37 years old; 6ft 2in; never been married; no kids-want kinds; spiritual; MD; occasional smoker; regular drinker

Sick Boy's Profile

Looking for a special attractive lady to love, cherish & adore. Would like to travel to exotic places & have a lot of fun along the way...

I think in this section being totally open & honest is the only way to find the 'perfect' match...I'm 37 & have had a great life so far, have organised events for up to 40, 000 people, travelled to some of the World's most exotic beautiful places, sold millions of albums globally & raised millions of £££'s for some of the UK's leading charities. Due to the nature of my work I started out being very 'me me' if that makes sense - little bit selfish really - this was refelcted in the calibre of my girlfriends - mostly models & looking back on it just 'trophies' that I never really loved deeply anymore then they loved me I guess. 7 years ago I met the lady I thought I thought would be my lifetime soulmate if that doesn't sound too profound - a perfect combination of beauty on the inside & outside. We lived together for many years - yet - unfortunately, found out that that she been having sexual 'relations' with a female work colleague - quite a sexy thought maybe - but the reality was that it was all behind my back & sadly the trust had simply gone. Without trust I guess there's nothing without sounding morbid hey. She moved out around that time & it's fair to say this has been very much a soul-searching year for me. Having gone from one relationship to another for many years I finally got to know me & be at peace with my own company - something which I had never done before. I feel I'm ready to start dating again, do have very high standards & know it's unlikely that I'll meet the cool foxy lady of my dreams on a dating site - but it worked for a really close friend so what's the harm in trying hey. I'm pretty outgoing I guess, some say attractive/sexy - (don't take a good picture though) - but I can't really say that about myself with sounding conceited which I'm certainly not. Would like to take things really easy & just see if we make each other happy...If I'm making sense then would love to hear from you, be happy, peace!

The Date

Sick Boy suggested meeting at a Spanish Tapas restaurant for drinks and dinner. Unusually we didn't exchange a flurry of emails, any texts or even a phone call. His photos were attractive...Sick Boy in a swimming pool abroad, Sick Boy's face highlighted in purple and Sick Boy's landscaped garden and tastefully decorated living room?! As an aside, why do men put images on their profiles of the interior of their homes, offices, art works, motorbikes, cars, chopped photos of them with ex partners or the lingering tiny hand of a child...it always puts me off, but hey, clearly not quite enough not to take up Sick Boy's offer of Spanish Tapas for 2....

