Well for anyone who has missed it, TINDER is a phone app for, let’s call it, making a connection with someone based mainly on their looks and location!  Already a pretty shallow way of finding your one and only,  but hey, let’s not judge an phone app by it’s cover.  And after all as the strap line  on the Tinder website is ‘It’s how people meet’, it must be true!

The premise  is, that you sign up on your mobile phone, and Tinder uses images accessed from your Facebook page for your profile on the app.  This requires careful planning as many people  look like a dog………..

Once you have signed up, a selection of pictures appears on your screen with the option to swipe the picture away, either left or right, according to if you ‘like’ the picture of the person, or if you think they look like a mad person; and that’s being kind.

If you ‘like’ someone, and they ‘like’ you back, it’s called a match, and a text box opens for you to begin to communicate. It couldn’t be easier really. Of course a degree of cynicism has to be exercised. Why for example do a high percentage of the men on Tinder feel that the bathroom is a suitable backdrop for that all important profile picture, oh and there’s a wedding ring, and the same lovely lady in many a mans pictures.

But JUST  for the purpose of research, (of course), I dipped my twinkly toe into the red hot coals of Tinder and here is what happened!

Let’s call him ‘Jim’ clearly took a shine to my picture, and ‘Jim’ was the best out of a disappointingly bad bunch. But as I had clicked ‘like’ and he had clicked ‘like’, we were deemed to be a match and so the conversation begun.

Early one morning  ‘Jim’ said ‘Hi’, and a bit later on  I returned the favour. We got some pleasantries out of the way, our location ( I’m lazy, I already knew that 20 miles was way too far to go just for a coffee) and our relationship status, boxes ticked, and we both appeared to be (not) so young, free and single.  RESULT!

Then things took surprising turn, and not in a good way.   ‘Jim’ asked me what I did for a job.  Wedding Co-ordinator I told him, and that I was just off to work.  He replied saying that he would love to see some more pictures of me and was sitting in his basement at his computer,  imagining me going to my office in a short skirt and high heels.   WHAT!!??   My immediate thought was one that I often use in such circumstances….. Oh For F**K Sake!

Ever the realist, I burst his bubble straight away, telling him that happily it was an informal day at the office and I’d be in my comfy jeans and trainers.   He came straight back even more insistently asking for more photo’s, and implying that WHEN I sent them, he was sure  they would be very sexy and he couldn’t wait to see them.   REALLY?!

A few more messages filtered in during the  day, and I recall that it was not a particularly good day at the office, so later that evening, under the influence of a few tads of annoyance and a few glasses of Merlot, I fired back a ‘do one’ message to ‘Jim’ telling him in no uncertain terms that his messages were bordering on offensive, and he needed to rethink his Tinder strategy if he really was hoping for a LTR. (Long term Relationship in dating speak).

Fair play to ‘Jim’ he came straight back and suggested we start all over again from the beginning.   Errrrr……NO I don’t think so Jim.  DELETE!

http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2013/nov/23/tinder-shallowest-dating-app-ever

This online article gives a much more indepth over view of Tinder and over a few days, I too received other messages that might have been written by a 5 year old but were supposedly from fully grown men.

However, if you do find yourself a bit bored on a cold winter evening, and need some light entertainment, sign up, if only for the amusement value of stalking men in bathrooms.

Have you ever had a Tinder experience, good or bad ?

 

Logo courtesy of Wikipedia.com

 

 

I was at work when the lady rang me. I had actually been waiting for this call for about 8 years.   The waiting list had been very long, but at last it seemed I was at the top of the queue.

My ‘be careful what you wish for moment’ had apparently arrived

‘You sound very young dear’ the caller ventured, ‘is it going to be for your Mother?’  ‘Oh NO’ I said, ‘it’s for me, I’m definitely 60, my voice is just well preserved’ – probably due to the vast quantities of alcohol that had passed through my throat I thought.

She proceeded to tell me the details in a cheery tone, whilst I, slightly shocked, took notes and agreed to meet her colleague Kate, the next day.

I got home and my ‘much younger man’ had poured me a glass of wine and run a hot bath for me. I noticed that he was all scrubbed up and smelling sweet. Clearly he was in a bedroom frame of mind.  He asked about my day and, as he tried to tempt me with his nibbles and dips, I told him, this and that about work and family, selectively forgetting to mention my unexpected phone call.

I had to inwardly digest it myself first. I wasn’t ready to share just yet, especially not with him being 20 years younger than me.  If he’d been 60 too, I might have cracked open the champagne! 

