Not a member to remember...

I call him the Politico. And I'll tell you this, if he ever ends up running the country, then I shall remove this post, and you (yes you!) will know exactly who it is. But I think we're a way off that.

I met him in the trendiest of London bars. Where the boys mostly wear guyliner and if you're not wearing something asymmetric (regardless of your gender), you're not properly welcome. Well, he wasn't wearing guyliner. And my frock had two sleeves, so really we stuck out like sore thumbs. He was a friend of a friend. He was the same height as me. He was over-eager. But he was cute. And... the clincher... he was smarter than me.

There is nothing as sexy as a bright man. I mean, really. Someone who keeps up with your banter, and delivers it back tenfold? HOT. And let's not forget, I've dated some pretty fucking stupid men in the past (The Chef, who I talk about below, for example, or The Married Man who I'll talk about one day, who I'm pretty sure couldn't actually read). So anyway, it was refreshing to date the Politico.

He turned up at my birthday about a week later. And pounced on me. I had been drinking for 4 hours when he arrived, so I let the pounce happen. Then proper date #1 was another week after that. So we'd met twice, drunk, and done kissing. Frankly, I barely remembered anything about him. My opening line "Great to see you. In daylight. I, um, don't remember what we've talked about. We should probably start from scratch". He laughed. I laughed. Oh, how we laughed.

So, I said. Where are we going?

Reader, he had no plan. No plan at all. Call me cynical. Call me demanding. Call me Obama-obsessed. Call me what you will. But I believe a man should have a plan. The kind of man who wants to run the country ought CERTAINLY to have a plan.

We wandered. We found a bar. We found a restaurant. We found his bedroom. Yes, these things are all true. I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

But date #2 was the same. Met at a tube station. Wandered again. Ended up standing in a crowded bar. You'll remember, he wasn't terribly tall. This was not a good angle for him.

Date #3, ditto.

And date #4, he had a plan. But that plan involved me paying for supper.

Of course. I think by this stage it's ok to ask a girl to pay for her supper. I'm old fashioned but not that conservative. Still. If I'd known I was paying, I'd have had dessert too. And perhaps would have chosen a cheaper restaurant (budget considerations in this time of recession, obviously). Still, I had sex with him again (didn't plan on losing out on that part of the evening too. Yes, WE CAN do that.). And it was... fine. Maybe not a labour of love, but he was relatively liberal in his affections...

But, rubbish puns aside, by this point I had pretty much decided didn't want to see him again. I'd kind of met someone else. And regardless, there were far too many other things wrong with him. He rarely called, and he didn't like dogs, marmite, the countryside, or posh people. I like all these things. FFS, some of my best friends are posh people who live in the countryside withdogs! And pretty much all of my family are too. Was a disaster waiting to happen.

Of course, as soon as I decided this, he started calling. A lot. He ad'ministered a lot of attention. Ha. But I brushed him off politely. He was a decent candidate, but a girl's got to have (parliamentary) standards. And, at the end of the day, he just didn't get my vote.