Update

It's not happening on the Scottish lawyer-turned-academic front. Why do people have to have such complicated lives?

Going out partying with I tonight.

The Eye of the Storm

On Sunday, my group of Belfast girl buddies abandoned their usual Sunday routine - meeting at Rain City at 2pm for brunch, bloody marys, and gossip - for a day out at the North Antrim coast: they have formed an "Eye of the Storm pro-surfing group" and have swopped booze for bodyboards. We headed out at 9:30 am(!!!!), a time never before seen by self on a Sunday, and headed to Whiterocks beach for a spot of body boarding. The water was freezing, the sky was grey, the waves were tiny...but it was excellent fun. My hangover cleared and I contentedly splashed around, until the sea seeped in through the hole in my boot and I had to declare myself frozen to the bone (we hired wetsuits, natch. This is the Irish Sea we're talking about!)Weirdly, then, I ended up discussing older man and self and whether or not we're in a relationship while floating around and surfing over waves. As we drove back to Belfast, singing at the tops of our voices to H's excellent i-pod selection (special mention here to Wuthering Heights, just made to be bellowed out loud), H and J teased me about older man. "Where has he been all day?" asked H. "In bed, waiting for me," I joked. I then revealed that I had left him my key while out for the day, so he could come and go as he pleased, and didn't have to leave my flat as early as I did. I also admitted that on Saturday we went into town together and bought new bedding together as he suggested that having only one double sheet was madness as means I always have damp bedding after washing my sheets. "I'm going to start calling him hubby," trilled H. "Fuck" I said, and opened the window and lit up a cigarette. "Anyway",said H, "I bet he's waiting at home with a surprise for you." H was right. When I got back, older man had cleaned and tidied the flat and bought me a Roxy Music cd and a Werner Herzog film as a surprise. He had filled the fridge with various goodies, and bought stuff for himself so he doesn't have to keep using my shower gel etc. Was obviously delighted by this, and sat snogging him on the sofa for ages while listening to Bryan Ferry. Then however he turned to me and said "Do you want to watch something?" (No, obviously am not in mood to watch TV!!!) "OK" I said sulkily. Older man said "what do you want to watch?" "I don't care" I sulked. He got out of his DVD boxset of the Twilight Zone, turned up the TV to some mad volume, and asked to sit in the dark so he could concentrate better on the screen. Meanwhile I banged around moodily to find my cigarettes and sat smoking and fuming. Older man started to laugh. "You're so funny" he said. "Let's go to bed". "Are you sure you don't want to watch more of the Twilight Zone?" I asked. "No, let's go to bed" he said again. So we did, and it was great, but hate the fact I was made to feel bored and unvalued as man sat watching stupid TV show. We really might as well be married!!

Love God, Part 2

Surfing the dating website yesterday, an instant message popped up on my screen. The ubiquitous Love God wanted to chat. Here's the conversation:

LG: How's u stranger

D: Good thx! So you haven't given up completely, then!

D: Good weekend?

LG: Yeh, not bad, and u

LG: Where u been?

D: Gilgamesh (v disappointing; standard has gone right down since it opened) and On Anon for a friend's bday

D: Wot about you? Any more dates? Any talent out there??

LG: No more dates and you?

D: no

LG: I take it ur waiting for me?

D: Well after you set my world alight on Thursday night,

I knew no one else could ever match up!

D: See, you're not the only charming one!

LG: So u never told me what u thought

LG:?

D: Erm, no I never got the chance to tell you because you scarpered as soon as you'd finished your drink!

LG: So tell me now young lady

D: I think that neither of us fancied the other - although it was fun - but I appreciate you trying your luck after a clearly dry weekend, hahaha!

LG: yeh, it's been quiet this wknd, my little D

D: Not found your Cinderella then, Prince Charming?

LG: I have she lives near [area where I live] station

LG: and works in [area where I work]

D: I don't think the slipper fits this time... but I can hook you up with Buttons, if you like??

LG: okay, okay i'll just stick with Buttons then

LG: i've got to rush hun, you be good and lucky, you seem a lovely person xxxx D: you too - seriously. Really hope it works out - let me know x

I'm telling you; it's a jungle out there.

Partner in Singledom

Well, we’d sweated together, experienced the dizzying heights of euphoria together following a hardcore session, admired each other’s bodies, and met up the following night for a repeat performance.

And last night, we went out partying. I’m talking about I, my new friend from the gym (what did you think I was referring to?!).

