tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86253863111788979022012-01-27T20:58:42.693ZOne Man's Dating DiaryPlentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.comBlogger681100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-531047614383175482010-12-02T12:33:00.003Z2011-05-15T12:36:44.442+01:00

Another quickie to say it'll be a little while before I post again. The Laura Tait book project is coming on really well but we don't expect to be finished until the second half of 2011. In the meantime, why not check out and follow my personal blog - www.jimmyrice.org - for updates on how the book is going as well as posts that aren't about dating and an archive of old things I've written. It's

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-60357525209519917552010-07-20T14:05:00.000+01:002010-09-01T09:46:50.107+01:00

A few of you have been asking if I texted Marie. To those people I say the following: she let me taste her fishcake on our first date - of course I texted her. Plus, she's a doctor, so even if I didn't get a second date, we'd probably end up friends and I'd be able to quiz her on all my little ailments (small nipples, Mildred's depression). Here's how the text conversation went: Me - 10:51am:

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com82tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-14301335291347423992010-07-09T11:29:00.001+01:002011-07-10T21:52:05.238+01:00

So my date with Marie the doctor went well and I ended up getting invited back to her house for a nightcap. Here's what happened next: "Everything's a bit bare I'm afraid - I've just moved in." Marie slings her keys towards a hall table. Misses by a good foot. A single, vile attempt at modern art decorates the magnolia hallway. "My nephew did that," she says. "He's got autism." My date 

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-79119009849613371442010-07-01T11:03:00.000+01:002010-09-01T09:46:01.065+01:00

Went on a date with Marie, the 32-year-old GP who I met on Plentyoffish.com. We arranged to hook up at a bar in Liverpool city centre. Here's what happened: Get to the pub dead on time. No sign of my date. Ask for a Corona. Barmaid corks it with a hefty chunk of shrivelled lime. Force the little bugger down the bottleneck with my thumb. Marie shuffles through the door as I take my first bitter

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-21231508298908813432010-06-17T20:18:00.000+01:002010-09-01T09:44:19.684+01:00

Okay, so it didn't go to plan with The Mechanic's Receptionist - but elsewhere things are looking up. Take Saturday, for example. I was reading in the front garden when The Girl Next Door dawdled past. Finally a conversation. "Lovely day, eh?" she said, in a voice far deeper than the one I'd lent her during several late-night fantasies. "Yep," I replied. That was pretty much it, but from

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-78618664842349379102010-05-13T11:44:00.001+01:002010-05-13T11:50:09.240+01:00

Took my car to the mechanic's yesterday. I planned to get flirty with the receptionist. Maybe even ask her out. Here's what happened: 9.30am Girls round here don't shag outsiders, so I don my best Lacoste jumper - make me look more Scouse. Charlotte smiles as I walk in - she's clearly wet for me. We bonded over a Whitney Houston song last time. Radio's not on today, though. "No Whitney this

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-76620111649761665392010-05-06T11:04:00.003+01:002010-05-07T03:15:06.805+01:00

So, after bolting on racist Natasha last week, I've been assessing my dating options. Some of you might remember the pet shop girl I mentioned a few months back. Well, I've stood outside staring popped by her store a few times in the last fortnight and it seems she no longer works there. Which, as far as I can tell, leaves me with a shortlist of three: THE GIRL NEXT DOOR I rent a basement

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-70887579028393917352010-05-03T14:40:00.000+01:002010-09-01T17:25:36.656+01:00

Went on my date with Natasha, the dental nurse from Wigan who I've been messaging on Plentyoffish.com. Here's what happened: Jump out the shower. Pubes are looking a bit bushy. Attack them with some kitchen scissors. No time to vacuum up the mess afterwards - need to get going. Pay my train fare with a crisp £20 note. Ticket man asks if I've got anything smaller. I have, but I don't like his

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-77715366631130556392010-04-03T11:48:00.001+01:002011-04-25T15:49:04.442+01:00

As you know, my love life is a bit of a disaster at the minute - so I've decided to give online dating another go. I'd forgotten how desperate and seedy Plentyoffish.com could be, but after a few days I received a message which warmed my heart: ring me im horny 07789068*** kate xx I'll be honest - I suspected it might be too good to be true. After all, Kate was hot - really hot. Unsure how

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-19259681708308664072010-04-02T00:45:00.002+01:002011-04-25T21:31:35.863+01:00

