I might just chop it off and donate it to science...

Good afternoon, Blog-fans. It has been far too long since my last confession.

I am writing this missive from an internet cafe in West Kensington. "And why is that?" I hear you ask. Well, it has been a bad couple of weeks or so for me all ready and this is the straw that has broken this particular camel's back.

My iPod died at the end of last week. Well, it hasn't died, in fairness, but I have had to take it in for some surgery. The headphone socket has gone and so I searched the internet for somewhere to get my iPod fixed and to save my musical soul. Google and my friend Andy came up with this place - http://www.ipodrepaircentre.com. As you can see, it seems well established, has been in this game for years and for just £45 I can listen to music again and the world will be a better place.

So, I begin the epic pilgrimage from Hackney. An overground and three tubes later, I arrive at the place. It is not the iPod relief hospital I had ben led to believe. It is instead your average, run of the mill, common and garden mobile phone shop run by a Turkish fellow and his daughter. I walk in and ask whether this is the iPod Repair Centre made so famous by the internet, to which he replies it is. I tell him I was expecting something more grandiose than this, to coincide with those images I had witnessed on the web, and had travelled all the way from Hackney for this. "Hackney? Bloody hell, mate, you should have said. My brother has a shop on Mare Street and he could have done this for you".

At this point, I start crying inside. But maybe I can rescue my afternoon by leaving my iPod with these highly trained professionals and getting to an HMV and spending something from my Xmas gift card. No chance. There is nothing around here. West London is officially shit. Fuck my life (http://www.fmylife.com).

Anyway, enough of that. You are here because you want to hear about my latest escapades with the laydeez. And there are plenty. PLENTY. All resulting in my failing, you will be delighted to know.

When I left you last, I had had two dates on a Sunday afternoon, with Theatre Girl and le Femme Fatale, and had two more dates lined up. So I shall fill you in on each of them.

Firstly, la Femme Fatale. Gorgeous, intelligent, well-read, sexy, interesting, interested in me - our first date went spectacularly. We got on as though we had known each other for ages and it was a pleasure - we even have a history of terrible dating experiences to share with each other! The conversation went all over the place, from favourite films, the unanswerable question as to how exactly James McAvoy has forged a Hollywood career, my love of the Arsenal, her singing in a punk rock karaoke band, and how you deal with people you meet on dates who want to go out again but who you have no interest in. Apparently her tactic is to send them an email simply saying "I know this is hard to believe but I have actually found love with someone else and although it is early days, I like this guy and don't think we should see each other any more". Genius.

Anyway, the date went well, I was eager to see her again and the feeling was mutual. However, the nature of her job (film producer, don't ya know) was such that she was unavailable until 5 March! This brings us up to the present.

So, imagine my delight when the other Tuesday she sends me a text out of the blue saying "Hey, I know it's short notice but I've got two tickets for a private screening of 'Watchmen' - wanna be my date?xx". Zut alors! I accept and meet her the next evening at the Odeon West End. We chat, we laugh, we discuss our jobs (my life? Dull. Her life? Awesome. She was off to have supper with Philip Seymour Hoffman's brother after the film to discuss a picture she has in pre-production. As you do...), and we watch the movie (7/10 - Snyder did the best he could but the whole thing is a bit messy).

She apologises afterwards for having to disappear, but insists we have a quick drink before she scarpers off which I happily accept. It's very nice, the chat is good and there is a big hug and kiss just off the mouth before we go our separate ways. I skip off into the sunset and the World is again a beautiful place.

The next morning I get into work and Variety are reporting that Ridley Scott has cast Russell Crowe as both Robin Hood AND the Sheriff of Nottingham in his new movie. I email the story to la Femme Fatale and we banter and have a chuckle before at the end of the email she writes as follows:

"I know this is hard to believe but I have actually found love with someone else and although it is early days, I like this guy and don't think we should see each other any more".

EH? I'm certain I had heard these words from her lips before somewhere... oh yes... she had already told me that this is how she dumps guys she just doesn't like. Bugger, and indeed, 'fuck my life'.

So, that was the end of her. C'est la vie. Anyway, I wasn't that disheartened as I was due to see Theatre Girl again that evening for our second date. Our first date was fantastic and we hit it off straight away, discussing theatre, art direction, South America and all manners of things before we parted company and she was keen to ask me out again.

That evening, still reeling slightly from The Curious Incident of la Femme Fatale in the Email, I met up with Theatre Girl around Waterloo and we shared a few cocktails and drinks and such, had more giggles, and this time a bit of a kiss and cuddle before she had to get her train home. We even discussed going out again at the weekend.

The next morning I get a "Thank you for a lovely evening" text and she suggests we go to some warehouse party / club-type thing in Dalston on Saturday night. The thing that pops into my head is that Dalston is pretty much where I live so this may be a leading question.

"YES" I immediately reply and she says "Great, the place is called Passing Clouds - check it!xx". So I turn to my friends at google, and I do.

Oh no. As you can see for yourself here, http://www.passingclouds.org , the place is cunt soup. Anywhere that has "Welcome, Dear Pilgrim" on it's front page is never going to be good for anything except rebuilding the hate in you that you had thought had subsided. It is a place for people who tell their friends to pronounce their names "Heeelene" even though it is spelt "Helen" and their parents call them "Helen". People who tell you that they listen to music 'ironically'. People who at parties when asked what they do for a living reply, "I'm actually a Wizard. I've been ordained as a Minister in my own Vegan pseudo-Communist Church".

