A successful navigation of the 3 date rule

The Friday evening just gone saw the coming of date #3.5. She'd decided that she'd wanted to go to the cinema again, this time to see Oz the all Powerful. Although it was a Disney movie the reviews weren't bad and the cast was pretty darn good so I bit the bullet and agreed to accompany her. In truth, by this point she could have asked me to do pretty much anything and I'd have agreed to it because I was looking forward to spending some time with her again.

It was an earlier showing than last time, with the movie starting at 9pm, so I'd called a taxi to pick me up at 20:15 to then swing by to pick her up around 20:20. The taxi was a little late and I didn't get to her until around 20:30, which was fine because that's the time I'd told her to be ready for anyway - I just like to be a little early under normal circumstances.

I seem to recall that the taxi had an unusual aroma to it when I got in. Not a bad smell, just an out-of-place one. It took me a few minutes to place it but I eventually realised that it smelt exactly like Love Hearts - you know, those little round candies with messages on them like 'Be Mine' and 'My Hero'? It was actually quite pleasant and reminded me of the Teddy Gray's sweet shop I used to frequent as a boy. It brought back memories which made me smile.

I pulled up outside her place and unsurprisingly she was ready. I'm starting to love this about her, she hasn't been remotely late for any of our dates so far, save for the first date mix-up which we can now laugh about. I'm not used to people being quite so organised and it's something I really appreciate. I can't tell you how many times I've arrived on time to pick a date up and been left waiting outside in a taxi for 5 or 10 minutes because she wasn't quite ready, which does rather irritate me. She got into the taxi and I said hi, the taxi driver rudely cutting me off before I could say much else as he asked which way he should go due to several road closures en route. I pointed him in the right direction and attempted to re-initiate conversation.

Once again we fell deep into chatter almost immediately. She'd spent the day with her friends and it seemed like a natural conversation path to ask how they were, what they'd gotten up to and whatnot so I posed the questions. She answered in detail in her usual enthusiastic manner which I'm starting to become so attached to, and we continued along the same conversational path until we ushered ourselves into the movie theatre, once again taking her favourite seats near the front in the centre.

The entire time I can't help but feel completely conscious of the fact that based on my 3 date rule, this is technically date #3, and those of you that have read my previous blog post will know that date #3 is ultimately decision date. Make or break, if you will. However, if truth be told I'd already made up my mind about her before we'd even agreed to come on date #3. Granted I haven't exactly spent a great deal of time with this girl in the grand scheme of things, but I've become very fond of her company in the short space I've time I've known her and frankly I'd be a fool to pass up on the opportunity to take this particular girl out of the shop window before somebody else came shopping. I had therefore decided that date #3 was to be the date I made it clear that I wanted to continue seeing her.

I sat thinking about how I could make it clear that she'd won me over. Put my arm round her? No, too uncomfortable in such circumstances. Those cinema seats aren't comfy at the best of times, and stretching out into an awkward position for a cuddle would be a mood killer. That was out. I figured making a move to hold her hand was the best and safest option. But how? She was sat there grasping her popcorn, and perched in the holder between us was a rather large drink, making it all but impossible for me to reach across. Blast… What to do? I'll give it some thought and bide my time. Half an hour into the movie I was still at a loss. Why was this so hard? I'm normally really good at this stuff, what's the matter with me!? Just then, what some might call 'fate' intervened. She'd reached for the drink and upon placing it back in it's holder between us had clumsily lost her grip, skewing the cup so that it almost fell into my lap, only for it to be caught precariously by the lip of the holder, preventing me getting a soaking. Reacting quickly I grabbed it to tip it back upright before it began to leak fluid, then the light bulb in my head lit up. "I'd better move this out of the way before you end up throwing it all over me…" I remarked cheekily with a smile on my face. She laughed and I moved it to another holder out of harm's way. As luck would have it she'd also put down her popcorn before picking up the drink - the hand holding window had opened. All systems go! Without hesitation I reached across, moved my arm under hers so that it was resting atop the arm rest and clasped her left hand in my right. She didn't punch me, this was a good start. I'm not sure she realised it, but I felt her breathing become deep and erratic, as if excited by the flutter of butterflies in her stomach. There we sat for the remainder of the movie, hand-in-hand, and I couldn't shake my smile.

Having predicted that the weather would be somewhat 'British' I'd anticipated rain and brought along my umbrella. She'd playfully mocked me for it earlier in the evening because she hates umbrella's due to previous embarrassing personal experiences, but she was walking home under it whether she liked it or not. I knew that she doesn't cope too well when cold and wet, so I wanted to do all I could to minimise the impact. We strolled home, my right arm clasped around her waist the whole way and my left arm holding up our little rain proof canopy, the arm round her waist serving not only to pull her under the umbrella but also to keep her close to me. It must have taken us the best part of 30-40 minutes to stroll home, but there were no breaks in conversation or awkward pauses, it just flowed freely, if anything it felt too easy!

We reached her front door and she turned to me to say goodbye. It was still raining and as a result she was stood a little closer to me than she perhaps would normally have been under the circumstances, in order to seek shelter under the umbrella. We both fell silent as if we knew what was coming, almost holding our breath in anticipation of the moment. I reached up with my left hand to gently touch the side of her face with my palm, stepped in a little closer to her and leant in for the kiss. My nerves bouncing all over the place, our lips touched and the desire to continue indulging in the first kiss feeling took over, I didn't want it to stop. It had been so long since I'd felt it. Alas, we couldn't stand out there all evening huddled under the brolly in the cold and wet, it had to come to an end eventually. We pulled apart slightly and I said the only thing I could at the time which was "I don't want to let you go in now…". We shared a glance into one another's eyes, exchanged a smile and said our farewell. That was it. She'd successfully navigated the 3 date rule with flying colours and I'd done it. I had officially staked my claim. For all intents and purposes I was now off the market. Perhaps the umbrella wasn't such a silly idea after all...

