I’m a sell out and I’m sorry. The more avid NSNC fans amongst you may have already noticed that the blog posts have been dwindling in regularity over the past few months. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, despite kicking off 2017 with high hopes, the truth is: there are only so many disastrous dates a girl can go on before she becomes disheartened. Through the cold winter months the lure of warm fires, pyjamas and reruns of Mock the Week proved too tempting when compared with expensive drinks, uninspiring small talk and excessive aftershave inhalation.
I therefore applied the same approach I take to New Year’s gym memberships to my love life, who could possibly have the motivation to do anything in January? Surely, once the days got warmer and the evenings got longer, I would feel much more proactively inclined. I therefore resigned myself to selflessly upholding the ‘No Sex’ part of this blog’s name. I am rather embarrassed to announce, however, that the ‘No City’ part of the title has proven harder to maintain. Herein lies my second apology: in what can only be described as the corporate equivalent of a whirl-wind romance, I have found myself moving to London. As disappointed as I am in myself, the thought of how smug Lawyer Bae would be if he knew makes me feel even worse.
My initial thought was: ‘Think of the number of people in London! Think of the number of men! This’ll be the end of the blog, I’ll find Bae in five minutes flat!’. I was the small town girl, I had been living in a lonely world. I boarded my train, albeit not at midnight, and headed off to start my new life, certain that my future husband would be waiting on the platform at Euston station. As I sit on said train, watching Cumbria’s rolling hills gradually evolve into urban sprawl, I’m feeling rather reflective so have decided to look back through the highs and multiple lows of NSNC.
Before the birth of No Sex, No City I had always treated Tinder as a game. Over the past nine months I have compiled a wealth of highly unreliable research. Through various watertight sources such as wine-fuelled friends, those really nice drunk girls you meet in club loos and Glamour articles, I have learnt that I was not alone in my opinions. Rather than searching for my soul mate I was busy trying to work out my own level of attractiveness by measuring it against that of my matches.
Tom may have a nice photo as best man at his brother’s wedding, enjoy hiking and have his own house, but these attributes aren’t exciting, they’re safe. I know that Craig, a Men’s Health model who thoughtfully drinks coffee in monochrome and has included his snapchat username in his bio will in all likelihood turn out to be vain, vacuous and riddled with venereal diseases. He is also bloody beautiful. I don’t swipe right on Craig to solve global famine, or even with the intention of talking to him. I swipe right to see if he has swiped right for me. If he has, we must be equally chiselled and smouldering, even if my bedroom mirror doesn’t say so. I used dating apps to boost my ego rather than find my spouse.
It was therefore partially with a sense of self-righteous open-mindedness, and partially with an inkling that there was some quite good blog fodder to be found, that I resolutely decided to swipe right to both the Toms and the Craigs of this world. Whilst I was busily setting up dates with this eclectic Cumbrian cross section I made my second discovery.
Actual statistics now state that one in three relationships start online. Despite this, although diligently swiping, and even occasionally chatting, I found a huge disparity between the number of my friends who use dating apps and the number of them that actually go on dates. Now, some, maybe even many, people would argue that my personal experience does not do a great deal to encourage others to put their money where their cyber-mouth is. My amorous exploits have undeniably not proven successful but I would argue, neither have they been total failures. The dates may not have been great they were better than the ‘what ifs’ I would have been faced with had I not gone. I am also much more knowledgeable on goat farming, cement laying, mobile phone contracts and aerodynamics than I was nine months ago. As much as I hate to admit it, Lawyer Bae’s unwelcome advice may even prove quite useful when I’m flat hunting with the man of my dreams who must currently be on the tube to meet me at Euston.
…..It has now been three weeks since I wrote the above. Three weeks into my new metropolitan life and I’ve realised there was a vital flaw in my well thought out plan: a higher density of men does not equate to a higher ratio of honeys. More people means more weirdos. I can see now that my work is not yet done and neither is this blog. If anything, my task has got harder: there are now quite literally millions more frogs to kiss before I hold any chance of finding Prince Charming. So whilst the title may have to change slightly, it doesn’t look like this blog is going anywhere anytime soon….