A dying breed of person currently in my life, I is also a 30-something Singleton. (Yes, F, you were one of the last ones, but, in a shameful betrayal of the Sisterhood you have been cruelly snatched from the Single life by Older Man, no matter how strongly you wish to deny it.) A veteran of dating websites (6 years!), she has many an amusing tale to tell.

I is welcome addition to my social life. Unlike most of my married friends, she does not have to rush off Cinderella-style before midnight, to return to her duties as a wife and mother. A some-time resident of LA, she is as fanatical about exercise as I am, is the same size as me, as enthusiastic about fashion, and like me, is eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Kate Moss-designed collection at Topshop (1 May, everyone!). A fellow North-West Londoner, she frequents the same city hotspots and has a penchant for the same brunch venues as me.

As we sat at the bar, critically surveying the proliferation of 20-something smock-clad, pob-sporting clones, we lamented the ever decreasing pool of eligible, worthy men, and gloomily mulled over the narrow range of options available to strong, independent, feisty women, whose progressive demands are becoming ever more difficult to meet.

At midnight, it was on to another bar in town, to celebrate the 30th birthday of my friend, J. May I bring a friend along, to add to the guest list? I had asked him on Friday. Of course, he had replied, and I had sensed the mischievous glint in his eye. Especially, he continued, if said friend is a previously unmentioned mystery lover. In the event, I turned up alone, for what was a fun evening of partying, before returning home alone to no further messages from men on the dating website.

And so today, I have once again awoken to the prospect of yet another working Sunday, plotting the career that inevitably serves as one of many deterrents to potential suitors, and spending another solitary afternoon in the park or a café with the Sunday papers.

At least I have a new partner in crime to enjoy Singledom with, though.

The Digital Revolution

Check out the gorgeous wonderfulness that is Jett Loe talking about the digital revolution on You Tube. I don't really care about the pontificating about the change from the motion of projection to the stillness of digital, I prefer the sexy way he smokes his cigar and sups his tea. But it is all quite interesting, and who knows I may even plagiarise some of it for my interview next week!!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PS46H7UkBBU

Date Number 2

Love God had been calling with increasing regularity, with a never-ending stream of charming one-liners. As the week progressed and my goodwill waned, his cocksure confidence gave way to a growing wave of desperation. Where previous gems had ranged from the sublime “Love God is the only date you’ll ever need!” to the ridiculous “So! I finally get to see my beautiful Princess D tomorrow”, by Thursday, he was resorting to the less witty “Nice day, today” and (when I had given up responding altogether) “Let me know either way if you’re still up for meeting tonight”.

Displaying a disconcerting lack of knowledge of anywhere in London not in Primrose Hill and a reluctance to venture into Central London (which is where I primarily socialise), he finally settled on an unknown bar not far from where I used to live with Male Model.

I arrived on time, to greetings of “’ello, laaaave” from the bouncer, aptly setting the tone of the establishment within. Dinghy and grotty, the bar had been kitted out with optimistic neon lights in a putrid pinky-purple colour. A discotastic range of primary-coloured flashing bulbs highlighted a makeshift dancefloor, on which 3 chavvy girls dressed in their best market stall micro-mini ra-ra skirts, with scraped back, highlighted hair, gyrated. A haze of smoke concealed the rest of the bar, while loud music blared from every orifice.

Love God arrived, easily discernable by the fact that he was the only other person in the bar above the age of 12. We relocated to an equally chavvy, but thankfully quieter, pub around the corner, and headed to the bar.

“So, D,” said Love God, gloomily resting his head in one hand. “How many of these bloody things have you been on?”

I muttered a response, marvelling at his sudden loss of charm and optimism.

“I mean,” he continued. “I’m not going to meet my future wife on a dating website, am I? I’ve had 3 dates so far – nice enough girls, but I know it’s not going to happen, so there’s no point meeting again, is there? And, you know, some girls even suggested meeting for dinner! I’m not going to waste time and money on that, when there won’t be that attraction – what’s the point? I’ve paid my subscription to the site now, so I’ll turn up, have a quick drink, stay for half an hour and then get out.” He handed me my glass of still mineral water.