Heading towards the candlelit bath, (he really had pushed the boat out), I shrugged off my biker jacket, and peeled off my thick tights and short skirt. I noticed my gel nails needed some ‘maintenance’, I thought I might have the new seasons gold or silver next time.

OMG, as younger people say, WTF shall I do.? Yes OK, so my body is over 60, my birth certificate doesn’t lie. But my brain feels like there’s been a huge mistake and I should be, I WANT to be, the better side of 40, I don’t want to qualify for a bus pass, or any other type of ‘mature peoples’ concessions.

I don’t think I’m ready for what’s been offered to me, the very word has such ‘old’ and settled connotations, I’m usually of no fixed abode, with no roots. For the last 10 years, I’ve been travelling light, backwards and forwards across Europe, my life’s possessions and the dog, jammed in the back of my estate car.

But I looked around my hastily rented, teeny tiny house, where the dog and I get in each other’s way. And now with ‘the much younger man’ in situ for a few more weeks, it was getting mighty crowded.

I need more space, that’s for sure, and the dog needs more than a back yard to explore. A block of flats blocks my view of the outside world, and the sun rarely shines on my parade!   All in all, yes, I really should ‘move on’, but really, I mean REALLY, it all has implications that I don’t even want to think about.

The next morning, I dressed as usual in my skinnys from Next, Ugg boots and a Zara Parka, and I was rocking a red lippy look. Maybe I should have dressed more conservatively; something befitting my age.

Whilst I waited for Kate, I wandered up and down the road, trying to get a feel for it.  It was a bright breezy day, and good grief, there were many large pants and aprons flapping around on long washing lines held up with wooden poles.   Net curtains twitched and a lady with a shopping trolley walked past me and said ‘Hello DEAR’.

I had another OMG moment and nearly ran back to my car.

A fresh faced girl greeted me, she looked about 12. We walked up the path, she unlocked the door, and as we walked round the freshly painted, light and airy rooms she pointed out this and that, and gave me a running commentary on local shops, doctors and excitedly observed that the bus stops right outside the door.

There was a sitting room big enough for two, yes two sofa’s, I could have friends round, two bedrooms, or one could be a dining room, yippee, my friends could also eat with me now , a kitchen where I could swing several cats simultaneously, and loads of cupboard space to store all the gadgets I never use.

Outside, the winter sun was shining on the big, securely fenced garden, and at the bottom, I spotted horses trotting around in a field.

It was a world away from my quaintly called ‘quarter house’, which was more like an eighth of a house, and where visitors usually had to sit on the stairs, and could also view the state of my unmade bed if they needed a loo break, en suite was really, en bedroom!

Kate gave me a while to ‘think about it’ and considerately left me alone to wander round and ponder even more.  But really it was a done deal.

We filled in the paperwork, I’d have been silly not to, but oh how I laughed, as she handed me the keys, and with her tongue very firmly in her cheek she said to me, ‘I hope you will be very happy in your BUNGALOW’

 

It’s the last chance saloon!

It is funny isn’t it, how ‘some’ mature men, behave like stupid teenagers when it comes to women, and often not in a good, or gentlemanly way.

Take my acquaintance Philip for example, and yes, that is his real name.

I’ve known Phil for a goood few years. We once flirted with the idea of becoming a bit of an item, but for one reason and another I decided I’d rather stay in the friendship zone.

Our non relationship, had been more than tested many moons ago, as while I was working for him for a few weeks,  he was unable to accept that he wasn’t ever going to see me in my undies, so he took a sulk, and actually fired me from my job!

But after we’d retired to our separate corners for a year or so, we kissed and made up, and even though we’ve both moved around a lot over the years, we’ve always kept in touch and I’d given our friendship one more chance.

Fast forward to this year, when we’ve met up a few more times for a drink and a chat, exchanged a few texts and phone calls, and I’d say our friendship had grown a bit

Still no clothes have been removed in the conducting of this friendship, but we have genuinely had some good laughs along the way.

Now Philip has other lady ‘friends’ which I know exist, but he never mentions them. Preferring me to believe that he’s free and single, even if he is not young.

He’s a smart, good looking man, and  there’s no doubt that he is attractive for his age. He’s funny, and entertaining and probably a good catch for someone who is not me.

But Philip forgets that by the wonders of social media, I can see pictures of a mature blonde female, draped round his neck at a New Years Eve celebration, and on this particular occasion, the camera certainly didn’t lie!

I can also almost see her knickers as she is pictured rather unwisely ‘dancing’ on the floor with her legs apart.   It’s not a good look.

