FIVE FINGER FRIENDSHIP

A cousin once told me that people she could count her closest truest friend on one hand.  At the time, I must have been about 14, I thought she was mad and must be rather lonely with only four or five friends. I had plenty and couldn’t even imagine whittling them down to five.

As I got older and progressed through school and then to uni, I indeed found that I had an ever changing and evolving group of friends, with many promises to stay friends forever being broken and made again with people anew. I guess a lot of people cement their friendships at different times, and I thought I had found my dearest whilst trying to pass my degree at Portsmouth University. I was finally with people who I felt understood the real me. I had their back and they had mine. That was until I came back to London and my friends followed their own paths indifferent directions. Sure we tried to stay in touch and made a real effort to remain close. But once the easy access of living down the road from one another, and spending all our free time in our favourite hangouts together came to an end, our friendships soon became too much hard work and we stopped calling each other.

 

A few work colleagues and industry friends have made the transition to good friends, and a couple are now very dear to me, despite one of them moving twice in the last year and our friendship blossoming over Skype. But on the whole, work is work and play is play in job where personality is a business asset used daily. Sometimes in such lines of work, it is difficult to differentiate between real friendship and business affinity.

I don’t claim that this is the case for everyone, but I guess this is how I have come to understand what my cousin said to me then. I am so fortunate to have some amazing people in my life. I have great friends and a number of amazing personalities that I come across every day at work and popping up from my past. But I suppose that as I have grown and understood who I am, and have built up a sense of self and strength of character, the people who are dearest have become more apparent.  It’s the friend who still remembers the jokes from when we were five. It is the friend who can tell when I am in a mood and knows how to get my mind off it. In the company of my dearest friend I can bear their annoying mate and even treat him like a loved one. My closest mate is one I can’t go more than ten days without seeing. And those friends I will always have time for, as I presume they would for me.

I may be a social butterfly and have a lot of people I consider friends, and some I wish I didn’t have to. But my cousin is right, the few nearest friends keep me sane, safe and happy, and they are all I need. 

MR RIGHT - WHY FIRST DATES SHOULD START WITH DRINKS

I have learnt the hard way that when meeting a guy for the first time, do not commit to dinner straight of the bat. It is always better to meet for a drink and then leave time for dinner later, if things are going well. If they aren't, then finish the drink and call it a night.

I wish I had stuck to the rule when I met this guy online. He was cute, tall dark and handsome and I suspected that there was a great personality behind the looks. Oh how wrong I was. We met up and made our way to the restaurant for dinner. We ordered our food and began our conversation the way so many do, with enquiries about family, jobs and interests. I asked my tall date what he did for a living, and was pleased to find we work in the same industry. Asking how he got into it, I was a little taken aback to find that he had been forced into it. After a little probing, I was informed that my date never really wanted to work and that, WHEN HIS PARENTS SECURED HIM AN INTERVIEW, he would book tickets to visit friends up north, or even book flights to India to avoid securing a job. After realising that he wasn't joking, I was shocked. I have had to move around and work my butt off during the recession and here is somebody who has not determination or drive whatsoever. For me, there is nothing less attractive than somebody without a passion.

After this very early admission, I struggled to even make small talk let alone find something of interest. And in not just meeting for drinks, I was stuck waiting for my main course and dreading how the rest of the date would go. I tried to make small talk to see us through the rest of the evening. /but the final blow was dealt when Mr Unambitious told me how hilarious he found his grandmother's burping and farting habits. I wanted to put my fork down, grab my coat and ask for the bill, which I would have made him pay for. Not only did this good looking guy not want to work, he had no idea of social etiquette. How had I not picked up on this when we spoke before?

I know not every guy is like this, and hope that there are some single guys who know what not to say or do over dinner. But I think next time I will stick to meeting for a drink and taking it from there. 

FLYING WITH LITTLE ANGELS

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.

MR RIGHT - SPEED DATING

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...

UNCENSORED

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.

NOT EXACTLY TO PLAN

Sometimes things don’t work out exactly the way they were meant to.

After organising a lovely meal with friends to celebrate turning 28, sometimes a guest will opt to order off the set menu, and chose an a la carte dish that has to be pre-ordered. Sometimes, that very friend decides that he cannot make it after all, and cancels via text half an hour before he is meant to be showing up. Thankfully the lovely people at  @Siam were very accommodating and everyone else had a fantastic evening.

 

Sometimes, despite tasting amazing, the Patisserie Valerie Double Chocolate cake gets squashed in transit thanks to slippery fingers and the over-sized box it came in. Thankfully it still puts a smile on everyone’s face and even the fullest diners found room for a small helping.

Occasionally, bookings for the favourite bar in town gets deleted, and the bouncer eyes up the large very cold group, questioning whether it is a good idea to let them all in for free. Its impressive what one smooth talking guest and two birthday boys can achieve, and how quickly 20 people can get downstairs order cocktails at Freedom bar.

Sometimes, even with the most care in the world, keys get lost. Even on the evening where everything has been planned and carefully thought out, the car that was cleverly parked ahead of time opposite the club can instantly become inaccessible. Bags that were meant to be stored away have to be hauled into the club, whilst the offending key minder returns to the West End to search for the missing item.