Date #2.5 & the 3 date rule

So yesterday evening I went on another date, the pretence to which is fairly embarrassing because I was in the unfortunate position of being broke and couldn't pay for said date. How inadequate did I feel? I pride myself on being one of the few surviving gentlemen in this day and age and here I was being paid for on only our second date… Well, I say second, but it wasn't really. Or was it? I guess officially it was, but the two and a half hours we spent in Druckers on Saturday evening chatting until they kicked us out at closing time has to count for something, right? That's where the .5 comes in, hence the title of the blog post.

We'd planned a cinema outing and she'd insisted I pick the movie. Right off the bat this could potentially have been disastrous, what if I picked an absolute shocker and the date turned out to be two hours of pure uncomfortable boredom? I'd taken a quick look at what Hollywood had to offer and decided on the psychological thriller 'Side Effects' starring Jude Law. It had excellent reviews from both the film critics and the general public alike so I figured it was worth a punt.

The movie was due to start at 10.05 so I picked her up in a taxi around 9.30. Unlike the first date, I wasn't nervous this time. The first hurdles had already been jumped, the ice broken and the foundations laid - this time it was all about just enjoying her company. As she hopped into the taxi I immediately made a wise crack about us finding our way to the right place, in reference to the 'first date mix-up' which I covered in a previous blog post. I hoped this would ease any immediate tension and settle any nerves she may have had, although I suspect she just thought I was an idiot! Right away we fell deep into conversation. This has been true of our last two - sorry, two and a half - dates, and just seems to come naturally to us which is marvellous. There's nothing worse than struggling for things to say but there's been no such issue thus far. Not even close.

The movie itself was a bit of a slow starter, but the same can be said for the majority of movies falling under the umbrella of the 'psychological thriller' genre due to the director having to set the scene and provide the facts, do the mandatory character introductions etc… Half way through I was still questioning where they were going with it. It seemed a very fragmented and difficult to follow plot in places, but the director pulled it all together in a neat little bundle at the end, answering all of the viewer's outstanding questions and throwing in a tidy little twist which made me smile. Decent choice, Jones. Nice gamble.

Following the conclusion of the movie came the inevitable chat about what we'd just experienced, how we felt about it, and the impending trip home. It was a clear night, fairly cold but not at all unpleasant, so we opted to stroll home instead of call a taxi. After all, we weren't in a rush to be anywhere and it meant we got to spend a bit more time together than if we'd have just taken a cab. The walk from Dudley to Oldbury could be seen by many as a million miles, never to be attempted even in the height of summer when being outside is at the top of everyone's agenda, but we didn't see it that way since we both rather enjoy a walk - weather permitting.

Family seemed to be the main topic throughout the journey home. We both had a fair bit to say, although she perhaps had the lion's share, with her having such a large family and all. Then, about a third of the way home she prompted me to hold her hand. Even though this was a great turn up for the books in the grand scheme of things, we were both wearing thick gloves because of the chill in the air and hand holding loses much of its appeal when it's devoid of the sensation of skin-on-skin. I made the only suggestion that felt right at the time, I'd happily hold her hand as long as we took the relevant gloves off. Sure we'd be walking down the road each of us wearing one glove, holding bare hands. Yeah it might look odd to passers by, and okay our exposed skin might get cold, but did I care? Not a jot. It was worth the risk. My right glove came off, her left glove came off, we interlinked fingers and that's how it stayed the rest of the way home, save for the occasional break for her to pull up her socks! I can't lie, my heart jumped a little and started to beat a little faster when I took her hand in mine. It had been a long time since I'd held anyone's hand, at least in the same sense I was doing so now. A very long time.

I don't quite know how long it took to reach her front door. I was so tied up in conversation that I never checked the time, even upon leaving the cinema. Losing track of all time because you're enjoying someone's company is a rare occurrence, and one I relish greatly. We stood and chatted for a while, she pointed out where her family lived along the street and I gave her the little surprise I'd saved until the end of the evening. Since having her laptop repaired a couple of weeks ago she'd lost the majority of the music she had stored on her hard drive. Being the techno-nerd that I am, I'd taken the liberty of noting down many of her favourite artists which had cropped up in conversation, and downloaded as many of their albums as I could get my hands on. I'd then complied them onto a USB stick, Country and Rock songs alike, for her to enjoy at her leisure. A nice gesture, I felt.

It was then I checked the time and realised how late it was - it was fast approaching 1.30am. I had work to be up for at 6.30am, I had to take my leave. It was that time. That awkward time. That 'how do I handle the goodbye?' time. It is at this point I should refer you to my 3 date rule:

Date #1 - This is to be the ice breaker. The date where I get a feeling for her personality, see if there's anything outrageously irritating about her that I simply couldn't live with, discover how much we have in common, whether the conversation flows well, whether there's a physical attraction… It's basically an interview. A complete evaluation, and the laying of the foundation of date #2 going forward - if of course all goes well. Very few people ever get past date #1.

