From feast to famine

After things went pear-shaped with Mavis, Matilda was my main iron in the fire (see 10/10/09).

You may remember that she had said that she would like to go out with me on the basis that I didn’t write about her on here. I decided that wasn’t an option though, but when Matilda found out, she said she had no interest in being ‘blog fodder’. I admired the fact that she had stuck to her guns, but as a man of principle, and a passionate advocate of the freedom of the press, I wasn’t prepared to back down. So it was over before it had even started.

The point of this blog is not too embarrass people (I’m sure that I embarrass myself more than anyone else), but to give an insight into how hard is to be single in your late-30s while, hopefully, providing a little entertainment.

There are three pertinent points to make with regard to Matilda. First, without exception, the entries about real-life dates (as few and far between as they are) are written with a time delay of a couple of weeks. This gives me the opportunity to weigh up how the date went and, if it was a success, to see the woman again before I have written anything. This ‘buffer zone’ means that if things are going well, out of respect for a flourishing relationship, the most I will do on here is allude to it.

Second, I write favourably about most women that I meet. Despite all having rejected me, I have never said a word against Tandy (see 1/7), my immediate ex, the Doctor (see 23/09/08) or Gemma (see 8/8/08). I go to town only about some of the less interesting women who I meet online (sorry Mavis).

Third, it’s a pretty anonymous medium. The readership is hardly comparable with The Sun’s and Matilda is obviously not her real name – only about six people know her genuine identity.

Matilda saying that she wasn’t interested in being blog fodder didn’t make a lot of sense, as it was her who asked me out. I’ve got far better things to do with my time and money than to go out with people in the hope that they provide me with some decent material, particularly when I already know that they are ‘normal’.

Since Matilda declared that she didn’t want to go on a date, I have questioned myself (and been questioned by others) as to why I didn’t acquiesce to what, after all, is a pretty reasonable request. It’s hard enough to secure a date, so was I just being pig-headed to turn one down? The truth is that I would irrefutably have shown some self-censorship had Matilda ticked a few more boxes, other than being great company. But she didn’t, so I didn’t.