The golden snitch and other dating disasters.

I’m always surprised when my Tinder/Bumble/Happn dates don’t go well.

Surprising right? I mean you’d think that using GPS technology to meet up with strangers would be 100% balanced?

If you’re not meeting your potential suitors in bars, you’re depending on apps such as Tinder and Bumble to find your next shag/bae/husband. And of course, being a 20-something singleton, I find myself swiping often.

This is where I came across Dave*. Decent pictures? Check. Brief but witty intro? Check. B(r)oom it’s a match. Before I know it we’re chatting away and plan to meet at a bar later on in the week.  First impressions? I wish he had popped some gum beforehand. Second impressions? He seemed nervous. This quickly dissipated as we drank more. Drinks turned into dinner, dinner turned into cocktails, cocktails turned into a sloppy pash at the end of the night.

Now with every potential suitor there are always alarm bells. This guy’s red flag was that he played quidditch. Competitively. Yes that’s right, he played a fake sport where you run around chasing a ball pretending to have a broom in between your legs. Sexy? Not so much, but he clearly took the ‘sport’ of Quidditch seriously, seeing as he not only played, he was a vice captain as well.

But he had good chat so I decided to go on two subsequent dates with him. Perhaps if I didn’t encourage Quidditch chat he would get the idea that I wasn’t a huge fan. However it was on our third get together that he tells me he wasn’t sure our relationship had legs. I had to pardon myself as I was unaware we were even in a relationship after three meetings. But the real reason he was apparently dumping me, was that he didn’t see me fitting into his hectic work and Quidditch life.  I wasn’t meant to be his golden snitch.

Good Lord you know times are rough when you’re shot down because you don’t share a vested interest in a fake sport.

Then I met with Graham* the man who wanted to caress me at the dinner table. First dates, in my opinion, should be had over a coffee or drinks. A casual get together which can last anywhere from 20 minutes (where you fake a emergency phone call) to a few hours.

I met him at a local bar near my work. But one cider in and he’s wanting to hold my hand over the bar table, using his index finger to stroke my palm. Finding this completely cringe, I (not-so)subtly move my hand away. He tries again. He asks me why I’m not into PDA. I try and explain to him that it wasn’t that, it was the fact that I had only met him 15 minutes ago. He seemed offended and I didn’t get a follow up message the next day.

Then I met Adam*, a guy I had swiped yes for on Bumble. He seemed shy but there was an immediate physical attraction. But first, we had to go through the mandatory pleasantries; ‘what do you do for work, how long have you lived in London’.

Two cocktails in and this guy seemed to have had a confidence boost as he thought it was completely ok to ask I was interested in having a gangbang with housemates. Who says chivalry is dead?!

* Names changed to avoid potential awkward conversations.



The ‘Cool Girl’

The notion of the ‘cool girl’ is irritating as fuck…

Who is the ‘cool girl’ you may ask? She’s the girl who doesn’t care when you take hours to respond. She’s the girl who’s chill with you blowing her off last minute. She’s the girl who’s so down to earth and nice, the girl you take home to meet mumsy. She is flawless, doesn’t drink to excess and isn’t promiscuous.

But ladies and gentlemen this ‘cool girl’ is a façade. She’s not real. 

I mean it’s our own fault really, we try so hard to be the ‘cool girl’ when we first start dating a guy. I’ve been a culprit of this countless times. I would meet someone only to try and give them the impression that I was totally casual and didn’t have any expectations. Meanwhile, I’m my head I’m jumping up and down and picking wedding themes (bohemian chic btw). 

My ‘cool girl’ self would try to not be ‘too available’, (He didn’t need to know that I was staring at my phone at home waiting for a message to pop up). My ‘cool girl’ self would say I was totally sweet with a group hang instead of a one on one date. I would be the ‘cool girl’ and say its fine through gritted teeth when they would tell me that they wanted to ‘keep their options open’.


I would attempt to mould myself into the perfect ‘cool girl’, someone that guys would fall in love with and wifey up. I’d claim that I hated drama and was more of a guys girl.

What. The. Fuck.

If this is what the ‘cool girl’ is like who the hell are we kidding? Why the façade? What’s wrong with being up front? Being vulnerable and putting our cards out there? what’s wrong with being direct and telling someone you’re into them? What are we scared of? 