Date #2 - This is to be the 'get to know you better' date. If she got through date #1 and made it to date #2 it's already pretty obvious that I'm attracted to her. I wouldn't be on date #2 if I wasn't. However, sometimes the person that shows up on date #1 isn't the same person that shows up on date #2. This could be due to the first date nerves being gone meaning that she isn't trying quite so hard to keep things flowing between us, perhaps she's changed her mind about me, or maybe she's had a particularly bad day, it could be anything. So essentially date #2 serves as a basis for comparison to the person that showed up on date #1. If the same person shows up and all is going well, date #2 is also the date used to test physical boundaries - touching, cuddling and hand holding are acceptable if she seems comfortable with any of the above, but the general rule is nothing overly intimate. Don't risk too much, too soon. No kissing as a rule (cheeks are however allowed), and certainly no sexual activity of any kind. If she likes me then she'll be back for date #3 regardless.

Date #3 - Traditionally the date where, providing the same person as date #1 and date #2 shows up, it's time to actively encourage physical contact. She's showed up to two dates already and agreed to a third, she clearly sees something in me that she likes so it's worth taking the risk. By the end of date #3 I've generally all but made my mind up as to whether to continue seeing them or whether to cut my losses and move swiftly along. This brings with it the 'staking my claim' or 'sealing the deal' or however else you'd like to view it. I am of course referring to the kiss. Yes, that. The dreaded yet at the same time exalted first kiss. Once I've sealed it with a kiss, I'm stating my intentions. You aren't getting a kiss if you haven't made it to date #3, and when you do I'm effectively saying that I'm taken. For all intents and purposes, I'm officially off the market.

This brings me back to my story. How was I to handle the goodbye? This was only date #2 so no kissing was allowed, it wasn't time to state my intentions. Or was it? Technically this wasn't date #2 at all when I thought about it. It was somewhere between date #2 and date #3 because I'd failed to take into account the previous Saturday when I'd met her in Druckers after she finished work. In theory this was date #2.5. Any mathematician will tell you that 2.5 rounded to the nearest whole number is 3. So did the rules for date #3 apply? Should I risk it? A dilemma had arisen. What was I to do? I tried to make sense of it all as quickly as I could in my mind, all of the time trying to continue the conversation and ultimately say my goodbye. I leaned in, considered the consequences of my actions for a moment and proceeded to... wrap my arms around her for a cuddle. I'd opted for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I then took my leave.

'Why?' I hear you ask. 'Why not kiss the poor girl? You'd held her hand all the way home, the signs were all there… You could've blown it!'. Sure I could have, but I knew I wouldn't. I don't know why I knew, but I knew. Some will say my 3 date rule is utter hogwash and that I should have kissed her that night, and to some extent I'd agree with them, but if she likes me enough she won't mind waiting. Besides, I fully intend to make up for it on date #3.5.
Here's hoping I made the right choice

The first date mixup...

Yesterday evening I went on a date. Why would this possibly be blog-worthy? People 'date' all the time! Well, I haven't been on a real date in a long time.
The last date I can remember going on was some time in the middle of last year, well over six months ago. I recall it not being very memorable, pretty hard work conversation-wise and needless to say I chose not to pursue that particular female thereafter.
Such is the story of many of my previous dates - a single date with absolutely no connection on a physical or mental level, resulting in a complete lack of interest and me ultimately going about my business.
Admittedly, I'm a difficult guy to please. I'm picky, but we don't get many shots at happiness so I feel that I'm allowed to be.

We'd spent a couple of weeks chatting via Facebook messages and texts, and we'd finally gotten around to the mutual agreement of partaking in a date. She'd told me when she was free, so naturally I chose the earliest possible date I could. I wanted to seem keen (because quite frankly I was) but at the same time I hoped that it didn't come across as over-keen. I took the gamble anyway and she agreed to meet me for dinner and a movie.

I was nervous. Oh, so nervous. Me - nervous? What? The guy who eats interviewers for breakfast? The guy that's always the life and soul of the party? The guy who's always the Chief and never the Indian? The loud-mouthed, confident, alpha male that is Adam Jones, nervous? Pull the other one… But I was. And incredibly so, for a full two days prior. Every time I thought about her, the date, or a combination of the two I'd get that kick, that rush of adrenaline akin to butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. This isn't normal… Women don't make me nervous. They never have. What's going on here? Pull it together, Jones.

We'd discussed the venue for dinner with Frankie & Bennies and Chiquito's getting a mention, but knowing it was a little more up-market I'd booked a table at Bellagio's for 8pm. The movie began at 9.50pm. I was ready with plenty of time to spare and off I went, my nerves still as mad as a box of frogs. I hadn't shaved though, because I remember her saying she likes a man with a beard.

I wasn't sure whether she knew it, but it was World Book Day 2013 and I'd taken the liberty of purchasing her a small gift in the form of a Terry Pratchett novel. She'd previously said she'd never picked up a Pratchett book after I'd mentioned he was one of my favourite authors and it seemed like a nice gesture given the circumstances so I went with it. I'd also included a little something else which I'd hoped would steal her heart, but that remained to be seen. And no, I'm not telling you what it was - you wouldn't understand anyway!

I rocked up at Bellagio's at 7.40pm. I was early. Excellent. If I'm not picking a girl up (as was the case on this occasion) I like to make a point of being there before she arrives because I think it's rude to keep a lady waiting.
I propped myself up at the bar and ordered a pint of Peroni. I'd not had an alcoholic drink in months but I needed it to calm my nerves a little. I'd sent her a text to ask her what she wanted to drink so that I could have it waiting for her upon her arrival, and I sat reading the drinks menu waiting patiently for her to stroll in, her drink sat alongside mine on the bar.

It was just after 8pm when she text me, and I was a little confused by the content of said text upon receipt. She was accusing me of being late. Wait, what? I've been sat here for nearly half an hour, what's going on here? I promptly replied to that effect only to be told that she was sat in Frankie & Bennies waiting for me. We weren't in the same place. Disaster.

