Happy New Year!

One last post before we wave goodbye to 2012 and welcome in the New Year. In my case it will be with good friends, champagne and a smile on my face...for once!

Despite some tumultuous times over the last year, it has ended well with interesting changes in my career, all my friends still alive and well, and a new and interesting turn of events on the dating front....

Remember that glass of champagne I poured at the end of the last post...well, the accompanying email led to a few more, which led to copious texts and finally several hours on the phone to the man who lives a few seas, a continent or two and several thousand miles away...

I appreciate that, due to logistics, a quick Starbucks is out of the question and my mother may well be concerned that I'm setting myself to be sold into domestic slavery in a foreign land. She needn't worry - if the new potential date has any aspirations in that direction he'll soon realise that he will be giving a refund to potential purchasers. A domestic goddess I'm not!

What I am, is a little bit excited and, as aforestated, I only go on dates that I'm excited about these days! For the time being, and for reasons I shall not divulge at present, I shall call him Mr. P!

Mr. P likes champagne, 'works in metal' (literally or metaphorically, I shall let you guess) and travels a lot for business and pleasure, is a little older than me with (thankfully) grown up children and we get on well...at a distance at least... I have every confidence that when we meet we're bound to fall hard and fast for each other as the geographical complications would make the situation ...err... difficult to say the least! You know me...never one to make life easy for myself...but it's surely never dull!

So as 2012 passes into 2013 I shall raise a glass to my friends, life, Mr. P and readers of my blog...I hope that the new year will be as eventful as the last, with a few less rip curls along the way....but just enough to keep you all reading. Until then....Happy New Year!

Discount Dating!

Other people get 'round robin' notes in Christmas cards and emails from friends exaggerating the success of their offspring, listing the holidays and home improvements they've undertaken and  wishing festive cheer to every acquaintance who has ever flitted through their contact list. I had a few of those...

However, more prevalent amidst 2012's flurry of Christmas greetings was a barrage of emails from dating sites - large and small - offering discounts and, in once instance, a 7 day  free membership. Who was I to refuse? After all, you just never know and maybe all the good guys, who had had as many bad experiences as me and previously cancelled memberships in disgust, would take up the cudgel and join for a few days....I might get lucky...

So it was that I clicked the button to activate this Christmas gift from the kindly individuals at one of the broadsheet dating sites.

Clearly everyone of the other ten thousand members had the same idea as within 24 hours I was inundated with messages....half of which came from men who had emailed me before and I had politely declined due to geography, age or inability to write in sentences who had clearly forgotten our earlier communications; a few generic emails came from men who had clearly sent the same communication to every woman on the site within a certain age range and one came from a man who lived some considerable way away.

I shan't divulge where for now but, let's just say, it wouldn't be massively convenient to meet for a quick coffee. My immediate reaction was to think he must have misread my location. After reading his email I realised that he had not - therefore the obvious conclusion must be that he was mad, despite his eloquent and interesting missive. How did he think we were going to rendezvous in Starbucks when a sea, various continents and a few thousand miles divided us?!

God, the guy I dated, before Classified, struggled with a 150 mile distance! So what's a sane woman to do in these circumstances? Thanks, but no thanks, of course...

However, as you know, Daisy's sanity is clearly already questionable ... on the basis she still believes in love and romance despite everything ....so she did what any insane person would do....poured herself a glass of champagne and emailed him back.....would this be the first installment of many....?

Sex, drugs & criminal law!

I shall leave Mr. Cruise for the time being - as it turned into something of a shipwreck, albeit that no-one died -and tell you about the recent exploits of myself and my criminal defence colleagues...

As the festive season is upon us, we are obliged to enjoy ourselves (apparently)!

Certain of my clients have definitely been enjoying themselves recently - there was the man who, having been dumped by his partner, had taken up gardening wearing her bra and thong after bombarding her with 300 texts in 10 days; then there was the young man guilty, allegedly, of assault by spoon! Yup, it's true...a dessert spoon, as I recall!

And what have their briefs been up too whilst our clients have been keeping the local constabulary busy? Why, sex and drugs of course, albeit that no offences were committed.

Summonsed to arrive at the airport at some unearthly hour a week before Christmas, our party of six was met by boarding cards to Amsterdam! No soggy sprouts or overcooked poultry us. Whisked off to lunch in a superb restaurant, after a canal trip to see the sights, I felt extremely fortunate to be part of such a great team.

Many memorable moments ensued...not least the cuddly pink teddy bears with pierced genitals (why?!) and the passive inhalation of a ton of dope as we passed a 'coffee shop' .....

Sadly, one of our number remained in the UK to defend our client base who, predictably, were out in force on the night before our trip raping and pillaging (or in truth, assaulting people with spoons and wearing women's underwear)...he did volunteer...

A fantastic day had by all - perfect sustenance to get the single woman through the endurance test ahead....Christmas & New Year!

This Christmas however....something quite unexpected and potentially exciting happened...it started with a free 7 day membership to a dating site...

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday, to my Mr. Cruise!


50 today!


Will life begin at 50.....time will tell...


Rest of the story to follow soon....x

Love Boat - Meeting Mr. Cruise!

You will have noticed a dearth of dates recently. Whilst I have a profile online,  and have had a few 'expressions of interest', I have not actively pursued the delights the Internet has to offer over recent weeks. I've thought about it, I've even logged on a couple of times but cannot face the inevitable onslaught of uninspiring, badly written, often inappropriate, messages.

There is a man...a 'real life' one ... who I have not yet written about, but who has featured intermittently in the background of my life  .... I think now is the time to introduce him. ...

Our friendship began two and half years ago in the most unlikely of locations - the QM2 - I was on a cruise with my mother; he with his father. I shall call him Mr. Cruise.

Arriving at Southampton's docks, I felt pretty good in a new outfit and recently acquired tan. Whilst checking in, I turned to find myself standing next to a gorgeous and very tall man who, unlike every single other good-looking male in the Ocean Cruise Terminal, did not appear to be surgically attached to a trophy blonde.

