Thursday, 26 February 2009
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
I am not very often lost for words. I am pretty good at talking – so good I can even do it while walking at the same time. I was always excellent during interviews because I was able to bullshit convincingly enough to get a job – a skill I put down to having three older brothers and not wanting to look like the ‘spazzy younger brother’ when their friends came over.
What’s more, I actively enjoy conversation, whether it’s on the phone or in person I like interaction, meeting new people. As a very young cherubic-faced blond child I would stand on the roadside outside our house talking to people as they walked past (I did actually get offered sweets once which I like to think shows I was an attractive child). My mother would always realise and pull me inside trying once more to instil in me the mantra ‘thou shalt not talk to strangers!’ I – with faultless logic – once replied, ‘but if I talk to them, they won’t be strangers anymore.’ Ah, sweet.
So why is it that if I am faced with a girl I really fancy my finely honed conversational skill deserts me like French infantrymen? I shouldn’t make quips about the French – I bet they don’t get this problem, smooth bastards. It doesn’t happen so much now because I am older than I used to be (what an obvious thing to say) and also I am in a relationship and intrinsically know I have nothing to lose and am not after anything. When I met Michelle for the first time, I babbled absolute shit though. I’d like to think I did it with aplomb but really that’s a fiction and I ended up talking about the kids instrument ‘Gazoos’ when I meant ‘Kazoos’. I can only assume she found the bumbling Englishman thing cute. More Hugh Grant than Hugh Hefner, I mean shambolic buffoon rather than slick operator not that I’d rather sleep with a prostitute than a playboy bunny.
I should also qualify this by saying its doesn’t happen just because a girl is physically attractive, it only happens if I fancy them – they have that ‘thing’ about them that makes them really stand out. Doesn’t really happen now as I am with Michelle, but I am sure that if, hypothetically, my relationship with Michelle was to end, my ‘dribble tongue syndrome’ would return.
Not being a girl, I can’t say whether there is a female version of this although it would seem there probably is. A fair while ago, when I was about 19, a previous girlfriend I met said she’d experienced this when we’d first met. I was part of the media team filming a version of Jesus Christ Super Star and was relaxing with the cast during a rehearsal break. We were sat in a group and one of the girls introduced herself to me, we chatted briefly, and I then turned in an attempt to include her friend in the conversation. The exchange when like this:
Me “…and who are you?”
Her: “Oh er…I’m just a leper in the crowd.”
Me: “Yes...but do you have a name?”
Both of my parts in that exchange had come out much harder than I’d meant them to, because I was nervous, fancied this girl, and wanted to seem relaxed and confident – but my brain turned them into gruff and blunt. She had apparently fancied me for a few days by that stage, and panicked when the object of her affections actually spoke to her. In that instance, all worked out fine, but it makes me wonder how many potentially great relationships never get a chance to exist because one person panics or gets flustered and says or does something they wouldn’t normally say or do and creates a bad impression of themselves?
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
I was chatting to one of my female clients the other day about one of the old conundrums of the male psyche. That annoying thing where if it’s not hard work, then they seem to think it’s not really worth it. These sort of men love to hunt, they love the challenge and trying to grab something out of their reach. It’s the victory that is the sweetest moment for them.
For these sort of men if it’s easy then it’s not really worth it. This sort of approach drives me a little bit nuts. Personally I like things to flow easily. I like the signals to be there, know where I stand and for other person to be pretty clear about it. I’ve run across women who play the hunted beautifully, one minute they are on, the next minute off. Baiting you to chase, then freezing you out when you do. Personally this drives me a little bit nuts. But for some men it’s manna from heaven.
I guess you could say something about have genetically men are hunters. How they like the chase. How this adds to the thrill. But what happens when the thrill is gone? In my experience pretty soon they are off on another hunting expedition for some more prey, unless their girl continues to play hard to get even once they’ve got them. Seems all a bit of a miserable way to have a relationship to me.
