Tim Robson

Writing, ranting, drinking and dating. Ancient Rome. Whatever I damn well feel is good to write about.

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Misogynist Rant : Dating Profiles

Battersea Arts Centre
January 23, 2018 by Tim Robson in Rant

What's wrong with women? Specifically, what's wrong with women's profiles on online dating sites? So very much. I’m offended whenever I dip my toe into this crocodile infested swamp. I know men are worse; that as long as a picture has a pair of tits, they don’t bother with the nuances of grammar or the finer points of the pictures. But still, just because we know this doesn’t mean the bar has to be lowered to the ground.

Rant away Tim!

- A profile that begins with "I don't know what to say..." Yawn. Delete.

- A picture that's been doctored so that it now includes cartoon ears and a dog's nose. Or has cartoon birds or love hearts spinning around their gurning face. Delete

- "a profile that rambles with no attempt at punctuation I like dogs and going out dancing no time for players weirdos not into hook ups and love my family important message me if you wanna know more" Seriously, the ability to form a coherent sentence, to express oneself with precision, seems to be lost. Do we blame the teachers? Probably. Absent fathers? The internet? Mobile phones? Donald Trump?

- Short women who only date tall guys. What's that about?

- Women who end sentences with lol. Any sentence, lol. Lol is the new full stop. Lol. No-one can punctuate anymore. But sentences abhor a vacuum and so 'lol' has been co-opted to fulfil the task. If I see a lol I pass by. Delete. Gone.

- Women sticking their tongues out. Why? So many post pictures of them doing so I must be missing something, some comedic or sexual reference that's beyond me. Maybe. But it's tacky and childish and seems to scream, "I"m mad, me!" Avoid. Delete.

- Negativity. So many women seem to think that an online dating profile is a very good place to opine about the short-comings of males, how we're all arseholes and deviants and after just one thing, that thing our online princesses won't give up easily. Lol. Some ladies also think their headline should be along the lines of "Don't contact me if you're after a one night stand". I'm not but who likes bad energy? Delete.

- Women who want to be taken seriously, who want someone to make them laugh, who can use punctuation, who won't treat them badly, who are solvent, educated and liberal. Not met one.

Should I just copy paste this article onto my profile? Bizarrely, the law of unintended consequences, of not giving a fuck being attractive, might apply. Okay then, bollocks to it!

COPY

PASTE

Hello ladies! lol !!!!

 

- 

January 23, 2018 /Tim Robson
Dating, Women
Rant
Parc Barbieux, Roubais

Parc Barbieux, Roubais

Inevitable Unions

battersea arts centre
September 18, 2017 by Tim Robson in Tim Robson

A few words on modern dating. It seems I return to this subject in most of my short stories. There's something magical, mysterious, maddening about the dance, the etiquette, the splendour of those moments when everything matters, anything could happen and someone special is involved. The course of love is, of course, neither straight nor completed oftentimes. But it provokes and pushes me to be a better writer. "Sad songs - they say so much."

Take some of my (entirely fictional) words on the subject. (All short stories and extracts @Tim Robson).

The Decline of the Dinner Party

Take the over 40’s dating scene. It transpires we never really get past the angst and exhibitionism of our teen years. Modern life – divorces, hook-up culture, porn – forces us to replicate the cycle over and over again. We may dress better, and drink wine instead of snakebites but, emotionally, we remain staggering around the teenage disco. Mullets, this time, are probably optional.

* * * 

Insignificance

“So, here I am, at The Thirst. Single!” The lady laughs again. Should I offer her a drink or ask her name? Not sure of the etiquette.

“When did you separate?”

“Yesterday. He’s staying in London tonight and the kids are with my mother.”

Christ! She didn’t hang about. But what with the newness of the pain and Gerry’s betrayal I sense she has a motive and I, well, a rare window of opportunity.

***

About Twenty Minutes

I turn over and she makes a suggestion. I have one or two of my own which leads to a rustle of falling clothes. From my wallet, I produce a roll of notes and lie back. Her skills match her beauty or does her beauty make me appreciate her skills more? I drift into semi consciousness gazing at her, analysing each seductive curve, enjoying the teaching certainty of every touch, wanting the moment to last but knowing it will not.

***

Bang the Beat!

Avice escaped me years ago. Her doppelgänger holds my hand now, challenging me into action. We’re alone in her flat, late into the night, both a little drunk. Who even has dreams over forty? Impossible dreams that are edging improbably towards reality? It’s now, Joss! 

Heart-beating, I lean in to kiss Ann. It feels right. The circle has turned. I’ve waited thirty years.

Thwack! Ann slaps my cheek and not softly. She lets off a high-pitched cackle.