Ordinarily, when confronted with an attractive man the self-assurance, displayed in other areas of my life, deserts me; I fiddle with my hair, blush furiously, avert my gaze and am generally incapable of eye contact or coherent conversation.

However, for once something strange happened. As we progressed through the security scanners and were directed to different queues - I glanced over and, for the very first time in my life, caught a handsome stranger’s eye and smiled, instead of my usual modus operandi as detailed above.

I’m not sure what passed between us but, as I glided into the magical world that is the QM2, I wondered what his story might be….

My musings were short-lived as, after discovering the majesty and sheer size of the ship, any ideas I may have had about our paths crossing later in the voyage, were dashed.
So it was something of a surprise when, only an hour later, at muster station F - a location that will be permanently branded on my memory – he appeared again. Not only that, but he approached me and began chatting. 

‘You look very familiar … do I know you?’

‘Err ... I don’t think so,’ I blushed, whilst wishing vehemently that I did know him.

Despite his corny opening gambit, I still found myself grappling for something more intelligent to say, as I did not want this clichéd exchange to be the extent of our conversation.

'Unless you’re a policeman…?’ Oh my God – why did I say that...

‘Funny you should say that but, yes, I was for 15 years.’

‘Really,’ I spluttered.

The only certainty about this conversation was that I was being chatted up by a sexy man who was going to think I was a semi-literate moron with an unhealthy interest in men in uniform! So it was with surprise that, after exchanging further pleasantries, he asked if we’d be at the Sailaway Party later, before disappearing to find his father ... leaving me with the distinct and inexplicable impression that someone either extremely lovely or extremely dangerous ...but, definitely very important, had just walked into my life....to be continued...

The Tale of the Moustachioed Fairies!

This week I had a particularly difficult night at the local nick. Dealing with two juvenile offenders who, whilst by no means angels, were not the prolific professional burglars the police were trying to make out. I was lied too ('We told your colleague this. Didn't she tell you'), undermined ('You don't have to listen to your brief. She's not got your best interests in mind; she's just dragging things out so she gets paid more')...

For the uninitiated, criminal legal aid work is not a lucrative business; fixed fees mean that whether you're at the police station for 20 minutes or 20 hours you get paid the same - the grand sum of £220....but worse than the erroneous nonsense being spouted by the local upholders of the law, was their collective appearance....

About halfway through the second interview, I was beginning to wonder whether I was in some sort of parallel universe. Had I stepped back to the bad old days of the 70's -pre-Police & Criminal Evidence Act - when confessions were obtained by all manner of foul means and corruption was rife...it wasn't just the dubious attitudes and shadowy visits to clients' cells when I wasn't present, but the giant hairy caterpillar lookalikes that appeared to be a new and disconcerting trend slithering across the faces of every police officer I encountered.

I felt like I was in the Sweeney or Life on Mars...then the penny dropped - Movember!!

At least the moustaches could be forgiven, if not the rest!

At least it reminded me that I'd promised to make cakes for the office this week to raise money for Movember - two dozen mustachioed fairies (cakes) currently grace my kitchen!

Now there's an interesting concept....

 

In Memory of a very Special Man...

Apologies for my prolonged silence over recent days. By way of explanation, if one is needed, a series of events over recent weeks have left me in contemplative mood and,only now, am I ready to share my musings.

It started at the end of October with the anniversary of my father's recent and sudden death; bereavement is a very personal thing, affecting everyone in different ways...from my perspective it was devastating. His death was unexpected and uncompromising - 68, a devastating stroke, he was here and two weeks later he was gone.

A counsellor I have discussed my feelings with concluded that I was suffering from post-traumatic stress arising from the manner in which he died.

Whilst dealing with the anniversary of this awful event, I received Classified's text, which upset me more than it should; not least because it came from a man who I had actually begun to like a little and elevated from the dating slush pile as he seemed worth it.

Matters were compounded a few days later when I can across a former love on Linked In. Not just a lover but friend, confidant and the man I thought was The One, after so many previous disappointments - many of which you've read about.

He was tall, impossibly handsome, funny and, I thought...for the six months we were together... rather lovely. He had no money and an acrimonious relationship with his ex-wife but none of that mattered. I loved him unconditionally and when he ended our relationship , without warning, by text....indicating just how disposable I was to him....I spiralled into such a bad place I thought I would never recover.

Good old Daisy who always bounced back, smiling through the tears, had finally sustained an irreparable puncture. His departure from my life broke my already battered heart and led to a meltdown which I would never have believed possible....7 months off work when I could barely get out of bed and a lonely, slow and painful climb back to life and health. Having just regained this fragile sanity, my father died without preamble.

One of the last things he said before stopping breathing and being rushed to ICU and, subsequently leaving us, shall live with me for ever. He was delirious, confused and thought I was my sister who is happily married with two gorgeous children.This is what he said:

'You're ok darling you have M to look after you. I just need to know your sister's ok and has someone to look after her, then I can go.'

You see, whilst my father had his flaws, he was a gentleman and cared deeply for those around him, most of all about his beloved family and, in his old fashioned way, he believed that a marriage and the support that went with it would ensure his daughters' would be cared for in the way he had always cared. Knowing he died without realising that wish is, at times, almost impossible to bear. For him I keep going and try to keep smiling through the tears....This post is for him and those who loved him so we can all remember how special he was...and I've added a field of poppies to signify just how many lives he touched....

Until I meet someone with the same integrity as my dear old dad, who does not regard it as acceptable to stand people up, end a relationship by text, lie about his marital status and worse, then I shall remain single however excruciatingly lonely that may be at times.

Such men are rare as wrinkles in Hollywood ... but with a birthday imminent, heralding yet a few more wrinkles on my own face, and a few lovely events coming up with friends from home and abroad over the coming weeks, I'm determined not to give up the faith...however seemingly impossible that might be at times...

