It’s crazy hot here in London, if you live in London or have spent time here in the summer then you’ll know that London heat is different to heat in other places. We have a lot of smog and pollution and I think that holds the heat in. It’s like a close, muggy heat where you feel like you have to shower 4 times a day. You are sticky and clammy and so you have to wear shorts or a skirt but if you’ve got thighs like mine then you end up with severe injuries from the chub rub. Every year I pray for summer to come quickly and every year as soon as one of these 30 degree days hit I start complaining about how hot it is 40 times a day to anyone who will listen.
Everyone in London does it, as soon as it gets like this it is literally the only thing anyone talks about. So I thought I’d write about it to divert me away from talking to random people in the supermarket saying things like ‘Ooh, think I’m going to spend the rest of the day in the frozen food aisle *polite chuckle*’ It’s all long. BUT, I fucking love London in the summer. I love the buzz that those warm nights bring. London is at its best on a warm summer’s evening, our flats and houses are too hot to sleep and so everyone just comes together outside. You can hear the buzz of the city, music, people, dogs barking, sirens, laughter. I love that sound.
People are more chilled because it’s too hot to get aggy, everyone looks sexier because of that vitamin D glow, tans bring everyone up at least 2 notches, and even if you don’t tan well, fake tan actually seems to look more natural on summer skin so that looks waaay more buff too. The heat makes me kind of horny, I don’t know if it’s just because everyone looks better and there’s more skin on show, I’m not sure, but for the longest time I’ve been saying that I’m not really fussed about men and then all of a sudden yesterday I was bang on it.
I’ve finally got a tan, it’s not quite banging yet but I’m finally at the stage where I feel like I have the freedom to choose what I want to wear and not have to think ‘urgh it’s a Wednesday, I can’t wear a skirt because I’m not doing a tan until Thursday and my legs look fucked’. It’s liberating. If you are a weekly fake tan user you will understand. I can dash the Fake Bake for at least 6 weeks now so I feel like I’ve been let out of jail. I’m feeling pretty sexy right about now, I’m chubbier than I usually like to be, but I really do not care. I feel good and I want to be appreciated for that and I want some male excitement on my phone.
It wasn’t supposed to be my child free weekend but my son’s Dad asked if he could have him for Father’s day and I did a cartwheel and said ‘SURE’! My mate Serena invited me, Sofia, and another mate Anisha to a BBQ in Hackney. We met in a pub beer garden in Stoke Newington where Sofia was telling us about a date she went on last weekend with a banker. He took her to the Ivy and then invited her back to his place. She agreed but only on the understanding that there would not be any sex. The banker started doing some coke when they got back and they both had a drink, they nuzzled up together on the sofa and she raised her arms to stretch and the man licked her in the armpit. After a warm day out in London.
She told him it was weird and then he grabbed her foot and tried to suck her big toe. Sofia freaked and ran to the bathroom and as she was sat on the loo, his entire bathroom cabinet ripped off the wall and smashed into pieces on the floor. He opened the door and said ‘Your Uber is here’. She said that the worst thing about the whole thing was that she didn’t even flush the loo after her wee.
We drank Pimms and talked men (although I had very little new information to contribute to that topic of conversation) before walking up to the BBQ. I was wearing a bright blue tight fitting cotton midi-dress that I’ve had for about 5 years, if that dress ever dies I think I’ll hold a funeral because she has served me very well over the years. It’s just a New Look dress, very basic, but it’s something about the cut, it makes my waist look tiny and everything else look big, I wish I had bought one in every colour. I felt good.
The BBQ was hosted by Serena’s mate Louise. We walked up a dodgy looking alley way to get there, the BBQ was being held on the roof top of a warehouse type apartment. The Warehouse was so incredibly beautiful. I wanted to live there. It was sexy, like something out of an arty film, or somewhere that you would imagine Carrie Bradshaw living. The food was delicious and the vibe was perfect, one of the guys who lives in the warehouse is a professional cocktail mixer and he had made the most amazing watermelon vodka drink. I was nicely merry. We all smoked and talked and laughed. It was perfect. But there were no hot men there and so at about 8.30pm Sofia and I decided that we didn’t want to waste this opportunity for a fun summer’s man hunt in London and so we jumped on a bus to Shoreditch drinking cocktails from plastic cups like a pair of twats.
