Online Dating: Vegetables, Mannikins and Thieves

October 15, 2019 by Tim Robson in Dating

As we know, the online dating world is tough. Toughest game in the world.

‘Nam? For pussies.
Running a marathon under 2 hours? Try fighting a battle against the Persians first, big boy.
Brexit - difficult? Try negotiating a date on Match.com

Both sexes have dating urban myths. About how they are manipulated online.

Unfortunately, what we’re talking about is a hyper exaggerated version of biological and sexual differences. (Yes, I was born into a world where there were just two genders. Apparently, in the last few years, this has increased. Who knew.) Anyway, to sum up profiles and longer arguments: men want to screw anything that moves and women want a relationship. We act out our assigned roles. Clearly there are large areas of overlap between the sexes but, in a brutal market like online dating, it seems it is the differences and not the similarities that get amplified.

We all have our war stories.

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.

Vegetables, mannequins and thieves.

Follow me on Twitter for new articles, a stream of dodgy likes, odd retweets.

* This one always amuses me; what’s my goal in life, right now… Mmm, let me think. Single. On a date. What could I possibly be aspiring?

Doing the white man overbite one more time - Tim Robson

Things I No Longer Give A F*ck About - Dancing

March 16, 2017 by Tim Robson in Tim Robson, Dating

“We dance to a couple of tracks. About 10 years ago, I learnt the art of looking okay whilst dancing. Less is more. Kind of sway and essay a few small but rhythmic swishes with the arms. Nothing flashy but nothing ridiculous. The aim of the game is to keep female interest neutral. The dance test is there to weed out the drunks and the arseholes. It’s not there to impress a girl so the trick is to avoid succumbing to the masturbation of your more expressive moves. No matter what beer or bravado might tell you.”

— Tim Robson - In Sambuca We Trust

What happens when your dancing days are over? When you jerk awake to find yourself on a dance floor - drunk (t'was ever thus) and surrounded by people half your age sniggering at some bald granddad making a penis of himself?

Oh readers, this epiphany happened a couple of weeks ago. After a heavy session in Brighton I 'found' myself on a dance floor staring at my feet realising that all sense of rhythm and dignity was absent and that I was a figure of ridicule. One foot moved. And then the other. And the arms kinda did their own thing. Neither timing nor beauty was achieved. Just lumpen dad dancing.

And thus mortified, my sober self came to a pact with my drunken self. Dancing; it's something I don't give a fuck about, anymore. Back in the day, you know, 16-30, if you wanted to meet a woman then the disco (club now grandad) was the place. And getting down on the dance-floor was where it was all at. I remember the days when porting a bottle of beer and cigarette on the dance floor was the height of cool (maybe shades too). And then the 'erection section'... That's the last dance to you young people, when the DJ would play a few slow ones at the end to facilitate the evening's romances.

But not anymore. You see, number one these days is my looks (clearly). Most women come onto me because of them. Naturally. But, for those that don't - few, weird - my major selling point is verbal. I wrap my partners in a blanket of humour, knowledge and experience. They know they'll be okay with me. Looked after.

But dancing. It's no longer within my repertoire of seduction. I've retired this particular aphrodisiac. It's been growing in me for a while. Obviously my friends and I go to 'age appropriate' clubs these days. You know, basically late night bars with a small dance floor, a DJ and blokes in suits and girls of a certain age, not unaware that older guys might have a roll of cash on them.

“I suggest Megan and I leave the dance floor. Drug dealer is still flanking the edge, now looking a bit meaner, a bit harder. I’m sure he likes to get stuck in, show some steel; impart the leather. He steps in my way as I attempt to pass. He smiles in a ‘man of the world’ way I could never pull off. It’s all a game to him. Everything here is mortifyingly serious for me. ”

— Tim Robson (In Sambuca We Trust)

And yet. And yet. Maybe it's a place-time-mood thing. Getting down / strutting my stuff seems easier in the summer, feeling slim and wearing my mate Dan's Hartington floral shirt. Yeah, all over that like a rash. So, so, maybe, dancing is not yet in the Things I Don't Give a Fuck About just yet. If - like Glenn Miller - you're in the mood. Not pissed. Toned. With the right girl. Maybe I could bring this technique back from the dead. Show those youngsters how a 'Like a Virgin' era Madonna fan used to do it at Tiffs in Rochdale in the early 80's.

“The music changes. Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit. William starts jumping around like it’s 1991 again. I do too. Big mistake. Suddenly the floor is filled with pogoing Neanderthals. All the women have fled, leaving a horde of sad, drunken men air guitaring. How attractive do we look? Not very. ”

— Tim Robson (Route One)

I'm conflicted. Aware that I could look like an arse but also aware that, in the right setting it's who you are, firstly, and then it's who you want to be. Some say your dancing style is analogous to your love making. I'm good. Sooo good. I got moves. Just a bit rusty, yeah.

And that dear readers, is my take on dancing. And now some Shakey. My dance teacher.

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!)

· 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

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

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

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.

Tim Robson has been up close and personal with one of these two ladies

Tim's Sapphic Misadventures

Battersea Arts Centre

January 31, 2017 by Tim Robson in Bollox, Dating

Are there more lesbians these days or is it just my fevered imagination?

Maybe it's where I go (Brighton / Battersea). Or maybe it's my rugged good looks attracting the waverers. Or maybe it's more socially acceptable in 2017. Who knows.

But this march of the sisters doesn't upset me. Well, apart from one thing...

Three times in the last month, sat at my table, tapping away, looking both authorial and yet approachable, I've been smiled at by single attractive women. Now, being eyed up by women is pretty usual for me - I am a basic pleasure model after all - but even-so, their interest tweaked my own. Maybe, smile back? Offer a drink? I'm a machine; turn me on and I deliver results.*

And then. And then their girlfriend turns up and they start to kiss. And not in a peck on the cheek kinda way. Tongues involved. One particularly attractive couple of ladies next to me on the train a couple of months ago were snogging and feeling each other up all the way from East Croydon to Burgess Hill. It was like I'd stepped into some porno movie. But with no part for me. I mulled about this - overly long - when I got home. Too long.

Okay, so maybe I view all of human life through the lens of my own single status (why not?) but it's a cruel trick ladies. A cruel trick I fall for time and again. Which means I'm increasingly getting paranoid, afraid of hitting on a lesbian by mistake. I respect people's lifestyle. So now, I don't do anything. I look away when a single, attractive girl smiles at me. Read more Roman history.

Yeah. That would it Tim. Lesbians. Why you're single. Yeah.

* The bullshit is strong in this one tonight.

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.