Valentines Day was a relatively uneventful affair for us. Here is a pic of me avec the 3589723498237.8 boys who were clamouring for my attention and to bask in my presence on the most romantic evening of the year
All I can do is apologise. Obviously we have just moved gaff and have yet to update the fans with the new address so all your cards and roses and chocolates and puppies and balloons nuggets and requests for us to bear your first born sons haven’t reached us. We will not be messing about in 2018 though so get your requests in early if you wanna get iiiinvolved.
A public holiday meant a levelling up of the standard movies and duvets routine. Introducing… fondue with the crew. So good at making stuff rhyme aren’t we. Beth took one for the team and braved the cold winter frost of Leeds to walk 2.4 minutes to Sainsburys near Oracle to procure chocolate and strawberries. And then we melted it and ate it and I’m pretty sure I dribbled melted galaxy down my clavicle but the beauty of NO BOYS GETTING TO OURS was that we were free to be ug and sticky and covered in whatever melted confectionary we liked. (Galaxy and Milky Bar on this occasion)
So basically on the one night of the year we should have been sat in San Carlo looking the height of sartorial elegance waiting for an engagement ring to appear in a souffle. We led on the floor and I (dunno about Beth) got a repetitive strain injury in my left wrist from swiping on Tinder.
Which brings me nicely to my next point. I am going to write in depth about one of my fave past times. Something I hold dear to my heart. Fishing. Nah messing, its obvs Tinder. A digital veil of anonymity that has facilitated 90% of bangs for the last few years (I made up this statistic). YET EVERYONE IS APPARENTLY WILLING TO LIE ABOUT WHERE THEY MET (I didn’t make this up, every 3rd boys profile is adorned with words to this effect). Come on now people. Some of the best bangs in your life could be locked in your phone right now. Somebody who is going to take you to Miller and Carter for a steak is probably just a few swipes away. You can get fucked or fed or both from Tinder so why aren’t we extolling it with the credit it deserves. You’ve probably deleted and re-downloaded Tinder more times than you’d admit to even if it got you acquitted from a murder you didn’t commit, but its 2017 and convenience is what we want. Imagine actually approaching somebody in public, sober, and saying iya. Fucking unheard of. I thought I was taking the piss when I said that I held Tinder dear to my heart but I’m coming across passionate as fuck here so maybe I’m not actually speaking in jest.
I don’t know why there are still people getting about on Tinder with pics that look like they were taken on a potato, but there are. You’re telling me that in an age of Instagram, Photoshop, Facetune and lads with ammo belts of Mini SD cards full of different angled dick pics that some people don’t have ONE decent quality image. Not having it. If your head looks like a tiger loaf then I want to know about this from the off. Somebody will fancy you anyway so market yourself well. Nobody is in this game to solve mysteries so leave your 2 megapixel images on Bebo. Same applies for mirror selfies that are eclipsed by an iPhone plus leaving us with 2mm of your left eyebrow visible, and group pics. You can have one group shot in your profile so it looks like you’re a social butterfly but if they’re all of you and your conglomerate I’m assuming you’re the ugliest one and moving on.
Moving on. Is what a lot of people use Tinder for. Before you get offended at a kamikaze all or nothing opening gambit of “send nudes” I reckon it is good to remember that people are utilising it for diff purposes. No need to lambast the fella looking for an easy bang to get over his ex just because you’re on the hunt for an engagement ring. I wanna live in a world where everyone is chilling and banging and loling at dick pics. Not crying at em. There’s worse things in the world isn’t there. And in a weird way I find the candour of thirsty lads endearing. Efficiency is key and they are not messing about.
If, however, you are looking to graft somebody with a view to sitting across from it on a date somewhere then it’s not fucking difficult to have a bit about you and orchestrate a collision. If you put too much thought into convoluted openers and trying to be funny, you won’t be funny. Just tell somebody you have little/no enthusiasm for tinder and throw your digits at em. Ask your mate if your Whatsapp pic is a fit one. Somebody once said brevity is the soul of wit. And now I am saying brevity is the key to graft. So once you’re validated by your mate and you’ve locked the target into Whatsapp correspondence you want to be boxing off a prelim coffee date within 3 days. If you’re not confident enough to graft with just caffeine induced optimism then get to Headrow House and let the gin do the talking. I pretty much reel off the same speech to every graft and my success rate is like 95%. The 5% who I haven’t had success with obviously have poor judgement. I will happily share all my tried and tested one liners/openers/topics of convo so throw me a DM on some form of social media if you want a little nudge in the right direction.
I would like to end this post by thanking each and every boy I’ve matched on the thing. All the rugby boys, Dolphin Boy, Little Boy, Psycho Boy, Original Leeds Boy, and all the ones that didn’t get a name. And all the ones that I reached real first name terms with. All the ones who have used a Joey D opener on me. All the boys who matched me then asked for Dani’s number. And a really special thank you to everyone who has super liked me. I don’t super like anyone in real life, not even my mum, so to think somebody has deemed me worthy of one of those little blue stars really is humbling. Merci beaucoup, all of you.