There are over 7 million singles in the UK looking for a long-term relationship, many of whom turn to online dating to find a partner. Online dating can be a great way of finding somebody you share things in common with, but it is important to do your research both on the website you choose as well as on the people you talk to. Here are 7 reasons why…
1. They could be bending the truth. Some people just can’t resist the urge to be economical with the truth on their internet dating profiles. It’s generally about small things, like certain interests, weight, and sometimes people shed a few years off their age. This is because of the tension between the desire to be truthful and also give the best impression. If it´s just a minor lie, be understanding – after all, your profile may not have been totally honest either. However, some may use the anonymity of online communities to deceive you, so stay savvy.
2. They could be unfit for dating. Some people may be slightly troubled, whether that is because of a bad break-up or family issues. This may come across in their profile and when you talk to them – if it does, go with your instinct and tell them you´re not interested. Sometimes, if somebody comes across as fragile, it can be an attractive quality, as you might want to help them get better, but it is often the case that they have to do this for themselves. If somebody appears to be completely off their rocker – stay well away!
3. They may be related. You know that awkward moment at a family wedding when you accidentally kiss a third cousin or –gulp – someone from an even closer branch of the family tree? Well, before you start sending flirty messages to someone, just make sure they´re not in any way related or, perhaps just as bad, an ex.
4. They may be attached. Some people on dating websites are actually in a relationship. It is always worth doing some research on somebody for this reason, as the internet can provide a good cover for people and it can be difficult to know if somebody is lying. Do a background check – type their name into Google and Facebook and see what comes up. If you suspect they might not be genuine, ask them straight out.
5. They aren´t looking for long term. Before you get all excited about someone who seems promising, make sure they´re looking for the same thing as you. Not everyone is looking to commit, and some are scared of it, so check out their profile, ask them some questions and try to gauge what kind of place they´re in and what they want.
6. There is a Christian Grey or Lara Croft within an overweight, unemployed exterior. Hopefully not both at the same time… that would just be weird. They have potential – they´re sweet and kind – if only they would eat less, exercise more and get a job. That’s where you come in on your white horse. If only human relationships could be a simple matter of asking: ‘do you think you will change or become more interesting?’ And the other person would answer: ‘no’. That would be great, wouldn’t it? Instead, you could be a little less direct and just try to gauge their personality – if they seem motivated and positive they may be willing to change.
7. They are boring. These people bang on and on about a whole lot of nothing. They aren’t interested in anything except themselves. Their narcissism knows no end. If they don’t ask questions about you or seem interested in you online or on the first date, stay right away. On some dating websites people answer interesting, stimulating questions and give awesome answers. There’s no time in life to be boring so if you´re after singles with originality and flair, click here.
Did I give this the title 7 Reasons That Men Shouldn’t Wrap Birthday Presents? I didn’t really mean that. I meant 7 Reasons That Me Shouldn’t Wrap Birthday Presents. Or I, to be correct about it. Because I’m sure that there are some men out there that are good at wrapping presents. Neat, methodical men that actually welcome the task; men that positively enjoy it, in fact. The thing is though, that I’m definitely not one of them. And I’m sure that somewhere there must be other people (most likely men) who are as ill-suited to wrapping gifts as I am. Possibly. Here are seven reasons I shouldn’t be allowed to wrap stuff.
Finished! At last!
1. Loathing. I fundamentally dislike wrapping gifts. I’m not good at it and I don’t enjoy it; much like dancing a ballet or sketching a bowl of fruit, I’m temperamentally unsuited to it and it’s much better when done by others. This affects my whole approach to the burden of having to wrap presents. I will procrastinate; I will obfuscate; I will participate in the most mundane or bizarre displacement activities to avoid it. I would literally rather do anything (photograph my belly-button fluff; listen to Jedward; fellate a baboon) than wrap a present. This leads to problems.
2. Delay. It means that I will leave performing the odious task until the last possible moment. And then, when that arrives, I’ll leave it for an hour or two more. Then I’ll have a beer or two, which I may follow with some gin or – as preceded one spectacularly disastrous present-wrapping session – absinthe. I will not wrap a single birthday present until I am so tired that I absolutely have to go to bed on the eve of the birthday. Only then is it time to start wrapping.