To be totally honest I used to be one of those men where if it wasn’t hard work I wasn’t interested. I saw an ice queen and no effort was spared to conquer her. Sure the thrill of the kill was pretty good, but it was pretty joyless from then on. I’ve learned my lesson, easy flow is so much more fun. Any thoughts on this? Are you for the flow, or someone who thinks it’s only worth something if you have to fight for it?
Thursday, 19 February 2009
*** If you're male, and you want a bit of advice on your sexy, sexy mither, drop us an e-mail at todger dot talk at googlemail dot com ***
John asks: My girlfriend and I have recently moved in together after being involved for about two years, and ever since our sex life has taken a nosedive. What was several times a week has turned into once a week if that. Is it common for the over-familiarity to kill the spark somewhat? What can I do to get it back?
’Mr Sex’ says: Hm. Pardon me for being a bit harsh, but sexpert-and-older-person-wise, this question is right up there with ‘Will the sun come up tomorrow?’ and ‘Why is all this brown stuff falling out my arse?’
Sam’s gonna hit you with the science in a bit, but I’m going to lay out the actual-factual. When you start going out with someone for the first time, you can’t believe your luck. You’re sitting there, next to them, and you think to yourself; Fucking hell. That person I’ve had my eye on for ages is going out with me. I can do anything I like with ‘em. I could lean over and snog them right now, and they’d let me. Actually, sod that – I could just cop a handful. And I will. Fwoarrrr!
And then you get thrown off the bus. But it doesn’t matter! Because it’s ace, being with someone in the first flushes of love, particularly when you live apart – because nothing gets a person more worked up than the anticipation of it all. Put it another way; the sex is on tap, but the pipe needs fixing, and you’re having to wait for the plumber to come round before you can spill things and gush, if you know what I mean and I think you do.
When you move in together, however, the entire dynamic changes. The upside is that you see far more of each other than you did before. The downside, on the other hand, is that you see far more of each other than you did before. Instead of detailed conversations about what you’re going to do to each other when you get each other alone, you finally are together alone – and discovering that you’re talking about whose turn it was to get the bog roll in and what DVD you’re going to rent from the off licence. And knickers on the floor suddenly lose their erotic allure when they’ve been there three days running.
I’m not saying that living together is a one-way ticket to Terry and June-Land, where sex happens only on birthdays and rainy bank holidays; you just have to work at it like a bastard from here on in. First off, don’t panic; you’re not going off each other. You’ve merely entered a new and scary phase of the relationship, that involves bills, shopping lists, and all that other domesticated wank. Secondly, start thinking about spending time away from each other again (i.e., START SEEING YOUR MATES AND NOT BEING A TWO-HEADED RELATIONSHIP-MONSTER). Thirdly…well, I’ll leave that up to Mr Van Rood…
Sam says: What you are experiencing happens to pretty much every single couple in the world. After you first get together the spark goes, you start nesting and things slow down.
The key thing to realise is that this is a natural process. When you first meet someone and fall in love your body releases PEA – the love drug. It's the thing that makes your tummy flip, your palms sweat and you want to shag your partner silly at every possible chance.
After about 12-18 months, the PEA stops being produced and the fireworks fade. At this point you body starts producing oxytocin – the snuggle drug. It makes you want to nest, snuggle up on the couch and cuddle, and unfortunately sex tends to drop considerably at this point too. It promotes long term bonding but misses the fireworks of when you first got together. So basically, it's not so much over-familiarity that kills the spark, it's just natural changes that pretty much happen to every one.
So what can you do? Essentially getting some excitement back once you've been together requires work, rather than just happening naturally as it did right at the start of your relationship. You need to schedule in time and make the effort for a) sex b) excitement. First big thing to try is Siestas. Talk to your girlfriend and block out 3-6pm of every Saturday and Sunday for the next two months. This is time for you to get into bed, have a snooze, maybe read a book and hopefully actually have some sex. It's perfect because you've got time to do something in the morning, and it will leave you refreshed for getting out in the evening too – meaning you can have your cake and eat it too.
