Tales of the unexpected

Hello there,
Long day? Tired? Trumped out? Don’t worry. Put your feet up, I’ll do the talking.

The unthinkable keeps on happening. The more I try to understand it the more confusing and unpredictable it becomes. If 2016 has taught us anything, it’s that we must all learn to expect the unexpected, it’s the new black.

Take yesterday afternoon for example. I went out for a couple of drinks with my mate Nick. Just a quiet couple of afternoon pints. Several hours later I was fleeing a club after being aggressively twerked by a young man who seemed perfectly sane just moments before. It turns out twerking is as hilariously unsexy in real life as it is on MTV.

A couple of weeks ago I put on my lucky T-Rex socks and went to meet Hugh, a man who was frankly punching above his weight by asking me out at all. Hugh it turns out….is a total shit. Hugh never bothered showing up for our date, Hugh never even bothered texting me to let me know he wasn’t going.

As the barman cleared up empty glasses around me I had the feeling that it wasn’t really happening, that this could only happen in a scene from a film.

My life is becoming more filmic actually, there is more going on these days. I’ve had a sudden spike in richness. I’m talking about enjoyment and experiences here, not Scrooge McDuck richness.

Did I tell you that one of my new year’s resolutions was to be less frigid? I’ve always been jealous of people who can meet someone they like, enjoy themselves and then continue their life without endlessly dissecting ‘what it means’

I was telling a junior Doctor this last Thursday. Just to be clear, I was his date, not his patient.

That Thursday started strangely with a shock Trump win. Later on a bloke called Edward got the rare chance to make a second bad first impression…. by cancelling our first date for the second time. Perhaps it was this snub that made me agree to go to Dartford in the middle of fucking nowhere to go on a different first date….cue the Doctor.

It was great, and strange. We sat in a bar in a near-deserted shopping centre. There’s not much going on in Dartford. This young man was an over-achiever on an epic scale. Fashion model, child genius, karate champion and recording artist, he also spoke just about every language under the sun including Mandarin. He seemed very proud of himself, and who can blame him.

Wild Tangent alert. Do you remember me telling you about the text rationing odd ball from earlier this year?

Forgive the skip back in time here. I once invited ration man over for dinner, but he wasn’t having any of it. He said it was far too big a gesture for so early on, that he wasn’t comfortable with it, and that he was commitment phobic and had only ever gone out with one person.

Do you see where this is going? My date on Thursday was only that one person!
As soon as he told me about ‘a friend’ who stumbled across a Faberge statue at a flea market in Paris I knew straight away.


I broke the news that I had also dated that guy. It was less awkward than you might expect. The real awkwardness was only an hour away.


After a brilliant evening he dropped me off at Dartford Station. We sat in the car for a moment anxiously waiting to see if we were going to kiss. We didn’t, we weren’t drunk enough.

It was in that anxious moment that I somehow missed the last train back to London. When I realised this he had already driven off. Fuck, fuck and fuck. I was stranded a squillion away miles from home.

With no other option I bit the bullet and sent the guy an SOS text message. He came back to pick me up and said I could sleep at his place as long as this wasn’t ‘a ruse’.

His place turned out to be a hospital dorm the size of a chest freezer. We were right on top of each other, and not in a good way.


After a few drinks and a few hours of nervous small talk we both squeezed into the single bed to turn in. As I lay there I thought “I can’t fucking believe this”

He was clearly thinking of something else

“Can I help you with you new year’s resolution?” he asked

Yes please. Sometimes the unexpected can be delightful.


Harrison out, sleep tight



Candyfloss in a gold(finger) wrapper



I’m out of town for a bit. I’m recharging the batteries and letting the stress of an incredibly busy summer float away like a Chinese sky lantern.

This trip has been a bit of a blur so far, partly due to the amnesic effect of the ‘fake’ alcohol that some of the bars here serve. Still, with a skyline like this it’s easy to forgive that type of thing.


Oh, I promised I’d let you know what happened with the fitbag I mentioned in my previous post.

Well, a second and third viewing confirmed he was indeed the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on. From head to toe, almost every bit of him was physically perfect. I won’t say which bit wasn’t.

We got off to a sizzling start, but by date three things had become a little bit frosty. A boozeless date in a freezing cold park only made things worse. Whose shit idea was that?….it was his actually.