3. Practice Makes Perfect. It’s then of course, that I am reminded of how epically, stupendously, mind-bogglingly bad I am at wrapping presents. It’s something I get to do so rarely (thankfully) that I believe I may be getting worse at it with every passing year. I only do it rarely, not because I am ungenerous, but because I am forbidden to do so. My wife – having seen many examples of my wrapping – would rather allow Prince Phillip and Pete Doherty to mind our baby for a weekend than let me wrap a gift that anyone will see (feel, or even be within the same postcode as). This division of labour suits me fine as it leaves me in charge of hammering stuff and assembling things, but it leaves me ill-equipped for the four occasions per year on which I am called to wrap presents.
4. Wrapping Is Dull. There are few tasks duller than wrapping presents. Probably. I’ve been trying to think about something duller than wrapping a present for several minutes now and have so far failed to come up with anything that tops the unremitting tediousness that is covering things for other people in paper. So I would be better off if I had a distraction from the wrapping. But I can’t watch television or listen to music while I’m wrapping because of the hour and because rustling wrapping paper is the loudest sound known to humankind outside of Muse and Vanessa Feltz being sucked into a jet engine. When you are wrapping presents, you are wrapping presents. There. Are. No. Distractions.
5. Sellotape. But there is Sellotape. There’s a fundamental flaw with Sellotape; one that renders it almost all but unusable to me. It has two sides; one of which is smooth and presents me with no problem, and then there’s the other side, which is sticky. The sticky side adheres to everything: It sticks to me, it sticks to itself, it sticks to the table, it sticks to the floor, it sticks to anything that has fallen from the table to floor and retains it in the form of a visible mass of crumbs, dust, fluff and (always) a single pubic hair stuck between the Sellotape and the wrapping paper. The only thing that Sellotape does not do – in my hands – is affix neatly and evenly to the edges of wrapping paper. One birthday, I got this reaction: “Thank you for the present, Darling. Why is there a tortilla chip stuck to it?”
6. Paper. Because I am emphatically not in charge of wrapping anything ever, I am often presented with a problem when it comes to paper. I buy wrapping paper all the time. Lots of paper. Because of this, I always expect to find an abundance of wrapping paper when I – with heavy heart – am obliged to wrap a present. But because my wife spends her entire year wrapping presents in my absence, by the time I need wrapping paper, there’s none left. Things I have been forced to resort to using in the past include: tissue paper, newspaper, plain brown paper, white A4 paper and lined A4 paper. I have also given the gift of a small and delicate bracelet presented in a large metallic red bottle bag. Last night I had to resort to using Christmas wrapping paper to wrap my wife’s birthday presents. Fortunately I was able to talk my way out of the situation this morning: “Those? Those are birthday trees, Darling…Merry Birthday!”
7. Apology. There are also many apologies involved in wrapping presents: Apologies for waking the household up by bellowing obscenities at an odd-shaped overnight bag (or Sellotape, we can’t be certain) at 0330 in the morning; apologies for affixing a dead woodlouse to the wrapping of a tub of handcream that bore the words “Be My Valentine”; apologies for the (unaccountably) ginger pubic hair that was stuck to the tube of Pringles; apologies for the “Birthday” trees line that seemed certain to work and apologies for arriving in bed with a ball of Sellotape stuck to my arm which eventually transferred to my wife’s back when she rolled over. It turns out that wrapping birthday presents is a sorry affair, as well as a messy one.
*I would, of course, like to wish my wife a very happy birthday (if not a well wrapped one). Happy Birthday, Darling.
I had a dream last night. And the other week. And last month. And the month before that. It’s getting boring now. Annoying even.
1. Repetition. As one may have established a reccurring dream is one that happens time after time after time. I suffer with one. It’s about me, back at school or university, with an impending deadline. The problem is, I haven’t even started doing my work. The scenario usually means I have twenty-four hours to write a dissertation. As dreams go, it is rubbish. I’d be annoyed if it happened once in a year, but to have it once every couple of weeks is just plain tiresome.
