101 Reasons Why I’m Single

"Should I maybe not have said that?" Please don’t think for one moment that this blog is going to be nothing more than slagging off exes (unless of course that’s what you want, in which case drop a comment below). There will of course be a little bit of that… but the moral of that story (and I can thank a very good friend for this) is “Don’t be a dick if you don’t want to have people tell you you’ve been a dick when they hear about your behaviour” . Guys, you have been warned. But while I’m not a completely callous witch, I'd be lying if I suggested I'd always been a perfect little angel. For instance, I could tell you about the time I cheated on my boyfriend with my housemate, or that time I dumped a boy over the phone giving him all sorts of feeble excuses, assuring him it had nothing to with “that guy Tom” when he asked if it had anything to do with “that guy Tom”, only for me to be boyfriend/girlfriend with “that guy Tom” two weeks later, or that time I broke up w...

  “You really suck, you know that?” I’m not starting a blog to name and shame anyone (thanks brain, for already assuming there’ll be plenty of shame on the horizon), but I fully intend to document any dates, sexual encounters, one-night-stands, three-night-stands, relationships, situationships and everything in between, and I will be using this platform in part as my own personal TripAdvisor for Tinder. To spare my victims - sorry,  dates  - an ounce of humility, I’ll refrain from using their real names and instead opt for a suitable nickname. Subtle…  For instance, the last guy I dated (and who very nearly put me off ever wanting to date again) will be affectionately known hereafter as The Vampire. While he may not have sucked blood he certainly left me feeling drained in a more emotional sense (I was so tempted to call him Count Dickula, but I’ll save that for a post-cocktail blog post some other time).  I’d feel like a bit of a  count  to dismiss it...

"So, like, this is it then?" If the dating pool is an all-you-can-eat buffet, then dating in your thirties is arriving to the buffet towards the end of the party. The sandwiches have begun to dry and curl, the quiche is soggy, the dips have a skin and all of the good crisps have gone. Dating when you’re almost 40, as tall as I am, and have no desire (ever) to have a life involving children, well you may as well give up on the buffet and bring a packed lunch.