I had filled in the blanks with this guy and he had done the same with me. His favourite film wasn’t Goldfinger as I had imagined, it was some shit romantic comedy. His second, third, fourth and fifth favourite films were also rom coms. It was unexpected and a bit disappointing but it wasn’t a deal breaker for me.

Something about me was a deal breaker for him though. He looked like he was about to be sick when I told him I didn’t own a bike. I tried to keep the conversation going but he couldn’t have been less interested in anything that came out of my mouth. Even with the charm full on, I got nothing……fuck that. When he suggested that date four would be a “friendly drink” I took the hint and exited stage right.

You win some you lose some

Right, I’m off out for cocktails. Mine’s a Long Island Iced Tea, it’s always the best bang for your buck.

Harrison out


The League of Gentlemen

I told you I’d have more juicy date stories this week…..and I have!

I’m usually quite calm and collected on dates. As you have probably gathered, I have a reasonably high opinion of myself and approach these evenings with a shot of confidence and a Harrison Chaser of swagger.

That was all blown to hell on Tuesday when the most unbelievable fit bag turned up at The Old Red Lion. I spent three hours nervously talking bollocks and thinking that this fella was totally out of my league. It was quite an eye opener.

Anyway……date two is in 15 minutes so I’m going to have to love you and leave you.

See ya losers….and don’t worry, of course I’ll tell you what happens.
Harrison out




About the author, a picture of Harrison Chase

I was practicing my about the author photo face on the tube this morning.

I don’t want it to look too happy, I want people to look at it and think “Wow, that guy’s deep, what’s going through his mind? Loads probably.”

I think I nailed it somewhere between Chancery Lane and Oxford Circus.

I case you’re wondering, I haven’t actually written a book. I have some big ideas, I just can’t be arsed to do anything with them.

If you’re a young Londoner, the cover of a book is the only part of a book that really matters. It’s the cover that other people will see on the Tube, it’s a way to sell an idea of yourself to fellow commuters. A book on the tube is 60% fashion accessory and 40% entertainment, a big rectangular programmable mood ring. It’s partly due to this type of vanity that the kindle hasn’t totally killed off paper books.

Of course there is always that weirdo who displays something unbecoming. I saw a woman reading Bridget Jones’s diary on the tube recently and concluded that she already has, or is going to have at least 13 cats in her flat. Those who don’t know her name will call her ‘cat lady’ Those who know her name will call her ‘cat lady’

I’m currently reading ‘Discoverers of the Universe: William and Caroline Herschel. I’d like to think that when people see me flicking through the pages they think “Ooo he’s hot, and he looks like he works out”

They’ll probably just think “Nerd”

William Herschel is actually my second favourite scientist and will be the subject of my next painting if an actual photograph of him exists. He’s an all-rounder, an accomplished musician, then an astronomer, inventor and scientist. William Herschel discovered infrared by accident, found Uranus and its two moons while hunting for comets and made optical telescopes that were a quantum leap ahead of anything that had been made before. He also discovered two of Saturn’s’ moons, Enceladus and Titan

Unfortunately, he died before photography became mainstream, and I don’t want to paint a likeness of a painting. Oddly enough it was Herschel’s very own son who helped to bring photography to the masses. John Herschel invented the glass plate negative in 1839, seventeen years after his dad had popped his clogs.

It’s just struck me! The thing people will think when they see my book cover is the same as what you must all be thinking reading this


Point taken, I’ll not doubt have some sexier blog fodder from my round of dating. I’m lining them up this week. It’s all about quantity, they can’t all be pond life. While we’re on that theme…..I’m not kissing all these frogs, I’m just having awkward drinks with them and then legging it.  I’ll skip saying anything about tadpoles, a pond theme can be taken too far.

Alright, I’ve got a party to get to.

See ya losers,

Harrison out

Magic hug x




50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

Hello fuckers! .

I’ve got a bit of an update for you, but first, let’s have a little refresher.

Last week on ‘The Life & Loves of Harrison Chase’

“I’m three dates in at the moment, but I’m not spilling the beans on this one as he may or may not be sticking around. The man has got me on rations, releasing infrequent text messages like they’re fresh eggs in 1942. I’ve got a big appetite man, I’m not sure I can handle it much longer.”

Well I’d lost my appetite for the manky war eggs before we even met last night. There we were, drinking wine in a restaurant that had all the charm of a submarine corridor. He was like “I think it might end up as relationship, but I’m probably not going to be in touch if I don’t feel like it” and I was like “Erm, fuck off”

I was wondering how I could escape when suddenly they started playing Paul Simon’s 50 ways to leave your lover in the restaurant. There was no hiding my mirth.

