How Times Have Changed

When I was a young man, in those dim and distant days when I found myself desperately seeking female companionship, womankind had me in their clutches. They had power over me and I was a slave to them.

I fancied any woman who would talk to me and the more beautiful the woman, the more enthralled I was.

Sadly, in those days, society dictated that it was the man that had to do the chasing. It was the man who had to ask the woman for a date or make his desires clear. And that was why women had power over me. They had the ability to twist me around their little finger.

And they were cruel, dear reader.

I remember one occasion when my so-called mates goaded me into asking a woman out.

“She fancies you, Dave. It's obvious,” they would say, goading me into action by appealing to the optimist in me. “Shall we come with you to give you moral support?”

Being a fool – and too blindly in lust to realise that the gorgeous target of my affections was fancied by just about every other male in the vicinity – I marched over to her with my “friends” behind me. She was with her mates too.

In order to protect her identity, let’s call her Alison.

“Hi Alison,” I said with a smile.

“Hi Dave,” she said smiling back. Yes – she smiled – that means she must like me.

“Can I ask you something?” I said summoning up all the courage I could muster.

“Sure,” she said.

“Can we – erm – get together? Will you go out with me?”

In my imagination, she stood up, threw her arms around me and said “I’ve been waiting for you to ask!”

In reality, she said “WHAT? With YOU???? You must be joking!”

She laughed.

Her friends laughed.

My “friends” laughed.

I ran away looking like a complete arse.

Don’t get me wrong; she genuinely liked me – but because I was funny. She wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of anything more than just friendship.

Bless her, she later found me and apologised and asked if we were still friends. Of course, still being enthralled by her, I agreed. But our relationship had changed.

This was the story of my love life around that time.

Thankfully, something changed and all of a sudden women decided that it was time to turn the tables. I guess they became fed up of waiting for guys to ask them out. I don’t know when it started – I just noticed that women were actually marching up to guys and asking them out on a date.

And then it happened to me. My ex-wife W basically took control and made her feelings perfectly clear. Many years later, my beloved Mrs PM did exactly the same.

In fact, over the years, I have been approached a few times, and had to let the poor woman down gently in the nicest possible way (realising how painful such rejections can be).

I for one am really glad that it happened and it marks a significant power shift in the way women behave.

I had an interesting chat with Mrs PM’s mum the other week. When we go to the pub with her and her other half, she refuses to go to the bar or pay for any meals we have in restaurants because, in her eyes, it’s the responsibility of the man. Mrs PM is a modern woman and we share most of the responsibilities.

“Why are YOU going to the bar,” Mrs PM’s mum says.

“Why not?” says Mrs PM.

It’s the same at home. Mrs PM’s mum does all the cleaning, washing, cooking etc. and accepts that role. She even packs both suitcases when they go on holiday, selecting all of his clothes and everything else he needs.

And she accepts this without question. In fact, she positively revels in it.

There is no way I would let Mrs PM choose or pack my clothes for me. Besides, she wouldn’t do it.

Not all women have embraced the power shift. Mrs PM has friends who still want the man to chase them. She calls them “princesses” presumably after fairy tale princesses who are swept of their feet by handsome princes.

When I cast my mind back to the time when I desperately wanted to be that prince, I recall being let down almost every time, sometimes cruelly.

I used to think that I wasn’t “prince” material and I considered myself, with the aid of Captain Paranoia, to be a hideous villain who would never get the girl.

Of course, these days, the whole concept of dating has changed. People do not have to humiliate themselves by marching confidently up to a member of the opposite sex and asking them out. The internet and social media has revolutionised the dating game.

You can join a dating site and now even get a smartphone application to help you. Take Tinder, for example. This app allows you to find other people within a certain distance of your location and matching certain criteria and, if you like them, you simply tap a heart icon if you like them and a cross icon if you don’t. Obviously two people like each other then they can arrange to meet.

I wish there had been something like that around when I was about eighteen years old. It would have protected me from being humiliated and having my poor heart shredded by a female friend who had no desire to take our friendship further.

Unbelievably, there is also an app called Binder that allows you to dump people too if you are too scared or too much of a coward to do it yourself.

This is the kind of message you get:

If there had been an app like Tinder around when I was young and single, I wouldn’t have been told to “Piss off” when I resorted to desperate chat up lines.  

In fact, I would have been equally concerned by a crass app like Binder because in those early days I can only imagine my poor heart being destroyed by a text message.