Second thing is do some exciting stuff together – I'm talking stuff that gets your adrenalin going. Maybe do an indoor rock climbing course together, go to Alton Towers and ride the roller coasters, or work out other ways you get a buzz like going out clubbing. You need to regularly schedule in some excitement together – which will then also wash over into your sex life.
Basically, you've discovered the hard truth that to keep a relationship alive and interesting it takes a bit of scheduling, planning and a bit of work. But once you've worked this as a habit into your relationship routine, you've got a regular flow of extra sex and excitement on tap, which is well worth the effort.
TT readers: Comment!
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
I’ve been continuing to wonder where all the single men are in their 30s. What I am looking for are man springs – places where lots of men gather together. What is most important is there must be higher ratio of men to women. This, I have to admit, is some shameless research to help out my female clients and possibly our single female readers.
Some man springs that jump to mind:
- Indoor rock climbing - ratio 10:1
- Live cricket games – ratio 20:1
- Live rugby & football – ratio 20:1
- Major cricket, rugby or football games being shown in pubs – ratio 5:1
- Poker clubs – ratio 10:1
- Skeet shooting – ratio 5:1
- Business networking events: 5:1
Not so good are places like:
- Local pub on an ordinary night – ratio 1:1
- Car maintenance courses – ratio 1:5 (believe it or not)
Guys, can you think of any other places where blokes gather in large numbers, or perhaps in small groups? Ladies, have you come across any interesting man springs? Ratios, observations and mansprings with thinking men would also be very welcome.
Monday, 16 February 2009
In many ways, I was extremely lucky to go bald when I did. I was in London, a place where people generally don’t give a toss what you look like. And I was in the mid-nineties, when head-shaving was a bit fashionable and actually a bit sexy (thank you, Grant Mitchell). I had none of the dilemmas that my slap-headed ancestory had to deal with; getting a rug, using those mad hairsprays or trying to rock a Bobby Charlton were not options I could entertain. The best thing to do was get shot of it all and not give a fuck. Which I did, and I do.
In the spirit of Dan’s recent post, and for the benefit of men everywhere who are heading that way - and for women who don’t understand – this is what it’s like..
1. Yes, it really is a very big deal.
Losing your hair, no matter how brave a face you put on (or underneath) it, is horrible. For starters, it’s usually the first sign that you’re beginning to slip away from your peak. Not only are you constantly tracking the spread of your male pattern baldness, you also start monitoring people’s reactions to it. You watch the direction of their eyes when you talk to them, and are just waiting for them to make comment on it. And when you’re in a relationship, it’s even worse; it’s a very obvious dealbreaker (in fact, I still believe that me shaving my head was the nail in the coffin of the relationship I was in at the time).
2. When you do it for the first time, you turn it into an event.
There’s no turning back, and it’s almost a rite of passage, so you have to make the most of it. You could book in at the most expensive barbers you know and have someone apply the straight-edge razor to your head (seeing as it’ll be the last time you ever have need of places like that), or you could spend a couple of hours slowly doing it yourself – giving yourself a Travis Bickle Mohican along the way, of course.
3. You will spend the first week constantly touching your scalp, looking in every reflective surface in the vicinity, and feeling extremely vulnerable.
It’s weird how the lack of a couple of inches of hair makes you feel fragile as fuck. Just as someone who switches from glasses to contact lenses can’t help pushing a finger along the bridge of their nose, you will be flinching whenever the wind changes.
4. However, at some point in that first week, you will walk under a low-hanging tree and realise that you suddenly have an enormous new erogenous zone.
Seriously. And when it snows for the first time, your knees will buckle.
5. Your mates will deem it The Most Important Thing to Ever Happen in The History Of Everything.
One or two of them – the infantile sort whose sense of humour never left the laughing-at-one’s-own-genitals stage – will make constant references to Kojak, do the slapping thing Benny Hill did to Jackie Wright, etc etc. Yawn. The others will bang on relentlessly about how brave you are, as if you’ve amputated your own arms with a knife between your teeth during a polar expedition. Either way, you’ll be obliged to reveal it to everyone you know as if you were The Queen unveiling a statue, over and over again.
