Monday, 22 December 2008
Thursday, 18 December 2008
I don’t really do stuff from PRs on TT, but sextoys.co.uk, who are our mates, just brought out some great Christmas figures that are close to my heart.
Basically it backs up my opinion that the Christmas office party is one of the best opportunities to pull in the year – it’s pretty much the only time at work that a bit of naughtiness is actually expected. Apparently 7 out of 10 people they polled will use the Christmas party to try and pull a colleague and 1 in 3 don’t even to bother to go home and just use the photo copier or their bosses desk for a shag. 1 in 10 actually claim that they got a promotion as a result of their Christmas party antics.
Work is actually one of the best place to meet someone – in the
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
When I’ve been dumped it’s always been pretty clinical, it’s just over. Ultimately at the time, when you are involved it sounds a bit blunt, but it’s the best way. Doesn’t leave any room for error. It’s black and white, bang it’s done. I think myself I’ve probably done it myself that way. I think it depends on the circumstances. I met one girl I met a few years ago and I got a text about meeting up. I wrote back saying, I’m out with my friends, down to my parents tonight, then down the hospital tomorrow to see my Dad. Should be back tomorrow night, failing that definitely around on Tuesday. In other words, we can definitely meet Tuesday, possibly Monday. I just get text straight back from her saying ‘I think we need to talk’.
I never saw her again. ‘We need to talk’, that is never going to be a good thing, that either means you are going to have to back down, or they are going to bin you. ‘We need to talk’ is effectively giving your four weeks notice. Anything else is just sugaring the pill. If anyone thinks it is anything other than that they should stop doing the lottery as well – they’re living in a dream world. 99.9999% certain you are going to get axed. 'We need to talk' and you just think right, I’ll leave it at that then.
There was one occasion where a woman just went off the radar. That is a crap one. It was literally everything was alright, then everything was off. Nothing. Silence. Just on a purely, shit, what’s going on terms, it’s like, was she alive? Some inkling that you are still present on earth would still suffice. I am the sort of person who thinks, is she OK?
Talking about going off the radar, I met another girl, just got her a drink and was going to the loo. I came out and she was gone. My mate told me she’d gone down to the petrol station to get some fags. Well she never came back. And there was her drink. I thought shit. In the end I took a drive by to the Petrol Station just to be on the safe side. She wasn’t there. She’d told me where she worked, so on the Monday I phoned her work and they told me ‘No, she’s not in’. This was not making me feel any more secure. I called them the next day again, and they said, no, still not in. So at this point I was really shitting myself, thinking, this is a crimewatch job. Something was said, and the woman said ‘oh, we’ve heard from her’. I went oh, that’s all I needed to know.
As it transpired, she went for a pack of fags and as she was crossing the road she broke her toe on the pavement. She ended up down at
You can see Lee this Saturday at the Fym Fyg Bar in Bethnal Green.
Well in our never ending quest to keep you laughing, talking and thinking about sex and relationships we’ve managed to recruit Comedian Lee Hurst to join the Todger Talk team as a guest writer.
Keep an eye out for his meandering thoughts on sex, love and relationships over the next month.
Friday, 12 December 2008
'Mr Sex': What to do when someone you've been besotted with for ages starts going out with someone else and you just want to scream "NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!"
And then, something does happen. They start going out with someone else, leaving you feeling like shit on a stick. What do you do? Well, if you’re like me (who happens to be the King of this particular situation), you do two things;
1) You inwardly scream “NOOOOOOOOO! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR, YOU SUCKY MARE? YOU COULD HAVE BEEN MRS FUCKING SEEEEEEXXXX!!!”
2) You immediately fix the fuck up and look bastard well sharp.
Because although the natural reaction is to go all Emo and have a good mornge because someone’s inadvertently ripped your heart out and is currently wiping their arse with it, there’s a far greater emergency; preventing yourself from feeling any more of a twat than you already do. You think trying to snare someone is a bastard of a job? Try putting the brakes on your ardour. It’s like trying to pedal a penny-farthing backwards. That’s being towed by four rampaging elephants. On ice.