At the beginning of June andpreceding my recent holiday, Philip upped his game slightly and the phone calls were coming in on a daily basis. There was talk of me accompanying him on a cruise later this year. Separate cabins all the way

Philip likes cruises, a lot, but he usually goes alone.  Honestly, he told me. So it must be true.

Yes, just lately there had been a nice friendly feel to our nice friendly relationship.   But then what do you know, during a  last minute visit to him, the day before my holiday, Philip lost a really good friend, and so I guess he’ll carry on cruising, ‘alone’.

I wanted to return a small camera, and so one early evening, unannounced, I pulled into the pub car park where I knew I would find him.

Unbeknown to Phil in the garden of the pub, being all clued up,  I spotted his neck draping, knicker lady, chatting to some customers, but I wasn’t wanting to speak to her, so I just wandered into the pub, all smiles and called out a happy Hello!

The look on his face was just priceless.  A mixture of horrified, terrified surprise!  He jumped up out of his leather look Chesterfield, grabbed my arm, quicker than quick, and marched me back towards the door muttering frantically,

‘Thanks for popping in, have a lovely holiday’ BYE !

He couldn’t get me out of the door quick enough.   Whereas previously, he’d offer a glass of wine, maybe some nibbles, and be happy to chat for hours, this time, my feet almost didn’t touch the ground. I was in, and out in less than a minute.

I got back in the car and just shook my head in disbelief that ‘a friend’ could treat his friend, so badly.

The ironic part of all this, for me anyway, was, that he was blissfully unaware of the fact that I knew the reason for his disgracefully rude behaviour.

What the heck did he think I was going to do?  If his ‘lady friend’ should, by chance, have walked back into the pub, I would have read the signs, made polite excuses and left.   I’m still not sure what he was most scared of, me seeing her, or her seeing me!

It made not a scrap of difference to me. I am of the opinion that if you don’t want to have a relationship with a friend, who is a man, then you have to embrace and accept his choice of female companions

 

We WERE only friends after all.  Not anymore!  

THINGS I REMEMBER ABOUT MY MUM

I was unlucky, in that my beloved Mum died when I was just 17, and of course in the passage of time, memories fade, but there are one or two things that I’ll always remember and when I hear, or see them again, reminds me just of her.

Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, my Mum was quite a fashionable woman. She was a well-respected director’s secretary, and her ‘uniform’ of choice was usually a shift dress with a coat to match set off with a sparkly brooch, or small row of pearls.

She flirted with perfumes, and was always looking for a kind of ‘signature’ smell, and she surely did find it when Estee Lauder launched YOUTH DEW.  My Mum was overjoyed, and from her very first bottle, she was hooked, you definitely smelt her gorgeousness, before you actually saw her, and when she left the room, her fragrance remained long after!

It’s not a fashionable perfume now of course, but when an elegant lady of advancing years passes me by wearing it I can easily identify it.

My Mum had a sister who lived hours away from us, in the north of England, but every few months, my auntie would travel down to London, and we’d all meet up at Lyons Corner House, then on for some shopping in Selfridges, and sometimes to see a film or a show.

 As a young girl in the 60’sI don’t recall that film censorship was so prevalent then as it is today.  I remember going to see Breakfast at Tiffany’s and even at that age, thinking that Audrey Hepburn was the most wonderful woman.

Moon River still brings back happy thoughts of sitting eating ice-creams served from a tray by a ‘waitress’ in the interval!

Just as today’s young women go to concerts to see  Michael Buble and Gary Barlow, my Mum’s ‘hero’ was a singer called Frank Ifield.  A handsome blonde man, who had the uncanny knack of bringing a kind of yodelling into his love songs!

My first live concert that I ever saw was at the once famous London Palladium, and I’m sure I saw I my Mum swooned as the handsome young man sang ‘I Remember You oooooo’!   When I hear it now on the radio, I smile at the thought of her being entranced as she watched him sing it on the big stage.

I really envy 60 year old daughters who still have their old Mum in their life. So many grumble and groan about the responsibility of looking after them, but I’d give my right arm to have to look after mine now.