“Easy there Grand-dad!” she hoots. “I think you just embarrassed yourself.” She gets up and disappears out of the room. I’m ashamed of myself. I make ready to leave.

Ann returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

***

The Bottle and The Sock

Our sentences collide. Kate looks at me, serious all of a sudden.

“I’m tired of playing games. Tired of pretending I’m cooler than I am, listening to good looking guys talk at me, being an object for inadequate men getting back at their ex-wives. It’s so exhausting.”

I know when to listen. Kate smiles. A sly smile.

“Can you to do one thing for me?”

“What?”

“I want you to stand on your chair, call for quiet and propose a toast to Donald Trump and let everyone know how much you love him.”

“Here?” I say scanning the hipsters swarming around us. “This isn’t a fly-over state, you know. People have been lynched for less.”

“Those are my terms. You can’t be a troll all your life. Sometimes you have to come out and say what’s on your mind. Defend your beliefs in public.”

***

The Winter Train

She laughed nervously and drank her wine, electing not to respond to this obvious move.

“I see, that’s how it is, eh?” he said. If he were younger perhaps, he would have attempted to win her over. But that wasn’t his way, these days. These days he was staunch and strenuous no more.

She stayed quiet hoping the moment would pass. Although she’d missed her train, they’d be another soon. To stay would be a mistake. She’d done the right thing by saying hello, by listening to him, buying him a drink. But now it was time to go.

“If we’d have met for the first time today, with no history, would we have got together?” he asked.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Tom,” she said reaching for her bag.

“I was just wondering because, I thought that, as you got older, men started to gain the advantage.” His voice was flat, resigned. “But that’s not true, is it?”

She had no response to this and so allowed the silence to grow.

***

Online Dating

“U iz wel fit! Lol!!”

It’s an unlikely cri-de-coeur, a rallying cry, a thought made flesh. Well; it’s a mating call. A distillation of all I know and all I am after two years of hard training. Let’s see what response it garners, eh?

I hit the ‘send’ button. Over the next half an hour I copy and paste this stunning message to twenty more ladies. Blondes, brunettes, professional, tattooed, coy, shy, bold, sexy, knowing, intellectual, smiling, frowning, slim, large. Whatever. Ain’t fussy.

***

In Sambuca We Trust

I know this is a prelude, a feint manoeuvre; faux outrage before she goes back to enjoy make up sex with him, sex that should have been mine. It will be hard to forget this one. The stakes were higher, the hurt is deeper.

And sure enough, five minutes later Megan is gone with a kiss for each of us. I shake my head bitterly. James is so pissed he doesn’t notice my anger. Or if he does he puts it down to the usual late night Alan mood – alone, failed, drunk, ranting. Yep – all of the above. I order two more drinks. Nothing like a hangover to solidify the also-ran, almost there, silver medal unfairness of it all.

The drug dealer passes me with a tall blonde. “I think you left your fishing rod on the dance floor mate,” he says as they leave.

***

In Between Days

“Okay, you can come back so long as you stay on the sofa and leave early. Is that clear?” She wags her finger at me. With history beckoning, I’ll agree to anything right now and so nod my head.

But on the walk back to her house, it’s not too far, we hold hands and it’s natural and unforced and lovely, and I am once again the man I always wanted to be, the man who is seen as interesting and desirable by someone who is likewise. Our stars are hitched, our steps in tandem, and we gently skirt around the edge of possibilities. Whatever happens, happens rightly.

We sit side by side on her sofa - the lights dim, our breathing rhythmic - and the smell of her perfume, and the closeness of her body, is alarming, nostalgic, shocking even. Erotic in a way I’d long forgotten and never expected to experience again. I allow that most dangerous of emotions, hope, to suggest itself.

 

 

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Yes I've used this video before. I love this song. And it kind of encapsulates - better than I do - what I want to say. I dryness in the throat as you gulp down nostalgia. I was there. Once.

September 18, 2017 /Tim Robson
love, romance, Dating, Tim Robson, Everything but the Girl
Tim Robson
The name's Robson. Tim Robson

The name's Robson. Tim Robson

Dating Advice from Theodosius II

battersea arts centre
February 06, 2017 by Tim Robson in Dating, Bollox, Ancient Rome

Close your eyes. Picture this…

Tim arrives for a date. (Girls; linger on this image for a while. Take your time. Go on - indulge yourselves. You’re worth it!)

So, I’m showered and smelling of - I dunno - David Beckham deodorant and Obsession. Wearing jeans and jacket. Smart shoes. You lucky girl whoever you are! We do the get-a-drink thing and sit down. We talk about our day, how we got here, some random observations about the bar we're in (for it will be a bar). And then. And then.

Well apparently, there's websites out there that supply approved first date questions. If you run dry of conversation, you're supposed to throw one of these into your date to get things going. For example: -

·       Who is the biggest influence on your life?