Whatever you do, you can’t win – but you can not lose. Here’s how I deal with it whenever the bouncers at Club Meaningful Relationship tell me my shoes are too casual, and they don’t like my face, and point me towards the Bus Shelter of Unrequited Love.
Now then; when shit like this happens, there’s two natural inclinations. The first one is to throw a massive sulk and blank said person. Which is a wrong ‘un: you’ll only prove they were right to cock their nose up at you in the first place, and I’ve lost more than one extremely brilliant friend this way. The second one is to go the other way entirely; to make out everything is cool, you’re completely alright about it, and nothing has changed. That’s even more of a wrong ‘un – you’ve still got a mard-on while they’re feeling massively brilliant about themselves, meaning that the balance of power (which was pretty skewed in their favour in the first place) is off the chart. Not only that, but you’ll be bending over backwards for them when you get the slightest hint that their new relationship might not be as brilliant as it seemed (been there, done that too – it’s fucking horrible).
First off, you take yourself out of the situation completely until you’re ready to deal with them again, because if you don’t, it’s gonna be an absolute train-wreck. Either you’re going to see them in the pub and be compelled to ease out of the place without anyone noticing (which’ll make everyone notice), or they’re going to come over and commence a conversation that’ll be as awkward as fuck. Not to mention everyone who knows about the situation will want to make sure you’re alright, which is the absolute last thing you want.
The only sane thing to do, I find, is to get away from the horrible soap opera that your life has become as soon as you can. I find sitting at home in my mankiest, ripped-at-the-crotch-so-my-bollocks-hang-out-like-clackers jeans and cramming takeaway curry into my maw whilst simultaneously playing Mario Kart, screaming “FUCK OFF AHT ME WAY, LUIGI!” and shouting along to this makes things better. You may want to try something different. It won’t be as good as my way, though.
When you’ve got all that out of your system, you’re ready to move on to phase two; re-establishing the relationship in light of the new situation, without making yourself look a total bell-end. This is a tricky one, because if they were worthy of your attention in the first place, they’re going to be as nervous about it as you are about letting you down, and worried that you were only being a decent human being because you were trying to get their knickers off. I find that smiling and nodding at them in the pub is a good start, followed by running off like a bastard.
Then, you pick up the conversation at a later date, but subtly omitting displays of outright affection. No more kisses at the ends of e-mails, overtly smoochy hugs at the end of face-to-face contact, or engineering chance meetings that end at your or their house at . Most importantly, you quietly refrain from offering your services every five minutes, especially when they haven’t really asked for them. Basically, you make clear that you’re going to remain a faithful friend, but you’re nobody’s bitch – and you have to keep a bit of distance from now on so you can move on, whilst not getting in the way of their new thing. But without saying it, obviously, because that’s a bit of a mental thing to come out with.
When all this is established, you can move on to stage three; the rest of your life. At some point – fuck knows when, but it’ll happen – you’ll be able to talk openly and have a laugh about it, and it’ll happen so naturally that you need no coaching from me, and you’ll be proper mates again.
(You may have noticed that I’ve left out a very important part of the equation – the other person. I can’t really offer much advice here, because if you’re anything like me, you’re never going to be able to like the cunt, no matter how decent and undeserving of ire they are. When you’re really into someone, they could be going out with Jesus, and you’re still going to be muttering “Look at that fucking beardy twat, going around like he thinks he’s summat” to yourself. Best thing to do is be polite without getting involved).
Of course, you could circumnavigate all of this mither by simply saying ; “Look, I think you’re fucking ace. I’ll never stop wanting to be your friend. I didn't want to fall for you and risk fucking up a brilliant friendship, but I'm only human. I’m very sure I’ll be an absolute mard-arse in your presence at the moment, so I’m hibernating for a bit. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pretend to be someone in a cut-off denim jacket, a large nappy and a mushroomy hat, and throw shells at Luigi for a bit. Because that bastard has had it coming to him for too long now."