Oh, and none of your male friends will tell you what you need to know – that you don’t look like a twat.
6. Your female friends, on the other hand, will tell you that you don’t look like a twat.
But, unless they suddenly pull you towards them and say “My God, I never realised how sexy you are – let’s do it right here, on this pub table”, you won’t believe them.
7. Then they’ll tell you that you look like Harry Goldenblatt off Sex And The City.
But seeing as you’d sooner watch your Dad shit in a glass bucket than that load o’ rammell, you won’t know who he is, and get a bit scared that he’s a paedophile or something.
8. You will automatically lose any chance of getting some with at least 60% of the female population.
Sorry, but it has to be said.
9. Of the remaining 40%, half of those that would get with you want to because they think you’re something you’re not.
This was a real eye-opener for me. I used to have a skinhead cut when I moved to London, and an alarmingly high percentage of my peers thought I was a racist, Gay, or a Gay racist. As soon as I shaved it all off, a lot of people assumed I was hard as fuck (when I’m actually soft as arseholes). A lot of the women I ran into appeared to have a penchant for nightclub bouncers, and were a bit let down when I wasn’t nailing them to the bed and offering to beat the shit out of any man who had done them wrong, even if all he had done was short-change them by 5p at the newsagents.
10. Regardless of whether they fancy you or not, all women will want to stroke your head.
…whilst being totally unaware of Point 4, and not realising that to people like me, stroking a bald scalp is foreplay. I’ll be sat in the pub minding my own business, some pissed-up girl who I don’t even know runs her hand over my head on the way to the bar, and she might as well have licked it. When your female friends do it, it’s even worse; you have to fight to stop yourself running your hand up their leg in response. So please don’t do it.
(actually, fuck it; do do it. It’s the only pleasure I get nowadays)
11. You get used to it very quickly, to the point that you’d look weird with hair.
Although the downside to this is that you’re locked into looking the same way for the rest of your life. As the majority of men never use make-up, and we can never get away with going into town wearing a wig like women can, the only thing that men can do to change the way they look is to have a haircut. That option’s not open to me any more, which is a downer. Yeah, I could grow a beard, but it it’s an obvious over-compensating manoeuvre that fools no-one. Consequently…
12. You feel the need to tell every man to do as much mad shit with their hair as possible.
Not because it’s better. Just because you can.
Saturday, 14 February 2009
Friday, 13 February 2009
*** If you're male, and you want a bit of advice on your sexy, sexy mither, drop us an e-mail at todger dot talk at googlemail dot com ***
Anonymous writes: I have had a decent amount of sexual partners in the past and I have never come up against this problem before; I've just met someone that I like a lot and we have finally starting doing the tango. All was going well until she told me one night that she "cant" come. I was a bit confused by this and thought I was doing something wrong, but she told me she has never come in her life! I find this pretty strange and wonder if she just has accepted the fact that it might not be easy and never bothered or is this the case with some women? She says she still really enjoys sex with me and she is totally satisfied, but I just feel there is something missing as I come every time!
She gets pretty embarrassed talking about what we do in bed but she told me that she has never masturbated. I hinted that she should try it but she says she doesn't see the point. I am thinking about buying her a toy a few months down the road and hoping it doesn't offend her.
I would appreciate some expert advice on this one!
Because your girlfriend has never masturbated and doesn't know how to please herself, it makes it harder for you. She can't show you how - and perhaps most importantly she doesn't really know what she's missing out on. It's kind of like a person who has never experienced the endorphin rush you get at the gym – they can't understand what gym bunnies are doing because from the outside it just looks like a lot of sweat and hard work. Orgasms are a bit like the endorphin rush you get in the gym, once you've experienced it, you're addicted and can't go back, but there is a quite a bit of work to get there in the first place.
You could try to get her to help herself, but that is not really an option, since she isn't really interested. Again it would be like trying to convince a couch potato to go the gym, they can't see the point and it just won't happen.