When you’re the ‘cool girl’ you can’t really say how you feel and heaven forbid you tell them what you want or that *shock horror you’re looking for something serious.


This social phenomenon has once again changed the way we date. We lure our prey into a false sense of security, they’re thinking they’ve found the perfect mate. But before they know it WHAM we hit them with the crazy.  God as if 21st century dating isn’t hard enough? 

So let’s kill the stupidity that is the ‘cool girl’. Let’s be honest with the way we feel because knowing what we want is normal. Speaking our mind is normal. To tell someone you like them isn’t crazy. To make the first move isn’t stalkerish, in fact its a baller move and I appreciate the hustle. We’re not emotionless robots so why are we acting like one?

Authentically Inauthentic

There was an uproar recently when an Australian ‘instafamous’ model came out saying that her life wasn’t what it seemed like. She stated that her mass posts on Instagram were mere ‘perfected’ moments, in which she would painstakingly take hundreds of photos, only to analyse each, searching for the ‘perfect shot’. Great lighting, good angles, this perfect shot is completed with a filter, smoothing out any imperfections.

For the brief moment that it takes her ‘fans’ to see and ‘like’ the photo, in reality, she would spend hours, sometimes days, creating, filtering and obsessing.

So this begs the question, how much can we really trust in social media? Just how authentic is it? How authentic are these ‘natural moments’?

Before I went travelling, I remember seeing people everywhere on my Facebook and Instagram feeds bragging about their worldly travels. #wanderlust. Bikini shot after bikini shot; I saw beautiful beaches, lakes and lagoons. I saw acquaintances riding camels in the desert, friends cliff diving in Dubrovnik and others road tripping through Italy. It seemed that everyone was off having these authentically perfect holidays and lives. It wasn’t until I went travelling myself that I realised how imperfectly perfect my travels were.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely took screeds and screeds of photos of the places I visited, I mean who wouldn’t? Posting on my various social media platforms allowed me to yes brag to others about my travels and what I was up to, but recalled a way to stay in touch with my friends and family who I was missing so much. Sure there was the occasional ‘wistful’ shot that looked natural (in actuality it would take 20 minutes of posing to capture) and sure, I’d take photos, choose what I deemed to be a good one, chuck a cheeky filter on it and post, but I dare you to find someone who wouldn’t.

I received messages from friends and family, each commenting on how it looked like I was having the time of my life. And while I was, I found it interesting to think about what social media doesn’t capture.

My Instagram didn’t mention the time I missed my flight in Athens and had to wait at the airport for 10 hours. My Facebook status didn’t note the time I broke down in Paris about missing home and doubted my decision to move abroad. Nor was I able to chuck a filter on the terrifying experience that was the trip from Athens to Croatia, where we had to pass the Macedonia border and spend a sleepless night on a wet and dirty WW2 train. These things weren’t advertised because who wants to hear about the negatives? Why shine a spotlight on the flaws of your trip when you can post a #tbt of you sipping cocktails in Ibiza? 

But doesn’t this give the wrong impression? it’s not just with travel either, people can post a group shot with the cringe #squadgoals but mention nothing of the time one of the ‘squad’ yelled at you, or got the wrong end of the stick. A blissfully happy couple shot doesn’t mention the time you fought when you were both too drunk. Nor does a #tbt depict how insanely lonely you feel sometimes. So who are we trying to impress? Im not saying we need to post pictures of all the bad times or the mundanities of life but maybe we should start looking at social media with a pinch of salt.

Social media brings the need to brag about your life, about the clothes you have or the holidays you take. You want to show everyone just how fabulous you and your life are, but the reality is, not everything and everyone is fabulous! We all have flaws and our lives are imperfect and that’s ok! So when you’re next stalking that girl on Instagram who seems to just have it all, remember that its not always what meets the eye.

Recycling: great for the environment, not so great for ex’s.

  1. You don’t recycle tissues once you’ve blown your nose
  2. You don’t eat food scraps you’ve thrown away after a meal
  3. You don’t re-use tampons

Ok sure the last one is a bit gross, but you get where I’m going.