I arrive at the restaurant feeling very mixed, half hearted, I suppose, about this date. So as I begin to walk up to the restaurant frontage, I scan the bar for Sick Boy...the restaurant area is pretty busy with couples, friends, families and I can not spot any single men awaiting my arrival...just as I am about to hightail it back to the taxi rank, I get eye contact with Sick Boy, he is sitting in the very corner of the bar, glass of red in hand and gives me the nod that it is he! I feel quite edgy, he does not look like his photos...not in a totally bad way...just very different to the image I had built up in my mind. Definately alot thinner and older. Anyhoo in for a penny in for a pound it's too late to bail, particularly in these heels. So in I go. What really takes me by surprise is how nervous Sick Boy seems. I mean, having read his profile, he seems very confident and successful and self assured. Well we're at that utterly awkward introduction stage where you really have no idea what the other person is thinking and whether he's pleasantly surprised or terribly disappointed by my persona. As this is racing through my mind, I am also trying to take in his first impressions on me. Attractive face, tall....I see beads round his neck, but it's more to do with his nervous disposition and the fact that he's clearly had a few riojas! To be honest, as I sit on the bar stool and order a glass of red to join him, my initial thoughts are this is not a flyer and we are not gunna hit it off. Sick Boy launches into how he's only been on the internet dating website 10 days (everyone seems to say this...we're all new to it..NOT! See you at the annual reunion Sick Boy et al!) Sick Boy compliments me on my profile...this has happened a fair bit, I guess as I don't site DVDs and bottles of wine as my major hobbies and that my life is the greatest of all, it makes my profile stand out from the rest! Very quickly Sick Boy is telling me about his ex partner, who used to paint amazing nudes of women on canvas - she's the one from the profile, who ran off with her best female friend and is now 'tipping the velvet' full time. I quite like his candidacy but I also can't help feeling dubious about the story, let's go back a few dates to Mr Adulterer his Mrs was bi-sexual so the story went...anyhoo I am all ears and I re-assure Sick Boy that he's not alone. We move to our table, which thankfully is next to the bar and away from the masses, ideal for first date conversation. Sick Boy and I order. Calamari, olives, king prawns and a salad to share. We are now 2 glasses of rioja down and Sick Boy decides white wine would be good with the meal. He then tells me that he's had 'bad guts' for the past few days...mmm....he does look as if he is in a slightly cold sweat and I ask him if he feels ok. He says absolutely....and canes another glass of wine. The food comes and we have both relaxed into a fun and interesting conversation about work, previous relationships, likes and dislikes. Sick Boy suddenly says he needs to get some air...internet dating etiquette radar raises the alarm within - is he now bailing leaving me with the bill and the embarrassment of Tapas Tango gone wrong...hey ho I think as I see Sick Boy do a 'pink panther...de da...da de....da de da de da de da de daaaaaa de de de de! past the window....what happens next is a new one on me. I see Sick Boy hunched over the fire exit door at the side of the restaurant, vomitting....the reason I know he is vomitting is a pool of you know what is now trickling past the window where I am sitting looking at garlic mayonnaise and battered calamari. Mmm not the only ingredient 'battered' on this date me thinks! The restaurant doors swing open and Sick Boy returns, no mention of the 'incident', telling me he feels a whole lot better and shall we get another round of drinks!!! I can't stop myself so I ask him..."have you just been sick?" "Erm yes he replies, so sorry I have a really bad stomach upset". Sexy Sick Boy...he then tells me he needs a mint and stumbles to the bar to ask for one. At this point 2 waiters go outside under the instruction of the loudly spoken bar manager to clear up the mess! Jesus. For whatever reason, which escapes me now, I agree to head off to a cocktail bar for last orders with Sick Boy who decides Amaretto is the answer to lining his 'bad guts' I suggest that a milkshake may be more appropriate and an early night, for him only! He tells me I'm one cool lady...I must be I'm still here and as we part company on the taxi rank and Sick Boy leans in for a kiss....I manage to out wit him and fall into the back seat....as far as I remember he never did have that mint and I know the sayng goes you gotta kiss alot of frogs to find your prince but I draw the line at Sick breath...Sick Boy! Still searching....and who knows for how long!

Imagine this...I'm stepping out on my lunch break from work, my hands are full and I'm a woman on a mission, elbows at 90 degree angles, heading to the post office, for an all important mailing session. I have just managed to light, albeit clumsily, the much needed Marlborough Menthal to get me through the lunch hour rush in town. All I know is I'm half way through my day job and I'll soon be gleefully driving home with another day in the office done. Out of nowhere comes the said Stranger, who thrusts a bunch of lillies in green flower stall wrapper in my face! Wow! I stop. He bumbles on to tell me that he has seen me a few times and just had to do this today or he would never do it! I am flabberghasted! And in true idiot style I say "Good for you...how cool is it to give a stranger flowers...and more people should do this...blah blah-dee blah!" He then pushes a torn off piece of paper into my hand and tells me his name is Phil and that he would REALLY like to take me out. This is the stuff movies are made of, right? I mean, ok let's take a raincheck here. He is pushing 40, slightly receding, smart casual, harmless looking. At this stage I am feeling totally elated! What a fantastic thing to do to make someones day....I am now babbling, I introduce myself and ask if he works locally. 'No' is the Strangers response he works from home, but his grandmother lives in town - all very sweet I think. There's an awkward pause and thank him again for being so spontaneous and nice. I walk off in the direction of the masses and the mailing station commonly known as a frigging undoubtedly rammed post office and he heads in the other direction. I am beaming..expecting all my passers by to now realise that I just got given flowers by a stranger. This is like an old fashioned musical should I pirouette around the lampost or go legs akimbo over the taxs on the rank? Erm no....just keep walking, try not to set the lillies on fire with the Marlborough Menthal.