“I won’t take that personally,” I informed him, kindly, resenting the extra half hour I had sacrificed on the treadmill for the sake of this soirée. 5 minutes into the date, and I was already wondering if it could get much worse.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and in marched G, my randy former neighbour. A martial arts teacher, he had once lured me into his flat, under the guise of “showing me a few moves”, which he did. I had managed to escape by slapping his tongue out of my mouth, kneeing him in the groin, and escaping into the comforting arms of Male Model, who was thankfully arriving home at that moment. G had just proposed to his then girlfriend (now his wife), and never gave up pursuing me. I came to fear bumping into him as much as I feared the evil cat who used to roam around the block.

G spied me. “D!” he shouted, enthusiastically scrutinising my breasts. My date had indeed just got worse.

The rest of the evening (all 45 minutes of it, before Love God decided that, having finished his drink, there was no point staying), was actually not bad. I counselled Love God on his attitude towards finding love, and challenged his claims of indifference – why pay to be on the site and bombard me with messages, if you think you won’t get anything out of it? In return, he impressed me by correctly identifying my jeans as being from the Victoria Beckham Rock & Republic range (although he must have checked out my arse very subtly, which I guess is equally as impressive!), and, when the conversation inevitably turned to fitness and martial arts (I can’t help myself; at least I kept the vitamins and food diary hidden), and I told him how I had floored a mugger on New Year’s Day, he said “but you’re tiny!”, at which point, I momentarily thought I could love him; earlier that day, I had practically been in tears to L, during a walk in Regent’s Park, over the perceived uncontrollable expansion of my thighs.

So, that was that. Love God is no more. He left me, a forlorn figure zooming off down the road back to Primrose Hill, his cocky confidence stripped down to defensive fear of still being single at 40, no doubt one of many on the dating website. “My friends tell me that all the women on the site are desperate,” he had confided in me. “Either desperate to get married, or desperate to get laid.”

“Yes, but isn’t everyone?” I challenged.

And apparently, it’s not just women. When I returned home to resume the online search for my next victim, a box flashed up on my screen. This member wants to instant message you, it said. I quickly checked out his profile. He was stunningly gorgeous, with ripped, toned, muscles, and based in Florida. Phwoarrgh! I clicked yes. It turned out he had been turned on by the claims in my profile (taken out of context, I must add) that I am naughty. Are you really naughty? he wanted to know. It turned out that he, too, was being naughty. Very naughty. All I will say is that he had a web cam, and he was definitely left-handed.

Girl with GSOH seeks solvent male

No, D, I don't think you are being shallow at all. I am struggling with the same dilemma at present. Older man spoke to me at length on the phone on Monday evening. He finally admitted he is "stony broke" with a huge bank loan to pay back. He spoke some more about it last night in the Crown, even offering me facts and figures. I have no desire to know just how deeply indebted he is, nor do I want to have anything to do with the issue. It's his problem. And yet...as soon as you become even slightly involved, it weirdly mutates into your problem too. The following things have happened

1) He told me when he last admitted to a woman how in debt he was, she backed off big time and told him "Love doesn't put bread on the table." He said he was profoundly hurt by this, and thought it v shallow. I thought, God, she is far more sensible than self.

2) He told me he would love to be able to sweep me off my feet and feels upset he doesn't have the money to do this. Contradictorily I think do you think that being able to flash the cash is what would make me change from my current attitude of bemusement and advice to take things more slowly (i.e. I am not having your baby) and prioritising my desire for a career "elsewhere" over a two week-old "relationship"? (Shallowly it might be!)

3) He has no cash already, even though pay day is not for another week. This means I have already started subsidising us. So far, I have bought: two packs of condoms (£6); taxi home (£4);bottle of wine (£6); chinese takeout for two (£12.60). He has however promised to take me to Belfast Zoo as a treat when he has been paid. I'm so pleased he loves zoos too! But does this make up for being on the verge of bankruptcy??!!

Would I say he was a "Loser"? No, I wouldn't say that (or at least not because of his dire financial straits and rather mundane job). As my friend Marty pointed out in the pub on Tuesday night (most randomly he started on the whole topic of money with no prompting from self, who didn't even mention its current focus in my life), you are just as much of a loser if you do a job you hate for 80 hours a week, however much money you earn. But we do all have to live in the current world, and life is expensive. If you want to have a life, you need money to do it.