We're discussing dating in the canteen. Eve, our luscious receptionist, reckons we should all get down to Tesco one Friday after work. Apparently it's singles' night. Unofficially, like. People are dismissive - no one's heard of it. I keep schtum. Need to do a big shop anyway; got no plans Friday. It's on. Head down about 8pm, a splash of Calvin Klein still soaking into my face, neck and

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-68609939235892225502010-04-02T00:01:00.000+01:002011-04-25T16:05:38.589+01:00

Get chatting to this girl on Facebook - Joanna. A common interest in politics, three inches shorter than me - this could be it. She's a tad intense, mind. Offers her number, then initiates seven text conversations in one day. Next I get an email with some of her artwork. Bit weird. Turns out she has an unhealthy interest in dead celebrities. Scan through her photos. She's pretty, especially

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-29956670361946582172010-03-12T20:14:00.001Z2011-04-25T21:23:25.204+01:00

You might have noticed I've been posting a little less frequently in recent weeks. That's because I've started writing a novel. Actually, I'm co-writing it with journalist and occasional blogger Laura Tait. We're taking it in turns to write chapters - it's a kind of his/her perspective on love, life and friendship in your late 20s. Anyway, it's obviously taking up a lot of time, but I'll still

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-62460056149644194362010-03-11T12:05:00.000Z2011-04-25T16:13:50.227+01:00

I'm meeting Rapunzel on Friday night. Haven't seen her since our ill-fated date in January, but we chat lots on Skype. She's actually become a good friend. Anyway, we're off to see a film, and I think she's a bit worried after I told her about an incident which occurred in 2002 when I was with my first long-term girlfriend... Head to Odeon for the latest Daniel Day Lewis. This is going to be

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-3348680521661640822010-02-15T13:10:00.003Z2011-04-25T21:23:39.724+01:00

So I heard nothing from the local newspaper that was trying to find me a date for Valentine's Day. As predicted, none of the girls in my neighbourhood fancied a night out with a snot-flicking dating blogger. Not to worry. Getting dates has never really been my problem anyway. They just tend to be with girls who suffer from depression. Or arthritis. Or both. Plus I've got my eye on a MILF from

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-49176616805667962452010-02-11T12:16:00.007Z2011-04-25T15:52:46.684+01:00

Got some exciting news. Turns out my dating disasters have come to the attention of a local weekly newspaper. The paper in question heard about my luckless start to the New Year and wants to help me find a date for Valentine's Day. They've run an article asking single girls to write in and explain in 150 words why they should win a date with yours truly. Obviously it's going to be very

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-5876206164170318202010-02-08T11:57:00.005Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.928Z

Bad news folks - it's over. The strain of courting in the public eye finally got to me and fellow blogger Rapunzel. After a long argument chat last night we decided that because I don't want to spend a fortune on petrol of the distance between Liverpool and Manchester, and the fact we're both at different places in our lives right now, there's no way this could end in anything serious. The

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-9388871119176610562010-02-05T16:45:00.006Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.931Z

I've had some pretty strange dates over the years - but my latest rendezvous with Rapunzel takes the biscuit. There was no dressing up, no holding hands and definitely no awkward kisses. That's because we're both too busy for a real second date right now - so we arranged a virtual one instead. Here's what happened: "I can't believe you've never used Skype," says Rapunzel. "I can't believe I'm

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-71653978519685363942010-02-02T11:24:00.001Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.934Z

As first dates go, my day trip to Belfast with Rapunzel was pretty good. She didn't turn up in a wheelchair or reveal a mental illness - and at the end of an epic 13 hours together I was left wanting more. That is until she described our goodbye kiss as "awkward" on her blog. Don't worry, though - we've discussed this and agreed it was all her fault. In fact, we've been talking quite a lot -

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-18642436541042716902010-01-29T11:57:00.012Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.938Z

A few weeks ago one of my readers suggested I date another blogger - namely Rapunzel over at talesfromthetower. Some of you warned me it would end in disaster - but did I listen? Did I heck. This week, after a month of tense build up, we finally met at Liverpool's John Lennon Airport before flying to Belfast for the day. This is what happened: Strut into the terminal. Spot my girl waiting by the

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-13493447452322330942010-01-25T12:29:00.006Z2011-07-03T14:33:36.929+01:00