·       What was your favourite movie / song of all time?

·       Who is your best friend and why?

·       What were you like growing up?

·       What's your goal in life right now?*

·       What's your bucket list of places to go to?

·       Blah - fucking - blah

It's rehearsed spontaneity, the wisdom of a parrot, the 'I'm mad me' humour of the unfunny. In other words, nothing - nothing would turn me off more than some lady asking me to discuss the greatest influence on my life. **

Of course, I accept that someone who reeled off some bollox question has probably put some thought into our date which in itself is charming. Or an indication that she goes on a lot of dates and is on auto-pilot. Or boring.

The point stands for blokes though too. Boring bastards with no wit but tall enough to get some girl to agree to a date. If you then rely on pre-scripted bon mots, well I’d have to put you to the sword like Stilicho in Ravenna. No mercy ladies.

This somewhat reminds me of the ‘Chechnya’ scene in Brigitte Jones where Brigitte – in order to impress upon Hugh Grant her seriousness – intones ‘But what about Chechnya’ and he responds ‘I couldn’t give a fuck’ and asks her to talk about her lesbian experiences (or just make shit up).

And the purpose of this curmudgeonly ramble? Advice to a perspective girlfriend? Advice to nervous dates that they just be themselves and let the god of wine be your guide? Perhaps, snidey bitching from life’s sidelines? Yeah, that’ll be it.

So, let me leave you with some real advice:-

No-one regrets what they did. They regret what they didn’t.

Tim's Blog RSS

 

 

NOTES

*Seriously – what’s my goal right now? On a date? Er, let’s think… Ooh, it’s on the tip of my tongue (like you will be in half an hour).

Was that crude? I apologise. But weakly.

** The greatest influence on my life? I would, of course, answer ‘drink’. I mean, like, doh! Exit pursued by a bear.

*** The Monday night find a husband / running club is humongous tonight. Lots of ladies. They completely outnumber the nerds trying to (get laid) get fit. If I wasn’t double their age, I’d seriously consider donning the lycra myself.

 

And Theodosius II? Well, he was ruler of the Eastern Roman Empire in the early 5th Century. When asked about what qualities he wanted in his future wife, he replied, "Well as long as she's good to look at." And so, that's what he got, a good-looking wife. A simple story but effectively rendered, I feel. 

 

February 06, 2017 /Tim Robson
Dating, Del Amitri, Theodosius II
Dating, Bollox, Ancient Rome
Augustine of Hippo considers Tim Robson's lastest blog. "Fuck - I wish I'd have written that!"

Augustine of Hippo considers Tim Robson's lastest blog. "Fuck - I wish I'd have written that!"

Dating: The Truth

September 10, 2016 by Tim Robson in Dating, Bollox, Tim Robson Website

We were having a discussion in the pub last night. In Clapham. Balmy weather. Barmy people. Nice food, good conversation. Wine flowed. Will Young was in the corner. Thought about being a hero to my kids and asking for a selfie but, decided not to. He's got his own life and shouldn't he be asking me for my autograph anyway? Should be dancing.

The discussion turned to dating in 2016 and the benefits or not of online dating websites. It was a great discussion; wide ranging, robust, interesting. However, my natural tendency towards discretion and good manners means I won't be delving deeper into the view points raised and asserted at our table.

Well... Possibly I was pissed and the forgetfulness fairy sprinkled her 'no memory' dust over the evening. So I may have forgotten the ebb and flow, the nuances and the, no doubt, many good points I myself made in this vital discussion. But hey! Broad brush strokes are my thing, anyway. 

I have views about online dating; namely it is just like real life dating but, more restrictive. Whilst in person I might be able to - through my verbal fluidity and natural exuberance - convince a lady that Tim may just be the one, online, this isn't the case. We're all too picky and the internet's ability to filter potential partners against so many criteria works against philosopher/king/poets like myself. 

There may be a backlash however against the Corbusian brutalism of the internet... For example, if you read many female profiles on dating websites, especially those who have been online dating for a while, a great number spend an inordinate amount of time detailing exactly all the negative things about men they have been dating and how they don't want that experience again. For some it seems like a shopping list of negativity. "You mustn't be this, this, this, this. I hate this, this, this. Don't apply if you are this, this, this."

How very reductive of the human experience. I'm sure there really are plenty of crap men out there. My advice? Don't date them, then. Re-appraise your filters. If some good-looking guy meets up with you, flatters you, does the deed and never calls again, perhaps you should look to yourself as much as the man-whore. 

"How will I know?" as Dame Whitney of Wisdom once opined.