Girl on the verge of a nervous breakdown

So, it's over. Over! the event that has been haunting the back of my mind for weeks, and been more upfront in the last few days... my job interview at "elsewhere". All that preparation, blood, sweat and tears, for a 35 minute discussion about me, my future, my research (am I essentialist? Where do I see the future of my field? Why have I applied for this job? How do we reconcile the conflicting demands of students for vocational training and high critical awareness?). I have practically had a nervous breakdown over it, such is my mental trauma associated with interviews, my hatred of them, and the general anxiety they provoke. But I had a sudden ephiphany moment on the train. Fuck it, I thought. I totally went there and did my best. Sure, I managed to miss out one of my best lines (about consolidating and enhancing my research profile - bollocks) but at the end of the day, if they don't want me, they don't want me. I gave it my best shot. They will let me know next week. Also I should report that older man texted good luck to me this am, which I thought v sweet as he has been saying that he doesn't want me to go. The only problem is, I was counting on knowing the outcome of this interview before deciding whether to fly off to another interview next week. Now I have to go through the same anxiety all over again!!

Love God

My phone is vibrating. I reach into my implausibly oversized handbag, through the maize of lipglosses, wet wipes, discarded chewing gum wrappers and the portfolio of notebooks I use to control my scattiness (must clean out my handbag), and pull out my phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Is that D? Love God here. This is your lucky day!”

Oh for God’s sake. “Erm…”

“From the dating website! Love God! How’re you doin’, D? Oh! Wait! Hang on, I’m just trying to locate this property on the map… I’m a property developer. I’ve just been sent through a property. I’m probably going to buy it, yeah. I just want to see where it’s located, but I can’t find it… can I call you back in a couple of minutes?”

Against my better judgment, I agree, although it is clear to me that I am unlikely to ever want to spend the rest of my life with “Love God”, let alone a single evening in his company. He calls me back.

“So, D. You look beautiful in your picture – really exotic. Where are you from?”

“Um… London.” I roll my eyes. I am a cynical Jewess, I think; that much should have been obvious from my profile. Of course I look a little ethnic, and I’m hardly going to fall for a line like that.

“So, D! When are you going to have dinner with me?” The same question he has posed to me in his the three e mails and 2 text messages he has already sent me in the space of a week. “I’m cocky, aren’t I? I’m very direct. A real go-getter! I see what I want, and I just go for it!”

Hmmm, I think. Cocky? Direct? Love God? Honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Just try your lines on me, and see what happens. You may find yourself working harder than you’ve ever worked in your life to impress. This could be fun…

“Well, Love God,” I say. “You’re giving yourself a lot to live up to.” I can practically hear him smirking on the other end of the line. “So,” I continue, “How’s Thursday night?”

Blogging under the influence

Have just spent a lovely day with L. We went suit shopping and I spent £336 pounds on a jacket, top, skirt and shoes in Hobbs. Such is the dull and unglamorous nature of my existence that my credit card company baulked at the expenditure and assumed the card had been stolen! i had to confirm my identity on the phone and then have to ring them tomorrow to unblock the whole card! For Fuck's sake! We then retired to the 4 Seasons and drank copious amounts of champagne, to the point where L began discussing her aberrant nature! And I constructed, deconstructed and reconstructed my 'relationship' with older man. For someone who claims not to think about things very much, I am good at subjecting my life to protracted (if slightly drunken) analysis. Anyway, as L and I agreed while dipping strawberries into champagne, sometimes the most fun times and the best things are with friends. So, our various entanglements with men not withstanding, I salute D and L: D for being her wonderful, driven, funny, hilarious, auburn haired self, (seeing you yesterday has made me miss you all over again)and L for her wit, insight, self deprecation (which she does so well) and supportiveness (oh and LONG raven hair, and pale arms despite deadful body lotion with sneaky fake tan enhancement!!). I love you both, my wonderful girls!

Click-a-Date

V fun evening last night with F, who (hurrah!) is in London for a few days, staying in P’s flat (aka The Naughty One Who Never Blogs). P has gone away for the weekend, and – after I had chided F for Betraying the Sisterhood (on account of the new boyfriend) and teased her a bit (a lot, actually) for being a bit loved up, and even spoken to said older man on the ‘phone, we got round to trying to sort out my love life.

My love life at the moment is entirely internet-based. (In fact, as I write this entry, I am engaged in an instant message dialogue with a gorgeous 25 year old French guy, who – as a bonus – is over 6 ft tall!) We rifled through my online in-box, discounting the messages from anyone who looked like an axe-murderer (one of them really did!), anyone who had unrealistic expectations bordering on the delusional (eg guy based in Switzerland with 2 kids, and Brazilian guy who is not Jewish, not willing to convert and can’t speak English (so why try to hook up with British girl on Jewish dating website, for God’s sake?!) and thinking up flirtatious replies to some of the other messages.