At least I wouldn't have received it in front of a group of people, I guess.

Anyway, I for one am glad that times have changed and that there is more equality when it comes to relationships.

After all, we are in the 21st century now, and not in the 1950's.

A Recipe For Disaster

In the past, on this blog, I have tried to give you the impression that I am an intelligent guy.

That is true – but at the same time I can be a bloody idiot.

How do you make a so-called intelligent Plastic Mancunian into an idiot? There are many recipes; here’s one of them I used a long time ago:

INGREDIENTS

One sober young Plastic Mancunian.

One ridiculous set of clothes that are fashionable only in the eyes of the Plastic Mancunian.

One mirror.

Two other sober young friends of the Plastic Mancunian also prepared in ridiculous clothes.

One ATM card.

Several pints of fine English ale (or lager if none is available)

One Friday or Saturday night.

Several expensive pubs in London.

One very expensive night club in London.

A large group of people willing to dance.

One DJ.

One night club bouncer.

Approximately two hours of cheesy music.

Three young ladies who are well out of the league of the Plastic Mancunian and his mates.

Several cheesy chat up lines.

One stupid idea.

One taxi.

One time machine.

PREPARATION METHOD

(1) Using the time machine, transport the ingredients back to 1985. It doesn’t matter if the year is 1984 or 1985 – that should be close enough.

(2) Dress the Plastic Mancunian in the set of ridiculous clothes and stand him in front of the mirror until he believes that he is sex on a stick. This should take approximately two minutes.

(3) At this moment, take the pre-dressed friends and put them and the Plastic Mancunian into the first expensive pub in London.

(4) Soak the idiots in a couple of pints of beer.

(5) When the conversation starts to get silly and the three young men start to turn into idiots, transfer them to another expensive pub in London.

(6) At this point, you may need to apply the ATM card, particularly if any of the idiots have run out of cash.

(7) Repeat steps (4) to (6) for several hours until the three young men are fully matured idiots.

(8) Apply the ATM card one more time.

(9) Transfer the three idiots to the very expensive and preheated London night club.

(10) Apply the ATM card again because the idiots didn’t get enough cash.

(11) At this point the idiots may realise that they are about to make a huge error in judgement. If this is the case, liberally apply more beer in another pub. That idea will soon diminish.

(12) Apply the ATM card again if necessary.

(13) Before reaching the next stage, the three idiots should be well-oiled and may even be rat-arsed. Ideally they should all be able to string together a coherent sentence and understand each other – just.

(14) Place the idiots outside the very expensive night club in London at the back of the queue of people who are willing to dance.

(15) Slowly place the group of people into the night club for just enough time to irritate the Plastic Mancunian. Two minutes should suffice.

(16) Before putting the idiots into the night club, make sure that the Plastic Mancunian has been allowed to exchange words with the night club bouncer.

(17) Do not allow the night club bouncer to mutate into a violent moron – that will ruin the recipe. If necessary subdue the Plastic Mancunian with a diversionary tactic; pop the three young ladies into the night club (though they can be applied later).

(18) Once in the night club, apply liberal lashings of lager. Be careful not to overdo it at this stage.

(19) Mix the DJ, the cheesy music and the group of people willing to dance until the atmosphere is HOT, HOT, HOT!!!!

(20) Take the stupid idea and mix it with the idiot that is thriving best in the lager. The best idea to use is Impersonate the Dancer, whereby one of the idiots tries to exactly copy one of the more bizarre dancers for one whole song.

(21) When the idiot has finished dancing, and assuming he hasn’t been attacked by the target of his impersonation, he must select another idiot to impersonate another dancer. At this point it may be necessary to apply yet more beer and if you have any, some Dutch courage.

(22) Repeat steps (20) and (21) until each idiot has played the game or until the threat of violence has reached alarming levels.

(23) At this point, mix in the three young ladies who are out the idiots’ league (if not added already) and liberally pour in as many cheesy chat up lines to add a little spice. My personal favourite is

Hey Doll. Have you got a license for those eyes?

Nevertheless,  

Fancy a snog?

will do if all else fails.

(24) There may be a few slapped faces at this point but that will add to the pleasure; the idiots won’t feel the pain; they should be totally sozzled at this point.

(25) Continue to cook at a high temperature until the idiots start to wilt or the three ladies resort to more extreme forms of violence.

(26) Now transfer the idiots to a taxi, applying the ATM card for one final time if necessary. There is no need to worry about the three young ladies at this stage; they will have disposed of the idiots in suitable fashion. The three idiots will be saying “Yeerrr my bessst mate!” to each other anyway.

