convinced that June was genuine. So I saddled up my donkey, and set off on the 3-day journey to her caravan up in the mountains - I exaggerate, she works in town. I didn't really know what to expect, and to be honest I was a bit of a nervous wreck before I even got in the room! I did it though, and it was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. She told me I was going to go to Japan (at that point I was already applying), she told me about the person I was going to spend my life with (a hottie with the personality of Boris Johnsson...yeah moving on) and she knew about personal things I had gone through and how my life was going to change. Maybe she was fake. Maybe she played me like a chessboard. But I believed every word she said, and took great comfort from it in the process.

So the real question is...where is this good-looking , Boris Johnsson-esque love of my life? June also said she think he is a doctor, but as a result of my eagerness NHS24 have barred my calls. Apparently you aren't meant to use that service as some sort of personal dating line. Until next time folks!

Olum!

Well...I'm back! I'm sure you will all have missed my inane ramblings, and at this point I've got so much to say I don't know where to start! So lets begin with Turkey...

So! Me and my infamous partner in crime (and best friend) Claire spent a couple of weeks in August in the beautiful city of Icmeler, Turkey. This was my third time visiting the country and I fall more and more in love with the place everytime I go. However on this particular trip I made the rookie mistake of also falling for one of the oh-so-beautiful Kurdish boys who spend their summer working in the town. As a result of this I have now found myself in a loving, committed and very serious 3-week-relationship with a boy who doesn't approve of me talking to other guys, the length of my dresses, going to nightclubs without asking him, drinking, dancing or breathing without permission (kidding...kind of!). Oh and he's Muslim and says he would really like me to meet his mum at some point. I can just picture her face as she is introduced to me; an albino skinned, Scottish, peroxide blonde, overly made-up Aethiest with a penchant for such Western nonsense as fake tan, McDonalds and Jagerbombs. There's also the minor issue of me not being able to speak Kurdish...I'm starting to see cracks appearing in yet another of my excellent life choices but I'm keeping positive!



The young man in question does have his good points though; he's funny, and caring and friendly - and should be put on TV based on his dancing ability! And yes, before any of you say it, I have seen 'The Inbetweeners' film with the cheating Spanish waiter. And YES before you say it I'm well aware that it is highly likely at this moment in time he is telling some other poor, unsuspecting girl that she is his everything/showing her his willy. But a bit of holiday romance never hurt anyone - look at Danny and Sandy! I think I might teach him the words to "You're The One That I Want" now incase things work out...Turkey's a bit hot for a leather catsuit though. Just a minor issue at this stage.

Should holiday romances stay purely as that though? Is it the dangerous combination of beautiful weather, no stress and constant flattery that gives these relationships a sense of idealism? The amount of folk who have found it utterly hilarious that I have a supposed 'Turkish boyfriend' bemuses me - my boy pals found it particularly funny. But as far as me and my love life are concerned it can't be ANY worse than going out with a guy here. Infact looking back at my romantic history - 'the relationship from hell', 'the humper and dumper', 'the flopstar' and my numerous internet beaus - adding 'romance with a foreigner' is just a natural progression for me, an obvious next step if you will! Plus if I didn't get myself into these insane scenarios I'd have nothing to blog about...and if it's between that and dating a Kurd, then you can book me on the first flight to Turkey!

Going, going, gone...

I'm very sorry for the lateness in this latest episode of my meaningless ramblings, but access to a computer has been scarce due to some technical difficulties. Never mind, I'm back now!

So I would like to start off by revealing the unbelievably exciting news that POF boy texted me last night. I was in the car on the way home from Alton Towers, wired to the moon on Rockstarr and Wham bars, and for a few seconds after I'd read the message, I thought perhaps I was on some weird sugar trip. The unicorn sitting next to me thought the same. It certainly came as a surprise, as it's normally me doing the chasing and it got me thinking about why people go back to someone they've had previous with.

Now obviously, the fact that POF boy has decided to get back in touch is quite a mild case of what I like to call Repetitive Partner Syndrome (RPS) as nothing has ever happened between us bar texting. But when I think about my last relationship and how many times I went back to something which should have been hung up, shot, chained up in a titanium box and dropped in the Forth, I started wondering why people go back to the all too familiar.