My search has been narrowed down to 3 candidates. One is a ginger-haired investment banker (but I won’t judge him until we meet), one seems quite nice – F seemed more interested in him than I was, though! – and I think I know his brother, and F and I sneakily checked out his profile on Facebook and checked out some of his mates. The third – somewhat disconcertingly – calls himself Prince Charming, and I have already flirted online with him, and will no doubt continue the naughty text messages once I have recharged my phone.

2 issues that keep coming up, though:

1. 
   
   Amusingly: I made a point of saying in my profile that brownie points will be given to any man who comments on the auburn-ness of my (now fading) hair colour. And I have been inundated with affirmations of my redheadedness. Which is always good to hear (especially now that I am discovering at least one new white hair every day)
   
2. 
   
   I keep coming up against declarations of astonishment that I have never had a relationship. And it provides them with the perfect excuse for a nauseating line: “What, beautiful, funny, sexy, intelligent girl like you?! Don’t believe it!” (gag)
   
   So, I’m off to speak to my prospective dates. Instant messaging session with the French guy has got a bit steamy. Will let you know how it goes…

In which F feels a bit sheepish

Ok, I have an admission to make. After smugly blogging about my excellent negotiation skills, it all fell apart a bit. Last week, I saw older man on Monday night (when we reached our agreement); Tuesday night, when he turned up at the pub quiz, and we all partied on at J's til about four in the morning; Thursday night, when he unexpectedly turned up at The Parlour, where I was meeting J and H for a drink. On Thursday, my friend M came into The Parlour at about seven to find me sitting hand in hand with an unknown man. Her curiosity was piqued. M and I went off for tapas in town together, and M quizzed me about older man. How long had I been seeing him? What with the situation? Did I fancy him? Could we chat together? (Answers: 3 weeks, no strings, yes, yes). M asked me why I was resisting his requests for a relationship. I wondered why I was resisting his requests for a relationship. Then I remembered some wise words from the least likely pin-up girl for heterosexual coupledom, L, who told me that if I really wanted to have a partner and kids within five years (cf my narcissism questionnaire) I should stop shagging young boys and find someone "nice". Older man is "nice." M and I moved on from the tapas bar to the Duke of York, which was heaving, it being the first evening of the long Easter weekend. Older man was there. We chatted, we kissed, I knew I liked him. I went outside for a cigarette with J. "I think I might like older man" I confess. J is shocked. Later, older man, J, M, and another random colleague I bump into in the street, D, all get a cab back together. Older man is v quiet: I regale cab with tales from my youth. Cab in hysterics (it's the booze). Older man and I get out at my flat. Older man tells me how warm and funny and wonderful I am. Is hard not to enjoy hearing that. We stumble back to my flat. I get older man some water. "Have you got a straw to help me drink it?" he asks like a five year old, and begins hiccuping. I help him off with his clothes and lie next to him, reminding him to drink the water every five minutes as it will help him not be sick. We lie together chatting about the evening. It is very cosy. Older man asks me if colleague D will be shocked he got out of cab with me. "No," I say. "He will just assume we're going out together." There is silence. "Are we going out together?" asks older man. "Does that mean not snogging or sleeping with anyone else?" I ask. "Yes" says older man. "Oh, Ok, let's give it a go" I say. "You've made my year" says older man.
The next day I fly back to London. I'm missing older man now. I hope he feels the same way. I'm scared he's changed his mind. Goddamn, am I in a relationship??!!

In the Jungle

It's a jungle out there, it really is. I finally registered myself on that dating website, and you would not believe the people who are on there. The fact that they are all short-sighted, follically-challenged and in - ahem - not great shape is a given (it is a Jewish dating website after all), and actually, I am not judgmental about things like that.

I have found 2 drop-dead gorgeous men on there, but one of them is divorced with 2 kids (sorry; too much baggage) and the other looks suspiciously like someone I once snogged, plus I got a bit confused with all the virtual dating possibilities, and accidentally sent no fewer than 5 nudges to him to indicate my interest, so he probably thinks I'm a mad cyber-stalker type now.

Even though I'm sitting at home browsing for suitable dates, the stench of desperation that one finds at an actual Jew-do is palpable. I only signed up this afternoon, and I already have 14 messages in my in-box, 4 requests for instant messaging (which I ignored, having read their profiles - "eating fast food" is not a viable hobby), 2 flirts and an e-card.

