So I’m standing at the bar waiting for my Guinness to settle I’ve had an awesome day and all I can say is: I’m winning so much at the moment that it’s getting boring. Everything I do turns to pure win.




So I’m here minding my own and C calls me and asks if I want a nightcap, which is a ridiculous question because I almost never turn down a drinking session. She comes around, I iron a shirt, and we head out. The place down the road is closing since it’s already eleven so we head to Jboy and me’s usual drinking spot, which is dead as a dodo and is open until twelve. I say dead as a dodo, my competition, the guy who wants BM and gives me evils is there with his crew of neanderthals. It turns out that BM is there too looking tired and overworked, she’s been putting in a load of shifts recently.

I grab the first round: Devils backbone, Americans, apparently, can actually made semi decent beer and an amaretto for C. We sit in my usual alpha maling spot and I alpha male to begin our usual character assassination of academia. From my usual spot about two thirds of the bar is visible so it’s a good place for people watching.

Suddenly I see BM coming down the stairs at her usual rapid pace: she runs up them and runs down them. Occasionally I wonder if she knows that she has huge boobs which bounce up and down very noticeably when she does this. Down she comes and there’s a table between us and the stairs with empty glasses on and she grabs them and gives me a big smile, I ask her how she is but she doesn’t reply. This is unusual in that normally to get the eye contact and the smile, the acknowledgement of my presence, takes about half the night and normally she’s been drinking. This is eyebrow raising and I mention it to C.

C is like “Are you not sure that you’re reading into things” I point out that the fact that she has done it is not unusual, but the timing is. “ahhh, okay”. I then point out the dilemma of being male in that small things mean large things to women, apparently, but us men often don’t pick up on them……..and then get called idiots for not realising that a certain gesture, a turn of phrase, some other seemingly innocuous thing actually means “fuck me” or something which then causes you to hyper-analyze every small thing for meaning.

So BM mooches around the bar: it’s that time of night where the staff just want to go home but there’s time left on the clock and not much to do so they’re always trying to find things to occupy themselves. One’s neanderthal competition is at their usual table by the bar chatting inanely and loudly, C is watching them and suddenly she says, “Did you see that?”. Naturally this would be the moment that I’m looking at my phone, “See what? No.” C explains that BM has just walked past these guys and she’s made this gesture, kind of putting her hand on her head and hunching her shoulders. “She’s really uncomfortable around them”.

You know, I might be going out on a limb here and over analysing, but I wonder if BM feels a lot safer when I turn up. I explained to C how neanderthal and his pals will literally follow her around the bar as she’s cleaning up trying to chat her up. As in he’ll follow her and his mates follow him, it’s really weird to watch and I’m guessing that this doesn’t make her entirely comfortable. I think that’s why she came over and cleared my table that once, after ignoring me for months, when they were following her around. I’m not even reading in that she feels attracted to me, just that she wouldn’t be surprised if they went too far that I would step in. She sees me as a counter to neanderthal.

S is like, actually C has said this too: “You have this calm about you that makes women feel really secure”.




Random randomness.

I’m bored. Let’s go sack a city. I’m watching In Search of the Trojan War for the trillionth time. It’s one of those slow sunday evenings when it’s cold and dark and the roast is still in the oven. Nothing can be done until after what is theoretically sunday lunch.

I hate this time of year: I got eight hours sleep but if I rest my head on my hand I nod off.I’m drinking lapsang souchong and I’m wondering if maybe I should get the press pot out and make some coffee. That’ll probably give me a headache though.

I can’t wait for S to come back for crimbo so I can bury my face in her cleavage and get some sleep. Actually what I really miss is her bed; the most amazing thing in the world is S’s bed after she’s slept in it for a couple of nights and has her scent.

I’m mooching through this blog and I’m checking off things to make sure that I’ve never done them. Occasionally I wonder if maybe I’m failing as a man because whenever I read women’s blogs or hear women talk about the things men do I’m like, “Never done any of this, am I boringly normal or something?” Like I’ve never felt the need to be a dick to someone or send a dick pic.

I’m feeling sleepy, impish and manic. This sounds quite calm and chilled to me.

This is so me: Watching one’s favorite history documentary and reading about strippers at the same time. We all know that I abhor the mundane. I’m going to find a way to use “conscientious” in a strip club, just because, apparently, no one uses it in a strip club. It might help lift my general ennui. Like existential ennui.

I don’t understand this thing of going to a club and feeling excited because, fundamentally, nothing happens. Most of the time you’re standing drinking beer in a room so loud that you can’t actually talk to anyone and nothing happens. So you’re just standing there, oddly alone with your thoughts, getting progressively more drunk. Which is why I like strippers, there’s some kind of mental stimulation there.

You know, I have this feeling that none of the current women from Dakota to BM is going to work out and to be honest the whole internet dating thing……women get so many messages that it turns them into quite nasty people and I can’t be bothered with that. If I want shit from people I can find that without having to pay for it. Also I can get a higher quality of shit.

