Manchester and the lovely Kristen

Well I’m just back from a strange adventure and I don’t know whether to be excited or gutted.

I borrowed Mike’s car, a shitty old Fiesta that’s absolutely hanging, but I negotiated it into the agreement when I said I’d take on Bess, his dog for a month while he’s at home with his parents doing some painting in an effort to secure some cash.

I went to see Kristen, the mysterious Indian girl who I met at a party in town a few months ago. I have to admit I fantasise about her often and wanted to see if I had a chance.

Fat bloody chance!

I spent have of Saturday night trying to summon up the courage to kiss her. In the end I asked her if that would be OK, and she knocked me dead.

She didn’t actually hit me or anything.

She did worse than that.

She told me she’s in love with a girl called Suzy and although they’re not an item, they get it on whenever they get the chance.

I was gutted, I ached, I felt I’d been slapped, and I could have easily sunk into a sulking depression that might have taken me days to over come, but then she said that provided I knew that and didn’t get carried away then of course I could kiss her!

It was just a peck on the cheek in the end. I don’t really know what else to do anyway, and I felt a bit of a fool.

Even despite that though we had an amazing time and I hope that I can be her friend. I’m utterly confused by the whole thing and I think now that I know I haven’t got a chance I fancy her even more.

And Manchester? Well, rain town is pretty good really.



Dragged up, then levelled.

Oh Kristen my Kristen.

I sulked for a week.

I called Kristen.

And she caught the train up from Manchester to rebuild my sad and broken heart.

Kristen the most beautiful creature I know held my hand, and it was electric.

Kristen who always calls me The Dude, rather than just Dude as do all my friends.

Kristen who could make me fall in love with her at the  drop of, well, anything. A hat, a pair of knickers, a condom.

Kristen who then levelled my stupid fantasies by telling me about her girlfriend!

Kristen about who I’ve harboured deep desires since I first met her in Newcastle at Shaun’s party – one of the few times that I have actually enjoyed a party.

The trouble is now that I know I can’t possibly have a thing with her I fancy her even more.

She talked to me so seriously about Sandy, the girl I was heartbroken over.

Helped me see that I’d built up this love, this non-existent relationship in my mind, with some girl I’d once walked the coast to South Shields with, but barely spoken to other than that.

She left me feeling pathetic, but excited. More excited about her. But also aware of the parameters of our friendship. Knowing that it will always be that, and no more.

She talked to me about the love in her life, and that was exciting too. She becomes so excited herself. So animated, so alive. I couldn’t her be excited.

Ah Sandy, thanks to Kristen I know i must let you fade from my mind, as I was never part of yours.

Ah Kristen. I fear I’ll think of you even more, now that I know that you can never me mine.

Love and the Dude, it’s not looking good just now.



Last night we were in The Griffin.

It’s not a flash boozer by any stretch of the imagination.

But beer isn’t too stupidly expensive, and they have a DJ on some Saturdays who plays old rock, and last night was brilliant.

Bowie when we walked in. Dad wouldn’t have music played in the house when i was a kid. What a shame as I’m sure I’d have known Bowie much earlier if the folks liked the radio more.

The Stones – Get Offa My Cloud.

Bryan Ferry, or Roxy Music.

The Doors.

Loads of great music, and we didn’t even notice that they carried on serving until well late. We rolled out at 12.30 or so, having got serious beer goggles for the few girls who were in there dancing. Girls we wouldn’t have noticed when we were sober, but girls who became beautiful, Goddesses, with the consumption of many pints of dodgy Czech lager the name of which I’d never heard before.

Shaun had a bottle of whiskey back at his.

And cards. I hate playing cards whether sober or drunk. I can’t be bothered to learn the stupid rules of all the games, but I know I’m alone in this. I should just get over it. I know I’m missing out.

What I’m not missing out on is a headache. Mine is banging like a bastard.


And it’s mid afternoon already.

Assignments to write.

Breakfast to eat.

Life to live.

The Dude is, down.

Dear Diary.

Please record this moment for me.

Remind me of it when my ebullience threatens to convince me that I have a happy heart.

Help this moment be a small hitch in time from which I learn to be humble, to be grateful when things are just OK, not to moan when it seems that the whole plan has turned to rat shit.

I think that for the first time in maybe the whole of my not many years I have fallen into an emotional dilemma beyond the straightforward lust that keeps me cleaning my teeth in the morning and having some care over my dress sense.

I dare not mention her name. It’s not Kristen, I think she’s the only girl who gets a name check in my ramblings other than my mum. In fact the object of my desires both carnal and emotional is not as gorgeous as Kristen, but then a man must have a vague sense of his limits mustn’t he?

I don’t really know what I did to dash my chances.

I did nothing as rash as to declare my love.

But twice today I have tried to say hello and have been rejected.

Once could possibly have been a mistake.

Twice is clear.

So why am I so bothered? I have only spoken to her a few times, haven’t even been for a drink.

But bloody hell I’m drinking now. Have been since five o’clock.

Sad? Pathetic? Oh yes. But that’s The Dude for you baby.

The “perils” of online dating

Regular readers of this blog will know that I have done a bit of online dating in my time, even going so far as to travel from Newcastle to London for what turned out to be a disproportionately expensive date (I will not be repeating that kind of mistake). I have had, and still keep, an open mind on the whole internet dating thing, but I am aware that is has attracted its fair share of controversy with stories of men posing as women and vice versa, or online dates turning into stalkers.

I like to think I give people the benefit of the doubt. In my experience, most people are who they say they are – but it is best to be careful until you have at least met your date in person and learnt more about them. The usual caveats apply: don’t meet someone without informing a friend or family member first and always meet in a public place. Someone might say these “rules” apply to girls only, but I’m not so sure about that. Okay, we lads like to promote the old macho ‘I can look after myself’ image, but we can all be a victim. I’m not necessarily saying that you’d turn up on the date to find that the pretty girl you’ve been e-mailing for the past week turns out to be a 6’4, 250-pound male mugger, but it’s not beyond the realms of possibility. All I’m saying, really, is to be cautious. The internet is a great tool to have at our disposal – I wouldn’t be writing this without it – but it attracts all types, and some of them are going to have less than savoury agendas.

Leaving the scary stuff aside, internet dating can be great fun – but, at least to begin with, I would suggest treating it as exactly that: fun. You might get talking to someone online and you both get on so well that you start thinking you’ve met your soul mate, only to turn up on your first date to realise the two of you have no chemistry in person. That’s what it’s all about, or so they tell us. Chemistry! In fairness, I think ‘they’ have a point. You might believe some girl is an absolute stunner and if you’re lucky, she might believe the same thing about you, but if there’s no chemistry and things get awkward quickly, what’s left? You have to be able to get on with someone. No one is going hang around with a friend who they have absolutely zero in common with and who they can’t even hold a basic conversation with, so I don’t see why it should be any different with a potential partner.

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