I'll let you know how it goes...

In which F explains about projection

To my great surprise, I have finally acquired an object I have not had for a long time and I am looking forward to making good use of it. Yes, girls, I have a fuck buddy! It is of course the older man referenced in my previous post, A Threshold. After what was (as I think I mentioned before) fairly good sex, I left for Bristol. Upon my return, older man joined J and I for our weekly pub quiz. Older man had split up from his long term partner 8 months ago or so, and during a particularly lonely time, met a woman on-line (on a games site! My God! but hey, no judgement). He and the woman had struck up a fairly intense friendship, despite never meeting in the flesh, and she was visiting him for the first time this weekend just gone. On Tuesday night, he quizzed me. Should he give up his chance of happiness with this woman for me? Could I offer him a serious committed long term relationship? (I think he is slightly needy and delusional). I pointed out that we had only known each other for five days, and I couldn't possibly promise him anything. He came back home to mine, and then got all troubled about being "unfaithful" to this woman he'd never met. I suggested he went home. He left my flat. I settled down to watch Frasier. He came back ten minutes later, saying he'd changed his mind, and he couldn't get enough of me; I was his dream woman; he couldn't believe he'd met me. I told him that he should calm down, I was only human, and he was obviously projecting. LOVE being in control, and being the sensible one. Anyway, on-line woman arrived this weekend. Hey, guess what, it was strained and awkward, and they didn't get on that well, even though apparantly she is lovely and they are going to be "best mates". Older man has realised that this was almost entirely an imaginary relationship he had. I explained about projection again. He asked me if I saw us going anywhere. I said we could meet once a week, for sex; we may occasionally go and see a film together if he wants; he can come to the pub quiz. I then laid down quite specific instructions about the sex. We are completely free agents who owe each other nothing. I think I've negotiated a good deal.

I Carried a WaterMelon!

I had a fabulous Saturday night! It's been the Belfast Film Festival all this week, and I have been indulging my love of culture - a Chris Marker documentary from 2002 about yellow cats on walls in Paris on Wednesday, a Jennie Livingstone 1990 documentary called Paris is Burning about the 1980s Harlem ball scene on Thursday, and a Japanese animation tonight. But Saturday night was the best! The Film Festival transformed the Harland and Woolf paint yard into a huge outdoor screening site and we went to a drive-in movie. Six of us drove down in a two car convey, bought hot dogs and popcorn, and tuned in our radios, for a wonderful evening of Dirty Dancing. What a great movie. What a great soundtrack. And so much fun watching it in a car, making silly remarks about the plot inconsistencies (like the way "Baby" gradually dances in fewer clothes so at one point she is in bra and shorts!), lighting up cigarettes after the sex scene, and singing at top volume to the songs. Altogether now: I've had the time of my LIIIIFE and I. OWE. IT. ALL. TO. YOU...

Of course, I had a moment of reflecting upon Belfast and the radical changes that city has lived through. As we drove over the Lagan, the new Belfast glittered at us - the Waterfront Conference Hall, the Liberty statue (a woman in steel), the Hilton, the Odyssey concert arena. Then we turned into the paint hall, a massive space in the middle of the shipyard that used to be used for painting the enormous ships constructed here in the early decades of the last century, including of course the Titanic. Harland and Woolf was the heart of the city, and the two huge yellow cranes, Samson and Goliath, are still symbols of Belfast. But now it is deserted, a barron, desolate wasteland, used only to screen cheesy Americana. The industrial past has gone, and the city's future is one that looks towards post-modern plays of images. But this in itself has to be an improvement on the parochialism and sectarianism that has blighted this area (Harland and Woolf would only employ Protestants for example). As we left the yard singing and everyone tootling their horns, my heart soared with love for this city that has seen and survived so much.

Get With The Programme, Girls!

I have been having the best laugh on Facebook, an online networking community. You set up your profile, link up to friends who are already registered, and before you know it, the network snowballs, and you have dozens of friends. You can also share photos and messages, and set up groups. I am enjoying it so much, having recovered contact with old friends from primary school and various other milestones of my life.

Now, L has accepted my invitation, and set herself up a profile. P (the naughty one who never blogs) hates technology. But F - it's time for you to get online. Remember what happened with this blog? I nagged you all for months, you eventually relented, and now you can't get enough of it.

Get on Facebook. Now.