The best option is for you to show her what she's been missing out on. Unfortunately most sex toys are just designed for women, or just for men. And let's face it - from her point of view putting a massive pink thing with bunny ears inside her is not going to be terribly appealing. Fortunately the tide is changing and there are now sex toys available that are designed for couples to use on each other.
Your solution could be the ipod of the sex toy world – the Intimate Massager. It's kind of cool because it doesn't really look like a sex toy, more like a designer pebble that just happens to vibrate - so very low intimidation factor. Also it's totally waterproof so you can use it in the bath when you are both already feeling relaxed. The key it that it is designed for a couple to use on each other – so you can take the lead by suggesting she tries it on you, and talk to her about what works and what doesn't. Then it's just a natural step to do the same with her. Basically you've got to show her what she's been missing out on under the guise of you wanting to experiment with a new toy.
The other thing you might like to try is the new We-vibe - a very clever device that stimulates her clitoris, g-spot and your fella all while you are having sex. Once you've popped it in you just use a bit of lube and have sex as normal but with some extra turbo powered sensations.
Between the two of these toys you should be able to get her over the line. It's going to take a bit of experimenting, but once she has her first orgasm you are going to be her knight in shining armour. Once she's had one she won't want to turn back – and suddenly she will understand what all the fuss was about.
First things first; yes, there are plenty, plenty women knocking about who have never had an orgasm, for various reasons. A previous fling of mine - who I had lusted after for longer than some of you out there have been alive - knocked me bandy when she told me it wasn't until she was in her late thirties when he had her first one (by which time the thought of her had given me thousands of 'em).
As Sam has pointed out, there could be any one of a number of reasons why your girl hasn't felt a bustle in her hedgerow - and if you don't watch out, you're going to add another handful of the bastards. First off, however well-intentioned you're trying to be, there's nothing worse than calling the state of your partner's or anyone's libido as 'pretty strange' - so cut that bollocks out immediately.
The other main danger you should be aware of is the hit your ego is currently taking; being an obviously considerate and aware modern male, her orgasm is just as important a boost to you as yours is. It's very easy to go into a relationship with someone like your girl and assume that she's had nothing but crap/inconsiderate/abusive exes, and only you can heal her. That's the short cut to developing complexes of your own.
Simply put, the only pink bits you should even think about stimulating right now are the ones between her ears. You need to make it clear that she can trust you 110%, you're not going to start getting the hump with her or push her into doing things she's not ready for, and - most importantly - you love having sex with her. Women are capable of dealing with orgasm-less sex far better than we are (although it goes without saying they enjoy orgasms as much as we do, if not more so), and if she feels she's you stopping you from having a sex wee, you're doing more harm than good.
Once you've given her the confidence to be completely open with you, you can then start on paying her some serious bodily attention. The way I see it, if she's never masturbated (which is something we pretty much attempt to do from a frighteningly early age), I'm guessing that there must be plenty of other places she hasn't even thought of touching - so give some of her other erogenous zones (i.e., pretty much everywhere else) a serious fussing, so you can find out what she likes. When she's aware that you're not going to lunge for her fanny without warning, she'll be a lot more open to you being a bit more intimate with her.
Basically, there's no quick fix here and you have to be aware that you might not be her clitoral saviour, no matter how hard you try. She enjoys sex with you; that's a pretty decent start. Now start enjoying sex with her, stop mithering, and take it from there.
Readers of TT: Comment!
Thursday, 12 February 2009
The Joker. That wild card in the pack that can be anything you want. The guy in the crazy suit with the dangly bells. The Joker has a long an illustrious history – most people tend to think of them as entertainers. They would juggle, breathe fire and entertain the King and his court. They look silly, they act silly, most people think they are idiots.