And now, mon braves, it is time to don the warpaint to cover the wrinkles and once again smile through the pain....maybe I shall use the money my mother gave me to rejoin a dating site....or maybe, I shall put it to much better use and drink myself silly on champagne with all my friends this evening (including Mr. Socks!)....whatever, I shall smile...and, undoubtedly, have more stories for you soon...maybe, and I'm ever hopeful, with a happy ending.....

Cold Feet!

Thank God it's a new week, as last week didn't turn out to be a great one. Sad to report that not only was I 'sacked' in a professional capacity by the young shoplifter, Classified also bolted, after an intial bout of man flu turned into a serious case of cold feet.

I only have myself to blame as I ignored my own advice and dated yet another man too soon; whilst the debris of divorce still loomed large in his life.

I've been there before - twice. On both occasions I became the innocent casualty of the divorce monster - becoming very close to men who weren't ready, only to be dumped by text/email some months later. In this instance, short of decanting to Australia until Classified had sorted out his domestic carnage, I couldn't have given him more space ... so just shows that if it's meant to work it will do regardless of whether you follow 'The Rules'.

He didn't tell me in person - I received a text about everything going on in his life and why he couldn't have a relationship. I suppose it's an improvement on 'Fuck off. You're sacked,' but not much, even though I sympathise with the pressure he is under.

He did, however, want to carry on 'hanging out' with me - whatever that means. I thought that's what we were doing anyway - spending time getting to know each other, enjoying a mutual attraction. I wasn't exactly planning a fast track to the altar!

This episode brings me back to the insidious side of the Internet world. As it is so easily accessible, very decent people join out of curiosity long before they're ready and people like me who join with emotional baggage safely stored and the intention of doing something positive to meeting someone new end up as the casualties.

Classified is a decent man, and I still like him a lot, but is nowhere near ready to date. Unfortunately for me, in the process of working that out, he gave me every reason to believe that he could see us having a relationship if we just took things slowly - after all, it was him who was suggesting future holidays in Dubai, telling me how comfortable he felt around me, planning new year in New York, inviting me away on business junkets to exciting places and generally behaving in a manner that suggested he saw us together going forward.

He then got cold feet and I'm left feeling like I've had a bucket of cold water thrown at me....

Who knows, maybe he'll call when he finds his winter socks...and warms up!

The 'F' Word!

It was a very long night. Six clients advised and 4am after a 17 hour stretch at the police station, I was secretly quite pleased when my services were unceremeoniously dispensed with by a young shoplifter who didn't like my advice. As he so eloquently put it, 'F*ck off; you're sacked!'

An occupational hazzard in the role of a criminal lawyer when you tell a client the true position rather than the one he or she wants to hear. It generally goes something like this:

Me - 'You're going to be charged with theft.'

Client - 'I don't give a sh*t what they charge me wiv. Just f*cking get me outta here.'

Me -  'Ok, well I shall make representatives to the Custody Sergeant but...'

Client - 'Just get me out. I ain't done nuffin. Not guilty all the way. Those b*stards stitched me up.'

Me - 'Ok. I hear you, but you do have 26 previous convictions for theft, are on bail for 3 outstanding dishonesty matters and have failed to surrender on bail in the past. I will do my best, but...'

Client - 'F*UCK OFF. You're sacked...'

Believe it or not, my job does have an upside...! This isn't one of them...Later...

 

Life of crime!

I spent most of this weekend working. After my brief incarceration on Saturday, I spent most of today dealing with individuals at various police stations across the county - the most noteworthy being a man who dropped his trousers midway through interview to show the interviewing officers the bite marks on his backside before swearing, on the life of his water dragon, that he was telling the truth. Yes, really!

Well, in light of the slightly unbelievable account he was giving about the alleged offence, it was probably preferable he was swearing on the life of his pet rather than anyone more significant!

I do sometimes wonder what life is all about. Prone to over analysis, I often drive home in the early hours from bizarre interviews under caution wondering whether this is what the rest of my life is going to amount too - listening and advising others on incidents arising out of the most basic of human frailties.

Whilst, for the most part, I try and laugh about the absurdity of it all, it would be lovely to know that sometime someone would actually give a damn about whether I make it home after another long night or not... Crikey, if the photo is anything to go by...even water dragons come in pairs!

For now, I must go and advise in the curious case of a missing washing line (and washing)!

The work of a criminal lawyer is never done (and rarely ever dull)!

Holy Orders!

This morning I found myself in the dock. Not deliberately you understand but, having attended an unfamiliar court to deal with a client remanded in custody overnight, I was directed to the cells by a security guard. Clearly I wasn't paying enough attention as, without boring you with the detail, I found myself knocking on a door that I thought would lead me to the cells. I was wrong...

After several unsuccessful attempts at attracting the jailer's attention I gave up. It was only at this point I realised that, whilst one could enter the glass screen encasing the dock easily enough, leaving it was a different matter entirely. I was locked inside with no means of escape, no one around and feeling more than a little vulnerable. I really had no idea how I was going to resolve my latest predicament, without looking like a prize imbecile, although, in the circumstances, minor humiliation was probably the least of my worries!

Thankfully, ten minutes later I was rescued by the security guard who was concerned about where I'd got too and was trying his very best not to laugh when he realised my predicament.

Considering my inability to get myself out of custody, it didn't bode well for the man I was supposed to be representing!

When I finally met him he had the most interesting set of previous convictions I'd ever seen, including a couple of convictions for 'engaging in riotous, violent or indecent conduct in a place of worship' - an ancient offence that hit the statute books in 1860, apparently...

The mind boggles about what he might have been doing - too much communion wine perhaps or punching the vicar, maybe? Err no...apparently he'd been fornicating by the font - caught with a lady friend and his pants down, in an extremely compromising position!
Happily the Magistrates took pity on him, deciding the emabarrassment of being found is such a state had probably already been punishment enough, and imposed a very small fine.

