The Realisation

2008-03-14T14:53:00.001Z

It had been six months. The startling realisation hit me in the morning with the alarm of one who has suddenly remembered a missed birthday or anniversary. I quickly picked up my phone, hoping that someone may have left a text - an offer of a date, drinks, coffee, a small sandwich. Nothing. Even though I was socially active the signs were ominous. My mouth was dry; I was parched. I felt an intense heat prickle my skin. Were those the first traces of sweat on my forehead? It was at this point that I realised I was in the desert.

The next few days passed in a sun blind daze. I started to approach each situation as an opportunity to meet women. Tubes, business meetings, sandwich shops, newsagents. All these places where no longer parts of everyday life but oasis where the potential to smile and offer a gentlemanly hello were significantly increased.

Gone was any rational thought. Age, weight, disability, any incompatibility that would initially check a male into apprehension and further consideration was replaced with a disturbing sense of reasoning. If a woman appeared whose age would place her traditionally out of my target group (but safely into the realm of most bingo halls) I would substitute the unsuitability of age for the advantage of what could only be described as heightened sexual experience and a generosity with sweets and other small treats.

I was alarmed at my readiness to exchange standards and even my slim notion of ethics for eleven digits and the possibility of romance (it should be stated that romance and sexual relations are easily confused, as is seen in the previous sentence, the readers’ discretion should be used whenever this term appears).

An Introduction

2008-03-13T19:03:00.005Z

There is no significant time frame that can be easily referenced to categorise whether you have crossed the border into this fruitless wasteland. All one can do is sit in a quiet corner, cover your knees with a blanket and complete this checklist:

After reading the Sunday papers your eye casually (yet with an air of intent) searches the woman seeking man column. If you have taken this a step further and started using a red marker and a cross referencing system to indicate possible, musts and marriage then this blog is of no use to you. I recommend strict medical help and, perhaps, a cruise.

When browsing the internet you come across an advert for internet dating. Should you click on this link, whether you tell yourself it’s for research or mere distraction you are no longer simply visiting the desert but have, in fact, bought a timeshare and are already planning a large extension for guests.

You see every occasion that your friend is accompanied by his partner as an opportunity to meet her suitable (or unsuitable but available) friends; or as an occasion to subject the opposite sex to a fierce inquisition as to why you are single and what steps need to be taken to make you more appealing.

You start to dress well for even mundane tasks. A visit to the dentist for an extremely invasive and bloody root canal requires several hours of wardrobe exploration and a close inspection of facial hair. This is to ensure that if either the dentist, nurse, receptionist or other, as yet, unknown woman appears then you are ready!

The term ‘female relations’ refers to weekly phone calls to your mother and the knowledge that on your next return home you will have to visit your grandmother to collect a goody bag of biscuits and pies.

If you have answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions I fear that we may have already met in a dry and arid land. If you have answered ‘yes’ to more than one then truly we are brothers. If you have answered ‘yes’ to all of them I suggest you close this blog and reserve yourself immediate passage to Thailand, where specialists in their field are awaiting your arrival. At this point in your life a light and leisurely read is not something you should be pursuing.

In hindsight, it is possible to trace when your foot stumbles from the path and wavers onto the soft sand. Personally, it was when I moved to London. To many, such a move would represent a coming of age, moving away from their suburban confines to embrace the culture, excitement and diversity of England’s capital city. Yet, as with any other cultural conglomeration, London is a city that is home to many of the world’s richest, most successful and sexually available men. Although the latter is something that is easily achieved and was to become my speciality for a period of time, women seemed reluctant to exchange ready access to hard cash and status for my cherubic good looks.

Notes from the Desert

The Realisation

An Introduction