But the Joker has always actually played a much more important role. Surrounded by sycophants who were seeking power and favour, the King would only hear what his courtiers thought he wanted to hear. Everyone said the same thing and everyone agreed. All very cosy. But the Joker always played a crucial role in the court – to say the un-sayble, to poke holes, and make the King see things that were being kept away from him, because people were too scared to say them to his face. And by the Joker saying it, others could talk about their views more openly without so much fear.
I know, some of you have been offended by Lee’s comments. And, predictably there have been cries of ‘Off with his head!’. But that’s his job. That’s what makes him interesting. He is willing to say the things that none of us are willing to say, on the record, risk offending and pissing people off and maybe get us to think outside our usual box.
No I don’t agree with everything jokers say and sometimes they go too far – but they make me think. You know, though we like to blame the wicked person who tempts another away from a relationship, actually maybe there is some truth in the fact that if that person can be so easily tempted, the relationship is dead or dying. I’ve talked to a fair number of my wealthy female clients who have had very specific legal advice from their accountants and lawyers that they cannot marry anyone with less money than them. Obviously the same goes for men. Lee makes me think how shit is it that a public display of long term commitment and love is determined by how much money your partner has, not love? Maybe there is something wrong with a system that makes some people so bitter and suspicious about marriage or even relationships.
So readers, swallow the bitter pill. It’s the Jokers job to give it to you. Disagree, shout, argue, and most importantly think: Is there an uncomfortable grain of truth in this? Don’t be like small minded courtiers and sycophants who throughout the centuries, when they heard something they didn’t like and shouted ‘Off with his Head!’.
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Who remembers Teenwolf? It is an awesome movie, in the rubbish way that so many ’80s movies are. Luckily for Michael J Fox he was able to take the hair off when the director yelled ‘cut’, but for some of us that isn’t possible, we have to live with a visual eyesore sprouting from our chests like the devil’s own cress.
I have to be honest here, I feel bloody cheated! I had older brothers and grew up watching bastions of the chest toupee fighting and ‘tearing shit up’ in movies as a kid. Programmes like Magnum PI nurtured in me the belief that hair was good; it was the sign of a man. Grrrr. Rugged. Hair was a signal to all that a massive membrum swung pendulously between the legs of a manly man who took what he wanted and damn the consequences. All the ladies swooned at the sight of the white jacket (with rolled up sleeves) and gratuitously open Hawaiian shirt that said ‘I’m here, I’m hairy and there is enough of me to keep you all warm on a chilly night.’ But now? Hair is seen as a sign that you’ve got an extra gene, probably from incest.
Luckily, I don’t have a hairy back… but time is no friend of the hairy man – it’s going to happen. My current girlfriend was a little shocked by what she refers to as ‘my condition’, as being a Californian she was mainly used to waxed or naturally hairless Baywatch types. I don’t know if there is something in the water in California but a lot of guys are really hair-less over there.
In any conversation I’ve ever had on the topic of body hair (and I have had a few, usually initiated when somebody sees for the first time that I have hair) most people – especially the girls – conclude that hair is grim and should be removed at all costs. I’ve had various reactions to my chest-tinder; thankfully nobody has reacted with utter disgust despite my general chat above. However I have had shock and a few ‘OMG (laugh) you’re so hairy…ooh its soft like dog’s fur,’ which is great for the personal confidence. However, I have on the whole noticed a difference between the hair-hating rhetoric and my own experiences with the opposite sex. Perhaps they were just being nice and trying not to hurt my feelings, but nearly every girlfriend I’ve had comes to love it. After the visual shock of the devil cress has passed, it’s always head on my shoulder while a snaking arm starts rubbing the chest and stomach – I guess there is something tactile about it.
While I wouldn’t class myself as a metrosexual (I don’t fuck free newspapers – boom boom) I’m no stranger to trying to remove the hair. I’ve tried the cream stuff, but that just burns like napalm and gives me a nasty red skin colouring for days; by the time the redness has gone the hair is growing back. Totally useless! I remember somebody once saying to me, “don’t worry about it, Ron Jeremy is covered in hair,” I am pretty sure that it wasn’t Ron’s hair that gave him a triple decade career in porn but more likely the fact he can suck his own nob.