Fast Forward 2 days....

It's Friday morning, I am in the office...thanking fuck it is Friday and I am facing 2 whole days away from the brain drain misery - yipee! The phone rings...I pick up...a male voice says Hi it's Phil. My mind races....Phil...any clients that I'm on first name terms with, called Phil - erm NO. Then the icy discomfort flows over me. Phil is the Stranger with the flowers. He apologises for calling me in work. But all I can think is, all my mind is consumed with is, is how does Phil know where I work? My mind races back to that conversation on the street and I am certain that my workplace was not discussed or disclosed.....I feel awkward, intruded upon and I just want to get off the phone. He asks me if he could take me out for lunch today. I stutter and stumble and bascially make my excuses that I have plans, which i dont, I will be mainly freezing my tits off, eating a soggy sandwich in the park, but hey. And as I place the receiver down I feel incredibly uneasy.

34 years old; 6ft 1; Italian; dark; handsome; suave; a professional!!!


I'm an actor, model and ex-dancer, very confident with a great sense of humour. I have a passion for photography and am also an expert in Indian massage and yoga.

I'm well educated and well travelled with a wide range of interests and am comfortable holding a conversation with anyone and am always considerate towards other people.

Mr Male Escort's photos were very appealing! Think Mickey Rourke in 9 and half weeks, jet black hair, white shirt, black and white image, athletic and muscular...similar to internet dating shots, I wondered what he would look like in the non air brushed light back in the real world?


The Rendezvous!

Not exactly a date, but a rendezvous arranged over the internet no less, with a gentleman who is essentially, himself for hire! I have often had lengthly debates about the male psyche and the engagement of prostitutes or high class escorts. My theory stands that men who hire women in this capacity do so for power reasons "hire and fire" they pay they play! And although I don't like the commodisation of a liaison like this, I do understand why men do it, or at least I think I do. And let's face it, the sex industry is big business, even in this recession, the pink pound is peaking! The boundaries are set from the outset there's none of the games and he gets want he wants sex, the girlfriend experience, company, to be intimate with a gorgeous girl, to do the raunchy or kinky things that maybe his wife, girlfriend isn't in to or simply to feel good, accepted, less lonely, less frustrated.


So I call Mr Male Escort and leave a message. He promptly calls me back. His voice has an Italian lilt, deep and sexy. I feel very nervous, silly and wonder if he thinks I'm some desperate housewife or a real minger!!! I mean, I tell you, paying for sex or company, oh par-lease? I tell him I would like to book him for 1 hour for cocktails. We agree all the details, he is very business like and professional, with a flirty, re-assuring edge. Mr Male Escort tells me I have a sexy voice and that he is looking forward to meeting me and getting to know me better. Yikes! I just want to talk is that 'pc' in male escort circles?


I arrive at the cocktail bar early and sink a margherita...I feel extremely nervous. I have dressed up, heels, black skirt, blouse and a raincoat...I actually feel a bit like an escort myself which is bonkers! I start to wonder if the bar staff will know! Mr Male Escort walks in...he is very tall...very dark...very handsome and suave...suave..suave! He does look like his photos. Bingo! He is wearing a pinstripe suit...black shirt...shiny black shoes...he looks good...but he also has a ruck sack with him...it doesn't compliment this otherwise stylish outfit and I can't help wondering what on earth is in it!!!??? Sex toys? Massage oil? An array of outfits..a uniform..a fireman...leathers??? Strange!


