THe Dame

Alas The Dame has taken the plunge! Alas The Dame has bitten the bullet! Alas The Dame has had a fanny fiddle! Alas!

If I were able to decorate this entry with e-tinsel and e-glitter I would.

Three days ago it happened. An internet date.

‘We’d been talking for ages and had a date arranged. One night we were speaking and I said I couldn’t wait until Tuesday to see, let’s meet up now. She felt the exact same thing, she said. I drove down to London that night and we got along well enough to spend the entire evening and indeed most part of the early morning making out on her bed’.

‘Did you have a proper fiddle?’ I asked, barely unable to control my excitement.

‘No’.

Mind you, an oven that hasn’t been utilised for half a decade is most certainly going to require pre heating before you can pull out a fluffy soufflé. And with this thought I was satisfied. The Dame had made efforts, and been successful in meeting a girl she liked who liked her in return. She was happy and so was I.

If I hadn’t been so caught up in her tale, I’d have asked for a formal written report, goodness knows her jobs has provided her enough skills to do this with.

And it came as little surprise, though enough to produce an inner scream, when The Dame text me whilst I was on the train, saying:

‘Ok. So I spent all night last night having hot sex. U should be proud of me.’

Of course I was proud of her. Although we all knew this was well overdue.

A toast on this auspicious occasion. Long live The Dame!