When I was about 19, I fell asleep drunk and some friends decided it would be funny to wax a strip out of my chest. The shock of it (and the fact I had inhaled two bottles of Jack Daniels) made me throw up – ruining the coat of the person who’d waxed me. Payback’s a vomit-coloured bitch. So with summer dawning, I was left with a ridiculous looking strip running from my ribs up over my nipple. So I bought some Veet strips and then – pencil between the teeth – attempted to finish the job. Fucking hell. The stomach was the worst part, the process took me three days and the bruising I caused myself was epic. I looked like a jaundice sufferer who’d been attacked by an acupuncturist.
So there we go. I’m boyfriend and furry fire hazard all rolled into one. They say that fashion rolls around in a circle which means the time of the ware-man will come again – no doubt I will be 70 by then and in no safe state to wear a white suit. Crap.
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
One of the most common things that I see in my clients is that their love lives have been destroyed by the myth that you can have everything. This is particularly true for women who are in their mid-thirties. They have been told they can have a fantastic career, they can be financially successful, they can get a great education, the house they want and of course, love, a man and a family.
Well it’s just not true. If you are going to spend your entire life focused on your career, then something has to give. And generally it’s relationships. Finding a relationship takes time, unless one drops in your lap through friends, work or university. Even then a relationship takes maintenance. I sometimes wonder if our modern working ethic and hours are leading to the death of love, but that’s another topic for another time.
This situation is really common with my female clients. Suddenly they are about to hit 35, their biological clock is about to pop and there is no man on the horizon to provide love and family. Even then it is often a real struggle to get them to actually put aside the time and effort that is required to really find a partner.
What is quite intriguing is that I don’t have many men who are in the same situation. Usually my male clients are either in their early twenties have missed out on some early lessons and need to get thing moving, or they are in 40s and have come out of long term relationships and are pretty much clueless as to what to do next. Or perhaps more telling, I don’t have many clients who come to me who are in the same situation.
So what is happening to all those single men in their mid-thirties? Are they just hanging out with their mates at the pub and watching sky sports? Or at home playing x-box? From what I’ve read from the National Bureau of Statistics there are pretty much as many single men in their thirties as single women. Maybe single men in their 30s aren’t so quite focused on their careers and are too busy hanging out and enjoying themselves to worry about sorting out the fact they don’t have a wife and kids? Or maybe they are enjoying the benefits of becoming a Silver Back and just having fun with women ten years their junior? Any thoughts? I certainly haven’t found the answer to this one.
Friday, 6 February 2009
A couple of years ago Ray Parlour got divorced and the courts found that his wife had a claim on his future earnings, I find that immoral. She was given money based on the ‘lifestyle that she was accustomed to’. That’s not how it should be. And it goes both ways. An ex-girlfriend of mine had a few bob and was married to a guy and he turned her over. He had debt when they got married. The debt went in the pot, so she had to pay his debt as part of the deal.
I think this is one of the biggest reasons for people not getting married. Because they know when they get married the burden is on the person with the money - be that the man or the woman. As much as people say they will never take your money, when push comes to shove, down the track they always do.
If a woman decides a guy has a few bob, she can’t just live off what he’s got and then ask for half. In my books, she’s had a good run and should walk away with what she came with. If you gave up a career for children, again, it’s your choice. I think the father is totally responsible for the kids and he should always pay for the kids, whether he is there or not.
There are plenty of women out there who have a career, have had kids and have carried on with their career. So I don’t buy women getting half when they stay at home. I’ve had a situation with a girl who was getting divorced and she’d been knocked about by the guy and she thought that was justification for her getting money out of him. Really someone should have taken a hammer to him for knocking her around. But she shouldn’t treat him like a cash register, so every time he hits her it’s ‘Kerching’. She should have left the bastard and not just stayed thinking she was going to get more money every time he hit her. Become a boxer if you want that. I found the whole thing bizarre.
