A complete history of my sexual failures

No, not mine; those of a demented-seeming, thirtysomething bloke called Chris Waitt. I’ve just been to see his film/documentary, a rambling and bizarre journey through his emotional past, as he tries to discover - by visiting all his ex-girlfriends - why he keeps getting dumped and can’t sustain a long term relationship. I thought it was brave, idiotic, hysterically funny, poignant, heartbreaking, ridiculous, thought provoking, open and raw.

Chris appears to have intimacy issues, as well as a lack of respect for others (including himself), a previous Jesus complex (yes, really), perennial tardiness, a massive dose of laziness and what seems to be a singular lack of ambition. As well as a penchant for dressing in jeans so ripped, he’d be more covered up if he wrapped himself in dental floss.

At the first you think the film is unravelling in a fairly predictable way - oh look, there’s the 18th girl Chris used to go out with slamming the door in his face and refusing to talk to him - but towards the end there’s an emotional sucker-punch that, well, emotionally floored me. He visits a girl called Vicky, with whom he had his longest-ever relationship to date (4 years) and to whom he even proposed. Sick of his unwillingness to set a date, and anxious to have a stable relationship with someone with whom she could start a family, Vicky dumped him and moved on.

Clearly there had been a lot of strong feelings involved at the time they were together; when Chris interviewed Vicky on film they were both in tears. The most affecting scene in the whole film was when Vicky talked frankly about what went wrong with their relationship; seeing someone’s real, true feelings writ large is profoundly touching. It transpired Chris was full of regret that he’d never seen it through with Vicky; the fact that she was about 8 months’ pregnant made it all the more poignant. But basically he couldn’t give her what she wanted and you have to wonder whether he’ll ever be able to give, emotionally, to another person.

It made me cry, and it made me sad for what happened in my relationship. I’m anticipating a dawning realisation, or a bit of self awareness, on his part about his behaviour and how it affected me and destroyed what we had, and how it prevented what we could have had. But I’m not expecting that to happen until around 2015. If ever.

An example of the average thirtysomething bloke today (as I am so quick to believe)? Or just a weird misfit? Either way, it was absorbing. And possibly the finest date movie to come out this year!

Why do I do these things?!

Last night Cazzer and Lady M came round for sushi. And by this, I mean we actually made sushi. Ourselves. And very professional it looked / tasted, too. It was very soothing to make, no wonder so many Japanese are skilled in the ways of Zen…I would like to think I could take it up full time though I’m not sure how many openings there would be for a journalist-turned sushi master.

Anyway, talk was mainly of Lady M’s recent successful foray into the world of internet dating. I, like her, tried it when I was 31, and found it to be highly entertaining. Mainly because I wasn’t expecting to find the man of my dreams that way, I just wanted a bit of fun and distraction. As a result, I enjoyed the experience, but I’d always told myself it wasn’t the way forward in the aftermath of the Relationship of Doom. Though, in a strange attempt to make myself ‘get back out there’ in a virtual capacity, I did join two sites three months after the break up just to see a) what kind of men were out there, and b) what kind of men would contact me.

Boy was I ever disappointed on both counts. Type of men out there: mainly after one thing, unless they are the world’s biggest losers who’ve been floating around on these sites for years, in which case they are after pretty much anything - an email, a ‘wink’, a hammering to their self esteem. Type of men who contacted me: aforementioned losers, mainly in the 48-58 year old age range, which had the main effect of immediately lowering my self esteem; as a result I viewed the sites infrequently, and never went beyond the odd ‘wink’ of my own which was, inevitably, never returned.

So after hearing about Lady M’s joyous experiences (3 dates in one week, one of whom she really fancied and is seeing again tomorrow!!) I was persuaded to try my experiment, which I had threatened to do for a while: put up a new profile, pretty much identical to my old one, but adjusting my age so that I was no longer excluded from searches by men in my own age range. Basically I’d discovered that men my age (30s) appear to have a cut off point of 35, which is highly irritating to someone like me who is, of course, older than that - but doesn’t look it! (or indeed act it). So now I am 31 on the site, and it will be interesting to see the average age of the men who contact me…

Wedding bells

No, not for me, of course not, how ridiculous would THAT be?! Almost as ridiculous, I guess, as my new (temporary) job. Yes, I came straight in off the Vancouver ‘redeye’ to my first day as Acting Associate Editor on a wedding magazine, one of the more comedy jobs I’ve had in recent years.