During the discussion about where we were to go for dinner, she'd expressed that she felt Bellagio's was a little outside of her comfort zone as far as the cuisine was concerned, pointing out that the pictures on the website 'looked like the food was still alive' and she'd have opted for Frankie & Bennies given the choice. She was of course referring to the lobster, and it was very much dead. I'd assured her that much like Frankie & Bennies it was Italian, she'd said she liked Italian food and I concluded that I'd convinced her to give it a go. It seems I hadn't. We'd misunderstood one another and were now sat in completely different restaurants. Fantastic start.

Not wanting to leave Frankie & Bennies and look like she'd been stood up, she asked if I'd come to her and we'd eat there instead. I of course obliged, leaving the drink I'd had waiting for her on the bar, grabbing my coat and heading to her. Fortunately the restaurants aren't a great distance apart as they're within the same entertainment complex, but it was more the embarrassment of the situation than the inconvenience of it that was manifesting at this point.

First date, we haven't even done the meet and greet and I've made a hash of it already. Well done, Jones. You have a genius-level IQ but can't even properly establish a basic plan for an evening's activities. It's not difficult... Moron. Oh well, sod it, things can only get better from here, surely? And into Frankie & Bennies I walked.

Sure enough there she sat, at the bar with drink in hand, distracted from the room by a movie that was playing on the TV behind the bar. I approached, gave her a hug, kissed her on the right cheek and remarked about the situation in an attempt to break any tension that may be lingering due to the mix-up. Fortunately a bit of warm, light-hearted banter ensued about the predicament which served to break the ice, which was a relief. It seems the mix-up may not have been such a bad thing after all… I asked to be seated, and we were immediately ushered to our seats.

She looked beautiful and I had to tell her. I think I may have told her two or three times throughout the evening now that I think about it, let's just hope it didn't come across a bit on the creepy side.
By her own admission she's cripplingly shy, so I was expecting to have to lead the way for most of the evening where the conversation was concerned. To my delight this was not the case at all. Conversation flowed freely back and forth and I found myself so lost in the initial exchange that I hadn't even picked up a menu by the time the waitress asked us to order.

We'd agreed to skip starters and go for a main then a dessert. She ordered chicken carbonara and I ordered steak - rare, of course. It didn't take long to come at all. Well, it might have, but I was so lost in conversation that frankly I'd forgotten we'd even ordered.

We didn't even get round to dessert. We'd sat chatting for so long after finishing our main meals that when the waitress came back to finally take our orders (we'd shooed her away 2-3 times already) we realised that it was 9.40pm and we were going to be late for the movie if we didn't leave. Where did that time go?
I ordered the bill, naturally refusing to let her contribute towards it (first date rules) and we headed to the cinema.

The 'first date interview' had continued all evening, with everything from past partners, work life, social life, friends, interests and everything in-between discussed. As the evening had progressed, I'd found that there was nothing about her I disliked."Really, Jones?" My subconscious said. "You really can't pick faults here? You know what that means, don't you?" Alarm bells were ringing, it seemed I may have found a good one, and subconscious Jones knew it.

When the date was over, I ordered a taxi home which for once turned up almost immediately and we headed back, still chatting the whole way. She revealed that out of the handfuls of guys she'd had ask her out she'd only accepted 4 of the invites, and she'd never been on a second date with any of them. This girl sounds like me, only much prettier and with boobies - I chuckled to myself. Was she setting me up for a fall or was this the pretence to me having done enough to take her fancy?

The taxi came to a stop outside her house, I have her a hug, kissed her cheek once more and off she went. I didn't blame her for not hanging around, it was raining. I made sure she got in ok and headed back.

I arrived home, a smile on my face, confident I'd been sufficiently impressive to have won her over. I waited for it. The text. I knew it was coming. There was no way she wouldn't text me and thank me for the evening, she was too polite not to, and I'd given her an unexpected gift after all. I'd instructed her not to open it until she got home, so she didn't actually know what it was during the course of the evening.
It came. The text. And it was everything I wanted to hear. She'd had a wonderful evening, was still smiling about my present, and even suggested a 2nd date.
Nice one, Jones. You did good.

My problem now is that when I laid out my budget for the month, I allocated a vast lump sum of my luxury money to my hobby, having no idea I'd meet an attractive, smart, funny, and quite frankly pretty darn awesome individual who'd for some strange reason want to spend time with me. This leaves me at somewhat of a loss, in the unenviable position of having no disposable income left to play with.

Unfortunately I don't pick up my next pay cheque until March 22nd. Here's hoping she's prepared to wait the couple of weeks it'll be until I get paid, safe in the knowledge that next month my hobby won't be quite so high on my list of priorities. Between now and then, we can hopefully agree on a low cost alternative, because if truth be told I don't want to risk someone else claiming her in the mean time...

Barcode

Most people who know me, or even those that only fleetingly enter my life and just as fast are gone again, know that I wear tattoos. Most of these aren't on show in every day life, and only a couple of them have any meaning.
The two that do hold meaning are the ones that people generally see, as they're on my forearms. On my left arm I wear script. Two words. Temet Nosce. Very few people in my life know what this means, and I like it that way. If you do, then either you're very close to me or you've taken the initiative to find out. In either case, it should tell you something about me. And on my right arm there sits a barcode.

Most people that see it question why. Why would I do such a thing as to scar a barcode upon my skin? Am I thug? A gang member? Or just an idiot? I would suggest none of these, although most would think the latter.

In truth it's symbolic. I don't expect everyone to get it, and I won't explain it to everyone that asks. It's been there for several years, and while it looked pretty crisp when it was first done, the constant abuse my wrist has taken from being scraped to and fro across a workstation for 8 or more hours per day, due to me using a mouse for my work during the entirety of my adult life, has taken it's toll. Nonetheless, it's still there, albeit a little more worse for wear than it once was.