Anway, thanks for the tips rhyming Simon. I appreciate you trying to help me in my struggle to be free, but I ended up just cutting the night short and chucking him by text message the second I got home.

Now, time to message that Elon Musk look alike I’ve matched with on Tinder. I know, I KNOW it’s weird, I can’t help it, he builds space rockets and shit.

Harrison out…..oh and listen to this.

Life, lovebites and Space X…XX

I’ve got to get over this crush on Elon Musk, it’s weird. I’m having dreams about him twice a week now. The man is clearly a prick and not at all good looking….just my usual type.

I’ve had a few real romances which are probably worth a mention. Pour yourself a drink, I’ll meet you back here in five for a walkthrough.

I’ll start with Renat, cool, handsome, polyglot, hilarious, American (love it!) and a closet case. Yeah, that last one was the first and the last nail in the coffin. I’m a meet the parents type.

I couldn’t wait to meet Swifty a few weeks later. Here was a man with a cheeky nick name and a dirty smile. I knew he might be trouble, fun trouble. Swifty’s photos depicted him as a hot biker bad boy. Sadly, in reality he was more like Bungle from rainbow, he  even sounded like him. To top it off the man ordered a bottle of desert wine for our first drink. It was like sipping rabbit blood with golden syrup. We consumed it at a snail’s pace, dragging out an evening of my life that I would tragically never get back.

Next was the handsome scientist. I told him about my old lab days, he told me how much he hated everything.

“This beer is awful. My friend just told me she’s pregnant”

“Oh, great”

“And I mean, am I supposed to congratulate her just because she’s going to squeeze some screaming kid out of her vagina!? 


“Have you been here before? This place is awful

The most ‘colourful’ character was the man who gave me a love bite. A love bite! I know I look young, but I’m not fucking thirteen. Around ninety seconds after he’d inflicted the thing on my neck he suddenly pointed to it with a look of sheer horror and said

“That! I know it was from another man, you’ve been with someone else today!”

Uber for Giles!

He texted me three times on his way home to call me a slut. The next day he emailed me (relentlessly) to tell me he’d had a lovely time and would like to meet again. Get fucked Giles, the last time I met someone as mad as you I accidentally ended up buying a flat with him. I’m not falling into that trap again.

Shit, I’ve broken the chronological order. I missed one, the banker. The banker was a French gentleman who wore a beige cardigan to the date. He told me he’d just been sacked for stealing confidential data. He was caught WeTransfering himself gigabytes of sensitive material.

 I asked him if he’d just done that so he could work from home. He said “No, not really”

And that brings me to London, present day, thirty million fucking degrees Celsius and its so hot that my tortoise can’t sleep.

I’m three dates in at the moment, but I’m not spilling the beans on this one as he may or may not be sticking around. The man has got me on rations, releasing infrequent text messages like they’re fresh eggs in 1942. I’ve got a big appetite man, I’m not sure I can handle it much longer.

Harrison out



Sex, Lies and Internet Dates

Hi fuckers,


Let me make it all about me for a bit.

Do you know when a fridge suddenly switches off and it’s only then that you realise it was making a terrible noise for a very long time? I’m feeling that kind of quiet and calm now.

The very high pitched nasal whine of an exhaustingly persistent mood hoover has stopped.  I wonder how I ever put up with it in the first place. How did I ever take arguments so seriously when it sounded like beaker from the muppets was shouting at me from the other side of the door.

Here’s a thought….

We were always getting post addressed to Mr Harrison Chase and Miss [insert slut case here]

I used to think it was because people thought he was an abbreviated Janet, but maybe the confusion arose when they heard his miserable lady voice on the phone.

Anyway, enough of that lying sack of hate, we’ve got a proper divorce agreement now, and more importantly he looked like utter shit when I last saw him, which is the most important thing is it not? I looked fucking great by the way.

I am back on the dating scene now, as I was way back when I first erected my magnificent column. I’ve had one date so far, he was very handsome. I mean he was very handsome six years ago when his profile picture was taken.

This all sounds very negative, but things are actually amazing. I feel happier than I have in years. My new flat mate is a real joy to live with, I have abs that my gran could wash socks on and I finally found that checkered suit.

Anyway, watch out everyone. I’m back, and this time I’m in slim fit MacCallum tartan.