Mr Male Escort looks over at me, I raise my eye brows and grin in a very uncool, 'golden retriever finding a ball kind of wet grin sort of way', yes it's me I'm the booking!!! He kisses me on both cheeks in a way that appears like we already know each other. This guy is good. I offer to get him a drink and he calmly tells me to stay put and he will of course organise drinks at the bar. Funny really I'm paying but he is acting the gentlemen! He returns I now feel hideously silly!I feel as though I need to explain myself to him, as to why I would need or want to book a male escort. Clearly I cannot divulge it's for research or that I'm a blogging queen! So I tell him that I'm single and it's the first time I've done this and I fancied finding out more about it! I want to know more about him. Why a good looking, articulate, intelligent and young guy is doing this for a living.


Mr Male Escort tells me he is an aspiring actor, a former dancer and escorting makes ends meet and then some for the time being. He has a niche of regular rich clients, not to mention a handful or maybe just over a handful of couples that he "servicies" from time to time. Fascinating stuff I'm mesmerised by his tales. He tells me about one couple in particular who are very rich and have a boat in Southampton...Mr Male Escort attends parties on this boat and basically the husband enjoys watching Mr Male Escort with his wife!!! What's that about???


I think we've established that I just fancy a good natter and I hope I am making it clear that extra services off the male escort menu are not on the horizon.

Mr Male Escort has not raised the issue of payment and I am unsure of when and how this should be done, discreetly no less. We finish our drinks and Mr Male Escort suggests we head on for dinner...I get a bit a caught up in the moment, and before I know it we are sat in an Indian restaurant sharing a curry! How bizarre! He is great company and I feel relaxed and I am enjoying our conversations which span a wide range of subjects. Literature, travel, theatre, politics...Mr Male Escort has got it covered!


The bill comes and I pay it obviously and reality hits me about the situation. And I think it's time for me to depart this date before the rucksack is revealed!!! Mr Male Escort tells me he would like to see me again and not in this capacity. Funny really...we hit it off well and beneath the tales and trysts of his colourful life is a guy who like all of us probably just wants to find somone special, get his acting career off the ground and be done with the massages by the hour!

In the taxi home, I giggle to myself, I feel like this date should remain my secret. I feel like a child that has been a little biut naughty and hopes she won't get caught! I can see why men do this. It's thrilling...exciting...straightforward and you are made to feel amazing, providing you can pay! Mr Male Escort never did ask me for his hourly rate, maybe he just wanted a mate. Still searching but increasingly unsure if the internet is the answer, maybe I should order a pizza and see if the delivery guy does it for me??? Extra pepperoni anyone!

I had an interesting conversation with a colleague today and she said to me "there are some men you fuck and some men you marry - it's a simple as that." Her comment took me by surprise as she sat there 8 months pregnant, blooming and glowing and the irony of her statement hung in the air, like the elephant in the room, the comment not her I hasten to add! She said quite blatantly men adopt this theory...women that are shaggable and women that are marriage material and why in hell shouldn't we do the same.

It got me thinking though...my ex husband was definitely in the "fuck" category and I obviously made the mistake and married him as well! The boyfriend before him, who I was engaged to, so I nearly nailed it, was cetainly of the men you marry camp. But why do women have to settle for the more sensible, stable, solvent man as our "happy ever after" and leave the white knuckle ride of your life in the fantasy bank? Maybe I'm better off staying single? She seemed so sure of her theory, that there are the men you want to fuck and the men you should marry and it's as cut and dry as that, that I had to explore this concept.

She told me her husband is not her normal type of man...shorter, less handsome, more laid back and socially well rounded but never going to set the room alight with charisma or charm, and very unemotional. But practical, reliable and her best friend.