So what does it mean?

I believe we live our lives upon somewhat of a production line. We have set paths we all must follow up to a point. We're all born, we all learn to crawl, walk, talk, count, spell, do math, progress through a school we didn't choose, become educated in things we care nothing about and we're spat out the other end into our adolescent years to contend with the world.
We then face, for the first real time in our fledgling lives, a choice. We can choose to get a job and make an honest living from the get-go, or we can choose to continue along the path of education. Although we think we're given this choice, society will generally dictate which we choose. In truth it's really not a choice at all, we're still rolling around the production line.

We face small decisions every day, what to have for breakfast, when to leave for work, what we'll do that evening, and who we will surround ourselves with, but ultimately our lives are shaped by other people. Other people decide what's best for you, support you, fix you, love you, give you a job, and pay your wages. This is something that will change for very few people before their inevitable demise in later life.
But you chose your job, you made that choice, right? Not really. You made the decision to apply, but someone else made the decision to give you the job. Although you had some influence over that decision, ultimately it still wasn't you that made it. The person that operates the machine that is your job made it for you. They needed a new cog for their machine and you just happened to be the best one available.

So you see, we're all products of a social hierarchy, even if we don't realise it. My barcode serves to remind me of the fact that sometimes, I'm just not the one in control of my life. It reminds me that although I don't directly believe in fate, I don't think we're in complete control of our own lives either. The production line is somewhere in between, meandering between fate and control, from one to the other, both at once and never at all.
This is what my barcode represents

A situation to ponder...

A chance encounter through shared endeavours,

A verbal dance upon the wall, 

Attempting not to ruffle feathers, 

Words ebbed and flowed as I recall.

She captured hence my full attention, 

An enigma which held much intrigue, 

Introduce my apprehension, 

Perhaps she lay outside my league.

More about her I must know, 

Which treat she longed for she'd impart, 

The oddest answer she did throw, 

This strange young girl replied 'jam tart'.

A few days later we would meet, 

United by a common goal, 

Perspiring bodies in raised heat, 

A vigorous workout took it's toll.

To her my efforts I'd devote, 

I could not help myself but stare, 

Although her merry band took note, 

No hint of heed would this girl share.

Captured by her warm sweet smile, 

Bound by ice which I must break, 

To catch my breath it took a while, 

She left and I rued my mistake.

I went about my dull routine, 

Cursing over that missed chance, 

A melancholy rarely seen, 

Victim of a dead romance.

In wonderment I start to fret, 

Developing to consternation, 

Swallowing my deep regret, 

I offer further conversation.

I played to her my violin, 

A melody which few have heard, 

Exposing her to my chagrin, 

I hoped that she'd not be deterred.

A week of inspiration since, 

Much in common do we share, 

Perchance I'll ask to be her prince, 

But I'm not really sure I dare.

An innocence with rare appeal, 

I wait 'til next I see her face, 

In turn I wonder how she feels, 

Perhaps one day she'll be my Grace.

I've no desire to hold the keys,

Birds should fly upon their wings,

Follow any dream you please,

With no-one pulling at your strings.

She the beauty to my beast, 

Her every wish I would fulfil, 

A deep connection never ceased, 

Her one, her only, Daffodil.

- An original work by Adam Jones

Picturesque Britain

So I was having a conversation today about places I'd choose to live within the UK, and realised it'd be the perfect subject for a quick blog post, complete with pictures.

Having grown up in the West Midlands I've pretty much been surrounded by suburbia since birth. This is not something I wish to continue into later life. I've always felt that I was born to be a country dweller. Trips out into rural Britain always help the little green monster surface as I become envious of those that live in the surrounding areas. When doing so straddling a motorbike, the feeling is multiplied tenfold. There's no feeling in the world akin to blasting your way along country roads, surrounded by beautiful scenery. Complete and utter freedom.

I'm only going to include a few places I've ventured to, since I have no basis for comparison if I've never actually been there.

Clovelly - North Devon

Clovelly is undoubtedly one of the most unique places I've ever had the pleasure of visiting. Well off the beaten track, the village itself is set among steep cobbled streets, running down a winding slope to the bay at the bottom where small fishing boats bob serenely at their moorings. The pace of life just seems to have slowed right down here, everyone is so laid back and relaxed it's as if the ethos is 'why do it today when you can do it tomorrow?'. It really is a marvellous part of the country, a hidden gem and a truly awe inspiring place to visit.

The Lake District - Cumbria

A place I visited regularly on family holidays as a child, the Lake District will always hold a dear place in my heart. It wasn't often my family could afford to go abroad when I was younger, but who cares when you have scenery as stunning as this just a couple of hours from home? Some of the most spectacular sights to be seen anywhere in the world are found in the Lake District. Windermere, Ullswater, Coniston, and a plethora of other smaller (but no less picturesque) bodies of water call Cumbria their home. Whether it be slow walks around the shores of the lapping lakes, hilltop hikes, or treks through steep valleys, this place has everything that a lover of scenery could ever want and more. I could most certainly see myself living out my days here.

Padstow - Cornwall

Tucked away in a quiet corner of Cornwall, Padstow genuinely seems to be out of place, a fact you'll realise as soon as you arrive there. On a sunny day, standing atop a vantage point looking out over the bay, you could easily mistake your surroundings for the Mediterranean. Crystal clear waters give way to green beds of coral. Golden sandy beaches are met by rolling green hills. And the town itself is medieval fishing port. Everything about this place leads you to believe you're no longer on UK shores, and is the closest thing to a beach side paradise that Britain has to offer. On a warm, sunny day, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Add to this the fact that famous chef Rick Stein owns and operates a seafood restaurant on the beach front, serving up some of the most delicious dishes you'll ever have the pleasure of tasting, and Padstow really becomes a place with a special appeal.