As if my first day wasn’t delirious enough due to jetlag, I had to get my head round a whole host of new concepts, mainly that there are a lot of women out there obsessed - and I mean OBSESSED - with weddings. Thankfully this mag is at the more stylish end of the market, so if I close my eyes and squint slightly it’s almost like working on Marie Claire but with fewer stories of genital mutilation, and more white dresses - and veils - on their fashion spreads.

I can now tell you the names of the three top British wedding dress designers, where to go if you want an amazing - and unique! - cake, and the pros and cons of an eco wedding over one where a carbon footprint is no object. It’s also a source of constant sweet treats though as I am new to it all, I seem to be the only one welcoming the regular flow of Laduree macaroons. Everyone else seems to have Laduree fatigue. Oh well, their loss, etc…

Living it up, Canadian-style

I was first introduced to the delights of Canadian fun after a day out in Whistler, when we drove up to see Chris and Luisa’s friends Conrad and Danielle in Pemberton (or Pembie, for short). They operate a kind of ‘open house’ policy; living in a six bedroomed house as they do, it must be quite hard for them to keep tabs on who lives there and who doesn’t, but it’s a definite gathering point for most of the local funsters, and while I wouldn’t necessarily want to live that way again (I had enough of it as a student and in my first 6 years in London), it certainly keeps things interesting.

When we got there, there were 8 people on their deck, all of whom currently lived there, and all of whom were extremely generous with their alcohol. I discovered Canadia-land has its own version of the Bloody Mary (of course it does! It’s Canadia-land!!) called the Caesar; two of these will cure many, many ills. After six of them I was ready to party on, which was handy as our next stop was a ‘leather and lace’ fashion show back in Whistler. This seemed to consist of a lot of young women wearing lacy knickers and not much else, though Luisa was taken by a short denim playsuit. No doubt I will be seeing it in her wardrobe of joy next time I visit.

The evening descended into a minor drug-fest; preparation for Chris’s and my birthday two days later. In the interim, we got into training by climbing the aforementioned Chief. C&L have done it twice already, so knew what to expect. Considering it’s 2.5km high, I was expecting a gentle, meandering ramble on tracks that zigzagged their way up - not the equivalent of a very long ladder made of rocks. And chains. It took two, long, bone-shaking hours to mount that bad boy, and my legs are still making me suffer for it. But, god, it was worth it. The views were incredible.

After all that, it was time to re-tox at the Birthday Barbecue of Joy, which involved several of C&L’s Pembie friends coming down laden with essentials (salad, vodka, MDMA powder) and then staying awake for approximately 36 hours. I caved at 6.30am after much silly dancing but it was still going strong when I got up at 2.30pm the next day. And on again into the next night. Thank god my flight back wasn’t until the day after.

It would have been difficult whatever day it was, though. I simply didn’t want to leave. I had the best week ever, with a great mixture of town and country, fun and relaxation, and loads of amazing food and drink. And of course the best bit was seeing my best friend again. It was great to spend quality time with Luisa and talk about all the things we’d touched on in emails and on Skype; it’s just not the same when you don’t see someone face to face. And great to spend time with Chris too. They are amazingly generous hosts and I can’t wait to see them again. Next year definitely. Who knows, I may even try to get a job in Vancouver….

Canadia, F**k yeah!

Good god, where do I begin to describe my Canadian experience? I’ve been back a week now and only just caught up on my sleep / felt the hysteria of it all begin to subside.

Well, first impression: Canada is beautiful. Well, the parts I saw of it anyway. Which were: Vancouver, the stunning Sea-to-Sky highway up to Squamish (where Chris and Luisa live), and on to Whistler (famous ski resort) and Pemberton (previously unheard of tiny town of about 3000 people, now getting its first festival which will feature, among other people you may have heard of, Coldplay, Jay-Z and NERD). Vancouver was a great mix of urban town in a mountain and harbour-front setting, with a laid back pace and a stylish vibe. Luisa and I did a LOT of walking both days we were there, taking in sights like Stanley Park, Gastown, the Lookout Tower, Kitsilano and Granville Island.

On the second day we met up with Chris, and had dinner prior to the amazing coastal drive up to Squamish. The sun was setting, the Howe Sound was sparkling, and the mountains and islands behind were silhouetted artistically. Their new home is simply stunning; swapping a one-bedroomed flat in Hackney for a three-bedroomed bungalow on the outskirts of a small, mountain town was always going to be a good idea. They have a huge decked yard, right next to a massive rockface which is continually swarming with climbers, and live in the shadow of The Chief, a huge granite monolith that it is almost compulsory to climb. So I did. More on that later.