As most of you know by now, I'm going on a date with another blogger this week. Her at talesfromthetower. Rapunzel asked me to choose what we do, but insisted it be something wacky - that way we'd have loads to write about. Problem is, she rejected every single one of my ideas. Indoor skiing didn't tickle her fancy any more than a meal in a Michelin-starred restaurant. And I won't repeat her

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-33287608565562270822010-01-21T13:19:00.002Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.945Z

I'm going on a date with another blogger - and we're both writing about it. Here's the latest… Get an email from Rapunzel. Wants me to ring tonight. The dreaded pre-date call. Make a list of things to talk about in case there's an uncomfortable silence. All the standard stuff like...What are her dreams? What's her speciality in the kitchen? And why can't she get a boyfriend? Try to imagine how

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-42864303248447335852010-01-18T13:49:00.003Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.949Z

For those of you who don't know, I'm going on a date with another blogger - Rapunzel over at talesfromthetower. We've exchanged quite a few emails now and agreed there'll be no holds barred when it comes to writing about our adventure. So today she's posted explaining why I'm not really her type. Charming. Though after rummaging through her back catalogue this morning, I think she might be on

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-27988450797635104682010-01-14T11:20:00.002Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.952Z

I emailed Rapunzel, the dating blogger from Manchester. We're going on a date - then writing about it. Still need to discuss details, though. Am actually quite excited. Read through her blog last night - she's pretty funny. There's one post about her choking on a sausage - blatantly a euphemism. Only problem is, I don't know what she looks like. We told each other our real names and I tracked

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-29310505045662626082010-01-11T13:00:00.001Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.956Z

So, the fling with my hairdresser ended in heartache - what's next? Well, dear readers, one of you has decided to play cupid. Regular commenter Bamberio sent me a mischievous email suggesting I date another blogger - namely Rapunzel over at talesfromthetower. Her theory is that we're both single, writers and living in the north-west of England - a perfect match. And if love doesn't blossom,

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-29704925436691043452010-01-08T22:31:00.000Z2011-04-25T16:07:26.140+01:00

This week's Sunday Confessional comes from loyal reader Sabrina, who lives by the theory that revenge is a dish best served on social networking sites. Here's her story... Since your blog focuses on the subject of dating I guess my confession fits rather well. I was dating this guy for a little over two years and in that time we became very close. However, like every stupid girl out there, I

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-47953743655924744822010-01-07T12:44:00.007Z2011-04-25T15:35:30.040+01:00

The wintery weather brought Liverpool to a standstill yesterday, so I challenged my hairdresser to a snowball fight down the beach. Little did I know she was about to drop a bombshell. This is what happened: Doorbell rings twice in quick succession. She's 15 minutes early. Obviously desperate to see me. Emma looks cute in layers. Think she's wearing two pairs of jeans. Imagine myself ripping

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-34534126672837150572010-01-04T12:35:00.004Z2010-03-11T22:19:38.963Z

Finally rescheduled the curry date with my hairdresser. Ended up back at hers. Here's what happened: Restaurant looks packed. Emma holds the door open for me. Waiter asks if we've booked. "No, is that a problem?" I enquire. The man steps back, strokes his goatee and invites me to survey the dining room. Not one spare table. "Well, how long is the wait?" "Twenty minutes." We order some

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-35087905541300347562009-12-29T11:21:00.006Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.795Z

Taking the hairdresser for a curry tonight. Second date. Planning on bringing her back to mine after. Check bedside cabinet for condoms. The packet's full. Spot some old fungal cream - best hide that. Sling my sheets in the washer. Hopefully she'll be doing this for me soon. My trainers look a bit scruffy. Think I'll head to town for some new ones - if I get a shag have a nice evening it's a

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-23979266795261964632009-12-21T12:19:00.008Z2010-04-04T21:13:17.256+01:00

Decided to take the hairdresser for simple drinks - couldn't trust myself not to thrash her at pool. Anyway, here's what happened: Weatherman reckons it's going to rain. Text Emma asking her to bring a brolly - don't want my hair getting wet. We're meeting at the train station in town. I arrive first. iPod's out of battery. Leave one earphone in anyway - make me look hip. The huge glass ceiling

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com65tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-27391691026650121162009-12-18T10:14:00.014Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.799Z

