Fashionably Fed-Up!

On a busy commuter train home from London the other evening I overheard a fascinating conversation between two middle-aged guys.
One was telling the other how he had been out in a bar the previous evening, and an attractive vivacious woman he had never met before came up to him completely out of the blue and openly asked him if he was a Londoner.
Before he could answer she said, "You must be, you look fed-up."

People pre-suppose the hypothesis that smiling is good for you because it makes you appear more attractive!
I suppose it is probably safe to say smiling temporarily relieves stress, and by smiling it in turn raises the cheekbones and reduces that wrinkled effect on the face that tends to be associated with a puckered brow.

I presume the logic behind this theory emanates from the hip, sun soaked, well chiselled plastic fantastic inhabitants of Cali-for-ni-a, who have never done the 'commuting lark' on a daily basis!

Some of the world's so called most attractive men are a bunch of cantankerous morose individuals.
Take actors Clive Owen and Colin Firth, or ex-Chelsea boss Jose Mourinho. They all have contorted faces that ooze pain and anguish, as if they are required to help solve or ease the issues of third world debt!

Some of the world's most gorgeous or lusted after women have or have had partners with visibly grumpy faces.
Look no further than Madonna's hubby Guy Richie or Kate Moss's ex squeeze Pete Doherty and her latest flame James Hince. All of them sour faced and glum looking.

So perhaps smiling is 'overrated.'

If you go to a bar in London and stand there looking bored, at best irritated you become the 'object of desire' - sophisticated, powerful with an air of supremacy.
It has almost become acceptable to display an aloofness towards someone who has caught your eye by pretending not to notice them or by ignoring them. A form of reverse psychology.

Perhaps 'rejection is fast becoming an aphrodisiac'

So if your keen look mean!

Now I don't smile a great deal myself and I know this for a fact because for years it has been remarked upon, although more often than not it has been done so in a polite manner rather than a vulgar or critical one.

So after hearing this two-way conversation on the chuffer, on my arrival home I immediately headed straight for the bathroom.
I turned on the light switch above my shaving mirror rather than the main one.
I feel it works as a safety net mechanism by diluting the intensity of what the main light might reveal.
However I still couldn't hide from my reflection. I was indeed looking awful - gaunt, haggard, drawn, ghost like, macabre!

Yes I WAS definitely looking at the 'epitome of a native Londoner.'

'The Lady & The Tramp' - Pounds Sterling OR Poundstretcher!

All hail Mr. Kevin Braddock. (writer for 'The London Paper')
After another lifeless day at the 'orifice' I was on the chuffer home assuming the bog standard bolt upright posture, among the sweaty armpits that filled the air and with my faced pressed to the glass door. Bored of the panoramic grey concrete landscape that was illuminating my journey I dared to open very carefully, with elbows tucked in, as if doing dumbell raises in the gym, today's copy of 'The London Paper' (10 April '07) that had been thrust into my sweaty paw at Victoria Station.

I was instantly drawn to his editorial headline (on page 25) announcing 'Rich Girls Don't Care Too Much For Money.' So after a few minutes of intriguing reading I knew this was well worth sharing.
But to avoid being accused of plagiarism I have 're-worked' the article to give it a more closer to home feel on my part, so as to share with you my own worldly but humble experiences of the article in hand.

Recently a fiery debate has reared its head in the press on the subject of who should pay on a first date, or should I say who doesn't pay?
Well while the debate rages on, let's examine the subject in more depth.

Dating is an old-fashioned expression for taking a chick you fancy out on the town, getting them fully loaded, pretending your interested in anything they are or better still their folks are, even if it is fly-fishing, and to declare that you are in touch with your femine side, so you don't mind doing girlie things.... all as long as in the morning you get to say that icon of all idioms......'there is a cab number by the phone, do what you feels right.'

Dating is not about taking totty home to meet your folks!

Lads: face it. Money talks when it comes to dating.
I have never met totty that has EVER 'admitted' to me anyway, that money doesn't matter. But not all totty is looking for a company director's salary!
Now this is where hope springs eternal for yours truly.

Starting a relationship on a 'financial budget style safeguard' is a a non-starter, and a sure fire way not to make it to second base.(Comparable with missing a penalty in the last minute of a cup semi-final).
You never get to go there again, and it lives within you perpetually.

Expecting women to pay, especially on a first date is like turning up to see your favourite team play the most important game of the year, only to find you have left your season ticket in last nights jeans.
Or equally complaining your date has turned up in high heels and a skimpy micro skirt
instead of a maternity dress and builders boots - No fun, no game, no chance!

But are we missing the point about money & wealth.
What the issue hides is a potentially 'awkward' conversation that draws one into the subjects of status, schooling, success, and therefore possibly being fairly or unfairly categorised on the basis of class.
Any mention of any the above subjects could lead one to an early night home alone!