What brings back happy memories of your beloved parents?

~~~~~~~~~~

What can be more upsetting at your wedding than guests behaving badly?

I’m not really talking about a bout of fisticuffs on the dance floor, or any other type of aggressive behaviour. This is about being inconsiderate to your host, and showing appalling bad manners.

Working at a wedding venue, means that I’m lucky enough to be involved in 3 or 4 celebrations a week, taking care of the newlyweds and guests during the wedding breakfast, which is usually a three course meal, including speeches, and toasts to the happy couple.

There are normally 8 or so, beautifully decorated round tables, full of chattering friends and relatives whilst the bride, groom and close family oversee the room from a vantage point of the traditional long ‘top’ table. In the run up to the wedding, very often for months, sometimes years, the bride plans how the room will look, who will sit next to who, and she will choose centrepieces for the tables to compliment her colour scheme.

It’s hard to imagine the amount of thought, and often stress, that goes into ensuring everything looks just perfect for guests to enjoy.   So once these same guests have been welcomed into this lovely setting, and wine is poured for them, and tasty food is put in front of them, why can’t grown men and women, survive two hours, without leaving the table, to go outside and smoke a cigarette?

It honestly has to be seen to be believed. At almost every wedding, people will scurry outside 3 or 4 times in the space of a couple of hours. As soon as they have finished eating each course, they are patting at their pockets, or delving into handbags, for the familiar outline of the cigarette packet, and rush outside to draw on a cigarette like a dying man draws on oxygen.

Just before the speeches there is often almost a complete exodus, which leaves the room looking like a sad café. But last week I saw something even more indicative of today’s lack of social skills and consummate bad manners.

We had a wedding where the bride was let’s just say a bit ‘difficult’ and ‘particular’ about her wedding day.  She had the air of a ‘diva’ about her, and everything had to be even more just so, than it usually is. During her wedding breakfast, the starters had been cleared away, and the smoking fraternity had made their first dash for a nicotine fix, huddled together in groups all around the gardens.

The waitresses began to serve the top table first, with their main course, of crispy beef wellington, with all the trimmings. Eight portions were placed in front of empty seats, and whilst gradually the other diners returned to enjoy their food, the eight chairs at the top table remained empty with cooling plates of food still untouched.

Yes, whilst her new husband and closest family still stood outside preferring the company and taste of their cigarettes, and despite her quest for perfection, the bride was left sitting completely alone, with her plate of food, at the top table she had decorated so beautifully, looking very forlorn and unhappy.

Manners Maketh Man……….and all that.

ABUSE ORDEAL OR JUST GROPED

Can I be alone in questioning the increasing amount of ‘victims’ coming out of the woodwork some 50 and more years after their ‘abuse ordeal’?

Whilst I acknowledge rape is, and will always be a hideous thing to either perpetrate or endure’, I do feel there are some women who have chosen to let much lesser ordeals blight their life, using it as an excuse for every relationship breakdown, and a reason why their life has turned out the way it has.

A recent letter in the press told of how a ‘mature woman’ had her whole life blighted by an assault which had taken place some 40 years earlier, and the attack had left her feeling useless and afraid to be normal and that her family had turned against her.

REALLY?

Why would you feel ‘useless’ and ‘afraid to be normal’? Why would friends and family ‘shun’ you over something that was not your fault?

Shouldn’t women accept ‘some’ responsibility for continually dwelling on their admittedly horrible experiences and, instead of using it as a reason for every other misfortune that has happened since prefer to put it behind them and get on with their lives?

As a 16-year-old girl working in the East End of London in the late 60s, I too experienced the indignity of being ‘groped’ by my then boss, on almost a daily basis. My bum was regularly pinched by much older men, and as young office juniors, my friends and I were easy targets for the lecherous company Director when he demanded we accompany him on unnecessary journey’s in his Rolls Royce, where his clammy hand would land on our thigh and would have travelled further without a sharp slap and a shout of ‘get off’.

It went on all the time, it was part of life which we laughed off, describing him simply as a ‘dirty old man’ and if cornered by someone else whose intentions were even more inappropriate, a loud, more enhanced version of ‘go away’ worked wonders.

Things were different in every way back then, and I just don’t feel the police and media should react to things that happened in the 60s with the same zero intolerance level which we now apply in 2022

How can you define now, what constituted actual ‘sexual abuse’ back then? It probably had a different meaning to different types of women.  An unwanted kiss on the lips may be described as an assault by one woman, but completely ignored by another.  A male hand against a female breast may be brushed off by a strong-minded street-wise girl, but be seen as something far more sinister by another less worldly woman.

 One thing is for sure, to let any man’s inappropriate behaviour blight your life for 50 years, is surely only prolonging his power over you. You are only a ‘victim’ if you allow yourself to continue to be one, and possibly only have yourself to blame if you choose to let these experiences ruin your life.

Let’s be clear here, rape is a totally different situation, to someone having their bum pinched. I do not wish to trivialise in any way the trauma some people have been through. Let’s not blur these lines.

Have you ever experienced ‘wandering hands’, or something more sinister?