The hairdresser texted me after work on Wednesday. The note was a winner - we're going out this weekend! Just got to decide what to do now. Here's the options - I'd be interested to know your thoughts: Drinks: The cheapest option but too many Coronas are likely to hamper my performance if she invites me back to hers. Restaurant at Albert Dock: Classy but if my window opens afterwards I'll

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-25133864475176549712009-12-16T15:40:00.015Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.802Z

This morning at 7.30am I dropped the following note through my hairdresser's letterbox: Dear Emma, Thanks for cutting my hair the other day - was fun. After closer inspection I can tell you your work was very satisfactory. However, there are one or two minor points I'd like to discuss - perhaps over a drink? Here's my number if you'd like to sort something out - 0789 160 ****. Fishy x PS

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-48137057972103534062009-12-14T13:53:00.012Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.805Z

Big day today - going to ask the hairdresser out. Jump in the shower. Give my ears their pre-cut clean. Sniff the crotch of my best Levis - good for another week yet. Search for my iPod. Cat looks smug. Soon discover why - she's lying on it. Elton John provides the soundtrack as I walk to the barber shop. An old married couple quarrel outside the bank. Turn my music down to eavesdrop. "Why

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-40937454504105664182009-12-08T13:27:00.002Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.807Z

Can't stop thinking about the hairdresser - and it's still a week until my next cut. Come up with a plan. There's a supermarket round the corner from my flat - but a far longer hike to Tesco takes me past her shop. Might bump into one another. Squeeze a few blackheads first, giving my face 10 minutes to recover before setting off. Mildred meows as I leave - her way of saying good luck. Been

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-23350852385878947432009-12-03T12:46:00.007Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.810Z

Earlier this week I wrote about four desirable girls - and asked YOU to choose which I should proposition. Well, the hairdresser got 12 votes, pet shop girl 11 and pharmacy assistant six. No one picked the hairy waitress. So, I'm going to ask the hairdresser for a date. First though, here's the story of how we met two weeks ago…. Been single 18 months and after a lot of soul-searching I've

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-1435073601318852792009-11-30T12:56:00.002Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.813Z

I can't do this anymore. It's time to say goodbye. Don't cry, dear readers. I'm not talking about blogging, silly. What I'm saying is - online dating and I are kaput. Going to meet a woman in the real world. Stop laughing. I've spent the last few days assessing my options. Devised a shortlist of four lucky ladies. Let me know which contender YOU think I should ask out: PET SHOP ASSISTANT

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-26585657223023356262009-11-25T15:27:00.004Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.815Z

Get a new message on Plentyoffish.com - little minx called Michelle. Blonde and busty, with thick red lips that hint at promiscuity. Ask if she's prepared to lie about how we met (yes); what she does for a living (nurse in a hospice); and how she'd entertain me on a long train journey. "It depends how many dates we'd been on and whether the toilets were free," she replies to the latter, and I'm

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-314378402811798162009-11-22T22:54:00.000Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.817Z

Went on my first Plentyoffish.com date this week. An afternoon stroll along the beach with Hannah, a medical student seven years my junior. Here's what happened: Both arrive early. Kiss her cheek. She turns away sharply - thinks I'm trying for the lips. The beach is deserted. Ask if she wants an ice cream. Says no. A cheap date - I like it. A jogger whooshes past, iPod blaring out. The song

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-86901439739708333712009-11-22T14:54:00.000Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.820Z

This week's confession comes from T, who got into a tricky situation when two male friends came to stay at her university digs. Six years ago I met Adam. He was nice (sickeningly so) but I just didn't fancy him. His way around this little hurdle was to shower me with gifts. A mildly bad day and I'd receive a huge bunch of flowers - even though I'd made it clear nothing was going to happen. Then

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-69243814054844821792009-11-16T14:05:00.001Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.822Z

Got my first date from Plentyoffish.com this week. A medical student called Hannah. Seven years younger - I've still got it, baby. Need to make sure my banter's better than Friday night, mind. Gang of us were out. Mostly old friends but a couple of unfamiliar faces, including an attractive red head. Tried my luck three times. CHAT-UP LINE ONE Me: "Hi. Who are you, then?" ARH: "Suzanne." Me: "

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-84292423605585195822009-11-13T10:13:00.000Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.824Z