I’m constantly hearing stories of how people are friends with their ex’s, how they go get coffees together or grab a drink after work, how they gab about their work and love lives.

I can’t be the only person that is thinks this is fucked up weird?

I’ve only been in two serious relationships and I can safely say that I’m not friends or even acquaintances with either of them. And I’m ok with that. While one of them has moved countries the other has blocked me on all social media. I’m not even friends with my past ‘flings’ – why would i want someone that’s been inside me chatting about the mundanities of their lives? Telling me about a promotion they’re going for or a lass they’re interested in?

Sure I might see cold and heartless but why would someone who I obviously couldnt connect or further things in a romantic sense want to be friends with me? Besides the obvious in that I’m fabulous, witty and outrageously charming (alright…checking ego) but surely they would feel the same?

I’ve had ex’s reach out to me to be ‘friends’ and I’ve given it a go, but it’s all ended the same, in me realising how much of a twat they are and why we finished things in the first place.

When you’ve never started things off in a ‘friendship’ manner how can you suddenly turn off chemistry? Turn off a connection? Turn off the fact that he’s cum on your face? Sorry mum.

You were never friends in the first place so what makes you think you can be now that you’ve ruled out a relationship?

After giving this theory a final run for its money, and mainly out of bored cusiosity, i caught up with an ex. We hadn’t ended things on a terrible note, I was just sick of being a second option for him.In the hopes of becoming ‘friends’ he invited me out for drinks with his work mates. I’m thinking ok, great, a casual environment and less pressure than a one on one catchup.

However my dear old lover spent most of the evening chatting to his friends and talking to me in the recess period while they were getting their next refil. Bless him he seemed nervous but I hadn’t taken a 20 minute train to talk to rando’s I’d never see again.

If anything this ‘friend’ catchup confirmed that no, we were never friends, and no, we probably won’t be. I pardoned myself from the situaton after two beverages and took my (not)merry self home. A few hours later he messaged saying that it was great catching up (?) and seeing me. He concluded his message with a smily face and an x….

A very friendly responce indeed…

Moral of the story? Once it’s over, RUN and don’t look back.

Knowing when to peace out…



While I had a few cheeky pashes on my travels, I had gotten to London and realised that my love life was lacking. And by lacking I mean non existent. So what does a single gal do in such a scenario? She re-installs Tinder of course!

I could immediately feel my inner cynic cringe at the mere thought. I had been through the Tinder cycle before and hadn’t really gotten much out of it besides potential fuck buddies and boys (note: not men) who were all talk and no action.

But alas I went ahead and logged myself back in and quickly remembered why Tinder was so much fun. It’s a fab ego boost and swiping through screeds of men makes you believe that there are eligible bachelors everywhere. I quickly matched with a fellow Kiwi in London who I had a few multiple friends with. I saw that one of them was a good girlfriend of mine from back home. So I obviously went into stalker mode and asked her how they knew each other. Turns out they met while they were travelling in Spain and shared a cheeky kiss. God I couldn’t even go to London and find a guy that wasn’t ‘tainted’ by someone I knew? Slim pickings my friend, slim pickings.

Nevertheless we quickly got chatting and I found that he had good banter, was cute and keen to meet me. Our first date was fairly typical for Tinder, we met at a bar for drinks. But it was probably one of the best first dates I had been on in a while, drinks turned into cocktails, which turned into dinner. A ‘quick drink’ turned into a two and a half hour date, we were getting on like a house on fire. As we hugged goodbye I sat on the train home patiently waiting for the ‘follow up’ text, you know, the text telling you how much of a fabulous time you had. But it never came. I quickly thought to myself that perhaps I’m too traditional and should put on my big girl panties and text him first. He quickly replied and asked when he could see me next.

We started regularly seeing each other and went on some pretty amazing dates. We went to an interactive theatre, visited Chinatown where we had out first kiss under the light-up lanterns and he surprised me with tickets to Book of Mormon. He was quickly proving himself to be charming, sweet and thoughtful. Not to mention he was cute, I felt like I was onto a winner. When we had sex it wasn’t a quick fuck wham bam thank you mam type of deal, it was fiery, powerful and passionate. He made me feel sexy and wanted.