2. Panic. Despite the fact that it is a dream, I can’t help but get in panic. Though it’s an odd panic. In my dream I am not panicking. Which annoys me for starters, but it’s not half as annoying as the panic I feel in the sleeping me. As if I am watching my dream from above yet I am unable to control any of my actions. I want myself to panic, in much the same way as I want England to play good football. The more I want it though, the more I seem to laugh about the situation. In much the same way as the more I want England to play good football, the more Emile Heskey touches the ball.
3. Logic. Or should that be the lack of it. In last nights dream I appeared to be less interested in getting to the library to do my work and instead was solely focused on returning the ‘Automatic Putting Device’ to its home in the shed. No, I have no idea what an ‘Automatic Putting Device’ is either. Nor why it lives in a shed. In real-life I would like to think I would question such a thing, but in my dream state it was as natural to me as scratching my armpit.
4. Meaning. What does a reccurring dream about not doing your coursework mean? It’s not as if when I was at school or university I didn’t do my work and get it in on time. Well, not often anyway. So it’s not as if I am re-living my younger days and it’s not a metaphor for my attitude today. If I don’t have any work I can hardly hand it in late can I? It’s baffling.
5. People. None of my friends or family ever appear in my reccurring dreams, which seems somewhat ironic seeing as they are the reccurring characters in my life. Instead, I end up being friends with someone from school or university who I have never been friends with in my life. That’s not to say I disliked them, we just didn’t hang around together. In my dream though, we seem to do nothing but hang around together. Hang around together not doing our coursework and taking Automatic Putting Devices to sheds. Hardly the stuff of legend.
6. Realisation. That moment when I wake up and realise it was all a dream. Again. I curse myself for being unable to dream about something more interesting. Cricket or tea or an opossum. And then I curse myself for not realising during the dream that I was dreaming. Why can’t I just recognise that I have been here before? Why can’t I wake myself up, turn over and think about Dame Edna Everage talking to her opossums? Why? Why can’t I?
7. Resentment. They say the grass is always greener on the other side. Sometimes, this is ridiculously wide of the mark, but when it comes to me and my dreams, it is as true as the existence of you and me. If there is ever a conversation about dreams, I try and avoid it. I don’t want to listen to their tales of heroism and joviality. I get jealous. Why them? Why not me? Even more frustrating is when I am asked if I had a dream. I can only describe the feeling as one of loneliness and inadequacy. And it keeps me annoyed for the rest of the day.
The new Anton Corbijn film – The American – starring George Clooney is out in the UK right now. I saw it on Saturday, here are seven reasons that you shouldn’t. (and don’t worry, there are no spoilers)
1. The Unconcious. The pace of the first half of The American is slow. It’s so slow, in fact, that if anyone had said “so slow”, it would have come out as, “sssssssssssssssssssssssssssooooooooooooooooooooooooo sssssssssssssssssssssssllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww”. Someone may even have said it, but I’m not sure, as I was dozing. Not a deep and satisfying slumber, but the fitful sort where you find yourself alternating between brief bouts of consciousness and unconsciousness, with occasional forays into semi-consciousness and thoughts of what the hell is happening to me, is this what old age is like (ness). So, I’ll sum up what I saw in the first half of the film (without spoilers). I saw George Clooney living the soporifically mundane daily life of a hit-man. In a series of slowly cut shots with no dialogue I watched him: Counting his bullets, drilling a series of small holes in some tips, oiling his mechanism (not a euphemism), polishing his barrel (nope, nor this), adjusting his sights, rearranging his small change on a table, lining up his fish fingers in size order, adding up all of the telephone numbers on his mobile and dividing them by four, testing the accuracy of his oven timer against his wristwatch (an Omega Speedmaster Professional with a black dial and black leather strap: model number 3870.50.31, I had time to note), comparing the shapes of his fingernails with his toenails, dusting his light bulbs, and staring into an empty fridge while over his head a strip-light buzzed (I may be wrong on some of these, but if they weren’t there, it felt like they were).