I had it all planned out, this third entry to my online dating diary. Was going to brag about a gorgeous chic geek I'd been emailing - we had stacks in common and were going out Friday. Sadly, it just hasn't happened. All the girls on Plentyoffish.com are either hopelessly out of my league (I know, I know - everyone's Manchester United to someone) or just a bit weird. Many simply haven't

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-19510276023973932722009-11-10T12:29:00.000Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.828Z

Finally up and running on Plentyoffish.com. I listened to Simone's advice and uploaded two photos, including a close-up to showcase my boyish good looks. Filled in my vital statistics. Put 5'9 for height - would-be mates won't know different until it's too late. Next they give you a few paragraphs to sell yourself. Wanted to show I was honest, sensitive and not a typical online dating saddo

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-59505650780893176612009-11-08T17:13:00.001Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.831Z

So, I blew it with new girl from work (The Ladies' Toilet), and my attempt to pull in the supermarket fell flat on its face (Singles' Night at Tesco). Time to give online dating another try. Thankfully I just discovered some rules for men seeking love on the net. Here's what Simone from Sex, Lies and Dating says: 1) Use recent pictures. Women want to know what you look like now, not two years

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-58778416951921273032009-11-08T16:14:00.009Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.834Z

This week's Sunday Confessional comes courtesy of football writer Paul Tomkins, who provides a bald divorcee's perspective of online dating. As you're about to find out, I'm not the only one encountering women of dubious mental stability… Following my divorce in 2002 I signed up to an online dating service. Most of the women were fairly normal, and in a few cases, actually more alluring than

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-6496203944701760362009-11-07T11:53:00.001Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.836Z

New girl starts at work. Knee-length skirt clinging to childbearing hips; two loose buttons hinting at unknown treasures beneath a well-ironed blouse. There's more: a nervous smile as we're introduced is bracketed by dimples. I'm smitten. Try to make eye contact throughout the morning but her mind is elsewhere - must be first-day nerves. People slope out for lunch alone or in pairs. Soon it's

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-26809767886009705892009-11-06T09:56:00.003Z2011-05-15T12:43:27.366+01:00

Just a quickie to reveal my blog is being serialised on popular local radio station Juice FM. One of my dating posts will be read out every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday at around 8pm for the next month. It's billed as Sex and the City - but without the sex, because this blogger doesn't get any sex. They wrote that bit. The DJ asked if I could provide 12 real-life stories - and each has now been

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-61759667213136583312009-10-25T14:49:00.001Z2010-03-10T18:48:04.841Z

Right, I've just been given the Kreativ Blogger award by Lou at livewritedream. In keeping with tradition I have to write seven facts about myself before passing on the award to another deserved blogger. So which seven facts? Well, the other day during a clearout I stumbled upon some old love letters. One, from my first and only long-term relationship, stood out. It was written by Lucy, who I

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-10221474398971913522009-10-18T15:59:00.001+01:002010-03-10T18:48:04.845Z

There are two types of people in this world - those who danger wank and those who don't know what they're missing. For the unacquainted, urbandictionary offers a number of definitions: "The act of extreme masturbation. You must knock one out whilst in close proximity to any of the following: your mum, a nun, your boss, a Member of Parliament, George Michael." Or perhaps: "Masturbation

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-6208842149093936662009-10-14T10:48:00.007+01:002010-03-10T18:48:04.847Z

Yesterday journalist and guest blogger Laura Tait outlined a girl's guide to one-night stands. Since then literally two of you have been chomping at the bit for me to do a male version. So, with some degree of trepidation, here goes: 1) Go back to her place - she doesn't need to see those embarrassing white stains on your sheets. 2) If you absolutely have to go back to yours, make sure you've

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-70759162067528752302009-10-13T10:33:00.003+01:002010-03-10T18:48:04.850Z

In the first of a series of guest blogs, London journalist and blogger Laura Tait provides a female perspective of the one-night stand... Right, these are my rules for one-night stands: 1) Don't have them with friends of friends. You'll worry how they'll discuss it later. 2) Don't have them with boys in bands - they're ­unlikely to disguise the fact you're a notch on a bedpost. 3) If you do

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-7589789552966184252009-10-11T17:24:00.000+01:002010-03-10T18:45:48.313Z

Every week an anonymous reader will expose a dirty secret or sin from their past as part of my brand new Sunday Confessional series. I'm kicking things off with an incident from 2004 which I still consider my only true act of bastardry towards a woman. Meet Catherine… We met in a nightclub. Usual routine: I glared, she didn't look too afraid; I danced closer, she didn't retreat. Our lips soon