The first month of dating was perfect, so what did I have to go and do? Have the ‘what are we’ chat of course! A chat that’s awkward in nature and really, if you’re the one who has to initiate it, it won’t go well. I don’t know what I was expecting. He told me that he still had feelings for his ex. Of course I immediately retreated and told him that I wasn’t going to be a second option, but he reassured me that he wanted to move on and he liked me so I decided to give him a shot. Red Flag 1.

He left to go back home for the Christmas holidays and during his three month holiday I had heard from him a total of about 3 times. Red Flag 2. It was New Years Eve when I got a phone call from him apologising for being slack, that he hadn’t been himself lately and wanted to take things slowly. Although I was still feeling a bit sceptical, I was game, however he didn’t really step up to his promises. 

What I did receive was weeks of half-assed attempts at making plans. I would make him dinner for 7 pm and it would be at 7 pm that he would ring and say he was 40 minutes away, like it was no big deal. I would tell him that I was stressed about problems back home and he wouldn’t listen, remember or even attempt to make me feel better. We went to a comedy show where he spent the night making snarky digs at me. That was the night I told him I had had enough. I was over being treat like crap and I didn’t deserve this. He turned on the crocodile tears once again and told me that he was sorry and that I was right. Once again I believed him against my better judgement. Red Flat 171794847.

I became so frustrated with him, I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t making more of an effort with me. Was I not good enough? Maybe he just wasn’t that interested in me after all…

The final straw for me was Valentines weekend. While we hadn’t made plans for actual Valentines Day, we had made plans to go on a pub crawl with his friends on the Saturday. But first we were having a flat party on the Friday night which I had invited him to. He decided it was appropriate to arrive at 11 pm, not give an excuse to why he was so late and jump into my bed at 11:30 pm – apparently this was enough socialising time for him?!

Albeit in a drunken state, I confronted him and told him that I was pissed. I told him that he should leave and none of this was ok. He obliged and I didn’t hear from him the next day, the same day I was meant to be meeting his brothers and cousins. Luckily I was in too much of a hungover state to over analyse his lack of communication. But I had had enough and already made up my mind. I was through with his excuses, done with his half-assed attempts and knew that I deserved better. I knew I needed to end whatever the hell we had going on.

In a somewhat cowardly move I decided to end it via text…on Valentines Day. I know what you’re thinking, ‘you heartless wench’ but I was in such an angry state that I couldn’t have given less fucks.


 I messaged him saying that it would probably not come as a surprise that I was unhappy and we were probably better of as friends. He replied saying that he agreed and that perhaps we weren’t that compatible. Ouch. Although I knew he was right, its always slightly painful when someone reiterates it and doesn’t give you the expected response. Where was his grovelling? Where was him telling me he was so sorry and that I was too fabulous to give up? Maybe I wasn’t even that fabulous to begin with…?

Surely I should have seen the red flags a mile off? I mean I had met my share of assholes so I should have seen this coming right? I think that relationships are always going to be a minefield and you’re always figuring it out, no two men are going to be the same and I suppose that’s what keeps it interesting…

10 Months On…

So it’s been a while since I’ve last updated my blog. Namely because I had forgotten my password. But also because I’ve been a busy wee lass!

I landed a full time job at a designer wallpaper and fabric company but only lasted three months because I couldn’t stand the repetitiveness or my soul being destroyed. 

I then ventured into the temp world, a world where you worked when you wanted and where you wanted. I was placed as a file clerk in a medical centre that specialised in boob, nose and other ‘self-enhancing’ jobs.

All the while I was still looking for full time work, a job that would look great on my CV and further my career. I managed to land a role as production coordinator at a media company working for Toyota and couldn’t be happier! 

Once I stopped worrying about finding a job, I began booking long weekends away, figuring out new things and places to try out. I really began to find my groove in this intimidating city, a city that can so easily get the better of you.

