Richmond

That’s me, that is. 

It’s in Richmond. My new flat is in Richmond, in West London. I was a little reticent before, but what the hell, I’m an exhibitionist, and you’re welcome to know. My imminent adventures will take place across the greatest metropolis in the world, and I’ll retreat to to the comfort of sunny Richmond Upn Thames.

But all that begins next week. Right now, I’m in Brighton still, with friends and in their spare room. We went to a bar up the road tonight. A couple and me. I’m not a hugely handsome man, but I’ve always managed to punch a little above my weight, possibly because I dress well, smile a lot and flirt with the best of them. My flirting skills have gone neglected in the last two years, so tonight I dusted them off again, flirting with the waitress from the bar. She’s a sexy black-haired Australian woman, with a knowing, intellectual thing going on. What could be better. I edged my ego ever so gently onto the line, and she didn’t meet me in the middle. I retreated, only slightly embarrassed.

I’ll get better at this.

And I’ll record my adventures.

Pad

It is a fact universally recognised that a man with a fortune must be in search of a wife bachelor pad.

So to that end, I’ve sorted myself out with a superb new apartment. Costing an arm, a leg and the shirt from my back, it’s a new build and I’m the first person ever to live there. It’s fantastically bright, with huge floor to ceiling windows everywhere. If I’m going to be lonely, this is to place to do it.

I need to find a new place because 10 days ago I split with my girlfriend of two years, and I’d been living in the house she owned. The final days of the relationship saw me buy an absurdly proportioned and priced TV, to sit unwanted and unloved (by her) in the living room, as a sort of monument to my own absurdity. An oversized comfort purchase providing anything but comfort. Now it sits with the rest of my material life, in a storage unit down the road. The pathos, when I see my lifes possessions compressed and cubed in a metal box, is exquisite. Almost enjoyable. Soon all that cliched chrome and shiny black plastic will be free, and given home amongst the mimimalost chic of my new apartment, and I’ll be ready. Ready to start meeting ladies again. Back in the game, with just a hint of fear. 

Next steps

So I’ve been single for seven days now. Not long. She’s still bombarding me with heartbreaking texts, voicemails and emails. I’m sad she’s sad, I’m sad to recieve them, and i’ll be sad when they stop too. I’m staying with friends in Brighton while I look for a new home (for home, read bachelor pad). Tomorrow I have some apartment viewings back up in London and I’m hopeful I can sort something out quickly. I need my own space, and it’s tough to keep up a sex blog when my internet connections are at work and in my friends’ living room. I’m writing this sat outside a coffee shop overlooking the sea, as a succession of queens, students and pregnant women sashay by. Welcome to Brighton.

Tonight I’m off out with my best friend. He’s been in a relationship for 7 years, and for most of that period I’ve been partnered-up too. Now I’m single and it changes the dynamic a bit. I think he’s feeling a tiny bit bit jealous for the excitement I’ve got to come (An excitement I’m suppressing while my split limps to a sad close). 

One for the weekend – My penis again!