But who'd be so gormless as to do that?
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
Sorry for my lack of words recently but I have been sick, and I don’t mean that in a Fritzel kind of way. I’m talking man-cold first class, with a medal in chesty cough, and a citation for blurred vision in the face of severe migraines. Honestly, when I sneeze I spray paint the bedroom.
Illness never seemed much of problem in life before – I’d just call in sick and turn the Xbox on. But I work for myself now: calling in sick means nothing gets done. If you couple starting a live music/comedy/arts production company with my stand-up comedy gigging, it becomes clear that my overworked self was due an illness. It’s a particularly virulent bastard too – all the people I live with have it, loads of the stand-up comics I know have it, and it lasts about two weeks, “Mum! Mum! I’m Dying!”
I don’t often wish I still lived at home, but when I am sick, like any man, I want the brow-rubbing, soup-ladling, hot-water bottle love that only a mother can give me. I want the ‘poor little bunny’ type stuff from the Man Stroke Woman sketch show.
‘But you have a girlfriend – surely she’s nice to you?’
My girlfriend lives in the US (major long distance, I know) but when I am ill I am sort of glad she’s so far away because her scorn at my sickness is somehow less cutting when delivered via a webcam.
During the periods of time we have lived together for months at a time the exact chain of events is this: I tell her I am ill; for the next five hours she is quite nice to me; and then that’s it. If I’m not better after that, she switches into scorn mode and I have to go and cower in an airing cupboard so she can’t find me.
Imagine my upset when I read a Telegraph article, which appeared to suggest this is commonplace – apparently many women do this?
Now I know the research is just cynical PR nonsense dreamt up in the Monday morning meeting of whichever PR agency handles Reckitt Benckiser. However, we all know the scorn men receive for having ‘man-colds’.
The flipside to this one is that when she is ill, I do tend to try and offer lots of sympathy. In a slightly strange and thankfully-not-physical way, I turn into my mother. Why is this? If she’s ill, I jump to her every whim and wish, but if I am sick, I get beaten like a ginger stepchild. Also why is it that a mother will give this care, but a girlfriend won’t, despite that girlfriend receiving that level of loving caring attention from me?
I know what you are thinking… and no, I am not only nice to her just so she gets better quicker so I can knob her again. Of course, that is a gratifying side effect.
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
My clients go through some rough and tumble, but one of them recently went to through something that took the cake. She and her man had been going through a really tough time and he had been wanting to ‘talk’ (coming from a man it’s nearly always bad news). So they got together for their ‘talk’, were walking along together and then he spilt the beans:
‘I think you ought to know, I’m going to change my relationship status on Facebook’.
We have all heard of people being dumped on Facebook, or by text but somehow this is so much more pathetic, so much more ridiculous. This is a man who is so gutless that when he try’s to do something face to face he has to use a website as a prop to dump someone. I’m still trying to put my finger on why this is so outrageous, gutless, spineless and well just leaves me a bit flabbergasted. You know what it is – he was pretending to have the guts to do it face to face, but in reality used an electronic dumping prop. In my books that is more gutless than just facing up to what a spineless scumbag you are and doing it on the internet or by text.
I guess that you can tell this really got my goat. Feel free to share and vent your own spleen if you need a bit of public catharsis. Certainly made me feel better.
Monday, 8 December 2008
I assume you know all about the Fleshlight (and if you don’t, look at this before you do anything else), and you feel that there’s little more to be said about them. But look at these. They’re special. Not only do they contain the actual molding of a porn star’s flange (I chose Puma Swede, mainly because she sounded like a sports vegetable), but they’ve even got their signatures embossed on the side, as if said porn stars were self-harming, but in an extremely egotistical manner. And hark at the blurb!