About twice a year I read the Iliad and I’m never unmoved by the fact that this tale is about three thousand years old, assuming that the Trojan war took place about 1180 BC. Personally I don’t doubt that the characters in the Iliad were real people because of the following reasons: Consider that the list of places in the Catalogue of Ships is accurate and that because it lists places that were destroyed long before Homer it must predate Homer and in fact it accurately reflects the Greek world at the time of the Trojan war. So why wouldn’t we believe that the bards at Troy as well as remembering the places these people came from, also remembered the names of key commanders?

I’m actually quite troubled about the idea of dying without doing anything that will have people talking about me in three millennia. One of the problems that I have with modernity is that it doesn’t lend itself to the heroic life. Rather it kind of forces everyone into mediocrity. Even famous people are forgotten in six months.

I think this is a quite pervasive feeling among men my age: the idea that greatness is impossible in some sense. Somehow we’ve ended up with this master morality which is of course quite Homeric and yet we live in this world governed by slave morality. You can’t go out into the world and carve something for yourself and have it be totally yours with no one to answer to anymore, there’s nothing to celebrate anymore. Nothing happens where someone decides to immortalise it for all time.

We’re born to overcome and climb mountains and all we have is molehills. I’m reading this article in The Times apparently British troops in Iraq are bored shitless and want to go and fight ISIS. I completely understand.

The last time I was truly happy I nearly died on Crib Goch, well technically I nearly died at the base of it because that’s where I would have landed.

And Alexander wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.




“Do you want me to move over so you can sit at the table or are you happy in the space between tables?” says, C. “I usually sit here, actually” “That’s so alpha male”. I’m manspreading, hands behind my head, watching the world go by. If there was something to put my foot up on, my foot would have been up on it.

I’m looking around the room: blue jeans, t-shirts, trainers, hoodies……and me in my white chinos, tan leather shoes and sky blue oxford shirt sitting in a cloud of Bleu de Chanel (EdP). Even my socks match my outfit. Sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone, I’m pretty chilled. I see these guys and they’ve bought these really expensive designer oxford shirts and they have them totally buttoned up, cuffs done up and they look like their mum has dressed them and it gives off a sense of insecurity somehow too. To me anyway. It’s an unrelaxed look and being unrelaxed means that you’re tense, nervous, you want the security of being covered up.

It’s always the trousers: the white ones, the red ones, the purple ones. Guys stare in that kind of challenging way and I glance at them to give them that acknowledgement that I’m not afraid of them and then carry on past like I own the place, which is easy to do after fifteen years of having your posture sorted out in Aikido. Also I’ve got into the habit of not reacting to anything said to me.

R says, “Women like you because you’re so self confident” and I actually don’t feel all that confident and I don’t really feel that women like me. I realise, though, that obviously other people see me differently to how I see me. I think maybe I’m so introspective, he says in his incredibly self-absorbed blog, that I don’t actually stop to look at myself in context. I don’t stop to look at this room full of nigh on identically dressed men and think, “Oooh actually, I’m really standing out here, maybe I’m actually more confident than those guys”.

In related news a colleague/friend of BM was in the bar and was possibly maybe having a good look at me and C so I’m wondering if maybe things will be reported back to BM. C certainly got the impression that she was looking over at us a lot. BM has actually seen me with C before.


So I saunter up to the bar and there is BM getting her shoulders massaged and earlier they were talking about when they can go drinking.

Maybe it’s nothing.

Back when I was twenty-five I said that, at the then current rate of progress,  I expected to have my first girlfriend at thirty-five. I can’t see that projection coming true.



Often my life is quite lonely. Often I have this internal dialogue that goes, “I just want to be hugged, kissed and told that everything is going to be okay……Yah, well it’s not going to happen so deal with it pussy, no one is coming to rescue you.”



I love the sound of rain on my window. I’m so tired, I’ve been on the go for nearly twenty hours. You know when I said that when I think of Dakota it makes me sleepy? It also works the other way around. I also think of S. Right now I’m thinking back to this time when we were snuggling on the day bed in her conservatory listening to the rain. I’m in such a snuggly mood. I just want to snuggle up to one of them and sleep. I want that feeling of being looked after and cared for, the warmth of a body wrapped around me, all that.

I feel like such a baby sometimes, especially with the whole breast fetish thing, but I figure that as far as things go this isn’t too bad. It’s not like I have a balloon fetish or something and most women are quite appreciative of snuggles.I think that I’m also quite narcoleptic in that I love sleep and will fall asleep just about anywhere that’s warm and comfortable.

Anyway, sleep.

Horses for courses.

As if I decided that going on a course in London on a Saturday was a good idea. I had to be up about 5:30am. The only bright spot is that R is coming and the dojo is literally a stones throw from a Brewdog… in if I stood on the pavement outside the dojo hitting Brewdog with a stone would be possible.

So now I’m racing south on the motorway. I say I. I’m in the back and sensei is driving talking about dojo politics and how things were in the old days.

In random news I’ve found a pornstar that looks like BM……Still not sure what I’m doing with her. I think I’m in a place where I’m content for weekly flirting and jagerbombing. I just can’t really see it going much beyond that. I’ve already asked her out, she’s said no, we’re in this position of now talking and flirting and jagerbombing again, as I see it the door is obviously open, I’ve made a move, it’s now her turn.

I’m hoping that we stop for coffee.