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

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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

H