"Hi, I'm Puma Swede and I'm from
- ever have Swedish pussy before? If you haven't let me tell you - it's the best there is. Don't take my word for it, come fuck my Puma Swede Fleshlight and you'll see for yourself. I know after you're done, you'll be saying what all the other guys say: "Swede is all I need..." Can't wait for you to fuck me!" Sweden
Awr. Me neither, Puma. But until then, I’ll have a go on this fanny in a torch.
You Will Also Need: The obligatory shitload of lube, and some tissues. Although most of your spendings will go into the torch, there is the risk of splashback over your best jumper when you withdraw, resulting in you having to rinse it under the tap, resulting in you looking like you’ve pissed yourself, resulting in you holding said damp spot under the drier in the works toilets, looking like you’ve just pissed yourself.
Looks like: Someone’s fanny. In a torch. As I’ve mentioned before, I really don’t get the idea of porn-star minge-moulding. As a friend of mine once said; “When you’ve seen one fanny, you’ve seen them all,” and, after putting aside the fact that he was 14 when he said that, in the playground, and he actually hadn’t seen anyone’s fanny yet, he sort of had a vague point when it comes to this sort of thing. Do people actually hold their Puma Swede Fleshlights up to the telly when they’re watching some grot, and exclaim; “Hang on a minute! This looks nowt like! I’ve been skanked!”? Personally, if it was an accurate recreation of the bits of some girl in the pub that I fancied, or the woman on the local news, my interest would be a bit more piqued. And then I'd be disgusted with myself.
Also, it has to be said that the colour scheme leaves a lot to be desired. I felt like I was having sex with one of those fake ice creams made of marshmallows that they sell in Greggs. Never mind sticking me cock in: I wanted to put a Flake in there.
Feels like: This is where all negatives are obliterated. Not content with tampering with the colour scheme and the moulding, they’ve even tinkered with the inside. Now there’s a new insert – called the Lotus – that is a rollercoaster for the todge. Like all proper male sex toys, it doesn’t feel like a shag, but nor does it feel like a wank. It’s
Clean-up: The great thing about Fleshlights is they’re easy to de-grot. Unfortunately, they’re just as easy to forget about, meaning that you leave them in the bathroom of a shared house all day, and only remember when you’re at work, causing you to emit an involuntary animal cry of doom-laden realisation, and everyone turns to look at you. Ahem.
Partner compatibility: Minimal, unless your missus gets turned on by you shagging household items. Having said that, some women I know would love to see their partners having a go on the fully see-though version.
Pros: Put aside the celebrity endorsement, and it’s still a Fleshlight with a new bumpy ride.
Cons: They completely missed a trick with the casing that would have made it even more personal: by making it look like an exact replica of the actual torch Puma Swede has in her own utility cupboard. God, that would have been amazing.
The Puma Swede Lotus Fleshlight, £49.99, kindly provided by lovehoney.co.uk
The Puma Swede Lotus Fleshlight, £49.99, kindly provided by lovehoney.co.uk
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
It’s Christmas party season, and I’ve been out chatting as usual. My most recent interesting conversation was with a very attractive and very single Italian woman. She was totally confused as to why, after years in
Since these things are endlessly fascinating I started asking her some questions. Were the only guys that actually approached her idiot womaniser types? ‘Yes! How did you know?’, She asked surprised. How did she feel about making it clear that man was interested in her ‘Well I couldn’t do that, I’d be acting like a slut!’. Things started to become clear this was a case of cultural confusion. The thing is that in
The interesting thing is that while all cultures tend to use the same basic flirting signals, the whole flirting dance changes in every county you go to – in some places it is as different as the language. Sometimes it is louder, sometimes more subtle. The problem for this Italian woman is that in
So this poor Italian woman had completely turned off all her public flirting signals (as is appropriate for
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
Hands up who has seen Dawson’s Creek? Or its more recent clone, The O.C? I am sure there are plenty of ‘Emo in disguise’ shows which I could list here, all aimed at the American middle classes. We all know how good American ‘aim’ is, and unsurprisingly, in a hail of televisual friendly fire, those shows ended up here on our TVs. Mowing down our impressionable young people in a cross fire of weepy teenage angst, I was luckily just old enough that these show’s bullets of cathartic simplicity bounced harmlessly off my embittered British skin, when they first started arriving in the late ’90s.