Basically, though, Chris and Luisa’s new life is all about the outdoors - ski-ing in the winter, mountain biking and hiking in the summer, and a lot of hedonism all year round. Their new town may be small (16,000 residents) but it has AMAZING places to eat (I ate the best sushi I’d ever had in Sushi Sen) and a lively social scene (so I’m led to believe). But their good friends Conrad and Danielle live an hour and a half away in Pemberton, and gatherings occur there and in Whistler on regular occasions. Canadians do love to ‘party’.

Off to Canadia-land!

I am imminently off to Canada. It has been nine long months since I saw my friend Luisa, who moved there with her husband Chris last October. Initially, not only did I miss her as I knew I would anyway, but I found it incredibly hard to cope without her, as she had been such a support to me over the whole Relationship of Doom. Similarly, Dan being away in Afghanistan made things almost doubly hard, as both my main support systems were no longer in the country.

Hopefully it’s testament to the healing process that I managed to cope without them - okay, barely, at times, but I had no choice. It’s no bad thing to rely on yourself sometimes, and despite the onslaught of negative thoughts and painful emotions I went through, I’m slightly proud of not having to use anyone else as a crutch.

Anyway, it’ll be amazing to spend time with Luisa and Chris, and be invited into their slightly crazed world of outdoors living, heavy drinking, and general joyous depravity. I can’t wait.

A busy week

Back to reality indeed, and back to the toils and endeavours that I love to call journalism. I spent another busy week at one of the weeklies, where the pressure was ramped up so much it felt like working on a daily. Normally this doesn’t bother me, but the baton of stress is inevitably passed down from editor to deputy to features editor to features desk, and even being a humble freelancer means you can’t escape it. Seeing something I’d worked on frantically and thoroughly for three days pretty much written off by the deputy on Thursday morning had me close to tears, though that was probably brought on by all the late nights I’d had since Monday.

Not that I’m complaining - this week has been a LOT of fun. On Tuesday evening the Canadian came round to mine, which was momentous in two ways - not only is he AMAZING in bed, but it was the first time another man had been in my flat since the horrific ex. So now it feels slightly like something has been reclaimed, or exorcised. Which can only be a good thing. Wednesday was spent with my best friend Dan, who’s back from Afghanistan for a few days, and Thursday involved having the Italian round for dinner. I was slightly concerned he’d rubbish my risotto but I needn’t have worried; he seemed semi impressed and had a second helping, ooer.

We had a highly entertaining conversation about his approach to women. He basically divides them into two categories; those he knows he’ll sleep with, and, er, everyone else. It turns out he’s quite bored with women, though I ventured that that is possibly because he finds sleeping with them so easy. He has said before that he has had a couple of gay encounters and I wondered whether possibly he might be one of those guys who secretly hates women because he prefers men, but is promiscuous with them because they make it so easy for him.

He was heading off at the weekend to Brussels for a music festival, where he was going to be sharing a tent with an 18 year old he does find attractive, and her best friend, who fancies him. The first friend is also very jealous of the second friend. That’s either going to be a whole lot of fun, or a whole lot of pain. I’m sure I’ll find out at some stage.

Getting away from it all

Sometimes you just can’t be bothered with all the hassle of men, dating, life, the drudgery of work…so I always recommend going on a press trip to really get that sense of an artificial world of luxury and joy that you wish you always lived in but which you know is only going to last until you get back to Heathrow airport.

But for a few days it’s nice to abdicate all sense of responsibility and be in an environment where everything is provided for you and you don’t have to think about anything. So it was handy that I was going on a trip to the Maldives, which turned out to be five days of pure, unadulterated pampering. You name it, we got it - amazing over-water villas, languorous spa sessions, eight course gourmet meals, trips on speedboats, dinner in underwater restaurants…the usual madness.

One of the many highlights was a trip on a schooner out to sea, ostensibly to try and spot something called a whale shark. Three marine biologists had been out in the resort where we were staying for three months doing extensive field research and, lucky us, we were going to get to see some of the things they’d found while they’d been there. I wasn’t sure what a whale shark was but I knew I didn’t really care, and the prospect of a boat ride with a bunch of bearded boffins didn’t exactly set us on all fire with excitement, but we thought it was a sweet thing of the hotel to arrange. Until we saw the marine biologists in the flesh. One of them emerged from the sea a la Daniel Craig in Casino Royale, exposing a long, slim, muscled torso; the other two made their way up the jetty looking respectively like an Aussie surfer and a male model. In short, all three of them were possibly the hottest specimens of manhood any of us girls had ever seen. There followed much giggling and pathetic attempts at trying to take photos of them whenever they were hovering around in the background. It was possibly the sexiest boat ride I’ve ever been on. Sadly they all had girlfriends but it didn’t matter - we were just grateful for the opportunity to look at them a lot.