Unfortunately the things that get lost in bars are never to be seen again. Despite all the help  and searching, there comes a time when the key minder has to call it a night and leave the birthday boy with the stationary car.

All too often, birthday mornings are spent worrying about the night before and how best to get home. Thankfully the mates that instantly offered their spare room for the night, make a cup of coffee and plans together, despite having to cancel their own. Often, it is best to just graciously accept the offer of a birthday brunch, rather than feeling awkward about not having left yet. Thankfully the eggs benedict served at the National Café by the gallery are so delicious, they provide a much needed sense of calm to an otherwise frustrating Sunday morning.

Often, the best afternoons are spent reading the paper, discussing world events and arguing about trashy pop culture. Now and then, the plan to check out the Turner exhibit at the Tate Britain gets cancelled because of a phone call. Often, a friend offering to carry all the heavy bags back over Battersea bridge, in the rain, is a reminder of how strong they are, and that they’re always there to lend a hand.

 More often than not, the solution to what seems like an impossible problem, is quite simple. It is reassuring to get a warm greeting from the man that comes to save the day, taking one very tired and soggy birthday boy, a squashed cake and a locked car back home in time for a birthday dinner.

Sometimes things don’t go exactly as they were meant to. Despite planning everything and feeling organised, things get in the way and cause it all to unravel. I suppose the best advice is to be prepared for anything, and accept what can't be prepared for. 

Maybe next year that friend won't get an invite. And the mate who can effortlessly lift heavy bags can collect the cake. Next year the car stays at home, or the keys stay with somebody sober. The number of a local taxi company will be saved in a phone that doesn't leave this birthday boy's side. And a spare clothes will be packed just in case generous friends have to be imposed on again.

No matter what happens, however frustrating, I'm thankful that true friends and loved ones are there to lend a hand. Good friendship can't be planned or organised. Maybe next year, this picky person will concentrate more on celebrating real friendship, and less on a perfectly executed day.

VALENTINE'S FOR ONE

Valentine’s Day is a little over a week away, and shops are already full of cutesy cards, sparkly red hearts and a variety of red roses. This is arguably the second most celebrated day in the calendar and gives couples, who feign disinterest in 'made-up holidays', full reign of the restaurants and moonlit streets everywhere, leaving singletons to feel inadequate. Should the holiday fall on a weekday (Thursday this year) you can bet the festivities will stretch all the way to Sunday night.

So why do we single people have to be subjected to having massive heart-shaped bouquets of roses flaunted in our faces, after spending the day at work listening to colleagues gush about their romantic plans? It doesn't seem fair that only couples should indulge. 

So last year I decided  to make a stand and reclaim the streets, and my favourite table at that restaurant I like with the help of some friends. We decided to go for dinner and drinks in a bid to celebrate being single. But when I called to make a reservation, I was informed that the restaurant would only be serving a Valentine’s set menu which included a chocolate fondue for two. I was so disappointed that such a nice place could stoop so low. Had it not occurred to them that other people, besides couples, like their food too?

Nonetheless we persevered and settled on another venue, one that lacks romance and promotes fun. A place that serves comforting and indulgent food not reserved only for pairs. Thankfully Bodean’s BBQ Smokehouse off Oxford Circus never fails to deliver.

This year I’m staying at home whilst my parents go out for a romantic meal. I’m not hiding away, but choosing to mark Valentine's day by treating myself. No Asda Twosie for me. My Valentine’s plans for one will include donning the onesie, and creating a lovely meal for myself. No bacon roses or chocolate hearts here. No I will be opting for something I can enjoy without having to worry about eating daintily or in small portions.  Thickly cut sweet-potato chips with plenty of homemade guacamole and garlic sauce. And for dessert, a large portion of Belgian Chocolate Haagen Dazs ice cream, eaten out of the tub because I don’t have to share.

A big no-no for any singleton on Valentine’s is mixing alcohol with romantic films. Much better to stick to soft drinks. I currently have an addiction to Del Monte Occasions, a range of juice drinks that appeal to a more grown-up palette. The Orchard Zest flavour, with apple grape and lemongrass, tastes amazing! I'll will not be pairing my alcohol-free cocktail with a rom-com. I'll stick to films that don’t revolve around two friends who spend ages going back and forth never really being happy until they profess their love for each other just before the credits start to role. I will probably opt for psychological thrillers, or horror.

If you do happen to indulge in alcohol, please hide your phone. The last thing you want to do is ring the ex in a less than sober state, on what is meant to be the most romantic day of the year. It will only make matters worse, especially if the date is out on a romantic date. I also don’t want to get disturbed by anyone. This is my night and I am not going to let anyone ruin it. I love the ‘Do Not Disturb’ function on the iPhone, which means only a permitted list of contacts can call.  

The MySpa by Homedics FootSpa has been ordered, a Valentine's gift to myself that will give my feet a little TLC.  Fingers crossed that, when greeted by the tired, disheveled and hungover partnered friends and colleagues on February 15^th, a little papering will ensure I have a spring in my step too.

Valentine’s Day doesn’t just have to be for couples. It’s the perfect day for a little bit of indulgence and a reminder that there is nothing wrong in being single, and in a onesie