For me the biggest reason was still being in love - or what I thought was love. Despite the fact he was decidedly wrong for me, I was besotted. It's amazing how quickly you forget what went wrong after you've split up with somebody that you still have feelings for. You start to recall the days the two of you sat infront of a roaring fire toasting marshmallows...the time you both kissed passionately in the rain on the bridge..that night in Paris...I mean none of this actually happened but you start to believe you walked away from the most idyllic relationship in the world - and subconsicously decide it would be silliness to let go of the situation.

Another reason - whether girls want to admit it or not - is sex. If you meet somebody new and decide you'd like to...ahem...you know, then this inevitably leads to meticulous and obsessive personal grooming. This will normally consists of you putting Veet EVERYWHERE, whilst slapping on copious amounts of fake tan, a facemask and all the while frequently looking at yourself naked in the mirror asking why you ever starting consuming solids. Whereas with ex's, they've seen you at your worst - vomiting, farting, peeing (it was just once, I promise) - and therefore the pressure is off and the lights can stay on.

The darker side of running back to the same person is of course personal insecurities. Feeling like you're never going to find someone else is, I'm sure, a common notion among the female population. My friend Meghan recently said to me "There's no point being tied down with someone who isn't right for you, because you'll miss out on all the nice, normal, hot guys that come along" - and it really is that simple. I should have drawn a line under my last relationship LONG before it came to the sticky end it did based purely on that reasoning. It all depends on how far you're willing to be pushed as to when you feel compelled to call 'time!'.

POF boy said he'd had a lot going on recently which is why contact had been none existent? Am I going to give him the benefit of the doubt and start texting again? We'll see...oh and can you pass me the St. Tropez!

Is He Looking?

So I'm walking with confidence (hips swaying whilst trying to stop my bum from wobbling), laughing attractively (loud enough to catch his attention, but not so that my mouth looks like the Clyde Tunnel) and tossing my hair with what I imagine is poise, grace and femininity. And does he notice? Does he hell.

I think I've already mentioned that texting my POF boy kind of fizzled out - the success of my blog is probably quite intimidating for some guys, I've got to remember that in future. Oh, and I have a further revelation; I've deleted my dating profile. I know, I know...just when I was so close to finding a husband as well (!). The thing is when you've got the same guy adding you on Facebook, adding you on Twitter, poking you on Facebook and then on top of all this you're getting strange phone calls late at night, I for one am quite happy to say goodbye to Internet dating before I have to say hello to a restraining order. I had visions of waking up in a predicament similar to the one experienced by Vince Vaughn's character in Wedding Crashers; tied to my bed with a stranger insisting we'd "had a moment" online and asking if I'd like to play tummy sticks.

So I've had to revert back to reality to find a man, and this has led me to think about the things that girls do to get a guy's attention - hence my opening paragraph. That was an example of my own technique - it' obviously fool proof going by the amount of boys I'm attracting at the moment - and I'm of the opinion that every girl has their own unique way of reeling in the fellas! After doing a bit of research (asking my best mates) it is obvious that the more a girl likes a guy, the more devious these tactics become. For example, if the apple of your eye is going to be on the same night out as you, there is the classic "I've seen him in my peripheral vision but I'm just going to ignore him so he definitely doesn't think I'm interested" - pure genius. Then there's the old "I'll go over and say hello to all his friends in full view of him so he feels compelled to come over and mark his territory" - inspired. And my favourite of all is turning up at a club wearing an "I LOVE [insert name here]" sandwich-board whilst a brass band marches behind me belting out 'I Love You Baby'. OK I made the last one up, but apart from it being a little full on, it would probably turn out to be the most successful technique. From what I know of my guy mates, lads just like to know where they stand - a lot of these 'cunning tactics' wash right over their heads, and I genuinely think they would be terrified if they knew just how much planning can go into even the most casual of social encounters.

It is so much fun though isn't it? You'll be sitting in your jogger bottoms, tub of ice-cream in one hand, spoon in the other, Marley & Me on the TV...and suddenly you receive word that your one true love will be out this evening. Normally this word is in the form of text message, but whether it's phone, email or carrier pigeon, you get your butt in the shower pronto, get gorgeous and proceed to practice a few casually beautiful faces in the mirror. Then it's off to wherever he may be so you can talk to his pals, walk about in front of him 'looking sexy' and blatantly ignore him for most of the evening. You will then go home that evening alone (in my case probably crying) and ponder with your girlfriends as to why the object of your affections did not work out that the reason you were blanking him is because you wanted his babies. Men really are bastards.