“Did you see the one where Dawson agonised over his naughty thoughts while hiding himself in a shack by an idyllic lake which the director brilliantly juxtaposed with Dawson’s roiling inner turmoil. You see! He’s just like us, except with a bigger forehead, obviously.”
Whether you think these shows are escapism, catharsis, or simply crap, you can’t deny their subject matter, first kiss, first fondle, first act of onanism (‘onerism’ is incorrect – look it up), strikes a chord with everybody. Unfortunately, life doesn’t do soft focus, and most people’s experiences are far more interesting and visceral than daytime US sop-soaps can cover. Looking back, I find my first kiss incredibly funny, but at the time it threatened to scar me for life. It was pre-Dawson by about two years – the only television I had to help me cope was Blue Peter and Byka Grooove.
Being the ‘creative type’ (read dyslexic and emotionally stunted) I had managed to land myself a bit part in the school play and was at school one weekend for a rehearsal. The play’s lead, played by one of my year’s cooler sorts, had brought a few ‘out of school’ friends with him, like a coterie of groupies. It was with one of these girls, a hoop ear-ringed, shiny shell suit wearing meta-chav with an expression of permanent distaste on her face, that I had my first kiss. I’m being a bit nasty after the fact, because I do remember her as very pretty despite all the Elizabeth Duke trappings.
I was a Nirvanoid, so I guess if she was a blueprint for chav, I was the blueprint for Emo and as they say, opposites attract. After much ‘my-friend-fancies you,-do-you-like-her’-type chat this girl and I ended up away from everybody behind a bush or something romantic like that. Things were going well, hotting up even. I cracked jokes, she laughed. She cracked jokes and I pretended to laugh. You could almost hear the music in the background building the tension toward the romantic encounter that surely neither of us could avoid. We were two freight trains on a single track of destiny ploughing toward a perfect passionate moment – time would surely stop. I lent in and it happened, boy freight train met girl freight train, we kissed, our tongues questing, my eyes open in shocked surprise at my luck – ‘look mum, I’m doing it!’ The moment lasted what seemed like an age, the girl pulled back and looked deep into my eyes and said:
“You’ve not done that before, have you?” My train de-railed, rolled down a bank and fell off a cliff edge of sheer drop-jaw embarrassment. She went off and told people who laughed at me.
Cue Music: “I don’t wanna wait... for our lives to be over…”
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
With Christmas almost upon us it got me thinking about shopping lists – of the relationship kind. One of the things that I get all my clients to do is come up with their ‘relationship shopping list’ – these are the non-negotiable characteristics that their partner must have. As you can imagine, there is some prioritisation that is involved. Here are some samples from one of my female clients that ran to over 25 items
- Over six foot
- Built like a fridge/freezer
- Huge weiner
- Oxford/Cambridge and/ or Ivy league education
- Ability to get in a physical fight and win
- Likes spooning
- Not cheap. Duh.
I force people to focus and prioritise – to get down to their top three non-negotiables. Though many women have a super huge shopping list, I’m always surprised at the number of people who have not even really considered this – particularly men. They really need to sit down and think about it. But this is crucially important, you wouldn’t buy a Playstation 3 if you wanted to play Halo and Gears of War! Personally my non-negotiable three are loving, sexy and trustworthy.
What about yours? But strictly only your top 3!
Friday, 21 November 2008
This week's question...
Anonymous writes: Hello lads,
I run my own business and I've recently sought the advice of a fellow business owner, who has been very generous with his time and given me a great deal of financial advice. I want our relationship to be more than professional, but I don't know how to subtly find out is he's single (there are no obvious signs like a ring). All of our correspondence is very professional and via email, and I desperately want to break down that barrier without making a fool out of myself.
