Tuesday, 10 February 2009

PhDs mean nothing

Hello again there, fair readers.

So, the weekend has come and passed and in a few hours it will officially be 'midweek'. The weekend was dull and eventful for the most part. After Friday night's uni-manual happenings, Saturday was spent on my lonesome relaxing and doing close to fuck all ahead of a hectic Sunday.

Sunday was spent scooting around doing a variety of odd jobs whilst trying to enjoy myself a bit as well. After all, even Lawyers have weekends (believe it or not). The North London derby was an early kick-off which meant having to meet my brother at the ridiculously early and unacceptable midday. The plan was to meet some buddies, watch the game, have a bevvie and take it from there. However, brother has recently split from girlfriend and has had up and downs. Sunday was a down. He looked like the visual personification of the shits. I would not recommend him to that woman from EastEnders who looks like a cross between a buzzard and one of 'The Witches' such was his state of physical non-attractiveness at that point.

So, I cancelled on the friends, we went to our aunt's instead (no beer, loads of tea and sausage and onion sandwiches galore) for solace and friendly faces. It's like 'Cheers' only without the joy, fun, hilarious quips from Ted Danson as he flirts with Shelly Long/Kirstie Alley, and the happy-go-lucky punters. Instead we get Emmanuel Eboue acting like a cwnt. Again. *sigh*

Anyhow, an awful match later and I decide to punish myself by going to the gym. This was a bad idea as I threw up afterwards on my way to doing a television interview with the Serbian equivalent of Sky Sports. That was incredibly random and I believe that the 'film crew' have at one time or another been baddies in '24'.

As you may have seen from my last entry, I was due to have a date with a PhD student called Clare after that. Unfortunately, she cancelled until Monday (trying to find a flatmate through Gumtree), which did allow me more sofa time. Or at least I thought.

For those of you who don't know, I am a heavy dater. In the American sense of the word. You find a nice girl, go out for a drink or dinner or some such, see what happens and if it is meant to be, then wonderful. If not, then it's an evening better spent than it would have been stuck at home fretting, depressed over the impossibility of meeting a woman in London and crying your eyes out on the sofa as you attempt to flagellate your flaccid and pathetic excuse for a penis which packed it's balls up and left three years ago. Or 'cry-maxing' as Kinky Steve refers to it as. NOT AS THOUGH I EVER DO THAT AND IF YOU TELL ANYONE I'LL FIND YOU AND KILL YOU.


Anyway, Clare cancelled, and whilst I expected a quiet night, I instead had to deal with a flood of text messages from two women I have had different liaisons with in the past few weeks. First up was Nat. Nat's a lovely and charming girl and as we were getting to know each other seemed to tick more and more of the 'boxes' as it were. Funny, cute, doing a PhD and about to qualify as a clinical psychologist... all rather promising.

Or so it seemed.

Nat is the dimmest girl on the face of the earth. Seriously. Despite being obviously book smart, she hasn't got a clue. The poor cow actually had an alarm on her phone that went off every three seconds simply saying "Breathe".

The main tell-tale signs were when we were walking around the Natural History Museum and she made a couple of worrying gaffes:

1) In the 'mammals' hall there is a giant replica of a blue whale. She was certain it was real and had been stuffed by a taxidermist. I looked deep into her eyes, nee, her SOUL to see if she was actually being hilarious. But alas, all I could see in those eyes was a four year old girl running through a meadow, eating candy floss and being chased by a puppy.

2) We then go into the dinosaur exhibition. We are strolling around, looking at the admittedly wonderful skeletons, and she turns to me, looks me in the eye and says "You can see where humans have come from when you see them like this, can't you?". I look confused and she picks up on this, but before she gets a chance to open her mouth I cut in with "How do you mean?". "Well, we've got skeletons, two arms and two legs, and you can see that in the dinosaurs". I was flabbergasted. We even went around the Anthropology exhibit later where it clearly shows how HUMANS COME FROM FUCKING MONKEYS, NOT CUNTING DINOSAURS and she still didn't seem to get it.

Anyway, we had a nice time, quick drink afterwards and she went off to her friends' house for the second of their three 'Lord of the Rings' theme nights where they all dress up as Middle Earthlings, eat Middle Earth food and watch the film DON'T GET ME STARTED.

We swap a text or two the next day (the Snow Day), it's all rather nice but we seem to come to the conclusion that it's not going to work out and we'll see each other around. Fine by me, all good, no worries.

And so we arrive at Sunday night, two days ago. Nat is out on the lash in Northampton (bloody students). I know this because she texted me 9 times to update me. All very nice and sweet and I reply with casual, non-committal "Glad you're having a nice time, but I'm trying to play Lego Batman so sod off"-type messages.

At this point, I get a lambasting from her (albeit via SMS). She starts effing and blinding (seriously - t'was the language of the snooker hall, not that of a nubile young lady. Even one from Birmingham) about how angry she is with me. Apparently I am supposed to 'woo her' and have made absolutely no effort to do so and as a result she doesn't want to see me again. This is completely and utterly true, but I remind her that we weren't going to see each other ever again anyway and that she probably needs to calm down a little. She then finishes the conversation by telling me that unless I buck my ideas up she's not going to ask me out again. I leave it there.

The second woman to contact me was "My Big Fat Greek Bedding" from last Wednesday's absolutely hilarious, Robin Askwith-like sex-capade. She wants to meet up again, I do not, and that was that. Sorted.

So, to Monday and Clare. Work was fine and generally uneventful (although I am still clearing up after one of my internal clients, known hereinafter as 'Fucknuts' sent a load of fatties skiing in Milton Keynes last week without any insurance in place. Tit), and then after a very quick session in the gym I met up with Clare.

It was the most uneventful date ever. Very, very nice, girl, clever (knows that humans and dinosaurs are different. That has now become a staple first date question, along with "favourite bands", "where did you to go to uni?" and "tits or face?"), great music collection, plays the ukulele... but absolutely no spark and she's barely free anyway. So there we go. Although she fancies going to a pub quiz next week so I guess we'll see.

And that's that. This week brings Valentine's Day (me and Kinky Steve drinking and crying. Probably), a hard rest-of-the-week at work, and maybe another date over the weekend depending on whether Camille the Film Producer gets back from the Berlin Film Festival in time.
I will of course keep you all updated, so keep smiling and I will speak to you all later.

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