One day I hope to up and move my life to a rural setting. I don't wish to spend my life restrained by the shackles of an urban lifestyle. Hopefully I can one day find a like-minded person to settle down and share it with. Until then, I'll have to settle for the monotonous regime that is the rat race.

The inspiration...

If you took the time to read my introductory blog post, you'll know I stated that my reason for finally starting this blog was that I'd been inspired to do so. While this is indeed true, I didn't really mention by what or whom I'd been inspired. So what was it? Did I read an interview with a famous speaker or blogger which captivated me so much that it prompted me to begin my own? Did I stumble into an A-lister's blog and think I could perhaps do it better because I had more interesting things to say? Or did I come across a news article regarding blogging activity and fancy a crack at it myself? None of the above. In actual fact, the whole thing began with an off-the-cuff conversation about physical fitness which took place on a random Facebook wall.

A friend of mine, one I've known since I could first walk and talk, is a personal trainer and runs a fitness class 4 times per week, with one of these days being a Monday. It had just so happened that a colleague of mine had remarked during the week that she wanted to attend this class but didn't want to go alone, so of course I offered to go with her for moral support if nothing else. I'd be getting a workout and my friend would be getting a client, it was win/win. It was when I was attempting to drop him a line on Facebook to inform him that we'd be attending that I saw a post on his wall from a young lady, remarking on how her neighbour had commented that she'd lost so much weight since she'd become part of his fitness programme, and how pleased she was that people were noticing her hard work paying off. Completely innocently, I threw a 'like' at it and posted a comment of congratulations, explaining that I could relate to her situation since I too have been in that position, and I offered my encouragement in her future endeavours to get into shape. That's where it all began.

After a bit of a back-and-forth I noticed that this young lady was actually a rather attractive individual. This is something I'm generally pretty sharp with, but for whatever reason I was a tad slow on the uptake this time round. We're all entitled to our off days. The back-and-forth continued and I began to get the feeling that we were flirting with one another. Or were we? Perhaps I was mistaken. In any case, after pushing the page's owner into telling us to be quiet or keep it professional, we took the discussion into private messages. There was still a bit of mild flirting but she seemed more interested in the trainer than she did in me so the conversation stayed on the straight and narrow, and I'm more than grateful that it did.
As we spoke, it emerged that this young lady wasn't your typical dime-a-dozen, run of the mill type girl that was into all things soap opera, this one had some personality. This one, if truth be told, I became rather fond of right from the word go. She was clearly my kind of person. There was something about her, and on the rare occasion that somebody holds so much intrigue for me then I have to at least consider getting to know more about them.
I failed to do this quite miserably. The conversation ended that night and we didn't speak again the following day. I was perhaps a little disappointed, but not enough to let it bother me. After all, I didn't know this girl, we've never met, so what do I have to be all that disappointed about, right?

Monday rolled round and it was time for the fitness class - she was going to be there. Maybe I'd be able to introduce myself properly, get a conversation going and see what kind of person she was like in the flesh. I'm a firm believer that you can talk to somebody for years and years about anything and everything but you never really know somebody until you spend time in their presence. I can't explain why. Maybe it solidifies an emotional connection based on an oratory, auditory or other sensory responses. Maybe it's something of a supernatural nature, involving the intertwining of auras or other forces we simply don't understand. I have no explanation for you, I just know that I don't feel connected to somebody until I meet them.
She'd crossed my mind from time to time throughout the day and I spent a little bit of time in my own head pondering how I was going to break the ice that evening. I was banking on her turning up alone and then using my female colleague as a bridge by which to introduce myself. It sounded great in theory, that was until she didn't turn up alone and my colleague was a no show. Now what was I going to do? Uncharacteristically, I bottled it. Although I'm pretty sure she caught me glancing her way once or twice throughout the session, we were all far too busy working our asses off to initiate any form of conversation. I decided I was going to stop being a bottler and do it at the end of the session.

It's at this point that I should mention my first impressions of her. She was undoubtedly very pretty. I found myself a little relieved that it wasn't a case of 'you looked better in your pics', but in hindsight I don't think it would have mattered a great deal.
I'm a smile person. By that I mean that I can pretty accurately judge people based solely on their smile. I've always been able to do it and I'm very rarely wrong. As luck would have it, she strolled in smiling and it told me a lot about her. She had a beautiful smile. I could immediately tell that she was an honest, genuine individual with her heart firmly in the right place. It was warm and infectious, you can't help but want to smile along with her when she cracks a grin. And I'm not so sure it was the smile or whether it was her eyes, but clearly she was the passionate type. The type that's all or nothing, who will do anything for you and who will be there whenever she can because she cares. I was instantly attracted to her on this basis alone.
She was tall. Much taller than perhaps I had expected her to be, but that was ok. I'm not a short guy, I still have an inch or two on her and a woman's height has never bothered me. And you can't really judge the dress sense of someone who's turned up to a fitness session, especially when they've turned up in baggy joggers and a t-shirt. Sexy...