(27) Leave the resulting mess to rest overnight.

When you have finished in the morning, you will have three colossal hangovers, no memory, no cash, no egos and lots of embarassment all nicely wrapped up in the stupidity of youth with maybe a little vomit on the side.

Chat Me Up

If you are a female reader, please let me know what you think of the following chat up line. If you are a male reader you will almost certainly require your vomit bucket.

Hi beautiful. Do you have a license for those eyes?

When I was a young man (I’m talking eighteen to twenty two), I was on the prowl for a girlfriend. With my hormones rampaging through my body I was desperate, absolutely desperate, to succeed with a woman – any woman at almost any cost. And I would go to extraordinary lengths to get a date or a snog (even a peck on the cheek would have done). I used to look at myself in the mirror and see a shining Adonis staring back at me. I mean, what was there not to like? I was relatively tall; I was normal; I had blond hair (styled for once); I was intelligent; I was funny; I was handsome.

Sadly, my hormones lied to me. In reality I was a gawky, spotty, bespectacled arse with bad hair and the dress sense of a blind gorilla. Most girls would (and did) run away.

As I marched through the pubs and clubs of Liverpool I looked at every woman who dared to look back at me and smiled my greatest smile. My eyes told these ladies “Hey Baby! Today is your lucky day. Not only am I THE most attractive man in this dump, I’m also AVAILABLE!”

It didn’t work. It never worked. I didn’t understand why. I wanted the most attractive women in Liverpool. No – that’s incorrect. I wanted the most attractive women in the world.

But I was useless.

In the end, I sought advice from a friend who seemed have hypnotic control over women. He could walk into a club and chat to a woman and within about fifteen minutes they were smooching on the dance floor. How did he do it?

Well he had one advantage over me; he really was good looking. I was a spotty little pillock. His advice was:

“What you need to do is make them laugh. The best way to do this is to break the ice with a chat up line. When you’ve done that, they are like putty in your hands.”

The chat up line he mentioned above was one he used. I watched him – it worked. Another one was:

Have you got any smelling salts? You’re making me swoon.

The best one I heard him use went something like this:

Him: Hello! My name’s Judith! What’s yours?

Girl: Judith????

Girl laughs out loud. He puts on his saddest face.

Him: Please don’t laugh. My mum likes the name Judith. It’s Biblical.

Girl: I’m sorry. Is your name really Judith?

Him: Yes. Can I buy you a drink?

Girl: Yes

And off he went. I tried this approach. The conversation went something like this:

PM: Hello! My name’s Judith. What’s yours?

Girl: PISS OFF!!!!!

In the end I never succeeded in chatting up a woman. Ultimately the women in my life have chased and caught me instead. I wondered why I bothered humiliating myself. So now I wonder, would a corny chat up line work?

Here are some of the best that I have stolen from the internet. Guys – get those buckets ready:

If being sexy was a crime, you’d be put away for life.

Do you have a plaster? I’ve cut my knees falling for you.

Do you have a map? I’m lost in your eyes.

I’ve lost my phone number. Can I borrow yours?

I think the alphabet’s in the wrong order. For a start, U and I should be together.

Excuse me, do you mind if I stare at you for a minute? I want to remember your face in my dreams.

Can I borrow 10p? I want to phone up my mum and tell her I’ve just met the girl of my dreams.

Are you OK? I’m sure it hurt when you fell from heaven.

There’s something wrong with my eyes. I can’t take them off you.

What’s your star sign?

Hi. You don’t know me but I dreamt about you last night and thought it only fair to introduce myself.

Can I have my heart back please?

If you walk away now, I’ll die with a broken heart.

Would you touch me so I can tell my friends I’ve been touched by an angel?

I bet you're tired of hearing pickup lines, when words can't be compared or express the true nature of your beauty.

Believe it or not, I have actually been chatted up a couple of times. What do you mean “LIAR?” It’s true, I swear. Here are a couple of lines used on me:

I’ve been watching you. You’ve been standing there for ages and nobody’s chatted you up yet. Mind if I try?

Can I have a dance? Please don’t say no. I’d be devastated.

Please feel free to let me know your favourite chat up lines.

All this stuff is in the past for me thankfully and, to be honest, the thought of playing the field after such a long time fills me with absolute terror. I wouldn’t know where to start.

Nothing’s changed there then!!