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

 

  

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!? 

“Erm”

“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

x

 

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.