NOTE TO MR. FISH (who you may recall, from my very first post, is into God and big boobs) - never mix the two, unless you want to get arrested, as I definitely won't be around to bail you out!

And talking of places of worship, last weekend I went to a church wedding, which I shall tell you about in my next post...and...no...it wasn't my own...although Classified is still around...later!

Riding the dating wave!

Ireland was fantastic! I expected nothing else, in light of the friend I was staying with and her country's reputation for great craic!

I almost came unstuck, when hit upon in a bar by the local multi-millionaire (yes, really) which might have been fun, had he not been 80.

Gold digging is not a pastime I am proficient in, neither do I wish to become so, hence his relegation to the Reginald box of 'thanks but no thanks' and shall remain anonymous for blog purposes.

Back home I was met by Classified who managed to look nonchalantly chic as he sat waiting for me in arrivals. Any bloke who can look good in a tight fitting navy shirt has my vote...and the vote of most of the UK's gay population, apparently; he informed me on our fifth date that he regularly gets hit on by gay men and I can see why....

Date 5 has progressed to date 6 and 7 and we're still having fun. There have been brief moments of uncertainty in the Classified camp - mostly because he can't believe how well we get on and, having separated in the more recent past than is ideal (my major red flag!), it had not been part of his game plan to meet someone so soon....

Of course I'm aware of the risk of fraternising with separated, as opposed to properly divorced, men! Its a scenario that has caused carnage in my romantic life in the past and I am therefore very aware of the lure of a retreat to the cave for men in this transitional period

Therefore, for my part, on the surface, I remain more supine than a dead goldfish; below the surface, let's just say that's classified...for now!

However, I'm convinced Classified is one of the good guys ...not a statement I make lightly, albeit I may be about to wish I hadn't tempted fate by saying that, but whatever the future holds - and who can predict that - we're having a lot of fun now just riding the dating wave.

More salient points, for those who are interested:

• He thinks he can cook; he probably can although next time he offers I'll ensure it's not after several pints of beer as the steak was ruined and the kitchen looked like Armageddon afterwards!
• He loves chocolate (bad for my waist and his much coveted abs)!
• He has a tattoo....although not one he planned! A drunken night as a teenager saw a dolphin appearing on his shoulder. It could have been worse - the same night his best mate ended up with a huge heart adoring his chest! Classified has long since had the sealife disguised by some sort of abstract Celtic pattern (after being advised that if he just had it removed the scar tissue would lead to a white dolphin riding his back every time he got a tan)!

Good job he has a sense of humour and I have, as you'll know from earlier posts, a natural affinity with sealife! Remember Mr. Fish?! Later..

Stud Muffin!

As I can't rewrite history, I think I'll stop writing about it for now, and concentrate on the present. So what's been happening in Daisy's world this week?

Yesterday, I had one of my other professional hats on, and was leaving the office of a client when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the side view of a ruddy faced man who had apparently been caught short and decided to relieve himself against the wall of said client's office. As I averted my gaze and marched out, I heard a gravelly voice yell, 'Hey, Miss.'

As there was no-one else in the vicinity, I assumed said voice was talking to me. I turned to see a criminal client I had helped  just last weekend, by persuading the police that the allegations against him were baseless and should be dropped, grinning inanely and proffering a grubby hand for shaking. 'Sorry, you shouldn't have seen that.'

Err...no...I shouldn't... and knowing where that hand had just been, as you might imagine, I wasn't too keen on seeing that either, let alone shaking it, so dropped my papers in an effort at distraction therapy which, thankfully, worked. Who'd be a criminal hack?!

Anyway, enough of the night job, what you really want to know is about Classified. I've seen him 4 times now with a fifth date arranged - that in itself is a miracle - not least as he's one of the few people I've met in recent years that I actually want to see more than once but, also, that the feeling is mutual!

I met Mr. Dyson for lunch yesterday. He and Classified have a few traits in common. Hopefully not too many, in light of what ultimately happened with Mr. D, but enough to maintain interest. I haven't established yet whether Classified has an obsession with hoovers - let us hope not!

Anyway, a few more salient points for those who are interested which, if recent blog viewing figures are anything to go by, may be many of you:

• he's very driven and focused on getting what he wants from life (which, currently, seems to include me and a washboard stomach - his, not mine );
• he's very confident, in an Alpha male sort of way, but this is a tempered with a recognition that, in a relationship, he needs someone capable of giving him a metaphorical right hook (his words) when he's being a dingbat (I knew all the boxing with my PT was for a reason; I just didn't know what at the time!);
• he is bloody sexy - I woke up this morning to find a black and white photo of him with the accompanying message 'Night! Love Stud Muffin x' Not sure if he was being serious or laughing at himself. It made me laugh, anyway...maybe that should be his new sobriquet?

Right, I need to disappear now as I'm off on a course and then off to play with my friends in Ireland for the weekend, followed by a Sunday afternoon playing with Classified! Back next week. Enjoy your weekend everyone and will report back soon...

Paris (Mis)match!

Having been somewhat distracted by Classified over the last few days, it's high time I told you about Paris (Mis)match and the hand, or paw, that Tangle had in our meeting.

In my wisdom, I posted a photo of myself and Tangle on my profile on Udate. Seemed appropriate at the time, especially as Udate was also known as Zoodate (and even Screwdate by some of its members)!

Anyway, this very brief liaison began when Paris (Mis)match sent an email to Tangle which greatly appealed to my sense of humour....some woofy banter went back and forth and I agreed to meet this fellow lawyer, who loved Border Terriers (apparently), for supper.

A pleasant Tuesday evening ensued and he enquired as to my intentions regarding continued Zoodate membership! I said this depended on whether I was swept off my feet along the way...

After a moments thought he said, 'How about a second date in Paris?'

Despite his slightly pasty chinless looks, I laughed and said yes, as such madness appealed to my sense of spontaneity.

