I really do love children and someday hope to have my own. I don't believe all of them are little angels like my oh so perfect cousin Aria, and I commend the parents that have to manage them day in day out. That being said, there are times when my sympathy and understanding is tested to the limit, and often because exhausted parents aren't thinking.
On a recent morning commute into town, I boarded a busy train and was surprised to see two children no more than three or four years old with their mother, taking up four seats between them. Rather than putting one of the boys on her lap or seating the two together one seat, the mother took up her own seat next, placed each of her children on their own seat with one between them to use as a ring for their action figures to wrestle in. I suspect it was the rest of the commuters' stiff British upper lips that prevented them from speaking out. Even the pregnant woman standing nearby kept her mouth shut, probably all to aware that in a few years she would be in the same position.
The mother of two should really know better, no matter how tired she may be. I'm sure when she was pregnant she was offered a seat and shown kindness. So why is it that for so many, travelling with young children gives free reign to thoughtless and sometimes selfish behaviour? Thankfully an elderly lady told moved one of the children and took a seat. The mother looked mildly disturbed before realising she was in the wrong, not that she apologised or took any action to calm her now frustrated son.
The mode of transport where my patience with children is most tested is on board a plane. I know it's no fun for the parents either and youngsters need stimulation, so being stuck in one place means they will inevitably act up. It is nobody's fault, but when I get miffed some parents pick up on it and get defensive. I am not having a go or pointing the finger, just getting agitated like their children. A handful of parents feel that to avoid hearing their children screaming, I should book a seat in first class. Frankly I don't see why I should pay double for the privilege of silence and a sleeping without their offspring slapping me across the face.
Now I think I have a solution. If planes can be transformed into flying art galleries, than surely airlines can create a dedicated children's area, right by the mummy's rest seats with extra lumber support and massage function.
Just imagine specially designed kiddie seats, equipped with play things to keep the little ones occupied. The mini passengers can chose from a plethora of age appropriate programmes and movies. And let's not forget the food served by dedicated members of the kiddie cabin crew, who can even let mummy know when the little one needs to be pacified and warm that milk ready for bedtime.
Not only could the area help parents and children, but my journey can remain as kid free and calm as possible. It might not be that feasible in the recession, but surely there are enough tired parents and disgruntled passengers who would opt for an airline that offers this service. I'm sure Mr Branson or the good people at Emirates can afford to trial this in their summer flights, if only to give me one area where I can believe children are in fact perfect little angels.
I'm a bit of a romantic. I am still single and sometimes I feel like the only singleton in London with this much bad luck. In a possibly stupid and self-destructive bid to identify where I might be going wrong, I am sharing my search for Mr Right with you. And if he happens to be reading this, please ignore all the extreme opinions and any incriminating posts, Its all lies I tell you, lies!
A recent attempt at finding Mr Right took me to a speed dating event. There are a number of groups designed for gay men to meet and network. Some concentrate on professional connections, others on more romantic link ups. I have been to my fair share of both and always leave feeling that I have spent too much time in my comfort zone, stuck with the group of friends I arrived with. On the off chance I do get into a conversation with someone, it isn't long before I am introduced to their boyfriend or a good mate they fooled around with a while back and may still have lingering feelings for. I'm not a therapist, and yet I always end up counselling somebody.
Urged on by friends, I decided to go to The List London's speed dating event. On a cold Thursday evening, I headed over to Jewel bar in Bank. Unlike other speed dating events, this one promised a date with every attendee. That is 30 three-minute dates. Now I can talk A LOT, but even for me this sounded excessive. I arrived and after a visit to the gents to check I looked presentable, I grabbed a very large glass of complimentary red wine and some from the finger buffet. I did a quick survey of the other guests and saw two or three out of the 30 that looked appealing. But I tried to keep an open mind as I took my seat and waited for date number 1 arrived.
When my first date took his seat I felt a mixture of dread and relief. I already knew my first date! In fact I had already dated him at an event once before and then again for dinner. He is a lovely guy and our previous meetings had gone well, but I just didn't fancy him. It was nice catching up and not half as awkward as I had imagined. It also reminded me that I'm not the only nice guy out there still trying to find a partner.
I worked through my three minute dates, trying not to ask the same dull questions. I think the best way to stand out from the 29 other dates is to ask something other than "what do you do?" or "where have you come from?" I opted for asking my quickie dates what their favourite book is, what one item they'd want if they were stranded on a desert island and what superpower they would most like to have.
After getting over the shock of a 50-something Dutch yoga teacher telling me I had a sexy aura and stroking my face (PERSONAL SPACE), I had a date with number 11. He was 6ft, from Manchester with a cheeky smirk and a twinkle in his eye. I swear our date didn't last 3 minutes. Somebody must have tinkered with the timer. In the little time we had, we discussed his coming moving to London, his wanting to be able to fly like superman and our mutual love for cookery and museums.
In the first if three much needed breaks I tried to find the dashing Mancunian at the bar, but to no avail. I proceeded to chat with some new friends and returned to my seat to find out if his smirk could be topped. I met some nice guys, but none I felt any real connection to. Nonetheless, I still wrrote out some 'would like to get to know' invitations in the paper forms provided, so as not appear too picky. It's difficult to find mr right in three minutes and some nice guys might grow on me over time. The evening carried on and I met more nice people, but none that compared to Mr Smirky.
At the end of the night, our lovely hosted quickly collected all the invitations and sorted them out there and then. Unline many other events, we only had to wait ten minutes or so before being handed an envelope with our results. Sadly I was not invited for a drink by the hot Manchester lad. I later saw him being chatted up by one of the dates I noted down as cute but too blonde.
The even was a lot of fun but I don't think I'll be doing it again soon. Sure it is fun meeting new guys, and bumping into a few familiar faces. But three minutes really is too short a time frame with too much urgency to make a good first impression. And after 29 dates I was about ready to take a vow of silence.
Thankfully the List London has a number of different events including an evening of drinks and shopping at the Ted Bake flagship store. I wonder if Mr Right will be picking out a suit...
You may have noticed that some post have been removed from this blog. The reason for this is that Rather Picky Ricky is now an independent blog, no longer governed by any companies.
That's right folks.This is now MY blog,and mine alone. I promise to hereby share my views opinions and preferences no matter how frank and and brutal they may be. I'll still be sharing my tips, giving my advice and voicing my opinions, but now it is on my terms.
This also means that I am now open to suggestions from you, my lovely readers. What topics would you like me to discuss on here? Is there something I have discussed with you in person that you would like me to share on here? Or maybe you have seen or read something that you'd like to get my POV on. Let me know people, I'm no longer censored.
The mode of transport where my patience with children is most tested is on board a plane. I know it's no fun for the parents either and youngsters need stimulation, so being stuck in one place means they will inevitably act up. It is nobody's fault, but when I get miffed some parents pick up on it and get defensive. I am not having a go or pointing the finger, just getting agitated like their children. A handful of parents feel that to avoid hearing their children screaming, I should book a seat in first class. Frankly I don't see why I should pay double for the privilege of silence and a sleeping without their offspring slapping me across the face.
Now I think I have a solution. If planes can be transformed into flying art galleries, than surely airlines can create a dedicated children's area, right by the mummy's rest seats with extra lumber support and massage function. 