Now my parents have been together for over 40 years, they met on a factory floor in 1962 and my mother says she saw my father and it was a thunderbolt moment. He says the same. Four children later, four grandchildren later than that and hey many bumps in the long road along the way, they are still really in love. I guess I aspire to that thunderbolt, fairytale, besotted, intoxicating, overwhelming, all consuming desire, lust, love, laughter with your soul mate? Isn't that the REAL DEAL? It's funny this internet dating because it encourages one to categorise, tick boxes...smoker/non smoker...joker...non joker...drinker...non drinker...thinker..non thinker...fitty? fatty? divorced? debauched? rich man..poor man...beggar man..thief? I mean what is the answer...how do I find Mr Right? Can he be found on a questionnaire? What ever happened to eyes meeting across a crowded room and BANG! Falling head first into Hook, line and sinker love? Romantism...passion...excitement...anticipation...and the longing and the connection...togetherness...soulmate. You know the thing, some people say they just knew the second they met their partner. Others are growers...at first meeting there can be a total dislike or perhaps indifference and then slowly potential peeps over the fence and says he's a Mr Maybe! The romantic in me really hopes and dreams for the thunderbolt but as the dates continue maybe I need to listen to the very pregnant and very fabulous friend who has it sussed...and I need to determine which of men I date are the fuck and run and more importantly which ones I am supposed to marry...still searching and under a new category called BORING BLOKE!!!

40 years old; 6ft 1in; tall; dark; handsome-ish; film and tv lighting executive; resides in Cheshire countryside (WAG central); claims to be a millionaire !

Mr BAFTA's Profile

For me banter type conversation with a blend of chemistry is a massive turn on! Being spontaneous & adventurous. I love to laugh & make other people laugh. I have a sensitive empathetic side to me and love to help others. A kind, charismatic, emotionally intelligent, fun loving girl, with a wicked sense of humour, is my ideal. (not asking much!) I don't care if I meet her at the bus stop or on a laptop, it's the chemistry which counts. I do warn you. I am passionate, slim and outrageous. I am more than happy to reply to sane messages. I am here to date and find a great girl and not spend all my days emailing back and forth!

Mr BAFTA's Emails
Mr BAFTA contacted me, with the specific request of a scheduled call! I obliged...intrigued with the potentially refreshing and direct approach (Mr Cerealman is proof enough that endless emails and even telephone banter does not provide fruity foreplay for a fun date). So 56 minutes later Mr BAFTA has invited me to his house for dinner this evening. Get this he is sending a chauffeur driven car to pick me up! Excitement and anticipation of a red carpet arrival at a gated mansion in the Cheshire countryside whetted my appetite to waterfall levels - the reality was a water feature that a failing executive would have on his desk!!!

The Date
Gerry, the driver is outside, holding the rear passenger door open for me. As I sit back on the leather seat and select a DVD to pass the time, I am wondering if this one could be it! Mr Right?

Mr BAFTA had instructed me that I was to tell the driver that I was I going for an audition to be a "singing nun" in the Sound of Music. I can't sing and I'm no nun, but curiosity breeds brilliance and How do you solve a problem like Maria? lalalala!

Picture this, turning down a winding country lane I'm expecting the electric gates any second. We pull up to what I imagine to be the gate house and then Gio's words bring me crashing back down to earth we've arrived. As he reverses the car into the narrow driveway that is barely big enough for one car. Dreams of being driven up a sweeping gravel driveway and then swept right off my feet are SHATTERED as I step out of the car and 2 steps to the cottage (note not mansion) front, and only, door!!! Mr BAFTA greets me with an air kiss on both cheeks, Gio is dismissed and the date begins. I try to hide my disappointment of no East or West wing or Butler...

Mr BAFTA has clearly had a few beers prior to my arrival, he pours me a large glass of very cheap plonk and all I can focus on is the fact that there is no table and chairs in this relatively spacious kitchen in their place is a vile looking cross trainer!!! My attention is then drawn to the flashing red, yellow, blue and green lighting that creates a disco dance floor effect with a blue aga! The grand (or should that be not so grand) tour came next.