Pick-A-Little-Talk-A-Little.

Where I stay, everyone's business always gets played out to an array of spectators. When I refer to spectators I mean the majority of Stirling University. And when I say 'everyone's business' what I really mean is drama, drama, drama.

Now lets be serious...who doesn't love a bit of gossip? It's impossible to avoid, and no matter what sort of person you are, to say you don't enjoy discussing the personal matters of others is nothing short of pure denial. There are differents levels of gossip though; the irrelevant 'who's sleeping with who' chit chat that normally arises after a night out, to the more advanced stages of tittle-tattle such as 'who's being extradited on drug trafficking charges'. I happen to think that the classification given to drugs could probably be applied successfully to gossip aswell - it's an addictive, recreational habit after all. Although I've yet to see Channel 4 do a Dispatches programme on how gossip has ruined someones life and I doubt someone has ever sold their PlayStation in order to be able to afford a copy of OK! I might make some enquiries at Cash Converters - maybe this is an issue that people are ignoring. I could start a charity and...I digress!

As I was saying - nothing stays secret in Stirling. I actually toyed with the slightly pretencious idea of becoming the Gossip Girl of the city and anonymously spilling the beans on my peers - some of the chat that circulates this place is hilarious. However in saying that, I'd probably have to include some of what I get up to in these revelations, and while I can laugh at my 'mishaps' - I wouldn't recommend watching 'So You Think You Can Dance' then trying to emulate some moves whilst blind drunk on a club's deserted dancefloor by the way - writing them down in black and white is probably going to earn me a good few years on the psycologists couch. Where a couple of folk think I should be already - or so I've been told?

Anyway, I'm all too aware I'm yet to make a serious point within these ramblings. What I have actually observed is that while people gossip idly or talk about people's business with or without malicious intent, seemingly meaningless chats about the lives of others can have SUCH a monumental influence on the outcome of a situation that I'd put gossipping up there as one of the most dangerous acts in the world. One little spilled detail can be the difference between a reconciliation or a break up; a full blown fight or make-up sex. It's like that theory that scientists have that when a butterfly beats it's wings, that starts a chain reaction of events off. Everyone's been there; you open your mouth to someone, information comes tumbling from your lips - information that you've been so desperate to tell you swear you can see the words doing a conga line down your tongue - and before you know where you are, you have unwittingly started the next World War and have made a mental note to yourself that a) Perhaps building an Anderson Shelter at the bottom of the garden might be a shout and b) You are a fucking idiot.

However, I happen to think that places like Stirling thrive on gossip. It's what brings folk together in all walks of life; the chat after a night out is like one big bonding session for men and women across the globe. Mother's coffee mornings - a pirhana pool of scandal, deceit and custard creams - are a prime example of uniting in gossip. And companies looking to improve their team building skills should save themselves the money they spend on training, send their employees on a drunken night out and then get them all to talk about it the next day - I'd more than happily take the sessions, especially as I'd probably provide most of the material. This would all be inbetween my charity work for Gossipers Anonymous that is - I think I'm definately on to something there. Tell your friends! (As if I even need to say that eh.)

I Walk The Line

Well my love life has kind of come to a screeching halt but that does not mean that men have not been the main fixation of my life this week - for all the right reasons though, they're my pals.

I move into my new flat tomorrow which means I'll no longer be living in a mans, mans world (ie. a flat with four boys). I don't know what I've enjoyed more - verbally being given a list of guys in the Stirling area who are too good for me, frequently being asked about the effects Veet Hair Removal cream would have on a guy's testicles, being shown aforementioned testicles or being drawn into strange sexual discussions that no girl should ever be asked her opinion on. I would give you the juicy details but I'm very aware that I've started this blog in a bid to enhance my CV and I'm pretty sure some of the bedroom techniques I've had described to me would not only be unprofessional to disect but are also more than likely illegal in some countries. Kit Kat Chunky is all I'm saying.