When we first met at a networking event he looked over at me three times while he was talking to someone else, so I know that there is some degree of interest on his part. I feel a sense of urgency with this before our relationship enters a "strictly professional zone". I think so highly of him that I would be happy just being his friend if he didn't feel the same way that I do, so I know I need to act carefully. I'm 25 and he's 31, and I think he likes to see himself as my mentor.
Any bright ideas please?
Sam says: OK, there is some serious strategising that needs to happen here. Firstly, you need to remember that when a guy meets a younger girl in a business context we tend to lean on the side of caution. There is nothing worse than getting a sexual harassment suit from a younger woman to make your life a misery. What this means is that you need to discreetly take the lead and make it clear you are interested.
Step 1 – Gather intelligence
Do you have any mutual professional contacts? If so, discreetly ask if he is married or has a girlfriend. If you don't have any, then next time you see him as something like 'Is your wife involved in business as well?' You'll quickly find out whether he is single or not.
Step 2 – Get him out of the business strait-jacket
It’s crucial that you meet up outside a professional context. The easiest way to do this is to ask if you can meet up for a drink after work for him to give you some advice on business topic X. A bar is what anthropologists call a 'liminal' space – a place where the rules of outside society are temporarily suspended. Translation, you are allowed to flirt with business colleagues there. When you get there for the drink as quickly as possible move off business onto personal topics. Also, flirt like crazy with him. The more flirting the better.
Step 3 – Get a bit sozzled and have a snog
Alcohol plays a very important role – it allows you to do things you wouldn't otherwise try and get away with it. I would suggest when going out to drinks aim to get a bit sozzled and then at the end of the night, when saying goodbye, rather than offering your cheek, tip you head to one side, lean in towards his lips and let him close the deal. If it all goes wrong you can always blame drinking a bit too much booze. If it goes right, Hurrah!
‘Mr Sex’ says: Right then, I’m going to be the angel on your shoulders and hit you off with the other side of the coin; yes, he was checking you out at that networking meeting, mainly because a) he’s male and b) those things are boring as fuck. Personally, if I were at something like that and a balloon with swastikas drawn on it with marker pen floated in the room, I’d be thinking about shagging the arse off it, just to alleviate the sheer boredom of it all.
The problem is, this is still a work relationship, even if you’re self-employed, and there’s still a degree of professionalism needed – after all, if it goes horribly tits-up, it’s going to have a serious effect on your working relationship. At best, it’s going to tip the balance decisively in his favour (after all, if he sees you as your mentor, he already feels he has a degree of power). At worst, it’s going to break it completely.
So my advice to you is to follow Sam’s advice, but add Step 0 – be a bit more chatty in your e-mails. Initiate a bit of random banter with a PS, or something like that, so you get to know him a lot better whilst basking in the safety of hiding behind a monitor. The benefits of this are that you can subtly steer the conversation in the direction you want without committing to anything, and having the time to think about what he’s said and what you want to say in return. All the info you need to know will be revealed in time, and you’ll have a far better idea where you stand without risking your professional relationship or making an arse of yourself.
Readers of TT – comment!
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
I once had the misfortune to work as a freelancer in an all-female public relations office. Me, the lone rogue male, thrust into their midst like a sacrificial slave. Lunchtime was a daily competition about who could eat the healthiest salad – the shocked, jealous stares engendered by my M&S sandwiches were the highlight of my day.
This agency was ‘trendy’ in the painfully-boring way that PR agencies try to be (one PR agency I worked in had sand on the floor of its meeting room, another forwent chairs for beanbags), with its point of trendiness being Unisex toilets. It was a mere two days before I got told-off for leaving the toilet seat up. Already rather irritated by the job, and knowing it was only a two-week contract, I decided to argue my case. I posited that a group of strong-minded career women should really be able to manage the lowering of a toilet seat. If they weren’t looking before they sat down then it was a problem with their own personal due diligence practices – after all, I didn’t just walk in and start pissing on a lowered seat without looking.