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-6507190079134254962009-09-20T01:11:00.000+01:002010-03-10T18:45:48.319Z

Sign up to Match.com. Don't receive much attention for a good month until Alice sends me a message. A nurse. Brunette, 5'3, aged 24. Quite fit. Arrange to meet in town at 8pm Friday: SIX HOURS TO GO Watch a repeat of ER. Research. Pop to Somerfield for mouthwash. Mark Volante told me I stank at poker last week. We're off to play pool - her idea. Thinks it'll be relaxed. Let's see her attitude

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-54157058680003006852009-09-15T12:35:00.011+01:002010-03-10T18:45:48.327Z

Had a row with the old witch next door. We're discussing the parking on our street when she says: "And another thing I want to talk to you about, Chris…" Two years she's been getting my name wrong. "…What's all this with you banging on my wall?" A speck of saliva lands near my foot. If there was a walking stick handy, she'd be poking it in my chest. "I hammer because your telly's on full

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-7612883443816467532009-09-08T15:06:00.000+01:002010-03-10T18:49:03.341Z

Two weeks ago I'm sat enjoying the sun in the front garden when suddenly my eyes are drawn to a tall, middle-aged man walking down the street. He's staring right at me. "Alright," I mutter with a nod, hoping to placate any aggressive intent. But it's okay - his motive seems purely neighbourly. "Hello," replies the stranger, not breaking his step. After a minute or two he's out of sight. Ten

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-480705724007481362009-09-08T15:02:00.000+01:002010-03-10T18:49:03.343Z

Meet this girl at a party. Arrange to go to the pictures: Get a text 20 minutes before. Reckons she's wet and bedraggled because of the rain. Should have brought a brolly, like me. Kiss her damp cheek as she removes her hat and runs five stumpy fingers through her hair. Doesn't look bedraggled – looks lovely. Tell her I've already got the tickets, so she insists on buying the popcorn. Picks

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-86572937395683585772009-09-07T12:04:00.000+01:002011-04-25T16:03:15.874+01:00

One of the first series I ran on this blog was my top five crushes of all time. I've gained loads of new readers since then so thought I'd round the entire lot up in one post. 5. Sara, the born again Christian Needed some extra cash at university, so I bagged a job as a dinnerlady. At last I'd found my vocation. Pans sparkled like never before; chef listened in awe to my recipe suggestions.

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-26320975922460466462009-09-06T17:58:00.000+01:002010-09-01T17:28:14.370+01:00

I've got a proper post coming up later this week, but in the meantime, here's an old school report my mum sent me the other day. It was written when I was 13, though I'm pretty sure some of my ex-girlfriends would say I haven't changed a bit. Geography Fishy's written work can be a good standard when it suits him, but his classroom behaviour is too often silly and offensive. Miss Booth Music

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-56328579403104449192009-09-06T11:54:00.000+01:002011-04-25T16:02:42.951+01:00

1/ Is she bossy? I once went on a dinner date with a zealous vegetarian called Judith. When I ordered a fillet steak she told the waiter to come back in a few minutes. "Do you mind having something without meat?" she asked me. "I beg your pardon?" "It's just - I couldn't stand watching you eat a steak." "Er, right - so what should I have then?" "How about spinach lasagne?" A short while 

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-4958272155539370822009-07-27T21:34:00.001+01:002011-04-25T16:16:46.453+01:00

Mildred is getting jealous of my blog success. She wants in. I said I'd give her a trial run. Here it is... 7:21am No sign of Pratface. Headbutt his bedroom door. He doesn't stir. 7:26am What's a cat got to do to get fed round here? Right, that's it - if he's not up in 10 minutes I'm wiping my arse all over his carpet. 7:36am This'll teach him. 8:01am Afternoon, Pratface. 8:02am Put me down

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-29608847116142661802009-07-26T11:54:00.000+01:002011-04-25T15:44:49.433+01:00

It's the final week of Comedy Writing class and my last chance to woo Winslet Bosom. At Dan's suggestion, we went out for his birthday a goodbye curry afterwards. Even Jenny the tutor came along. Here's what happened: Jump on the train. Sit near a hot brunette. Try to make eye contact through the reflection in the window. Can't tell if she's looking at me or the sunset in the distance. Driver