I hate people like this more than pretty much anything. You know, cunts who have never experienced anything real. People who couldn't tell you what it is like to wake up in the arms of someone else whom you feel entrapped by and in awe of, almost completely powerless. People who have never listened to a song and had it leave them curled on the floor crying. People who had never felt the sheer release of joy in seeing their team score a last minute winner. People whose parents had never told them they loved them enough and hide behind these masks to hide themselves. People who live their lives according to what Charlie Brooker and fashionable 'ironic' websites tells them. People who think that THIS place is an acceptable drinking establishment - http://www.thelighte1.com. People who think Pete Doherty is the greatest poet and rock star of this generation but who couldn't tell you the names of any of his songs. People described by Jeff Stelling here (http://technorati.com/videos/youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DzdBuDSEokz0). People who I detest and pity in equal measure.

And I was going to have an evening full of them. FML, again.

The next day I get another text from her saying that she has friends coming to stay from Edinburgh so they're coming along too. So not only had any suggestion of sex been wiped out in an eleventh of a heartbeat, I had to find Wingmen from somewhere (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wingman_(social)) to support me. I tried everywhere and everyone greeted me with replies along the lines of "Depends on what type of do it is" - to which I forward the link to the Passing Clouds website. This leads to replies along the lines of "Fuck off". Kudos, then, to Kinky Steve who agreed to stand by my side the entire evening and entertain the out-of-towners whilst I looked to work my magic on Theatre Girl.

I don't know how, but it turned into a fun night. The place was not full of cunts and wasn't in any way cuntish. The 'Balkan Beats' we were threatened with had cancelled and been replaced with two live acts (I thoroughly recommend Jason O'Driscoll http://shambobala.com/jason/biog.html) who were moderately entertaining. We had a bit of a listen and a bit of a boogie and then retired to the chillout room upstairs for a laugh and a few more drinks before I phoned the girls a taxi at 4am and got them off home as Kinky Steve and I made the 15 minute walk home, in agreement that the evening went well and that she seems a cracking girl and completely 'my type'.

Midday the next day and I wake up in my bed still completely shattered and on my phone is a text message from Theatre Girl telling me that there is no spark between us and that we shouldn't see each other again. And there was me thinking her kissing me was a sign she liked me. Tsh!

So, onwards and upwards. Or so I thought. Following that I was back to the drawing board, and had three more first dates lined up over the next week - Elly the Actress, Tits McGee and TammyHorseyHockeySticks ("THHS").

Tits McGee and THHS went wonderfully well and we set up second dates very quickly indeed. Tits McGee is very cool and has a cheeky turn of phrase and razor sharp wit. We also ended up playing cards and sinking beers, and she is quite the Rummy player, I can tell you. THHS was nothing liked how I imagined her but fiendishly intelligent and very, very cute. I am sure there is more to come but I will update you further after the second dates. After all, looking at the above, it appears that that is where the funs comes... ;o)

But, before those girls I met up with Elly the Actress. We got on great over emails and the phone, and I was looking forward to it, especially after a nightmarish day at work where I again had to do Fucknuts' job for him. I get to the pub near Hampstead Heath and I buy us a bottle of decent red wine and we sit down by a log fire and start up some conversation.

CORRECTION. Conversation as defined by several dictionaries, "The spoken exchange of thoughts, opinions, and feelings; talk". The key word here is 'exchange'. There was none. Three hours later and I knew that girl inside out. Her friends, family, how her hunt for a new flatmate is going, her acting career and training, her teenage years, her summer jobs whilst at school, her favourite films, her mum and dad and their fucking musical careers within the English National Opera and favourite cunting Womble. She never asked me a single thing, knew nothing about me by the end of the evening and even thought my name was 'Daniel' (it is not). I was not impressed.

At this time, it was 10:30pm and I was rather sozzled and desperate to go home. We had finished our drinks and so I said to her "Well, what's the plan?" to which she says "Oh, there's a train in a couple of minutes but why don't we stay for a nightcap?"

I looked at her with an expression my face that resembled a man who had watched a stranger come into his living room on Xmas Day and literally piss on his children's heads and said "REALLY?" in my most indignant tone. She looked surprised and said "Oh, come on, it's Thursday and I don't have work in the morning!"

It is the first time I have ever ordered a drink out of sheer spite. I ordered a large Glenlivet and slunk in my chair hating this woman. She arrived back from the bar bemoaning how my drink had cost £8. I offered no apology and drank my whiskey earnestly as she continued talking about an audition she had that morning for a Nintendo advert where she was auditioning for the part of a woman in her late teens.

*NOT WITH THOSE CROW'S FEET, LOVE* xx

She finished her whine/wine and we went to the station where her train was waiting. I got to my platform and the next two trains had been cancelled. I had a 45 minute wait during which I sent a very sweary and abusive email to London Overground that I only remembered about the next morning. I am dreading the reply as I used the word 'scum' a lot. FUCK. MY. LIFE.

And that brings us up to speed! As mentioned above, there are more dates in the pipeline this week so I will keep you all posted once there is any news. In the meantime, take care of yourselves... and each other xxxx