PS: We didn’t see any whale sharks. Frankly we didn’t care.

The state of the nation

The other night I went out with my friend Katy. She, too, is single and dating, but has become really disillusioned with the concept of internet dating. All that awkwardness, the stilted conversation…having to pretend to be interested in what a total stranger - with whom there might not even be a spark when you met them in the flesh - has to say, when all along you just know you’d be having a much better time in your warm, comfy flat sat on the sofa with a glass of wine watching Corrie. In your pyjamas.

I listened in sympathy. I, too, dipped my toes briefly in the internet dating world after the breakup, but didn’t get as far as actually meeting someone. I went off the idea almost instantly, after an email exchange with a bloke who came across as one of the most patronising people I’ve never met. It struck me that it was like a license for men to try and thrust their personalities on you from the comfort of their own homes, and then, when they do meet up with you, use the evening to size you up for a potential shag. It’s certainly not something I’ll be doing if I do get to the point where I’m looking for another serious long term relationship. It just smacks too much, also, of interviewing for the position of long-term partner/prospective future father of your children - I’d much rather carry on the way I’ve been doing, going out, having a few drinks, snogging men in bars and then either going home with them that night or meeting up with them a few days later…and getting to know them after that. Cut to the chase, I say!

Katy and I also had a long talk about the situation between men and women of our generation, and what we think has happened to make things turn out the way they have: where you get men unwilling to rise to the responsibility and challenge of embarking on a relationship with women their own age (ie us) and looking to younger women because it’s, basically, a lot less hassle. But, as I’ve commented before, if they think that’s going to bring them happiness in the long term, they’re mistaken. I had to laugh recently, when I read an interview with a British Z-list actor. Now 37, he’s recently become engaged to a girl he met last year - when she was 22, and has just graduated from university. In the interview, he said, ‘obviously, I’d really like to start a family soon - of course I’ll have to give whateverhernamewas a bit of time, but hopefully I won’t have to wait too long.’ Er, sorry, mate; you’ll be waiting at least five years, if not longer. A recent graduate is going to want to get stuck into her career, which means you’ll be in your early forties by the time she’s ready to consider it.

Are we destined to have a new generation of really old dads? Will parks be full of blokes who are nearly fifty running around trying to play football with their toddlers? It’s not a good look, but women have to be aware of the fact that we have contributed to this state of affairs. By gaining our independence - and no longer relying on men for finances, home ownership, having a baby within a relationship - we’ve lost our natural partners. So where does that leave us? I’m still working on an answer to that one…

Go, cougars!

So, another day, another younger man. Or two. Over the bank holiday weekend, I got a text from the Italian. I hadn’t heard from him for several weeks, and, when i got his message - which said, quite simply, ‘do you want to come to Windsor with me tomorrow?’ I immediately assumed it was for one of his other random birds. Apparently not; he wanted to see me. We agreed to meet up when I got back. I arranged to see him on a Friday, after I’d been (hilariously) speed dating. Of course I didn’t tell him that’s what I was doing first (although knowing I was going to dash off and meet him did have the added advantage of making me appear quite disinterested during the speed dating, which resulted in 7 - yes, 7 - men emailing me afterward asking me out. Typical. Anyway, that’s another story.

Then it was back to North Greenwich, where I found I wasn’t the only dinner guest. The Italian’s friend, Marco, was staying over as he worked in town and lived far out of London. To be honest, at first it did cross my mind that the Italian had lured me over for a threesome…but thankfully that didn’t appear to be the case. I mean, I haven’t had one of those since my final year at uni! Instead, Marco and I ended up chatting away in French (he’d lived there for 2 years) about films (he was also studying cinema) and actually making the Italian a little jealous…anyway, there was no question of whose bed I’d end up in, and another passionate evening was very enjoyably spent.

I’m clearly on some kind of roll, because two nights ago I was out with my friends Suze and Anna for what I thought was going to be a truly laid-back, lovely yet uneventful evening catching up with them. And it was, for the first three hours…but we’d ended up in some fabulously sordid late night Soho drinking den, which, although it wasn’t particularly busy, still resulted in us getting talking to a group of guys. There was another bloke who’d come in on his own, but he ended up joining us too…and seemed to take a bit of a shine to me. He was Canadian, a student of International Relations, and…23 years old. How is this happening?! Maybe I’m giving off some ‘no entry to under-25s’  vibes, but I’m not entirely sure how. We had a great time smoking and talking about films, music, and Canadia-land, and Suze and Anna left me to it at about 11. We drank, smoked and talked more, and eventually went back to his place in West London where we had a few International Relations of our own.