Wrinkly feet

I've had my tootsies dangling into the side of the pool for so long that they were starting to get a bit wrinkly so I took them back out and now just sit on my towel watching all the beautiful people splashing around while I try not to get the pages of my latest novel wet. The title of my blog was originally intended as a reference to my tentative steps back into dating, or at least, contemplating the possibility that it might one day be something that I might want to try again.

I'd never had any problems attracting chaps but none of them had come anywhere close to being life-long significant other material. Jack's Dad was probably the most disastrous of them all and worthy of an entire post of his own ( if I could be arsed to spend that amount of time and energy thinking about him, which I can't) and we were only really together about 6 weeks when I was 18, had car trouble, and he lent me his RS Turbo. He left me my most enduring gift though and fortunately, his best genes seem to have got through despite the odds.

I was always wary of getting too involved with anyone once Jack came along, and although there were some lovely guys ( Martin, the driver of Europe's biggest crane and the owner of the weeniest little chipolata dick - make of that what you will - came to see me a couple of years ago - he's still very good looking in a cheeky Sean Bean kind of way, a terrible flirt and serial womaniser but now married with a child), the longest relationship was with Marko, and that was only because he worked abroad most of the year so we didn't see one another long enough to fall out. We split up over 10 years ago now but we're still good friends ( even after the incident with my sister). He came round this afternoon and brought me a twisted fig plant for The Shed which had outgrown his flat and generally mooched about bestowing unrequited advice about what I should be doing with my outbuildings. It never takes me long to remember why we're not together anymore.

I took this of Marko one New Year's Day. We'd been to a Ball, there was a mix-up with handbags and someone else had taken home my keys ( and knickers but that's another story) so we'd ended up at a friend's house where a dozen of us had partied 'til morning and we'd had to share a bunk bed. The rest of us looked like we'd been through a hurricane, He emerged looking immaculate. Irritating Bastard!

Dave the Gnome was lovely. I still see him every now and again although not so much since he and his fiancee bought a house together. He would cook me shepherd's pie or sausages and mash when I came in from night-school and clean my old Golf 'til it gleamed. Everything was fine until I spent 5 days away in Paris and Strasbourg with my law faculty and realised how nice it was to be able to move around and breath freely and easily without his benign presence crowding in on me. That was the end of that one.

Since then ( and that was about 9 years ago), there hasn't been much to report at all apart from my mail-order boyfriend.

It's true. I'd been shown a charity calendar which a local company had produced and as I flicked through it, I was delighted to see someone I recognised - a dad from Jack's football team. I promptly wrote to the company enclosing a cheque and offering to pay extra for personal delivery, " particularly by Mr November"! Bugger me, if he didn't turn up on my doorstep the following week, just as I'd spilt soup all down my dress. We started to see one another on and off for a bit. He was really good-looking but it soon became apparent that he had only 2 topics of conversation - work and football. He wasn't that great at kissing either. The first time we tried, I could feel my chin being scoured away, so frantic was his drooly head-sawing that I placed my hands firmly on either side of his head just to hold him still. He took that as a sign of passion and got even more excited.

Never a quitter when the going gets tough, I soldiered on for quite some time after, but it was only when he started training for the London Marathon that I could bear it no longer. On the one hand, his conversational repertoire had now grown by 50%, but he was also keeping a record of his urine PH levels on an Excel spreadsheet, including colourful little graphs and an analysis of his protein absorption. I soon bid farewell to him and his litmus paper.

So I stopped bothering after that, had one very intense encounter which burned very very brightly for a matter of weeks and then snuffed itself out as quickly as it had appeared. That was right when I took to my sofa, hid myself under my blanket and didn't venture out for almost 4 years.

So I think I've established that I'm quite dysfunctional in an ordinary relationship, so I gave cyber a try. It was easy. I was ever so popular. I could write like the size 10 I used to be without any of the grey hairs, crows' feet, dark eye bags and I could control my Profile Picture.

( Any resemblance to the actual Miss Cherrypie is purely coincidental. The writer cannot be responsible for variations in quality of the product which may be received. Size varies. Withering and limpness may result from length of time in transit, to combat this stand in a warm place, out of direct sunlight ( red hair, pale skin, blue eyes) and apply gin and tonic liberally, feed a rich diet frequently whilst maintaining gentle pressure to the small of the back. Do not leave unattended for long periods of time as likely to wander off to "Countdown")