The session came to an end, we stretched, warmed down and scattered to grab drink and rehydrate. After taking a moment to catch my breath and gather my thoughts, I took a last gulp of water and got up off the bench. I was on a mission. I turned towards the back of the room to walk towards her and realised she'd already left. Well done, Jones. Strike two. Moron.
I got home, went through the normal ritual of a post-workout protein shake followed by a long hot shower, then sat down at my PC. I was only ever going to do one thing, I had to get hold of her and re-initiate a conversation. Say something. Anything. Just do it. I broke the ice with a wise crack about her leaving the session before I had chance to say hi, and the conversation rolled on for a good couple of hours. Looking back on it, I said some pretty cringeworthy stuff but she didn't seem to mind. Either she overlooked them or they went down ok so I think I may have gotten away with it. I guess time will tell.

Over the course of the next week we began to exchange more and more messages via Facebook at greater and greater length in ever increasing detail, at no point digressing into talk of anything of the sexual nature. To say that was refreshing is a massive understatement. I did however find myself hoping that it was more because she was sweet and innocent and not because she wasn't interested.
It quickly became apparent that we had a whole lot in common. Conversations flowed freely on subjects anything from books, to bikes, to music. I found myself becoming more and more attracted to the personality of the person I was getting to know with every message we exchanged.
It was later on that week that she told me she'd been encouraged to start a blog by her University tutor. I'd often considered starting a blog of my own but never gotten around to it. Of course, I jumped at the chance to read this girl's thoughts and feelings, hoping in some way she'd perhaps indicate that she was as intrigued about me as I was about her. Alas, I found nothing to indicate that she was, save for her quoting some of the parts of my messages she liked. This was enough, I thought. I'll take that.

She writes beautifully. She hasn't been blogging very long but she's studying Creative Writing at University and it really shows. I got absolutely drawn in by her heartbreaking story of her first love and as a result, first broken heart. Her intriguing 'is it true or isn't it?' story about her father still has me asking myself questions, it's so cleverly written. And her little rants about her broken laptop never failed to bring a wry smile to my face. Being able to incur such emotional responses with simple text is a rare gift. Add to this the fact that she's encouraged me to share in her love of country music, which until a few days ago I was completely ignorant to, and you quickly start to see why she's been such an inspiration to me in such a short period of time. I never really open up to people this fast, but I don't seem to be able to help myself myself with her.

I'm glad to have met her, and I look forward to actually breaking the ice in person, and maybe even spending a little time with her if life sees fit to allow it. I guess I'll have to wait and see.
You have been my inspiration to begin this blog, and of that you should be very proud - I'm not an easy guy to influence.

Thank you, Sian.

I'm going to shoot you in the face... As long as I can roll a 6.

So I thought I'd take a moment to touch on something that's very near and dear to me, yet something very few of my friends know anything about - my hobby.

Many of you will have seen it. An enigmatic place tucked away near a small coffee stand in the Merry Hill centre. A place you perhaps wouldn't enter even if someone paid you to do so because you couldn't possibly risk being seen among the nerds. A place full of like-minded, creative individuals who enjoy the experience of tabletop wargaming. I am of course referring to Games Workshop.

Some people enjoy the hobby because they like to build and paint models, some because they like to 'bits-bash' different model kits to come up with completely unique creations from the depths of their warped minds, and some get their enjoyment from using the finished products in simulated war scenario's on the tabletop. I myself enjoy all three.

"Haha, he's a nerd who paints toy soldiers then pretends to fight with them!!!" I hear you say as you point and laugh. It's really not that simple, stop being so narrow-minded and expand your horizons a little.
The game I play is called Warhammer 40,000. It's not just a case of "My man shoots your man. PEW PEW! He's dead." It involves rules. Lots of rules. 432 pages of rules to be exact. And for those of you thinking it's a game that only children play, the majority of hobbyists within what I'd consider the 'hobby community' at the Merry Hill store are in their 20's. In fact the game isn't even recommended for children under the age of around 12 because it's far too complex.

Essentially it's a turn based wargaming scenario where one person's army tries to get the better of another person's army based on the mission objective(s). There are scenario's akin to capture the flag, take and hold, and complete annihilation, amongst others. Think of it a bit like online multiplayer Call of Duty, Halo or Gears of War. The difference is that instead of sitting on your arse getting fat while you stuff you face and stare at pixels thrown up on a screen by your Xbox, you get to build your army, paint it however you like, and then test your skill as a General as you attempt to defeat your opponent, rolling many, MANY dice in the process.

I'm all for the occasional dabble on a computer game, but here's the thing; Xbox gamers get one guy with a gun, they get to shoot some other random player who lives on the other side of the world that they'll probably never meet, then when they turn off the console they have nothing to show for it, save for a few lost hours, a few extra pounds on the waistline and a high score.
I on the other hand get dozens of huge armoured marines, Terminator-style killer robots, monstrous aliens whose swarms devour planets, and evil daemonic creatures from the 'warp', not to mention all of the tanks, jetbikes and other assorted vehicles on top of that. I get to meet my opponent. I get to share jokes, stories, innuendo's and insults with them. I get to expand my social circle, meet other like-minded people who share the same interests as I do, and I get to make friends. When I've beaten my opponent, I can go to the pub with them immediately afterwards for a cheeky pint. And when all is said and done, I have a beautifully painted army of models which I'm proud to display.

Perhaps not such a silly hobby after all when you sit and think about it, is it?

Why start now?

Having registered my first ever e-mail address in 1996, when the best we got was the unnerving clicking, tooting and whistling of our 56k dial-up modems, it's taken me well over a decade to convince myself to start an Internet blog. It would seem that I'm guilty of being somewhat of an e-procrastinator. But why now? Why after 17 years have I finally decided to put fingertips to keys and document my thoughts, feelings, and everything in-between for the world to see? What purpose does it serve? Why bother? I'll get to that, but before I do I guess I'd better offer up a little bit of background on the person behind the blog for the benefit of those that don't know me, or indeed those that think they do but in truth, do not.