It's strange how sexuality can become completely irrelevant in a friendship between a boy and a girl. I'm all too aware than boys discuss sex a lot, and far from toning this down when they have a girl to stay, my guy mates merely included me in the lad chats that are clearly a regular fixture in their day to day routine. Sometimes I feel sorry for the girls they discuss, as the conversations are far from respectful. But then I think about the obsessive, detailed analysis that me and my girlfriends put any new guy in our lives through and I realised it all balances out. Plus, boys have a much more humorous approach to their experiences with girls and while I should really be acting in a disgusted manner at the degrading turn these discussions can take, I cannot help but find it really, really funny. I mean...the morning after the night before, a girl will be on the phone to her gal pals discussing if it was good, if he had asked for her number etc, etc, etc. And the boy will more than likely be discussing with his compadres if he managed to get a finger up her bum. And there goes my journalism reputation.

Maybe I'm just friends with a few of the more blunt members of the male human race. Maybe there are guys who, after getting with a girl, sit down with their pals and discuss the chemistry of the encounter and where they think it will lead - but I'm sorry, I highly doubt it. And having been party to a number of risque discussion with my boy friends, I can honestly say that I enjoy being treated like one of the lads. Apart from anything else, being party to these explicit chats is slowly but surely curing my naivety around guys. Infact, I think my boy pals should have their own chat show. I can assure you it would make 'The Joys Of Teen Sex' look like an episode of 'Listen With Mother'.

Here We Go Round The Merry-Go-Round...

I've been thinking a lot about the concept of courtship over the past few days. Even using the word 'courtship' is wildly old-fashioned - and I'm actually a bit horrified at myself because the first word that popped into my head whilst trying to think of a more modern way of wording it was 'shaggin'. I'm blaming my apparent filthy mind on the fact I'm living with four boys at the moment; I live in hope that the images of flowers, love hearts and puppy dogs that usually occupy my little blond head will soon return.

Living with four boys is what has triggered these thoughts about how girls and boys interact before they decide to jump into any form of commitment. Personally, I'm a lot more uneasy about this stage of affairs than I used to be. I remember being more than up for playing the usual games (that I believe were once used as legitimate forms of mental torture) but I've learnt that how people can appear when you first meet them can be scarily different to what they become. I am therefore much more appreciative of people who are upfront from the beginning - although the thrill of the chase is a hard thing to find un-enjoyable. The chase is what a relationship stems from; it's this ritual that defines a couple's chemistry from the offset. And if the excitement you experience when you first realise that you actually quite fancy someone lasts beyond those crucial first two weeks, you know in yourself that your feelings are on a higher plane than just 'shaggin'.

The lead up to that point is just brutal though, isn't it? 'So he texted me last, so that makes it OK for me to text him now. But if I text him, he texts back, I text him back and then I don't get a reply, then it's definitely not OK to text him for at least another 48 hours and that's only if there's a full moon and a golden leprechaun visits me in my dreams and gives me a sign"...and the sad thing is that I find the majority of that sentence rational. And guys are just as bad; 'Well she never asked me a question or anything, and I've got football, a night out and a Tesco big shop to do...I'm sure she won't mind no contact for a few days'. Whats nice is that girls and boys are starting to understand each others mentalities more and more...and because of this I am sorry to say that in the crazy stakes, girls clean up.

Despite this, no matter on the sex of the person, I like to think that this 'craziness' signifies passion and a desire to succeed in all aspects of life. I think that when they issue people with restraining orders they should also enrol them in some sort of entrepreneurial work shop - no doubt they would flourish! Modern courtship is nothing more than a tidal wave of insecurities from both parties - and I wouldn't have it other way. I enjoy wondering why he hasn't texted me, I enjoy waiting for him to speak to me first and I enjoy going out and sinking a bottle of wine when the whole thing blows up in my face. And while boys and girls consistently profess they hate the anguish they have to endure when an initial spark doesn't turn into the forest fire they had anticipated, these claims are quite frankly rubbish. Because I know for a fact that once my hangover passes - both literally and metaphorically - I'll quite happily go back to square one.

So Where Is This Going?

They say that moving home is one of the most stressful things you can do in your life. I've moved flat every summer for four years and the chaos this causes never ceases to amaze me. I managed to secure myself a bed at a flat where a few of my male friends reside, and also managed to talk them into letting me keep my stuff there until Friday which is when I get the keys to my new pad. I have just got off the phone with the other two girls who I'm moving in with at the end of the week, and apart from the fact they currently don't have anywhere to stay, the one who drives has just managed to lock both her car keys and her phone inside her Fiesta. The words 'fuck my life' have never rang so true with her. And it definitely, definitely isn't funny.