Mr BAFTA seemed proud to divert my gaze to the garden and his hot tub! Next is a snug area with a well-lit Rrolf Harris naked woman canvas. A copy. Mr BAFTA claims to have an £80K original, but he doesn't hang it in his house for security reasons, I ask him what's the point of having it then? He tells me his pension is 20 cases of vintage red wine held in a cellar in London. Hey if it's anything like this paint stripper, I'm drinking, old age is gunna hit him hard! We move on.

Mr BAFTA's lounge is full of framed photographs of Mr BAFTA. Mr BAFTA, clutching a BAFTA with various television personalities. It suddenly dawns on me that there is one thing missing, the BAFTA itself. Surely if you have been successful enough to win a BAFTA, such a prestigious award, it would take pride of place on the mantelpiece? How silly of me, for security reasons, it must be with the wine and the Rrolf Harris. I wonder if photoshop has anything to do with this little ensemble.

Back in the kitchen Mr BAFTA serves up some nibbles. He takes a serrated knife from the block and sprays it with Mr Sheen, wipes it with kitchen roll and gives me a sinister stare. This isn't funny, it's weird. I'm glad I've arranged a get away car for later! I ask Mr BAFTA why he is internet ating and what's more, why me? Surely he must surrunded by WAGS and glamorous women to date. He laughs and tells me he's been through all of them in the area. He then asks me if my friends would think I was a slapper to rock up to his house! Mr BAFTA knows how to shower a girl with compliments. Mr BAFTA calls me "babe" continually...I tell him I don't like it. Slapper...Pig...what next?

Dinner is served! Mr BAFTA has a oyster white round marble dining room table with at least 8 chairs. 7 of which are still in the plastic covers! How bizarre. 1 chair is uncovered and this is Mr BAFTA's chair. I'm getting a feeling that this is where Hannibal Lecter could sit. Anyway it's irrelevant as Mr BAFTA and me are dining on our laps, complete with a re-run of only Fools and Horses! Visions of luxury, romance and being woo-ed, wined and dined are out the window! I'm now looking forward to going home! You can't buy style, taste or class, BAFTA or no BAFTA!

Mr BAFTA returns from the kitchen, with a costume change into shorts and a T shirt? What the feck? The shorts I notice as he sprawls out on his sofa, while I am sat on the floor at his feet, hierarchy check?! have a hole in the crotch area. Oh dear.....oh dear! i tell him, he doesn't seem particularly concerned and it's not surprising as what he does next is rather alarming. Mr BAFTA, who is clearly worse for wear, pulls his shorts down and shows me his penis and says "What do I think of that?" He grabs my hair and tries to kiss me. I dodge him and right on cue there is a knock at the door.

Mr BAFTA is surprised my driver found his house, me too, blink and you'll miss this one...anyhoo relief reigns as I clamber into the get away car and leave what could have become the Cheshire Chainsaw Massacre to it. There's a thought...perhaps he'll upgrade to an Oscar with that perfomance! Still searching....

50 year old; single writer; several books published and 1 on the way! Blonde hair (looks grey on the photos?) green eyes; 5ft 11; never drinks; non-smoker; unusual profile...

Mr Author's Profile
Well known handsome author seeks muse...
I am happy to send you my photos by email once we have chatted and I know you are genuine. I am a writer (modern novels) and travel widely doing my research. I am looking for a tall slim attractive companion, able to travel, who is interested in writing and in literature and who would like coming to publishing and media parties with me. All applications will be considered including from the U. S. You will be gorgeous and sexy and sophisticated and able to hold your own in all situations and with every kind of person. I am single and I am looking for a fun and inspirational relationship which will benefit both of us. You must have a U. K. Or U. S. Passport and be fluent in English and live in or near London (or Miami). This is a fab offer. If you cannot be bothered to persuade me, I cannot be bothered to reply. After an initial chat, I would expect to meet you in central London. Nobody worthwhile has either the time or the inclination for a cyber relationship.