We went to Boxpark which is basically a load of large shipping containers with pop up bars and restaurants inside, it’s long and there is a roof terrace at each end. Boxpark is always rammed on a summer’s day. Yesterday was no exception.
It was ridiculous. There were an abundance of hot men there, in every race, size, shape, colour, religion, there were good looking men left, right, and centre. Ugly ones too. Lots of absolutely hideous ones who have absolutely no idea that they are hideous. The man count was high and the Fuckboys were out in force. Maybe it was some kind of organised day trip, but they would have needed 2 coaches because there were so many of them.
Walking through from one end of Boxpark to another feels like some kind of task that they would set on Ninja Warrior. You literally have to be a Ninja Warrior to survive it. It’s like a long corridor which adjoins several different spaces. Men line up in the corridors and as you walk through they ALL say something. Some of them just make discreet comments like ‘Popping’ or ‘Hello Miss blue dress’ but other’s will grab your hand and demand that you talk to them for a minute. One guy asked me for my name and I told him that I was in a hurry and he pulled me back and said ‘Naa, you’ve got to give me your name’ he demanded and so I said ‘Why, why do I HAVE to give you my name? I don’t want to.’ He told me I was rude as I walked off.
Another guy stopped me and told me that because I had walked past him 3 times I had to give him my phone number. I told him no and I went to the toilet, came back, passed him again and he pulled my hand and said ‘You can’t keep walking past me unless you give me your number, you’re taking the piss now, that’s the 4th time’ he wasn’t joking. Again, I had to say:
‘Why? Why am I not allowed to walk past you without giving you my number, explain that, why am I obliged to give you my number?’
It was like a meat market, I didn’t feel like a spectacular buff ting because I was being chatted up so much, because every single woman was getting chatted up by the same exact Fuckboys. These fuckboys were not discriminating, I could not understand how the girls who were giving them their numbers were not seeing that the guy had just taken 3 girl’s numbers previously and that he had his left eye focused on his next victim whilst he was still talking to her.
After walking up and down through the corridor of devil dick we eventually found a seat on the roof terrace where we sat and planned where we were going to go next, we had to get out of there before I got triggered again because I was about to commit murders and site Feminism as my defenece. Sofia went to the toilet and I stayed to look after our drinks. A guy was sat on the table opposite talking to an extremely heavily made up woman. She had fully contoured and laid it on thick, but the heat of the evening had made it look like plastic, she looked like she had been embalmed and she was also acting quite strangely.
The guy was actually hot, I hadn’t noticed him or paid any attention because he was talking to that girl, but he turned around and caught my eye and mouthed ‘Help’, while nodding for me to come over. I sat down next to him and he said ‘I think I’m being chatted up by a mad woman and I need your help. So I hugged him and said ‘Oh wow, it’s been ages! How are you bro?’ and he went along with it and we sat and talked like old friends.
His name was Lee, my type, pretty looking face, good bone structure. He told me that he was a project manager for an invest bank, he didn’t live too far, he was interesting to talk to. Then his friend came back and sat on the other side of me. Lee introduced me to Mo and explained how we had got talking. Mo was wearing a grey vest, long black shorts, white ankle socks and Nike Sliders. He had an i-phone and a very old small Nokia which gives you a good indication of what he does for a living.
Sofia came back from the toilet and sat on the bench next to Lee and then one of their other friend’s came back and stood up opposite us.
Mo didn’t seem to realise, or care, that I had been talking to Lee and so he was attempting to chat me up. Mo was telling me that he’s anti-social and so he doesn’t talk to women but he liked talking to me, I kept trying to turn towards Lee but he’d keep tapping me and asking whether I had a chewing gum, or a cigarette. When I took some hand sanitiser out of my bag to clean my hands Mo said ‘That’s how I know you’re clean, you’re one of them certified fresh clean girls innit, I knew that.’ If he judges cleanliness on carrying around anti-bacterial gel then I think he needs to go to the clinic.
He told me that he wanted to look at something on my phone, he was trying to tell me to go to the games folder, I told him that I don’t have a games folder so he took my phone and I watched him try to go to the dial buttons so he could put his number in and call himself. I snatched my phone back and turned back towards Lee. Lee knocked over Sofia’s drink and apologised profusely but didn’t offer to buy her another one. Sofia looked at me with devil eyes, she had ruled this man out as a good one from that moment onwards. We carried on talking briefly but they were lacking in intelligent conversation and so Sofia and I got up to leave. I would have exchanged numbers with Lee but as I got up Mo started openly begging for my number and I sternly told him no and so there was no way that Lee could ask. Mo mashed it up but it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t have gone anywhere. My interest in him was based on looks alone.