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-82998635987116141842009-07-25T12:43:00.000+01:002011-04-25T15:44:26.261+01:00

There's just two weeks of Comedy Writing class left, so I need to act fast if I'm going to pull Winslet Bosom. Last week ended with Dan spewing in the street after our class night out. Here's what happened this time round… Arrive well early. Security guard's nowhere to be seen. An eerie quiet accompanies me up the stairs. Turn down the corridor. Suddenly I'm ambushed. "Boo!" screams the guard,

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-54152932614774991582009-07-24T12:02:00.000+01:002011-04-25T15:43:41.981+01:00

I'm doing an evening class in Comedy Writing in a bid to meet women. This week we were due to go for drinks after class - and I planned to get one over my nemesis Dan by finally wooing Winslet Bosom. Here's what happened: Everyone's hanging around outside the classroom. There's a note pinned on the door. Due to a family emergency Jenny has had to cancel this week's class. People speculate about

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com60tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-36970294889557749952009-07-23T12:53:00.000+01:002011-04-25T15:43:13.759+01:00

Need to write a sketch for my evening class. Been a bit busy this week - so thought I'd submit one of my first ever blog posts. It's about the time I was chased by a chav in a Ford Escort. For US readers, a chav is like a wigger - I think. Get into a bit of bother on the road. This chav's stationary waiting to turn off a dual carriageway but, instead of edging as far as he can, he sits there

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-86805867766933951612009-07-22T12:02:00.000+01:002011-04-25T15:42:46.548+01:00

I started an evening class in Comedy Writing hoping to meet women. Problem is, there's only one hottie (Winslet Bosom) and I've got competition (Dan). Elsewhere, there's my wingman (Steve), the spinster tutor (Jenny) and a girl with sideburns (Hairy Jewish Woman). Oh, and an unhelpful security guard. Here's what happened on week three. Door's locked. I press the buzzer. Security guard comes

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-24376957644087411782009-07-20T12:25:00.000+01:002011-04-25T15:42:21.131+01:00

Evening classes are a great way to meet women, apparently - so I signed up to a course in Comedy Writing. The first week proved a washout when my nemesis Dan made me look a fool in front of Winslet Bosom. Here's what happened on week two. Turn up a couple of minutes late. Security guard's sat eating a Twix. Sense his eyeballs tracking my ascent up the stairs. Open the classroom door. A dozen

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-67093289175566114292009-07-19T12:13:00.000+01:002011-04-25T15:41:53.710+01:00

Evening classes are a great way to meet women, apparently - so this week I started a Comedy Writing course in Manchester. The first night was a disaster. Here's what happened: Not sure where I'm going. Ask the security guard on reception. "What course are you here for?" he queries, removing a Biro from between his lips. I tell him. "Have you got any jokes?" I haven't - I'm here to meet girls.

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-87803397881209731702009-06-16T15:32:00.000+01:002010-09-16T10:58:15.063+01:00

Went to my first ever festival at the weekend. Quite an eye opener. Here's my guide to surviving a muddy three days in a tent: 1) Take a camera. You don't want to miss shots of women openly weeing against a fence. 2) Avoid telling your mates how many condoms you're packing. It will only lead to embarrassment afterwards when they ask how many you're bringing back. 3) Always go to the front

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-25571569401462735912009-05-01T21:19:00.000+01:002010-09-16T10:58:45.570+01:00

Every day, at about 11.55am, MacDonald's and Beans on Toast have an argument in my head. It goes something like this: M: Hello. BoT: Go away. M: Rude... BoT: I'm just saying, I've got things covered. M: Why do you hate me so much? BoT: Because you cost £4 and Fishy's trying to save money. M: You're jealous. BoT: Of what? M: My baps. BoT: Beans on toast is a classic English dish - I don't need

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625386311178897902.post-45489384830967021702009-04-01T12:36:00.000+01:002011-05-15T12:40:38.423+01:00

Got myself on that Are You Interested? application on Facebook. To be honest, I wasn't attracting much attention. Then I put a snap of me meeting Fernando Torres up - now they're clicking YES left, right and centre: Canadian cuties, pale-skinned lovelies from Macedonia and the Ukraine. Even had a couple of married women. One girl looked promising until I discovered all these lewd applications

Plentymorefishoutofwaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13082519518524749450noreply@blogger.com19