Harrison Chase and the Persistent Four

I know I promised to tell you about the headmaster next, but I’m hungover and can’t be arsed. I’ve had some hair of the dog but it hasn’t touched the sides.

I was out clubbing last night in a pair of gold PVC trousers. It wasn’t fancy dress before you ask, I just happen to have a very loud wardrobe. My mate Dan once told me that I don’t have outfits, just a load of costumes.

I rocked those trousers last night, I felt like I was in Studio 54. I’ve totally got my swagger back.

I was shit faced by the time I left the club. My swagger became a stagger, then I went arse over tit and faceplanted the tarmac down Kennington Lane. The trousers were ripped to bits, as was my knee.

Anyway, about the persistent number. I have always said that dating is a numbers game. For me it seems to be about one number in particular, four.

I haven’t got past date four with anyone since I dumped that loser nearly two years ago. It’s like a curse. Something always goes wrong before or on date four. It’s often disappointing because there’s got to be something there for it to get that far. It happened again last month actually, but I’m keeping that particular disappointment permanently under wraps

Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that I’ve got a very rare fourth date with someone this Wednesday. If it goes well it will be new territory for me, if it doesn’t, the curse of the persistent four will have struck again.

I’m quite nervous about it actually. This fella is handsome, he’s nice, he LOVES indie music, he codes, seems reliable, his name forms a hilarious pun when combined with mine and he has a good head on his shoulders. He has unexpectedly grown on me. Date three ended with a rather electrifying kiss. I know, get a room.

Next time I’ll tell you what I got up to in the headmaster’s office. I still find myself grinning when I think of that one.

Alright losers, get back to it

Harrison Chase logging off









Swiping The Slate Clean

Bollocks to dating, I’m packing it in.

After nearly ten months of being back on the dating scene I’m officially bored. I must have spent over a grand on it. I’ve wasted countless hours meeting people who after five minutes I never wanted to see again.

Dating fatigue has set in, the Tinder profile has gone, the app has been deleted. I’m going into a dating cocoon. I’m planning on emerging from my chrysalis later in the year, hopefully with bigger arms and less debt.

I’m out for my birthday on Saturday. It’s an excuse to wear my legendary silver trousers. I bought them in Camden in the late 1990s just before my first ever Bowie gig. They have been a cherished possession ever since.

I’ll be celebrating the big 2-6 at an indie club in Hackney. Maybe the trousers will give me an edge, maybe I’ll meet someone in person and not through an app, maybe we’ll snog on the dance floor as they play suede.

I can’t believe it has been a year since I last turned 26, it feels like longer.

Anyway,  See yaz




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