However some of my friends weren’t sharing the same sentiments. They were actually thinking about flying the coop, leaving London and heading back to New Zealand. While I understood their desire to return to the safety of their friends and family, hell I missed mine like crazy, what I couldn’t understand is why they would give up the opportunities that London brings. I suppose it’s as the old saying goes, ‘different strokes for different folks’, but I loved the idea that I could jump on the train and be in Paris within mere hours. I didn’t need to go abroad to see something new; I could venture to a new part of town, visit some new markets or even head to a different city within the UK and explore. I literally had the world at my feet. I finally felt like I was a true Londoner, I was a pro at navigating the tube, I hated crowds (and people for that matter…why why why tourist would you choose peak hour traffic to lug your backpacks around?!) and really got into the drinking culture, albeit perhaps a bit too much, but it’s always happy hour somewhere, right?!

10 months on and I find myself in a bit of a rut of sorts. When I first got here I loved that I was around kiwi’s all the time, the accent itself was comforting to hear. I was living in Clapham Junction, aka where ALL the kiwi’s resided and was surrounded. Sure this was great in the beginning, but I feel like I’m in a different place to where I was just 10 months earlier. I feel like I’ve changed and I want new things. I want to get out of this ‘kiwi bubble’ I’m in and venture out, I mean I hadn’t even made one British friend yet! 

But apparently Bumble now has a ‘bff’ version…*downloading….

Things they don’t tell you about moving to London Part II

  1. Supermarkets are amazing here. I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time in Asda.
  2. Transport on the whole is amazing, not having to wait more than 2 minutes for the next tube to rock up
  3. You’ll adjust to the ‘London walk’ pretty quickly and you’ll soon start to hate tourists (even though you were one a mere month ago)
  4. Because talking to strangers is frowned upon and seen as weird, you don’t have to make any awkward conversations with people
  5. There is so much to see and do here, and quite a lot of it is fo freeeee! (perfect for my peasant self)
  6. You’ll feel like a genius when you’ve figured out the tube map
  7. Using dating apps aren’t just seen as acceptable, but they’re encouraged *re installs Tinder
  8. SHOPPING – as soon as I make bank I am heading to Topshop
  9. The markets! Street food, boutique stalls, random antique’s – I could stroll the Portobello markets for hours
  10. You can go out on any night of the week
  11. There is a place called Cockfosters and I laugh every time
  12. Street performers are entertaining as fuck and free! And they’re almost everywhere
  13. You’ll cling to any New Zealander you meet, just because you miss their accent
  14. Some of the world’s most iconic buildings are right on your doorstep
  15. Tortilla – cheap and delicious Mexican. If you wink at the server they’ll chuck you some guac for free 😉
  16. Winter Wonderland at Christmas time – for someone who hasn’t seen snow, I’m pretty damn excited
  17. Londoners love my favorite meal – brunch – and there are ENDLESS amounts of brunch places to visit
  18. British men ❤
  19. The suave feeling when you swipe your Oyster card and it works first time.
  20. Even if you’re broke and living on someone’s couch, YOU’RE IN LONDON!

Things they don’t tell you about moving to London…

  1. There’s heaps to do! Sure, but you can’t afford any of it…
  2. Smiling at strangers is seen as weird and creepy, not friendly and welcoming
  3. You will gain weight
  4. Don’t bother thanking people – (see number 2)
  5. Stay to the right, ALWAYS STAY TO THE RIGHT
  6. KFC is not the same in London as it is in New Zealand. Where’s the chicken salt? What kind of fries are these?
  7. You will come across the strangest and oddest people here (ie a homeless man eating newspaper)
  8. Drinking is acceptable at any hour, on any day
  9. You can get any type of food you like at any hour, on any day
  10. There are foxes here, just roaming the streets like cats
  11. There are also lots of cats here
  12. You will walk more than you’ve ever walked before, and your legs will not thank you for it
  13. Bus drivers are rude and NOT helpful! (I have ended up in Surrey – a good hour away from where I’m living – on more than one occasion)
  14. Don’t make eye contact on the tube
  15. The night bus is not a place to meet friends
  16. Getting a bank account is an absolute nightmare
  17. You will get lost
  18. Make sure your phone is always charged because running GPS maps constantly drains your battery
  19. You will feel homesick and contemplate leaving
  20. You will stand out wearing your jandals on the tube

When the going gets tough…

When I moved to London I had a somewhat blazé attitude. Going against the better judgement of my parents I only packed summer holiday clothes. Now this was great while I was travelling through the likes of Greece, Croatia and Ibiza, but it would seem that i forgot the fact that I’d actually have to go on job interviews, that it wouldn’t be summer, I was no longer on holiday and London was starting to get fucking cold.