So excellent news! POF boy is still texting me despite the fact I gave the impression I should possibly consider a spell in The Priory. I think I'm of the impression that boys spend ages thinking, re-thinking and analysing the personality traits of women when infact they aren't really as bothered as us girls would be. We actually had a small, diluted version of the 'where is this going' chat and established we both liked talking to each other but because we've never actually met it would be good to keep the pace slow. Quite rightly, I imagine he is obviously concerned that I could turn out to be a 56 year old shemale looking for love whereas my main fear is having my picture appear on the back of milk cartons after he's chopped me up and fed me to the fishes. Some may call these thoughts irrational when the word they're actually looking for is plausible.

I've been thinking about the stigma associated with internet dating. People ask me all the time what's going on in my love life and when I reveal I'm texting someone who I met online, do not know in person and that - shock horror - things are going well, they look at me like I've just said I thought Osama Bin Laden was well fit. 'Be careful', 'That's sad', 'Can you not meet someone local'...all comments I've endured time and time again. Why is internet dating still thought of in unsavoury terms?

I'll admit you'd only have to look at the more uncouth messages in my inbox on POF for evidence as to why joining online dating communities could be considered a bad idea. But when I'm on a night out and I've got guys touching my bum, looking at my boobs and making comments or whistling, how is that any better? I'd actually like to apply some of the options available to me online to my next night out. For example I'd like boys to give me their vital statistics in text format, with a blurb about themselves so I don't waste time talking to someone who Typ3s LiiK3 ThiiS BbZ. I would also enjoy having the ability to delete boys on a night out, so they just disappear into the atmosphere. Furthermore, having the ability to 'Add Them To My Favourites' or 'keep them on file for future use' if you will, would also be more than handy.

So before you slag off internet dating, take a look at the more positive aspects of looking for love online. Mind you, someone has yet to give me a photo of their willy on a night out - although I have witnessed lads 'helicoptering' their prized possesion. I rest my case.

Honesty Is The Best Policy (Unless It Makes You Look Bad...Then It's Rubbish)

Sooo....Wednesday night I decided to go out and 'get pure mad wae it' with my best friend Claire. We had a massive argument the other week but we're pals again, and this night out was really the equivalant of make-up sex.

I generally view myself as quite a classy girl - I don't spit, I speak properly and I haven't slept with half of Stirling. However, I do have my moments and incidentally chose to have one of these afore mentioned moments on Wednesday evening. To be fair I wasn't the one who bought the rose wine but I was the one who thought it would be an excellent idea to try and down it within a half hour period. Please note I said 'try' - obviously I didn't succeed as I haven't yet mastered the skill of inhaling alcohol. I was also the one who said it would be a totally rad idea to take our bottles of wine with us and try and finish them in the taxi.

This was all well and good until I saw the taxi driver. He was young. He was hot. And he spoke the whole journey about how he likes university girls as they are so much more mature than your average lady. In body I'm nodding along in agreement at this...and in my head all I can hear is 'hahahahahahahahaha'. I'm a terrible human being. Anyway, I'm sure I soon changed his opinion when I asked if he could drop us off round the corner so we could finish our booze. Clearly I've got 'marriage material' written all over me. The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, although I do recall the young, hot taxi driver picking us up to go home and having to pull over as me and Claire were simultaneously sick onto the pavement. I think I'm going to have to review the fact I see myself as classy.

Anyway, I am actually trying to make a point. The next day I told my POF (Plenty Of Fish) boy about my antics. To be honest, I texted him about it without thinking and it was only in the next hour when I didn't receive a reply that I started to worry about my unabashed honesty. Guys say that they want a girl to be straight with them - infact I think everybody appreciates honesty. But do they want me to be honest about the fact I was so drunk I can't remember anything apart from spewing up a mixture of vodka, wine and Aftershock...I'm not so sure. Now, he did text me back - he even made a few jokes about me being 'mangled' and asked how my hangover was. However, paranoia has kicked in and I have a horrible feeling that before my revelations I was easily passing myself off as Scotland's answer to Kate Middleton, whereas now he is probably comparing me to a character from The Scheme. Hopefully not Bullet.