Dunno. Not my job. But, I sense that maybe, the old fashioned way of real life interactions, random, spontaneous, drink fuelled, using friends of friends, is not such a bad way after-all. Go out for a drink with someone all night and you'll get a pretty good idea of their personality. The good and the bad. And you can do a runner when you like.

Me? I can trace the arc of an evening's progress by the stories I tell, the points I make, the suggestions I think need to be explored. If it's ten o'clock then Tim is probably telling his Lisa Stansfield story. Or the Madonna story. Or the Will Young story. Some people like this. Some don't. But it's a good way of seeing who the hell I am.

There was some guy at an industry event last week. Chatting to everyone. Very serious. Boring in fact. Lots of wine was flowing. Mainly into my glass. But even I noticed he carried a glass of water. Calculating. Stay away from him girls. He plays with a mask. 

"Never trust any bastard who doesn't drink," as Bogart said. Before dying of alcoholism and cancer.

But it's a good general rule. Avoid getting pissed with someone and you miss out on the various stages of personality change a person goes through as they progress though the evening. You get to know a person. Potential partner. Light and shade. Humour and personality.  The whole nine and a half inches. I also do marriage counselling down the pub and couples therapy in a club. 

Surprisingly, I am - however - and given my advice above, on the diet/exercise/non drinking thing. Well, tomorrow.

"Lord, make me chaste - but not yet!"

I have no current online dating profile. It's a loss. But not a real loss. Just content yourself with my picture below. Will Young not pictured. Buy me a drink and take your chances.

Tim of Hippo

St.Tim of The Bobbin gives it that 'in person' fairy dust for the ladies of Clapham.

St.Tim of The Bobbin gives it that 'in person' fairy dust for the ladies of Clapham.

Tim's Blog RSS
September 10, 2016 /Tim Robson
Dating, Augustine of Hippo, Will Young
Dating, Bollox, Tim Robson Website
Tim Robson in Brighton looking sharp. He's single girls!

Tim Robson in Brighton looking sharp. He's single girls!

The Grasshopper and the Cow. A modern guide to dating.

Battersea Arts Centre
July 14, 2016 by Tim Robson in BREXIT, Bollox

“Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with their importunate chink, whilst thousands of great cattle, reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only inhabitants of the field.” *

One of the problems of dating in Brighton - if you hold what some might classify as right-wing views - is that your potential date will be, with a 90% level of certainty, a virtue-signalling leftie. You're stuck with a choice - to stay quiet and fail gracefully to get sex or to reveal your politics and be damn certain not to.

Saying you voted Brexit perhaps, or admire Nigel Farage, is literally like turning up to the wine bar dressed in full Gestapo uniform with a copy of The Final Solution in your top pocket. There again... The hard left these days seem to love a bit of anti-semitism. Can't get enough of it.

Saying you support low taxes, a small state, free trade and capitalism is usually - and disingenuously - met with hysterical guilt-by-association accusations. That's because, to a leftie, holding a few non leftie views means you must subscribe to a whole set of others too. So, I say, Brexit for democratic reasons, they say racist; I say low taxes and they say I want to burn the poor. Maybe piss on them first. 

Therefore, on a date, it's easier to take the cowardly, pragmatic approach. When your leftie date jabbers on about some social justice outrage de jour, just smile and take the conversation off at a tangent. Lefties generally - and especially in their natural environment within Brighton - tend not to meet people who disagree with them out loud.  Silence is taken as assent.  So she'll not spot the evasion but will take the change of subject as affirmation of her point of view - a point so obvious it should be, like, the law or something. The science is settled, the debate is over, the platform is not open, safe spaces are not going to be invaded. 

It's a bit like Facebook (of which I'm not longer a member). The busy grasshoppers chirp noisily  all over the timeline whilst the bovine Brexit / Tory supporting multitudes stay suspiciously quiet. Hence the outrage when these special snowflakes actually lose (see my article on 1992 election and the narcism of the self-righteous). They literally cannot comprehend it. Everyone agrees with them.

But - Edmund Burke fans - in looney-tunes Brighton, the fucking grasshoppers are in charge of the town and rigidly boss the poor cows about. 

Does that mean I'm a cow? Hell no, I'm a bull me. El torre! Just a rather quiet one.

So where does that leave the nominal right-winger (libertarian actually, thanks) in his quest to bed the leftie date? Well, about in the same position as with a right wing date. Or a liberal date. Or a date with woman of no political views.  

Politics, I've found, aren't actually the primary driver in the dating scene. Other, more corporeal attributes, claim that sovereignty.

It's possible I may return to this subject.

Tim

* A rather good, and prescient quote from Edmund Burke. Beware the mob!

Tim's Blog RSS
July 14, 2016 /Tim Robson
Dating, Brighton, Lefties
BREXIT, Bollox

Didn't know I could edit this!