So it was that 4 days later I found myself at Heathrow waiting anxiously for Paris (Mis)match, already 45 minutes later than our agreed meeting time. With seconds to spare before check-in closed he skidded into the airport in a flurry of Gucci loafers, bright red jeans and mumbled apologies about a hangover and late dinner party with 'chums' Hermione, Plum and Rupert the evening before.

He smelt like a bottle of Hendricks and, when he kissed me hello, tasted like a packet of Marlboro Lights, and looked so crumpled it was questionable whether he'd seen a toothbrush and change of clothes since the previous day but, undeterred, I decided it would be an adventure regardless...wouldn't it?

24 hours later, having done Paris (in separate rooms, I might add), and wanting to hit him several times as he had no conversation and his response to everything was 'Yah' in that affected drawl, beloved of the ruling classes, I knew he was never going to settle down with a comprehensive-educated girl who's friends were called things like Sara, Jane and Jim, as opposed to Octavia, Giles and Sim. More to the point hand-made shirts, Gucci loafers and all the grand gestures in the world were no compensation for lack of personality and lack of a chin.

We parted company and, whilst he promised to call, I hoped vehemently that he wouldn't.
That was the last time I allowed Tangle to have a paw in my love life.
 

Pants on fire?!

Well, well, I seem to be having a rather good time with Classified. No-one could be more surprised than me, at this unexpected turn of events...

So perhaps I should divulge a little more... especially as Classified himself has complained that my posts about him thus far are tame and asked when he can expect the next installment.

This was coupled with his unconditional consent to write whatever I like - if needed, yet more reassurance for my dissenting commentator that those I write about enjoy their infamy!

So that leads me to the question of what I should write?

Well, for a start he is rather attractive and becoming more so each time we meet. This is a man who can even make a conversation about decoding algorithms (it's a long story) fascinating!

It's amazing how interesting a man you fancy can make the most uninteresting subject sound! And this man is seriously sexy - taller than me (8 inches to be precise!), knowing brown eyes and a sufficient modicum of EQ, all wrapped up in a body that's 4 years younger than mine and certainly a match for my beloved Johnny!

He's even more direct than I am (not easy, as my friends will vouch for) and asks me the sort of questions in his dulcet Mancunian tones that make even me blush . When I'm not playing with my hair in some sort of dopey, subconscious mating ritual, I'm generally opening and shutting my mouth like a demented Koy carp - enthralled and stunned in equal measure by his ability to leave me speechless (impossible, my friends yell).
And aside from the fact he's handsome (which is official as his 89 year old neighbour told him so just last week) he's apparently also blessed with killer sperm - or so he announced on our third date...

Not quite sure what he meant by that - isn't that something of a dichotomy?! 

Maybe he possesses some random genetic component, specific to him, that leads to instant death on entry. More research clearly necessary, before I engage in such life threatening behaviour because, just for the record, I haven't...yet...and, when and if I do, I will not be providing a detailed account! Remember, I am Daisy, not Belle de Jour...

Classified has the potential to set my knickers on fire, so I should probably get back on Match.com and line up a fireman as back up!

'Be careful,' wail my friends. I understand why and I love them for caring but they need not fear. I'm conscious of the red flags so care is being taken.

For now all I shall say is this - events of the last few years, in various aspects of my life, have given me the resilience of a rattlesnake and the foresight to have fun whilst I can for, as the cliche goes... Iife ain't a rehearsal...and I, for one, have spent to many years rehearsing and at the moment... I'm certainly having fun ;-)....

Later.....!

Time to Declassify?!

Well, well....for once, I have some tentative good news to report...

Classified and I had a lovely evening on Wednesday. So much so that we regrouped and met again on Thursday.

We met in a great country pub, chosen by him, which he swore was not somewhere he took all his dates. In fact I am, apparently, only his second date since the demise of his 16 year marriage and the first date was not a raging success...

I plan on saying little for the moment and operate on a 'need to know basis' - the definition of 'need' being based on the fact that my friends are all begging for further information so, in order to put them out of their misery, I will say only this:

• he is tall, dark and handsome (such a cliche but, in this case, true)
• he's a straight talking Northerner (big tick) who's migrated South
• he's funny and bright and strong enough to tell me when I'm being a dingbat (essential)
• on initial impressions, he appears to be a grown up (yes, really)
• we have arranged a third date (and I'm looking forward to it) despite a few red flags...

I may have to think up a new sobriquet for him soon...

The Len Show!

Don't ask why but, yesterday, I attended a national conference run by a man - lets call him Len - about the fascinating topic of waste management.

I accept that the subject matter was never going to be riveting, but I didn't envisage it could be as bad as it was.

We only got to no. 5 of 11 agenda items, as Len spent most of the time telling us about himself and his vast experience in this scintillting field. I don't know why he bothered with course notes; he may as well just have read out his CV over and over again.

I'm not sure about the One Show; it was more like the Len Show!

He was very proud of the fact that he pays private investigators less than the minimum wage of a poor African state to sit in hedges for days on end, recording every moment of people's illegal waste dumping activities!

Apparently, his investigative tactics are not appreciated by everyone. In fact one of his quarries was driven so mad by his persecutor that he carried a pair of shears about his person everywhere he went and randomly hacked hedges into topiary abstracts! Len was very proud of this fact too....

I'm surprised I haven't come across him on a dating site...he is just the sort of man that appears to be drawn to sending me messages!

And talking of dating....whilst I am not ready to declassify Classified just yet and I will share a little more with you soon...for now, I shall just say this....thankfully, he and Len have nothing in common...

Who needs John Humphreys?!

Well, Classified called to arrange date, suggesting three different options.

So far so good - called as promised (tick), was organised and interested enough to make the effort to come up with some great choices (tick). He just needs to turn up and he gets full marks!

And surely even I can't get stood up two dates running, can I?

I'm off to a conference tomorrow, 150 miles away, with colleagues, one of whom I have got to know well over recent months. Said colleague is driving and when I told her I had a date tonight she said 'Great! You can provide the in-car entertainment!'