My Email to Mr Author
Subject: A Picture Tells...
A thousand words and the right words paint the perfect picture.
Please check out my profile, I love creative writing and the arts and would relish the opportunity to meet you to discuss your "fab offer!"
Photos welcomed at *************
Mr Author's Email
I like your profile. Photos on their way.
My Response
Hey *********
Photos received and approved (!!!) So what next...to meet or not meet, that is the question and how is the competition looking, have you met many applicants or am I the best? Rhetorical question old chap...
Mr Author's Email
Obviously the next step is to meet for tea/coffee or an early evening drink...nothing too long/heavy in case we don't find chemistry together! The "competition" is strange! Those with the 'wow" factor in looks turn out to have zero conversation or intelligence or, most commonly, reliability (!) and those who are bright and fun just don't make the heart beat faster! To give you an example, I had a lunch date yesterday at 1pm and at 25 past one the date rang me to say that she had only just woken up and could be with me by 4pm! How could I rely upon such a person to turn up at the airport or at a public reception! And we had not met, only exchanged photos, so it cannot have been that she did not like me! I suspect you are finding the same with men...the handsome, fun and "wow" men are players and unreliable and the reliable and friendly ones are not cool! Anyway, let's meet. Send me a text and we can make a date next week?

The Date
Or should I say interview....assessment day....chemistry checker!!! Here goes...

I left my husband on Halloween...very apt on reflection, although I didn't need a broomstick...I had been unhappy for some time, at least a year...and the initial niggling doubt over our future and the state of our destructive relationship had grown and blossomed into an overwhelming feeling that I had to extricate myself from the relationship. Cinders about to turn into pumpkin as the clock struck midnight moment.

He was never going to leave me, why would he, he did what he wanted, when he wanted and had his cake and boy did he eat it. I tried everything sitting at the kitchen table for the "talk", offers of compromise, the tears, the silent treatment, I smashed a few plates, tore up some of our photos, until there was no-where else to go. No matter what I did or didn't do there was little or no reaction from him. He was emotionally closed, cold and distant and I was becoming increasingly needy, clingy and child-like and I hated it, I felt vulnerable and unstable. He wasn't going to change. He wasn't going to stop taking cocaine and drinking alot. He had made it crystal clear that he didn't want children with me or anyone and I guess I realised I was living with a rebellious Irish teenager. A great guy to go prop up the bar with for a raucious night on the town but not marriage material. Hindsight smacking me in the face! Hindsight explains the injury that foresight would have prevented...now you tell me!!!

What's the saying? Live with wolves - learn to howl. And I was Mrs Werewolf let me tell you, full moon, half moon, honeymoon, button moon!!! I mean I didn't have a hairy chest or back (still don't for that matter, wax lyrical baby!) but I could scrap in the pack with the best of them - survival instincts kicked in. I was an inner Mrs Werewolf...the inner strength and determination was growing and growing...

The turning point came when I caught a reflection of myself in a shop mirror, I froze and paced back for a second glance, as I did not recognise the woman staring back at me. She looked attractive, sophisticated and a sorted 30-something, but it was her eyes. Those chestnut eyes were sad and empty and they'd lost their spark and shine. I felt tears well up in that shop that day. On the outside I hid it well but deep down inside me I was totally lost, lacking in confidence, self esteem, I felt trapped, lonely, oh so very hideously lonely and disappointed. My marriage did not look like other peoples. My life did not look like I wanted it to. I had moulded myself around my husband in some ways. I'd even nicknamed him Georgie, as in George Best, which we laughed about in the early years. Georgie the character though, grew larger than life and lost it's humour for me, bender after bender and I craved Captain Sensible to rock up and rescue me!

"I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered" (George Best)

There were times I felt I couldn't change him, so I joined him, acted just like him, joined his gang just to try to feel part of something, connected, wanted. But those nights that went on until the sun came up didn't make me happy. I was kidding myself, tricking myself into believing we were having a great time, and I was always on the perimeter, the understudy and after thought as Georgie was the leading man.