2. The Conscious. That’s not fair, you’re probably thinking, if you’d been awake, it probably wouldn’t have seemed that dull. But I wasn’t the only person that was sleeping during the first half. Because when I was in the toilet after the film, a man standing behind me said, “You were asleep during the first half” and, as I prepared to answer him, the man at the urinal next to me replied, “I know, it was really slow”. It turned out that they were friends and that I wasn’t being addressed at all. So there you have it. Based on the available evidence, there are two distinct types of human-behaviour that occur during the first half of The American. There are the Sleepers, who sleep, and then there are the Sleeper-Watchers who, while they have remained conscious, aren’t watching the film either; they’re watching people sleep so they can tell them about how they slept later, in great detail; “You kept leaning forward, and then you fell back, and then you leant forward, and then you fell back, and then you leant forward, and then you fell back, and then you said “chopsticks”, and then you fell back…” was my personal Sleeper-Watcher’s epic account of my movements. So, during the first half of the film, 50% of the audience are sleeping and the other 50% are watching them sleep and compiling a dossier on their movements, their utterances and their dribbling. Which means that 100% of the audience are not watching the first part of the film. That’s how dull it is.
3. Lust. And then the second half of the film begins. It begins with Violante Placido in bed with no clothes on and, in the words of my personal Sleeper-Watcher, “…you sat bolt upright and stared at the screen while breathing rapidly, remaining in that position for the rest of the scene, before you settled back in your seat and stayed awake for the rest of the film”. So not only do you get a full report on how weird you are in your sleep, you get a full report on how lecherous you are when you’re wide-awake too.
4. Clooney. And then there’s Clooney. Now I understand that George Clooney’s playing an emotionless, calculating and reserved man. But we see his bottom in The American, and I can state categorically, that his arse has a greater number of expressions than his face in this film. Here is his full range of facial expressions in The American (sorry if you were hoping for an arse montage, though we do have one of those on the About Us page):
7 Emotions : 1 Face
5. References. During the film, in a scene where Clooney is counting the grains of salt contained in a salt cellar before he thinks about Switzerland for five minutes in a bar with formica tables, something distracting happens in the background. There’s a film on the television. It’s Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West. God, I love that film, I thought. It’s in my top ten films of all time. Why aren’t I watching that? Why in God’s name would you taunt the viewer by placing an iconic piece of cinematic brilliance within your own, not brilliant, movie. So, he’s made me fall asleep, he’s made me appear lecherous, he’s made me watch a man iron his vast collection of handkerchiefs with a lukewarm spoon, and now Anton Corbijn is actually taunting me. He’s showing me a bit of a film that I love that’s better than the one he’s made and that I’m watching, I thought. While screaming inwardly.
6. ThePants. And then there are the pants. Violante Placido, for reasons I won’t bore you with, decides to disrobe (except for her pants) and go swimming in a river. But why would anyone take all of their clothes off except for their pants? Then they’d be wet once they got out of the water. And they’d have to go home wearing wet pants. And who wants to wear wet pants for an afternoon? And I know that you’re thinking that it was for the sake of modesty, but it wasn’t. Because they became completely transparent the moment they got wet, a fact that my Sleeper-Watcher noted later, before he informed me that I, “…sat bolt-upright and made some sort of involuntary tongue noise. And didn’t blink for eight whole minutes” in reaction to this scene. Three days later, after a great deal of thought, I still can’t fathom the pants.
7. The Ending. Again, I won’t tell you what happens, but there’s a moment of awareness when someone alters the thing. And when that person – whose gender I won’t digress – alters the thing that I won’t name, I had a moment of clarity. I knew, in that instant, that the character that was going to do the deed would be thwarted by the one that altered the thing and that the other character that I also won’t name would eventually have to do the deed – not with the broken thing that had been altered, but – with another thing but that we hadn’t been introduced to, and that the deed would end badly. Not only for the character who had been forced to do the deed with the new thing, but also for the character to whom the deed was being done, that countered the deed with his own thing, having previously sparking this chain of events by altering the initial thing in the first place. And it was just bloody obvious that was going to happen a long time before the end.
So, to summarise: During the first half of the film you will fall asleep or resort to watching someone else sleep to keep you entertained; you will then be branded a pervert, be partially baffled by facial expressions, taunted by the director, and then wholly baffled by pants before eventually spotting the blatantly obvious ending many minutes before the film ends. I don’t think ungoing is an actual thing, but I want to do it. Right now.