I'm an 80's child through and through. I was born and raised in Rowley Regis and I've never really strayed far from the nest, save for the occasional holiday. It's a small, pleasant town on the outskirts of the Birmingham suburbs and a place I'll always have fond memories of. Well, I say pleasant, this is perhaps not so much the case any more, it's not like I remember it when I was a youngling. The evolution of the social hierarchy, changes in behaviour, and modern day trends in what's acceptable and what's 'cool' have changed it somewhat, and not for the better. I'm not sure what's happened over the past decade but it seems that the area is spiralling into turmoil. Unfortunately the same can be said for the whole of the UK, so I suppose it's no real surprise to anyone of my generation or those that came before me who remember how it used to be. This, however, is sure to be the subject of a future blog post, so forgive me for digressing. I'll get back on topic.

My upbringing wasn't an easy ride, not by a long shot. Although as a child I didn't ever live uncomfortably, I never really had what any of the popular kids had. None of the sticker books, the WWF action figures, the Transformers merchandise, or any of the toys that were all the rage back then. None of the cool gadgets and gizmo's that the rest of the kids in the playground would talk about, and none of the brand names that all of the other parents could apparently afford to adorn their trophy children with (it would later emerge that the catalogue society and a willingness for irresponsible adults to get bogged down in debt was to blame). I didn't get my own television until I was 15 and I was never bought a Playstation. Have you got any idea how much kids suffer on the playground when mommy and daddy can't afford the latest trendy 'stuff'? For all of their loveable traits, children can be so unforgivingly cruel within their social circles. I did get my share of hand-me-down Lego and Play-Doh though, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

I've always been well ahead of the curve regarding intelligence, even as a boy. You could have a full blown debate with me at the age of 2, I was capable of long-division by the age of 7, and by the age of 12 I had designed, in full, the blueprints for the extension of what was then our house, which were later used directly by the construction company to build the annexe into which my Nan moved. But what do smarts get you when you're young? Fame? Fortune? No. They get you bullied.

High School was no better, I never made it easy for myself. When you're in the top class in every subject, have a bowl haircut, you aren't exactly the most attractive thing on two legs due to the ravages of puberty and a severe lack of fashion sense, and you write poetry in your spare time, you might as well have a large target painted on your back. There's only so much a person can bottle up before they inevitably have to vent, and it was my parents that got the sharp end of the sword more often than not. While I was a quiet, shy and conservative individual at school, within the confines of my own home I became a person akin to Vicky Pollard - if you don't know who that is, Google is your friend.
Unfortunately, due to a failing marriage my father had a short fuse, at the end of which burned a violent temper. One day during one of my adolescent strops, I pushed him a little too far. My dad is a large man. Not fat, well at least he wasn't back then. A former Rugby player, he cut an imposing silhouette at 17 stone. When you're a frail teenager who's about 10 stone when ringing wet, and a tank of a man decides he's had enough of you, there's only ever going to be one outcome. I lost two teeth that day.

I don't hate my father for what he did. It wasn't right and I know for a fact he's never forgiven himself for it, but the strict discipline of my upbringing has contributed heavily to shaping my personality into my adult life. I wouldn't be the person I am today without the occasional backhand when I stepped out of line, something I believe is now lost to the doldrums of modern day rules and regulations, perhaps not for the better.
My dad has since re-married a wonderful woman who brings out the very best in him, and while I will never have the same kind of temperament as my father once had, I hope that one day I can amount to even half the man he is. He's a legend and a friend and I love him dearly.

It wasn't until about a decade ago that I made a stand, shook off the shackles that had weighed me down throughout my fledgling life, and embraced the person I was meant to be. Out went the shy, quiet, conservative youth, and in came the outgoing, confident person you all know and love today.
I'm not saying that my life has been perfect since this so-called 'phoenix rising'. I've had two long term relationships, both of which have failed and neither of which were anyone's fault other than my own (these will again be the subject of a later blog). I haven't found fame, I haven't made millions of pounds and I've seen good people who are very close to me suffer bad things. Do I like everything that's happened in my life? No I don't. Would I change any of them? I don't think I would. I'm not a believer in everything happening for a reason, I think the notion of 'fate' is a far fetched ideal clung to by those who need to embrace hope to get by, much like followers of religion, and there's nothing wrong with that if it works for you. What I do believe is that it's how we react to the situations we're presented to in life that defines us as people, which finally brings me back full circle to the subject matter of this blog post.

Why start blogging now at the age of 27? Truth be told I've become a victim of what I consider one of the strongest psychological and emotional workings that a human being can ever be subjected to. A phenomenon of sorts that can turn lives around and shape the future for generations to come. I am of course talking about inspiration. I've been inspired - you know who you are, and you may not like it but you too are likely to be the subject of a future blog post.
As for the purpose of the blog? I guess it's just an outlet for my thoughts and feelings, perhaps personal and perhaps based on current world events. I may even take to Facebook to ask the people for a subject matter to explore, who knows? We'll have to wait and see. If nothing else, it'll help me articulate my thoughts and feelings into words, make sense of my life and share the inner workings of my mind with anyone who cares to listen.I can't promise a schedule of regular updates and I can't guarantee that they'll be interesting or enjoyable reads for everyone. They will be portholes into my life that those who stand on their tip-toes and peer into may find intriguing, although I suspect many won't take the time out from their soap opera's, TOWIE or the Jeremy Kyle show to do so, such is the state of our classy Britain.

I'll discontinue my ramblings there. If you managed to read this far then I thank you for your attention and apologise if you feel I've wasted your time - you aren't obliged to come back, but you're very welcome to do so.

Pie out.