I saw an article last week which was basically one of those life coach rants about “20 things to do to improve your life”. It was in some low-brow tabloid, so I can’t find it on the interwebs, because tabloids can’t use the intarnet. One of the “things to do” had particular resonance for me, it basically said stop wasting your time with people you don’t actually like, which whilst appearing quite obvious…got me thinking…

Now that we have all calmed down after the initial flurry that was social networking sites breaking the mainstream, it’s now time to take stock…why the fuck do I have 8032 friends? WHO THE FUCK are these people!? It’s time for the cull, it’s time to get back to reality and remove our connections with people who frankly, we’re never gonna speak to or ever gonna sleep with…face it, it’s fucking futile and by no means measures how likeable you are as a person.

Secondly, being in London I meet (i.e. have proper engagement with) approximately 10 new people on average a month. That’s 120 people a year. It’s not sustainable for me to be friends with all these people. So what I’m going to do, for a truly happy 2008, is sit down and work out who I actually and truly like spending time with. I think us Brits are too polite and emotionally retarded at times to say – “you know what, we used to have a good time but to be honest – I just don’t get where the fuck you’re coming from anymore! So let’s just give it a rest, yeah?”. Or even more severe “I don’t remember how we became friends/boyfriend&girlfriend/married but I just don’t reallllly find you very interesting, so shall we call it a day?”.

I’ve already implemented part 1 and reduced my facebook friends significantly and deleted my myspazz account. Next I’m gonna stop replying to texts/emails/facebook pokes from people that I just don’t want up in my World anymore. It’s better for everyone in the long term because in the immortal words of Sub Sub, if there ain’t no love, there ain’t no use…

If they don’t already think that all men are nutjobs, they almost certainly have London disease, which also hinders a guy’s chance of getting BD. London disease is contagious and can effect men and women with equal probability. It’s caused by London’s global bad-assness in central human pursuits such as fashion, music, cocktails, food, finance and general vibe. This infects those that are susceptable with an unerring belief that they are the best thing that has ever walked the Earth. This leads to a distorted view of their general attractiveness and can lead to disequilibrium in the getting-laid market as the girl prices herself above her market clearing position.

All in all, it can be a difficult place at times, especially considering all the bars seem to be more packed with sausage than a hot dog stand. So get online, get a map up and pick out a medium-sized city at random to debauch.

As anyone who lives outside of London will tell you, there’s plenty of things going on in the provinces and it’s not all inbred barn dances and cock fighting so even without tapping some hot local ass, you may have a reasonable time. However, in the backwaters, a refined London casanova can exploit the fact that the local gentry can be, shall we say, a little off the pace. So dust of your rapier-like wit, pick out your favourite debonair attire, sharpen your urbanite edge and get ready to fill your big smoggy swag bag with attractive yokels.

There are a few key factors that will maximise your chance of having a proverbial roll in the hay with a busty, bohemian small town girl. Firstly, you need to research the area, especially the best hotels, restaurants and bars. You don’t want to end up in the local chav bar or staying at Fawlty Towers, this will severely reduce your chances of getting in on the local talent and increase your chances of getting beaten up by the local knuckledraggers for wearing a cravat.

Secondly, get your game head on. You are a new and exciting proposition compared to the stonewash jeans & untucked Next shirt clad local dudes, but you need to back this up with substance. You must wow them with your wide-ranging knowledge and exemplary gentlemanly conduct and have them crying with laughter from your witty anecdotes and general tomfoolery. Ultimately you need to have them wet from the fact that you are an absolute gun in all respects.

Finally, if you have been unfortunate enough to contract London disease, make sure you don’t take it on your travels. There’s a saying that is along the lines of “no-one likes a cunt”, this is a universal concept. Be interested and impressed by their home town (even if you have to fake it). Also, play up to the fact that you don’t know the area and would appreciate their advice, 9 times out of 10 if you are getting on well they will acompany you to the best local nightspot – which is pretty much the home straight. At this point the extra bucks you spent on the hotel suddenly looks like money well spent. Try to avoid the whole “Hey I’m only here for one night so why don’t we have crazy, rabid sex?” approach – she knows you’re only here for one night, there’s no need to spell out the likely futility of anything other than one night of mindless rutting.

So what are you waiting for? If you are sick of these insipid London debutantes, pack up your weekend bag and hit the road to Laidsville, population you.

Being single can mess you up, and the stages singletons go through are fascinating. The first stage is pretending you love the freedom…freedom to do what? Get drunk, send a drunken text to your ex, grab a filthy takeaway on the way home, send another drunken text to your ex, fall asleep on your sofa and wake up with a tent you could park your Fiesta under.

The second stage is pretending you like the whole ‘casual’ thing. There are two types of people; those who take sexual prowess to another level (Craig David’s addiction led to a catheter and a plastic bird– take note) and those who are built for relationships. Either way, you’re screwed. Those who bed hop often feel good about themselves (usually at the point of climax…and maybe the two seconds preceding it) followed by a sense of self-loathing. Whereas those who like relationships have gone without for so long that they start trawling the londonpaper in the vain hope that someone has acknowledged their meagre existence on the Central Line to Bethnal Green. Coffee?

The final stage is acceptance, and this is where you want to be. People in this stage are open to different ways of meeting people (whether that’s on the corner of Commercial Road or Speed Dating – it doesn’t matter). Those annoying couples that seem to zoom into focus everywhere you go now fade into the background. You begin to appreciate the friends you used to resent because you’d rather be snuggled up on the sofa with some gorgeous brunette who’s laughing at your jokes whilst tickling your balls. Most importantly, you realise that just because you’re single, it doesn’t mean you’re a social leper. So to all those singletons, be proud of your independence – I salute you all!

This reminded me of a video clip that had me in stitches, check it out below. The Tales of Mere Existence cartoons have such resonance in terms of modern life and love and are pretty funny too (Chairmanmeow).