Such optimism! It's a good job I've managed to retain a sense of humour!

Sad thing is, she's probably right! Whatever happens tonight it's likely to be more entertaining than even John Humprey's brilliant journalism on the Today programme.

Wish me luck...

Classified!

To my regular readers, I apologise for the lack of posts over recent days. I know, because some of you have asked the question offline, that you have been wondering whether my silence has been down to the fact that I've met a potentially significant other at last. Not yet, I'm afraid.

However, you may quite reasonably be wondering what has become of the aforementioned potential dates...and what other excitement has occurred, since I penned Hedge Fun?

Not enough in my view.

His Hotness, along with his uniform, has disappeared into the ether never to be heard from again. I could tell you what he does for a living and get him, in his words, 'into serious trouble'. I won't because I'm not vindictive, but it does beg the question why he divulged such classified information to a woman he does not know, so cannot know whether he can trust, if he was planning on going to ground a few days later?

Left Luggage went the same way...

The entrepreneurial one who was worryingly recently separated announced, the day before I had tentatively agreed to meet him, that he'd met someone else and it was all going very well and he thought he'd fallen for her, so couldn't meet. Doesn't that smack just a little of neediness, albeit that I didn't have high hopes for him anyway. On the positive side, he did at least have the decency to be honest rather than just stand me up.

And the others, should I meet them? Here's the dilemma....if you're not excited about a date before it even happens is it worth going?

Amidst a very busy working life and a social life to rival Prince Harry's (without the naked pool playing), charity work (yes, yes, I know I sound like a Miss. World contestant, even if I don't look like one) and my pretence at keeping fit, I don't have a great deal of time. I would happily make the time for the right man, if he appeared in my life, but the time taken in finding him, which generally ends up being wasted, is having something of a negative impact on both my sanity and my optimism...

On the other hand, is it fair to judge the likely compatibility of a date on the face of a few emails and possibly a telephone call? It may sound harsh but, yes, I think I and my friends who've dated for England over the last few years would probably say it it is fair.

So, for the next month at least, I'm only going to go on dates that I'm excited about. Obviously, such excitement may not translate into real life when we meet but at least there's a fighting chance.

So, tonight, I am going on a date that I'm very excited about. There are one or two 'red flags', but I'm fast coming to the conclusion that these are inevitable at my age and are merely a reminder that careful and cautious handling of my heart is required rather than instant dismissal of his. In the interests of avoiding jinx, I am saying absolutely nothing, other than I'm meeting him tonight ... if he calls me today to arrange time and place that is ... and, for now, I shall call him Classified....

Tangle & Time Delay (Part 2)!

Time Delay was handsome, successful and interested...ok, he wasn't that interesting, but isn't every relationship a compromise?

Whilst he didn't mess with my electrics, in the manner of certain boyfriends past, he was worth a second date...even though on the first one I bumped into Craig - the aforementioned handsome neighbour and his lovely wife - who didn't look convinced...

I think it was something to do with the delay between questions and response....just like those phone calls we used to have with friends in far flung places before digital technology.

Anyway, having convinced myself it was what I thought that matters, not what my friends thought, I agreed to a third date. Trouble was, I didn't think that much...a nice guy but he/we didn't have that je ne sais quoi. In fact he/we didn't have a great deal in common or connection at all, aside from being the proud owners of dogs - mine recently acquired; his a more established relationship.

So it was that we decided a dog walking third date would be a great idea (with Tangle on lead, obviously). Privately, I hoped the meeting of testy terrier and well-behaved water spaniel might provide a useful talking point to make conversation easier. And might have the added benefit of teaching Tangle a few manners...

Alas, it wasn't to be. After a stressful walk with Tangle barking loudly for the duration, we got back to my place and Time Delay suggested I took off  his lead (Tangle's, not Time Delay's!)and let the dogs 'sort it out themselves'. Sadly, they did just that... Tangle leapt on his new canine acquaintance and bit his ear ... his victim scuttled under his master's chair whining pitifully with blood puring from his wound.Time Delay, quite reasonably, made his excuses and left.

Can't say I blamed him and it didn't exactly break my heart...but, being a realist, I had to acknowledge that maybe Tangle wasn't to be the aid to my lovelife I had initially hoped...that was until Paris Match saw a photo of him on my dating profile....

Comedy of Terriers - Introducing Tangle (Part 1)!

I haven't told you yet about Tangle - a much loved, but behaviourally challenged rescue dog that I gave a home, after the sad demise of my relationship with Mr. Dyson. At the time, I was feeling decidedly unloved and, having toyed with the idea of getting a hound for sometime, decided this was the right time. And, as an added bonus, I'd just read that Davina McCall met her husband dog walking - win win, or so I thought....

Tangle was 18 months old when I offered him my spare dog basket and came with a reasonable reference! What I hadn't factored in was the schizophrenic tendencies of a young terrier with 3 homes since birth and no training. I also hadn't factored in falling in love with the chocolate eyed shaggy bundle of frenetic energy, soon to be dubbed by my friends  the Terrorist Terrier, who turned my life upside down.

His arrival in my life was not dissimilar to the arrival of a bad date and I should not have ignored the signs when, on our first walk, he leaped on a startled passing Newfoundland in a flurry of growls before being flipped onto his back and pinned down by a giant black paw. As I soon discovered, the bigger the canine opponent, the more Tangle loved the challenge. Unsurprisingly, I enjoyed it somewhat less.

Not that I'm suggesting any of my dates have jumped on a Newfoundland and started growling (not even I've been that unlucky...yet), but their behaviour has often been on a par as you will have noted from earlier posts...

After our third walk, I decided that to preserve my sanity and the lives of other dogs quietly minding their own business, it would be prudent to keep him attached to me when out walking. Instead of a canine missile, I then had to contend with a barking banshee whirling on his lead, meaning that every other person walking within biting distance, gave me an extremely wide berth....so much for meeting a man out dog walking!