If you want a relationship in which money is not top of the agenda then the answer is blindingly simple; date someone who is posh, or someone who is unquestionably filthy rich.
Why?

Well not long ago I went out with a lass who was in my world anyway seriously top totty, we are talking fit, designer clothes & shoes, expensive jewellery, all year round 'bona fide' tan, beautiful apartment here & abroad, convertible sports car.....oh and a great personality, no really & truthfully.

She wasn't interested in me for my wealth, prospects or breeding potential. I don't have any.
But to my astonishment she used to prefer to come round to my tiny one bed flat, rather than veg out in her gorgeous apartment where you needed a walking escalator a la airport style just to get from one of the living rooms to the downstairs cloakroom.
At mine we'd sit on the floor watching tv together, chill out, share a couple of half decent bottles of vino, talk title-tattle before finally hitting the sack.

The reason this 'Lady and the Tramp' relationship ended had nothing to do with cash - it was just I was keen, in fact very keen but she was not keen on the very fact that I was so keen - so let's just leave it at that!

The up shot of that relationship was that I was able to ascertain ways to seduce posh girls - or indeed rich girls - should the opportunity arise again.


The rules are as follows:

* Firstly, have no ambition or money (or at least appear that way, in a kind of audacious manner or bravado).
* Having long hair or at least unkept hair combined with a few days excess facial growth is an advantage.
* A well chewed roll up is a must, as is the smoking of illegal substances.
* Don't work and show no interest in the value of anything or even attempt to understand the meaning of wealth.
* Don't mention the subject of 'culture.' You don't do museums, art galleries or period furniture auctions!
* The less salubrious your dwellings the better. Hygienic is adequate.
* Don't be intimidated or overwhelmed by the prospect of weekend breaks to cities and/or resorts you can't even pronounce, let alone pinpoint on a map. Remember you went to school because you had to, not out of choice. Go with the flow and enjoy the ride.
* Last but not least try to be good fun, congenial, and easy going. This can be accomplished in numerous ways. Learn to play an instrument, however shoddily, take up amateur dramatics, write poetry, or at least leave romantic annotations lying around on post-it notes.

I have on one or two occasions for newly acquired totty of course,(now ex-girlfriends) been known to leave brief notes, not shopping lists, more chic romantic expressions of affection, on household mirrors written using lipstick in my own handwriting.
Inexpensive but incredibly effective, added to the fact that they were not my mirrors nor my lippy, so the clear up factor was er......not my problem!

All the above 'rules' guarantee that you fundamentally have no future earning potential no matter which way you try to dress it up.
Stick to these basic rules and a 'Princess' will be yours.

How else can you explain how Pete Doherty charmed quite literally the pants off the once, not so long ago 'attractive' Kate Moss, one of the World's wealthiest models?

Recently I put my class based seduction technique on the back burner and have begun to try and woo a cute chirpy check-out girl at a local Poundstretcher store. She refers to me as 'luv or 'mate' and I'm on the verge of asking her out for a meal to somewhere exclusive - 'Spud U Like' perhaps. The kind of venue that endorses ripped jeans, worn trainers, spiky hair and bottled suntans.

Like it or not money talks, providing the money is talking to the right individual.

Watch Your Back, Organ Be In For A Big Surprise!

Now it usually takes something quite controversial, irritating or witty for me to get home after yet another dire day at 'The Orifice' and sit down the moment I get through the door, fire up the PC and start writing.

Today is indeed one such day. As I rode home on the 'Cattle Chuffer' from Victoria I began scanning 'The London Paper' for newsworthy articles that didn't include the words Goody, Channel 4, Pete Doherty and Snow.

I was indeed drawn to page 7 and a fine pair of pins in a micro skirt. Below was a rather disturbing headline 'Judge Held For Flashing' and to the left of that a typically demure picture of Wayne Rooney with his gob open and looking pretty vacant......well nothing new there then. Believe me the excitement does not end there as it was suggested that 'The Everton Reject' was a massive fan of, and indeed knew all the words to the songs of the musical 'Oliver.'

So what I hear you holler as you lean towards the 'off button.' Is there indeed a point to all this? Are the three subjects in someway all related?
Well no, not to my knowledge anyway!

But wait.......In the top right hand corner was an inch square article that literally made me think.... you are bloody joking! It was both amusing and unbelievable at the same time. In fact I felt it was well worth sharing with other like minded individuals.

So the story goes that in Argentina a teenage football fan is suing a tattooist who drew a penis on his back instead of his favourite team's badge. Not an easy mistake to make surely, but as it happens the tattoo artist took 'umbrage' at being asked to draw the logo of the Boca Juniors on the teens back because he supported their fiercest rivals River Plate!!!!!!!!!!!!

My immediate forethought was if the tattoo artist is that malevolent, then imagine what he would do to you if he caught you messing with his missus!