“Look,” said one of the senior account directors, a particularly po-faced harridan – pregnant at the time, although how I have no idea how – “It’s just basic manners.”
I’m pretty sure toilet seat etiquette is not included in any manners books, but it does bring me to the wider point. The reason I mention the toilet seat thing is because it’s symptomatic of ‘a woman’ expecting that ‘a man’ should do something for her simply because she is ‘a woman.’ With the advent of equality over patriarchy is it not time to start looking at the balance of ‘manners’ that govern social interaction of the sexes?
It’s fashionable to think women are happy to go ‘dutch’ on a meal, but as a guy you still worry that raising it as topic will lose points. So what is the real deal these days? What are the new rules? Should a guy automatically let the women go first, and ensure he’s holding the door for her? If it’s cold is the man supposed to give up his coat? No women I know has turned up to a date with a gift of flowers for me, not that I would want flowers, but the same garages men buy flowers from also sell charcoal briquettes and plastic footballs – I’d happily accept either.
I know I am being facetious about this but I guess what I’m driving at is if things are more equal (or to become so) then men should be in line to have a more equal share in the social niceties. Social rules we use find their route in the patriarchal societies of the past. They were designed, unconsciously I assume, to reinforce dominant male, inferior female stereotypes, “You can’t refuse him, its his right, but at least he holds the door and lets you into the bedroom first, what a gentleman.” Do we still need them?
One girl I know who earns well over £50K, but if her boyfriend suggests she dip into her pocket for anything she turns into a bile-spitting harpy, because as a woman she should be ‘looked after’. If we mock her, she looks to her beleaguered boyfriend to defend her tight-fisted behaviour. I know, or have had the displeasure to meet, various such women. I freely admit that part of me quite likes the ritual of it all, acting the gentlemen by going through social motions, but another part of me would like to say fair's fair – let's see consistent equality with the ladies taking the initiative 50% of the time.
Monday, 17 November 2008
I was chatting to a guy at a party the other day and he came up with a great story. (There are some real benefits to being a Love Doctor, either people spill loads of great love related stories, or swear I am really an accountant pretending to be a love doctor as a cheap pulling trick.)
Apparently he had only just got over his first real love. He was in his late 30’s, so was not a quick healer. When he just started University his parents hired a Swedish au pair for one of their younger kids. Blond, beautiful, buxom and apparently very skilled in the bedroom, he as a spotty young Englishman fell madly in love with her. Towards the end of his university degree she decided that she wanted to go back to
Fast forward about 18 years later and bring on the joys of Facebook. She found him, got in touch and dropped him an email saying she had been thinking of him all these years and invited him to come to
First love is one of those things that burns and hurts not quite like any other love you have. And it is strange the things that let you move on. What was your first love? How did you get over it?
Thursday, 13 November 2008
The other night I was at a charity party doling out love life advice to punters and as usual was keeping a keen eye on the antics going in the crowd. One thing that particularly caught my eye was how the most attractive woman in the room kept giving me looks in between dancing with the guy in the Lion suit. Got to keep up the old skills, teachers got to be able to do too, etc etc, I rationalised (translate as, lets go and have a chat with her and get a bit of an ego rub even though I’m taken).
Anyway, I wander over and we start chatting. Now this girl could have had any man in the room. Turns out the Lion, just like me was taken. In fact she has spent the entire night flirting with taken men. A quite attractive single guy was showing some serious interest in her as we chatted. When I asked her, she dismissed him, saying ‘no, he’s way to keen’. She then proceeded to complain about how the only men who ever approach here were they taken ones (that’s because you pick them, flirt like crazy and reel them in like fish honey – I had to bite my tongue on that one).