Of course, even though I realised very soon into my tenure as the responsible owner of a canine of mass destruction, that he wasn't going to make my life easy, I was not unused to taking on needy males...in fact, in those days I positively gravitated towards them so it was, that I convinced myself I could fix him and set about the task. The first casualty of the battle for supremacy between myself and Tangle was Time Delay..... I'll tell you why in my next post...

Room with a View!

Lying on my bed in a huge suite in a Brighton seafront hotel a few days ago I was thrilled that, for once, the promised 'sea view' did not involve standing on one leg with my head poked out of the bathroom window at a precarious angle...

This particular bay windowed, channel-facing vista offered full frontal delights of Brighton at its best - a man with a paper bag over his head (with holes cut out for his eyes), two boys with trousers hanging so dangerously low that if they hadn't had their pants on we would indeed have been confronted with full frontals, a man with oversized white plastic headphones and braces pulling his trousers so high he could have passed for Simon Cowell, were it not for his massive paunch, full face of make up and the slightly odd jig he was doing back and forth along the sea front.

He reminded me of a concept that a young friend had been telling me about recently - silent discos. Apparently, these involve each participant being given a set of headphones on entry playing different music - so whilst Bill is dancing to Staying Alive, Ben might  be strutting his stuff to the Vienna Waltz. Hilarious to watch ... apparently! Of course, after a few glasses of wine, I think I'm Olivia Newton John regardless of the musical accompaniment, so always ready and willing to provide the entertainment!

I love Brighton although acknowledge it may not be the best place for me to search for a soulmate because, as our cabbie pointed out, after reassuring us that he operated a no crash policy, if you see a good looking bloke here, there's a 95% chance he's gay (and, in my view, probably a lot more fun than recent dates)!

NOTE: I have been quiet for the last few days because, aside from a houseful and a trip to the seaside,  I have apparently managed to 'corrupt' my laptop screen with a wayward glass of spilt wine. I have corrupted myself and various boyfriends with copious glasses of wine over many years; I just hadn't realised the same was possible with a computer!

The Top Ten!

Whilst I will try, I may not blog for a day or two as it's like the United Nations around here at the moment with friends visiting from both Australia and the USA so, to keep those of you amused who haven't been reading this blog since it started, and have too many demands on your time to read all previous posts, I thought you might like to know the 10 most hit upon entries so far, in case you've missed any of the most popular ones.

1. The Italian Job!
2. Mr. Dyson - Happy Never After (Part 6)!
3. Vest man!
4. Calm down, dears!
5. Wanted: Partner in romantic crime!
6. I love men!
7. Date Debrief!
8. Mr Dyson - The Advertisement (Part 1 of many)!
9. Mr. Fish!
10. The Surgeon!

Hope you enjoy them, more than I enjoyed some of these experiences!

It's a dog's life!

This has to be one of the best singles ads ever printed.

It is reported to have been listed in the Cornish Guardian and, whilst I don't for one minute believe it's real as it has urban myth written all over it, it is very funny, or at least those of you who share my sense of humour will find it so! I laughed out loud - hope you do too:

SINGLE FEMALE seeks male companionship, ethnicity unimportant. I'm a very good girl who LOVES to play. I love long walks in the woods, riding in your pickup truck, hunting, camping and fishing trips, cosy winter nights lying by the fire. Candlelight dinners will have me eating out of your hand. I'll be at the front door when you get home from work, wearing only what nature gave me...Call xxxx and ask for Annie, I'll be waiting.....

THE RESULT: Over 150 men found themselves talking to the Truro RSPCA!

I guess it could explain why I don't always receive responses from emails I send to potential dates on dating sites....and also reminds, I must tell you about the canine of mass destruction very soon...

Chemistry Test!

One of the mysteries of the modern dating world is why, so often, where boy likes girl, girl doesn't have a spark with boy and vice versa.

Chemistry is more elusive than the Scarlet Pimpernel as we get older. As a hormone ridden teenager it all seemed much easier - probably, in my case, because, at that stage, life hadn't burdened me with debilitating cynicism and men didn't come with more baggage than Heathrow.

We met, we fancied each other, we became boyfriend and girlfriend and never doubted that love would conquer all. Even though, in my case, it repeatedly didn't.

These days even when we pass the chemistry test which, for me, generally consists of the 3 'Ls' - laugh (can we make each other?), life (he has a pulse) and longevity (he has no secret wife to scupper the process and is under 80 - sorry, Reginald), the sheer volume of baggage we come with rarely makes for smooth relationship sailing as its rarely safely secure in perfect Louis Vuitton; more likely it's a rag tail of torn carrier bags ready to trip us up.

Recently, I was chatting to a man who, as it turned out, was too recently separated for comfort but did seem very nice. Lets call him Left Luggage. He lived a couple of hours away and had young children whom he saw 3 weekends out of 4 which, in his words, was 'non-negotiable'. I would expect it to be, but how did he realistically think a relationship might develop when his time, quite properly, was taken up by his childcare arrangements, negotiating the trauma of his divorce and the mundanity of life? Almost certainly too soon....even if we passed the chemistry test....but I haven't completed ruled him out...as he did sound rather lovely despite my reservations....clearly need to have stern word with self later!

Maybe I should just thank my lucky stars that I've never been good at science and any pretence at being so fell away when I failed my biology 'O'level. On that basis the chances of passing a chemistry test anytime soon are remote.

I'll worry about baggage and how to pack up my cynicism as and when I and a date get full marks in a chemistry test! I'm just glad that at least I've come to terms with the fact that my ovaries are way beyond going pop!

Later...

Hedge Fun!

Whilst it pains me to do so, in the interest of balance I must confess that Internet dating is not all bad as it provides a platform to enhance a skill not normally found in the male of the species - multi-tasking!