Because of the way the law works I could never see myself getting married. I got turned over by an ex-girlfriend who managed to screw me for shitloads of money. It wasn’t even a marriage and I found out about the law the hard way. The law doesn’t care about morals, it just has a set of black and white rules. The way it plays out isn’t healthy for marriage at all. I think it kills the potential. Now I look sideways at every woman I meet – now I know the law.
If a man buys a flat entirely himself and puts their girlfriend on the deeds, then she gets half, even if she didn’t pay a penny. The end. That’s it plain and simple. In that situation I would deal honourably with someone. If I was with a really rich woman and she bought the flat, I would walk away. After all I’ve been living there rent free. It’s unfair that someone goes into a marriage with nothing, and then comes out with half. Knowing the law, I just think, Marriage, fuck that!
you can see Lee this Saturday at the Fymfyg Bar
Thursday, 5 February 2009
It’s been a few weeks since the Webb story broke now. Potted history for those of you who missed the woeful tale is as follows: Webb’s wife revealed in an argument the daughter he’d raised until she was 17 wasn’t actually his. After a paternity test confirmed it, Webb wigged out, cut the daughter out of his life and started legal action against the mother and her lover seeking damages for paternity fraud. I first clocked this when watching the ‘Wright Stuff’, a programme that is at least more interesting than other daytime offerings such as Cash in the Attic. (What is so great about watching stupid people rooting around their council flats desperately trying to find some shit to sell at auction so that Chesny can have his first sovereign ring?)
A panel of ‘experts’ including Anne ‘gastric band’ Diamond, Janet Street ‘face-like-a-railway’ Porter and some sanctimonious horse faced doctor called David, debated the case. They all thought Webb was despicable for disowning the girl and then dragging her into a long and arduous court case. But really how else could somebody react? JSP even went as far as to suggest that the woman’s actions were okay and quite justified especially if the lover didn’t want to raise the child. I think the point here is simply about choice, by making the decision to lie Webb’s wife stole Webb’s ability to make a choice at the beginning. Instead, 17 years of a man’s life are found to be a complete lie. Should he just sit there and take it?
Primarily this is a story about consequences and facing up to them. Whilst it doesn’t detract from this specific case I will say that when it comes to owning up to paternal responsibility men can be pretty shit. But that is another blog piece.
Let’s look at what else has been potentially taken from Webb. Breeding is a strong biological imperative for most guys and he now finds himself in the position of not being a biological father, so unless he manages to have kids again age 47 (more likely 57 by the time he’s able to trust somebody again) then his genes end with him. Seventeen years of financially supporting a ‘loving’ wife and daughter, all the memories, the good times, are all based on a fiction that was deliberately engineered. If it was a mistake on her part, if she’d owned up to the cheating and then honestly believed the child was Webb’s, that would change things. But his wife knew and actively created the deception. I do not agree with the disowning of the daughter in the slightest – but it’s very easy for me to say that, as it isn’t happening to me.
The occurrence appears to be rather more prevalent than people might think. The statistic used on the ‘Wright Stuff’ suggested that one-in-ten children are in the same boat (including prince Harry?). To put that into context according to our beleaguered government’s office of national stats we have 12.2m children in the country, meaning that somebody else is raising 1,220,000 children. That does seem very high and there is no way of knowing how many of those are actually cuckoo children as I assume this number would include adoptions and men who have married women with children.
Girls, I’m curious – if you found yourself in this situation what would you do? The women I’ve asked about it seem to think that while lying was regrettable if they found themselves pregnant by another man while in a relationship they might do the same thing with the main driver being survival and, not wanting to lose the security of a marriage with a baby on the way. Survival is an interesting point because I’d say that Webb’s actions fall loosely under the same umbrella. When faced with a crisis we often drop into fight or flight mode (the 3rd option people forget is ‘freeze’ roll over and get a good kicking) and act oddly as a result. If I was faced with this situation, I’m pretty sure I’d flee first and then fight second and justifiably I’d be very angry. And Guys, what about you? Fight, freeze or flight?