So I don't know guys, do you want honesty about everything or is selective truth telling (aslong as it's not hurting anyone) the best plan? Alternatively I could maybe just not go out and get in a drunken state. In all honesty though, while I am looking for a boyfriend I'm also looking for someone who, in times like these, is there patting my back and holding my hair back. Or at the very least being sick beside me. I'm old fashioned like that.

Perseverance Makes The Heart Grow Fonder.

My high-flying call centre career has prevented me from producing a sequel to my oh-so-popular first blog, but never fear I have found five spare minutes in my non-life with which to share another tragic anecdote.

So I decided to keep going with www.plentyoffish.com in the naive hope that Prince Charming might fall into my lap...or my inbox. And my faith appears to have paid off as I'm currently texting a lovely young gentleman who is also a member of the website. When I say lovely, I mean that he can hold an intelligent conversation and hasn't yet asked my bra-size - an aspect of my personality that seems to be very important to many of the other men I've encountered online recently. My flatmate Ashlee put the frighteners on me the other night with a lecture about the dangers of internet dating, but I don't intend to rush into anything...especially not before I get the police checks back.

A past flame has also been texting me a little bit recently, although he assures me his intentions are all above board. This particular species of the male human race has previously professed to not having female friends as he didn't like to be 'in the friendzone' with girls. I find the concept of 'the friendzone' quite interesting. Apparently it applies to guys who are friends with girls, but only because they either want something more to happen or hope that one day something might just happen. It's a bit like getting in an undetermined queue, where there is only a small possibility they will make it to the front. Girls are of course blithely unaware of this social policy according to my man-friend but again I think that is a very rash claim. Girls are, above all, very good at getting what they want. And if attaining what they want requires popping a few lads in 'the friendzone' then so be it. And more fool the boys.

On a different note, I went out for dinner tonight with an old friend of mine called Kerrie and it was the best laugh I've had in ages. Her romantic life is no more straightforward than mine, and it's lead me to come to the conclusion that attaining love is meant to be a struggle as it's the most rewarding thing you'll ever be lucky enough to attain. Everyones got dues to pay but seriously Cupid, if you're listening...pull your finger out eh?!

Gone Fishing.

I spent a lot of time thinking about the content of my first ever blog post, and decided the best option would be to just jump right in to the general fiasco that is my life. I've got a feeling these posts are going to make it much easier for my therapist later in life.

So, it's no secret to my friends - and most major tissues manufacturers - that my love life resembles something you might see on Jeremy Kyle. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not spending £300 a week on weed, whilst pregnant with a child that has 13 potential fathers - I just mean it's parallel to the complete disasters I see on that stage. Now I'm not going into details (I'll save them for my autobiography) but the bottom line is that I'm due a break.

Now obviously when you've encountered nothing but poor excuses for men in the real world, a really excellent idea is to try internet dating (!). It initially started off as a bit of a joke with my flatmate Teacakes, who suggested I shun the traditional 'match.com' cliche for the slightly more local, and free option of www.plentyoffish.com . So I uploaded some nice photos of me 'being attractive', made myself sound almost sane in my profile and then sat back and waited for the man of my dreams to...fire up Mozilla Firefox and send me an email. Just like in the movies.

Oh. Dear. God. is all I can say...I genuinally don't know what planet some guys are on. I've come to the conclusion that only insane people linger on the internet based on the messages I started to receive. Don't get me wrong, some of my potential suitors were normal guys who I simply did not fancy. And some were complete and utter rockets. I don't know which was worse...receiving the photo of one member's meat and two veg (who obviously had ways of making things bigger), being asked if I'd like "a sugar daddy or a lover" or having one guy profess that he was in love with me and then go on to beg me to marry him and let him lose his virginity to me.

The worst ones however are the guys who seem normal until you read their dating profile. Allow me to give you an example; I received a message the other day from another young man lonely in love. His picture did not scream "serial killer/pervert" at me and his message was non-cheesy and non-sleazy. Tick, tick, tick. And then I read his profile;

"hobbies r bashin tramps , racing ferrets that were injured during the war , happy slappin huns , pumpin throats and much much more ladies am a catch u know !! i am unique simply cause a have a 1 incher and no girth ! my goals in life r to make it to 2 inches and maybe a wee bit of girth plz plz god help ! music a love the sound of skin slappin together 2 a totaly mind blowin tune ! talkin of blowing (u know the drill) haha ouuush msg me am up for the banter x"

Dieing alone with a thousand cats isn't starting to sound too bad...