In most areas of life, women are proficient multi-taskers...whilst men do not score as highly. However, when it comes to Internet dating men excel at multi-tasking, or at least multi-dating and, if they can get away with it, multi-bonking!

Such individuals hedge their bets with potential dates more successfully than the best hedge fund manager. I guess I'm a little old fashioned, as I have always operated on the principle that, if I meet someone where the attraction is mutually sufficient to want to meet again, I like to get to know them without other distractions.

However, I have decided that I need to embrace the Internet principle of hedging bets, favoured by some seasoned Internet daters (including some women), if I am to ensure my survival in the dating jungle. As such, I have a few other irons in the dating fire aside from His Hotness, who has cooled off over the last couple of days which generally means one of three things - he has remembered a wife he'd previously forgotten to mention from whom he is not as separated as he'd previously made out OR his interest in Internet friends does not extend beyond massaging his ego by chatting to women on line OR he's expert at the multi-dating approach, met someone else and not bothered to tell me.....so rude!

So the other potential dates are an IT manager (there's a glut of those on all sites - I wonder why?!) , an entrepreneurial type who, on the face of it, does appear to have all the credentials of a grown up....rare indeed....but is dangerously recently separated, a trainer (interesting - this one), a gardener (no, not the 29 year old) and a man who likes motorbikes....

So we shall just have to see what the next couple of weeks bring....as a friend said, a few years ago, when she was off skiing for a couple of weeks - whatever will have happened by the time I get back - 2 weeks in Daisy's life is like 2 years in most peoples. She wasn't wrong!

Anything could happen....so I'm off to have some hedge fun...

Boden and above!

The weekend so far has been uneventful - no wine, no snakes (of any variety), a couple of canine visitors, a walk with a friend, a run with another and now sat under a grey sky outside my favourite cafe - people watching - a favourite  pastime.

As well as an eclectic mix of arty types, students and professionals this particular spot is  also a favourite of the Boden Mummy Brigade (BMB) who feature heavily in the local landscape. For the uninitiated, Boden is a successful British fashion label popular with professionals and middle class mummies...

The BMB are easily identified by their uniform of skinny jeans, boots in the winter/ballet pumps in the summer, perfectly highlighted blonde swishy blow drys (although  a few brunettes have joined the ranks since Kate Middleton's elevation to the royal stage) and they generally own equally well groomed black Labradors - no podgy chocolate Labs for these women - with names like Otis and Milo, and children with shaggy hair that look  like they've stepped out of the Mini Boden catalogue and not seen a pair of scissors for some considerable time.

They eat little and drink sparkling mineral water or (pretend to drink) very skinny flat whites (too many calories to finish the cup); their emaciated frames having snapped back to pipe cleaner proportions within days of giving birth to Octavia or Aloysius.

Whilst feigning interest in each others children, the subtleties of their overheard conversations make it clear that no other child surpasses their own offspring's seemingly limitless talents; competitive parenting at its best.

I often wonder how I would have fared as a parent, if I'd been fortunate enough to have had children, because let us not forget that children are a choice and a privilege, not a given.

I've concluded, possibly to make myself feel better about being childless, that I'm better suited to the role of mad auntie. I'd probably have been an awful mother, if the BMB is the yardstick by which to judge, as I don't look like a pipe cleaner, the dog I did briefly own could better be described as a canine of mass destruction and my niece loves me 'cos I let her eat chocolate cake for breakfast!

Anyway, parenting it seems is a lot harder than merely fitting into skinny jeans and buying the right hound. Just last week, I sat in this same spot observing three members of the BMB. I was with a lovely friend who has two gorgeous children, but has yet to join this exclusive club as she is secure enough not to need too.

We could hardly contain our mirth when one of the three stated that, even though it wasn't fee paying, the school her daughter went to was acceptable because all the mothers wore 'Boden and above'. Is that really how parents select the best educational facilities these days?

Somehow, I think I'd fail miserably so I have reluctantly accepted that my role in the lives of the children I love is the best one as, whilst I may not have given birth, it permits me to spoil them rotten, eat chocolate cake for breakfast, wear Boden and below jeans and generally behave in the manner of an irresponsible adult....oh, and most of the time, what fun that is.

And, talking of being an irresponsible adult, have I told you about my tenure as the owner of the canine of mass destruction? Comedy of Terriers, also the title of my second novel, coming soon... my search for love looks successful in comparison to my attempts at pack leadership...

Calm down, dears!

My ongoing musings appear to be leading to some debate which is all good. However, in the interests of public health, coupled with the fact that I don't want any fatal coronaries on my conscience, I would reiterate the words of the Prime Minister recently, 'Calm down, dears!'

I'm pleased to report that various of those I have written about are more than happy about how they've been portrayed and laughed a lot, as they understand that my whole purpose in writing is to hone my craft as a wordsmith (with the added bonus that the process is cathartic). I had lunch with Mr. Socks today, who is considering using some of my material in his latest script which sounds very funny indeed.

Also Mr. Dyson called to commend an accurate and moving portrayal of us (and was delighted that I was not too descriptive about the sight of his legs in shorts)! He also said he'd buy me supper when we meet up next week, to make up for the cost of phone calls it took to make it to our first date. I'd never told him before....!

Talking of public health, you'll be pleased to hear that Stan and Tone did a superb job of flea annihilation and I am now flea-free, so His Hotness will have nothing to worry about, should we get to the stage that he is invited back to my place. You're going to have to wait a while to find out about that one though ....

By now, those of you who don't know me may have formed the view that I am a danger to the male public health of the nation. I am very aware that I am the common denominator amidst the chaos I have described thus far and as I have demonstrated again and again in what I have written, I am ready and willing to laugh at myself as much as I laugh at the situations I find myself in.

However, I know I am not alone in such experiences and there are rafts of others out there - both women and men, I'm sure - similarly wondering why dating at a certain age and stage is so difficult?  

For my part it's the weekend and I plan to have fun as, for once, I shall not be camping at the local police station...so who knows what I'll have to report in my next post...