Singles for Sloanes

2012 was supposed to be the year when it all happened. Do you go out and look for happiness or do you wait for it to come and find you?  If you don’t make an effort then life might pass you by.  Though it is becoming increasingly evident that the route to happiness is not via the male sex.

January 1^st I joined the Sloane Dating agency. New Year resolution accomplished. Well done Daisy. They sounded up-market. The lady who came to see me was certainly very posh. And she assured me that he wouldn’t have any trouble finding me men. Well I suppose it depends what you classify as men.

Basically the whole thing is one big rip off. Even though it comes with a pretty hefty price tag. There are so many desperate women out there that most of the men don’t pay. They lure them in with advertisements and interviews. The men even get coaching on making sure that they don’t chat long on the phone. If you meet someone it counts as an introduction, so they are encouraged to take us out for a meal. I wouldn’t be surprised if they even get to claim expenses.

Most of them are public school and have cut glass accents. So most of them think David Cameron is wonderful and Michael Gove is a jolly good chap. Good fodder for an argument before a phone call even gets underway.

And when they do turn up they just about last out long enough to have a drink before they scamper off. Only the older ones show any more interest. Some of these are lovely. But it’s like being taken out to dinner by a benevolent uncle. (I think- I’ve never had a benevolent uncle).

Farmer Man thought it appropriate to tell me that he hated all sport. Except for watching women’s volleyball cos you could see their knickers. Theatre Man turned up on his bike, told me off for not being able to follow his directions to the bar, told me what I thought of the play and then disappeared altogether trying to extract his locked in machine from the theatre. Melancholy Man lived in Bath but hated it. He didn’t feel like eating or drinking as he had been up too late the night before. Though he did keep telling me that the food served here was very good. Rugby Man was a singing Kiwi, but all he wanted to talk about was the World Cup and how they had put one over on the Pommies. And that was the best of the bunch! Except for Twelve Contender Boatman and he deserves a slot all to himself.