What is it about these women? Why do they un-erringly pick out men who are taken? I can understand it to some extent, men, and women in relationships are attractive. They are getting regular action, they are usually happy and confident, and most of all, not at all needy. Then there is the biological thing of saving time and searching for a mate by picking one that other’s already find attractive. But the problem is, if you are a plan B, 95% of the time, the man stays with the other woman. Lady readers, can you enlighten me more on this one? Lads, any thoughts?
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
Conversation I had the other day with someone I sort of know, in the pub, at dinnertime, after asked him what he did last Friday (in the charmingly lilting Nottingham accent, for authenticity's sake);
(Him) "Yeah, I was gunnu come up your way for a pint, but me mate worn't up for it. Soz mate"
(Me) "Ah, shame, man. it wor a good night"
"Yeah, ah tode him all the pubs were good up your way, but he said "Fook gooin' up there. I want to goo ter taahn to talk to some slags". So we ended up gooin' to the usual taahnie shitholes"
"Ah man, that's rank"
"Ah, don't set me off, mate. He's a fookin' shagrat, 'im. All he's bothered abaaht is the fanneh. He'll get 'is leg ovver owt, 'im"
"Shitting hell, I know a few people like that"
"Norr as bad as 'im, mate. He spends all his money on getting kitted aht, and before he comes aht, he 'as a wank, so he can keep going longer if he cops off wi' 'owt. And then he won't have a pint, in case he can't gerra bonk-on. And he chats up owt. All fucking night. Relentless. And if he can't get his end away, he's 'ad a shit night."
"Fucking 'ell. That's one lad who really teks his Friday nights serious"
"Well, it's the only time his missus let's him aht, in't it?"
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Monday, 10 November 2008
As you may have noticed, Mr Sex and I are rather annoyingly busy at the moment, but that is no good excuse to stop talking about Todgers! I was contemplating that it might be good to get in some guest writers, and then I thought, what about our readers?
Would you like to talk about your Todger and all things related? Are you funnier than me (easy) or better funnier than Mr Sex (hard)? Secret hankering to start a writing career? Would you like to be able to add to your CV that you write for an international award winning blog? If you have answered yes to these questions then please do get in touch with an example of your first post.
You can reach us at todger dot talk at googlemail dot com
PS you also need to be male. Sorry ladies.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
In case you haven’t seen it, I’d like to share this hilarious clip that I originally picked up on popbitch under the heading ‘our favourite political journalist’
Now this brings up an interesting point the mix of sex and politics. This guy clearly went to the
There is nothing quite like the potent mix of excitement and adrenalin of politics to create a sexually charged atmosphere. I only have to hark back to when I dabbled in democrat politics, and watching a group of 10 men stand around and dote over Natasha Stott Despoja to realise the real reason they were there, shamefully, myself included. A lot of people pulled on election night after parties.
I am willing to bet there were a lot of people getting action after every single one of Obama’s rallies . . . and after that acceptance speech . . .
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Monday, 27 October 2008
What do Madonna, Mick Jagger, Fatboy Slim, Richard Branson, Snoop Dog and the Fun Lovin’ Criminals have in common? They’ve all been wowed by acts that are performing at the Burlesque Against Breast Cancer Ball. Taking place on 6th November at The Old Market, Hove (an hour from
· Glamorous drinks reception with burlesque hostesses and charming cads to put a twinkle in your eye
· Gourmet canapés to tantalise your tastebuds
· Table magic to enthrall your senses
· Burlesque makeovers to bring out your inner diva
· TV’s Mat Fraser introducing two hours of tassel twirling, fan-dancing, sultry singing, ariel acrobatics, sexy satire, and wondrous feats from Mantryx; Dolly Rocket; Eric Walton; Cherri Shakewell; Dolores Delight; Desmond O’ Connor; Patti Plinko and Her Boy; Lili Le Scala; and The Boy With Tape on His Face plus special surprises on the night.
· Luxury goodie bags to make you the envy of all your friends