The frustration that built up over a year before I left was pouring out of me. I knew I had to leave but I wasn't clear how to execute the plan. Not until Halloween of all days. I love Halloween. I love the pumpkins..the candles...the costumes...and I threw a party to celebrate! And then I was gone...puff....and I never ever went back. No trick...no treat...I was serious...scared but serious.

Between friends, family and of course the infamous dates, I really enjoy my own company now and I have developed interests, creative interests that lay dormant before. Gosh I was existing, but I wasn't really living and I wasn't me. Me had disappeared....and now she's back...and she's alive and kicking!!! All singing...all dancing...all dating!

I now know what I don't want from a man - I hope that I would spot it a mile off, the addictive personality, the wild streak that can never be tamed, the charm, the manipulative tendencies, the all or nothing whirlwind that captivated me and made me feel the most important girl alive and hopelessly in love. And then just hopeless!

That is how it started, I fell hook, line, sinker and then some for my ex husband. He rocked my world and I couldn't believe he wanted me. I fancied him, I liked him, I loved him, I adored him. I remember telling him I wanted to eat his face, the desire was so strong that we almost couldn't get close enough. But what should have been a passionate wild affair...infatuation even...should not have been one year later walking down the aisle to Norah Jones Come Away With Me. And for five years we tried, well we tried and then we stopped trying and we ripped it and each other apart slowly, unravelled and destroyed it all.

I went out with my ex-husband when I was at college for a couple of months. We always remembered each other because we had sex in a Cathedral. Notorious, eh! We had sex together in the silent prayer chapel whilst a carol service was going on in 1993. He was the popular, good looking maverick at college. He bagged all the girls, he was gregarious, fun, mad and everyone wanted a piece of him. He wore a canary yellow overcoat for goodness sake. He wanted to be noticed and he was. When he asked me out for a coffee I couldn't believe he was interested in me. And he wasn't for long, a few more liaisons after our stint with the church and that was it. So when through friendsreunited he got back in touch 10 years later it was like a bolt out of the blue. I was transported back to the ditsy, insecure teenager that drooled over him on the college bus. I cried my heart out when he dumped me all those years ago. I remember playing Beverley Craven "You're playing love scenes without me and she's got my role" in my bedroom at full blast, blarting into the pillow with adolescent, hormonal and irrational thoughts of not being able to go on another day.

We arranged to meet up in Harvey Nicks for old times sake. He walked in, pin stripe suit, same blue eyes, black hair, dashing good looks, he looked like a movie star to me and within an hour we were rubbing noses, holding hands and I was giggling like a teenager. Within one month I'd called off my engagement (to a very stable, solvent, sensible man, I regrettably broke his heart and ego, blinded by love, lust, rose coloured teenage spectacles, who knows) and we had moved in together. For the next year we were totally obsessed and engrossed in one another and I really believed I had found it. True love that would last a life time. We didn't even have a television because he told me he never wanted to be one of those couples who were ruled by a box in the corner of room with nothing to say each other. We listened to music, read books to each other, drank red wine, sat by the roaring fire, played board games and we talked about everything and anything and had alot of great sex! He had an ability, at that time, to make even the simplest of events so special. I was besotted.

Experts say falling in love is like a mental illness, a sickness and it was...I felt sick to be away from him and even when I first left on Halloween the months that ensued were heart breaking, gut wrenching. I missed him...no, I missed what I wanted him to be so badly. I remember feeling so sad that we wouldn't be growing old together, we weren't going to embark on the wonderous journey of having children and in time grand children. I had failed.

You can't change people.

A leopard can't change it's spots and a tiger can't change it's stripes...one can't change one's essential nature, particularly negative characteristics.

Still searching for second time around hook, line and sinker love and laughter but not with Mr Trick...only Mr Treats may apply for this once in a lifetime job!!!