Bridget Jones magnified mixed with a hint of a super posh Vicky Pollard on speed. Slightly younger, slightly shorter and slightly more realistic about getting my bum cheeks into the once favourite size eight Topshop jeans. Think Emmerdale, cross with Country Living and a sprinkling of League of Gentlemen to grasp an inkling of where Lady Steph has lived for most of my live and why I had to escape via uni and then to the big smoke. And I don’t regret a thing yet it must be that time of the year where everyone starts to assess how much hard earned cash they have spent and have little to show for it, weight we’ve haven’t lost, and vices which are unchanged (I still rock home after a 6 course meal and vino and decide to raid the fridge).
This leads me to ask how much longer must this darned month go on for? Obviously 31 days, but I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling like I’m drowning through a combination of Groundhog Day cross with the Chronicles of Narnia; bolt upright at 7am daily, just as chilly outside (I presume), the white witch remarkably resembling my boss and those causing me issues at work all too frequently reminding me of those pesky wolves trying tirelessly to hunt down the children (although, debatably, they are a little less hairy).
Maybe this is just London thing but being in my mid twenties and female, suddenly all of my friends are either hugely attached to their current squeeze and can’t possibly leave their sides for longer than it takes to open their bowels or are completely skint. I have the latter predicament but don’t we all. The former just gets me incredibly riled. As a teenager, we all had the heart flutters over some spotty, gangly ‘but he’s soooooo gorgeous’ lad and lived for the day when that doorbell signifying such parent picking us up. Every second was vital. Now we are supposed to be more mature and recognise that the person we are involved with is not going to run off with another the second they are out of your sight…well they might but ideally not. So why oh why are so few of my once fun loving, carefree, condoms a plenty girlfriends able to unstick themselves from their partner’s side and be sociable.
Thus I think we are getting to the heart of the matter for the rant of the week. Serious, involved, ‘you appear to be attached to my hip’ type relationships. It is not that I am against them per se, but I do find it incredibly irritating that suddenly men I have not even had the pleasure to meet have taken away my social life. So admittedly, I had a browse of the websites and see if I can find some randoms out there to have a giggle with Gumtree, soul mates, mysinglefriend (oh good, lets advertise the fact) and all manor of lonely hearts. What the outcome leads me to believe is that a) these people don’t actually genuinely want friends or dates but marriage and b) most of the guys on there at least are complete nutters (apologies for anyone who has successfully met the person of their dreams through this). I speak from experience here as I have played with a couple of guys on the sites and we got to the photo exchanging state. I’m not shallow but I did ask for their pictures first and to be honest, one had prince Charles type ears on a pinhead and the other had mad scary eyes (I’m not sure they weren’t read actually). It scared me. This whole thought of what I don’t know about these people made my palms sweat.
And finally, to sum up this brief January blues rant of the week, I just have to advise you all if skint and bored to log onto some of these websites with a nice latte and read. I can promise you at least a couple of hours of entertainment and you’ll end up feeling so, so much better about yourself. And just in case, should anyone reading happen to be dating a friend of Lady Steph, please let her out once in a while.