We left to walk down to Brick Lane but there was nothing much going on down there so we walked back up to Far Rockaway and The Hoxton Pony and then passed through another couple of bars but everywhere looked shit and so we didn’t stop for a drink. We rolled up a joint and walked for ages, we were enjoying the walking, it was warm and the streets were more buzzing than the bars. As we walked down Great Eastern Street I saw this vision of a man walking towards me, a proper hottie. Lovely hair, sparkly eyes, and the straightest, whitest teeth I have ever seen. Properly my cup of tea.
I smiled at him, in fact I didn’t just smile, I beamed, and he beamed right back. It actually took me several years to realise that you have got to smile at men if you like them. For years I would refrain from catching their eyes or smiling because I didn’t want them to think I liked them. I wanted them to approach me so that I wouldn’t feel like a dick for cracking the first smile. I think I lost a lot of good men because of those screw face years.
We smiled as we passed each other and then we both looked back and he laughed and said ‘We need to talk’. His name is Aaron, he’s 30, works in a primary school, no kids, and he was on his way to meet friend’s for a birthday night out. We exchanged numbers and parted ways. I was proper happy, and to be honest, I was ready to go home after that. I had gotten what I came for. We had been walking for ages and my thighs were chafing and red raw, I had to keep my legs as wide open as possible and so I was walking like I had shit myself, I was in pain and I wanted to sit down.
Sofia wasn’t ready for the night to end and so she persuaded me to go to The Hoxton Hotel for one last drink and I agreed but only if we could sit at the restaurant in the bar and eat first. While I was eating my chicken wings I spotted a guy who I had matched on Tinder about 2 years ago but had never met up with. This guy was fucking sexy. His name was James and I remembered that we are both born on the same day 1 year apart. James was a hundred times sexier in real life than he was on Tinder, 6ft 4, built like a brick shit house. Unbelievably buff. I kicked myself for letting that Tinder conversation fizzle out. Once we’d finished eating we went to the bar area and he approached me straight away because he had remembered matching me.
I was shocked when he spoke, I nearly fell off my chair in fact, because he had the worst voice I have ever heard in my life. It was like a cross between Johnathon Ross and Boris Johnson, speech impediments, accents and all. I wish I could add my voice to this blog because I really need to be able to convey to you just how bad it was. As well as that he was significantly more drunk than me and so he was chatting absolute shit. I wondered whether he spoke like that all the time or whether he was just so fucked that he’d lost the ability to speak. He was hot enough that I felt it was worth finding out and so I gave him my number as he was leaving.
It was a successful evening, my phone has gone from tumble weed to having 2 potential good men/fuckboys on my line. It’s Sunday evening now. I don’t usually write blogs like this, they are usually about the past but it’s hot and I can’t settle and so I thought I’d let you all know about the new potential blog material that I have met. James hasn’t been in touch yet but Aaron messaged me at 3pm saying ‘Morning Babe’.
I’ll be honest, I’m not thinking that Aaron is going to get very far. You’ll see why from our first conversation:
Him: ‘I don’t even normally do what I did last night but I couldn’t resist that smile and those eyes. Then I saw your body as you walked off and I was like, time to man up!’
Me: ‘That’s the best thing that anyone has said to me all week’
Him: ‘Where you been locked up all week?’
Me: ‘Just come out of HMP Holloway’
Him: ‘I think we had that rare instant connection that just had to be addressed’
Me: ‘I approved of your approach’
Him: ‘Loooool, what was you in for?’
Me: ‘Murdering my ex’
Him: ‘What, na, on a real?
‘Don’t know whether to laugh or be serious now, how long did you get?’
Me: ‘You said ‘Where have you been locked up all week’ so I went with the joke, I haven’t been to prison’
Him: ‘Ohhh lmao, don’t, I believe anything I’m told tbh. So who do you live with?’
We all know what that question means in Fuckboy language ‘Is it going to be problematic for me to come and bang you at your house because I live with my Mum.’ So yeah, Aaron is turning out to be a gullible sex pest, if I decide to reply to that question then I’ll let you know how the rest of the conversation goes, but I don’t think I will reply. I had a great night and it was good for my self-esteem, but in terms of men, I might as well have just stayed at home x