I also had a blazé attitude towards finding a job. I was naive in the fact that I thought it would be easy, that I would contact lots of recruitment agencies and they would do the hard yacka for me, simply put, I would breeze into a job.

Oh how wrong I was.

I signed up to about 6 recruitment agencies, each telling me that I was a ‘dime a dozen’, basically a cash cow for them to make money. They liked the fact that I was a New Zealander, had a British passport and was young with a lot of experience. They built me up to think I was some god-like rare creature that employers would be jumping at the chance to employ me! Again, how wrong I was.

I went on my first interview at a private school and immediately felt ‘off’ at the stuffy offices and intense woman that was interviewing me. I laughed at what I thought was a joke (it wasn’t) and needless to say, I didn’t get the job.

I went to another interview at a reputable water company, the role was my dream role and boy was I psyched. I got on with the interviewer really well and felt that I had answered every question on point. I left feeling confident and started thinking about how I was going to spend my first pay check.

But once again, it wasn’t meant to be. I didn’t get that job. But I was meant to be consoled by the fact that the interviewer said I was amazing, he enjoyed talking to me and that he saw me fitting in with the team well. Lovely sure, but how was this going to help me?

So here I am on a lowly Tuesday, watching a repeat of Jeremy Kyle, and letting the fact that I am unemployed sink in. London come on! Be good to this wee kiwi!

Welcome to London

Going from little old New Zealand, having never visited another country before, to packing my life up and moving to the mean streets of London was overwhelming to say the least. But it was what I needed to do. I had just turned 25, was single, still trying to get over a heartbreak, and was feeling restless. Nothing felt new anymore, everything felt dated and repetitive. I was sick of going to the same places and seeing the same people. Sure I would miss my parents and friends terribly – they are my rocks. But I knew that if I didn’t take the chance now, I never would.

So off I trotted with my life packed away in two suitcases to the airport. I didn’t expect to get as upset as I did, but the thought of not seeing my family for god knows how long overtook me and I blubbed like a baby. The entire plane ride I second guessed my decisions – was I doing the right thing? Would I be happy? Would I find what I was looking for? What would I miss out on?

Of course I had to fit in some travelling and site seeing first! I started with a two week Topdeck tour around Europe alongside a group of 35 other 20somethings. We hit Paris, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, Amsterdam, Rome, Florence, just to name a few. After,  I flew to Greece where I met up with some girlfriends and did another guided tour around the beautiful islands of Paros, Santorini and Ios. Next up, I took Croatia by storm for 10 days and absolutely fell in love with the country. I finished my holiday by exploring the Amalfi Coast and exploiting my liver with 5 alcohol infused days in Ibiza.

So here I was after the holiday of a lifetime, not really knowing how to feel. Unlike my other friends, I wasn’t returning home. I was just starting out. Thankfully I had friends in the country which meant I could hustle some free meals and couch surf for the time being. Thankfully both my parents are half pom which means I have a British Passport (cheers guys) and whenever I rang them they’d tell me to just relax and let everything soak in, that my heritage was everywhere. And while this was true, I found the whole experience overwhelming, daunting at times. So often I would stop and think to myself, “where the fuck am I?”


One thing London does better than New Zealand is transport, and a few recommended apps saved my bacon more than a few times. I couldn’t believe that I could just walk to the nearest station and wait (usually) a mere 2 minutes for a train/tube/bus to take me to my nearest destination. I thought I was going to miss my car terribly, but this would be a breeze. What wasn’t a breeze however was the stampede that is the London underground. I couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to be running? What were they running from? Where were they running to? Should I also be running? I also quickly coined onto the whole ‘wear comfy shoes on the tube’ memo after wearing my heels to an interview resulted in some painful blisters. But of course you can’t take the kiwi out of me as my interpretation of ‘comfy shoes’ were jandals.

So here I am in the dreamy and chaotic city of London just beginning a new life, a life completely and only for me. Making new friends, developing a new career, seeing and exploring absolutely everything is on the agenda. But first, I have to find a job…