Sod-oko

Had my first brush with Sudoko yesterday - with several hours to spend in one of the world's smallest airports in Germany.

Usually if something has been advertised and supported by Carole Voderman then I take it as a sign to stay well away from it - this includes 28-day detox diets, taking out massive loans to 'consolidate' my existing ones and getting hair extensions.

Anyhow, it lived down to my expectations. The numerical equivalent of word searches... needless to say I won't be buying the big book of Sudoko or subscribing to www.nothing-better-to-do-with-my-time.com anytime** soon.

*Perhaps not the latter.. I have had a stint of forking out five hundred quid only to end up looking like Bryan May's (ugly) siser - more of that brush (pun fully intended)with synthetic hair later.

** AKA www.sudoku-a-day.co.uk for anyone interested. Not that I've visted it. Honest.

I spy with my little eye..someone beginning with 'B'

1. Ben Hur. Fictional character - Charlton Heston will have to wait for the next letter to crop up ( is he still alive?) technically Ben-Hur was Judah Ben-Hur, so doesn't count this early in the alphabet anyhow

2. Bill Oddie - married and unavailable (I know this for a fact, already checked)

3. Bill and Ben. Perhaps not. They make Ben-Hur look real

4. Billy the Kid. Died in 1881. He was probably not the type you took home to your parents before he had decayed.

5. Bob Dylan ( is he alive? Note to self: need to brush up on alive/dead folks - Jonny Morris, Bob Dylan, Norris McWhirter - people you're not sure where on/under the planet's surface they may be)

Wow, how come I don't I anyone real, alive and male that has a named beginning with 'B'?

(Sudden flash of inspiration) Bertrand. New French landlord. Early thirties and gorgeously French. Am off to France next week...miust go and dig up my phrase book...au revoir...

Swanbucks

My friend Gordon Gecko* (after questioning my ability to use technology i.e. to have the nerve to text him when he's online) says I shouldn't go to Starbucks.

His argument is nothing but rational..... he says Starbucks makes tiny Russian babies beat swans to death with huge clubs whilst their parents hold guns to their heads, then they grind up the swans and put them in the coffee. AND the babies have to pay Starbucks not to be shot by their own parents. AND they have no money, so they have to pay with skin grafts, which Starbucks then uses to make their paper cups...

And, yes, I am smoking in the mornings. But only because nicotine and caffiene is a *far healthier* mix than nicotine and alcohol. And I don't usually drink before 10am - though there are a number of exceptions to that rule. One involving a Frenchman and a bottle of port, another involving a French girl and a bottle of gin (not as dodgy as it may sound), one involving a trip to New York and a bottle of Bicardi and the last being a mistake on my part (easily done).

* He's more of a Charlie Sheen than a Michael Douglas, though with more facial hair. So more like Charlie Sheen sporting a false beard.

** There's a bottle of dodgy holiday booze in our office and I've come close to opening it a few mornings - but don't want the finger pointed at me - may have to drink some one day and top it up with water, just like when I was a kid raiding my parents' drinks cabinet (before we moved to a pub which resolved the access problem).

Blind...

Well, last night I had a blind date.

With a guy called..well, let's call him A - seeing as am finished with people called 'P' though I'd start at the beginning of the alphabet, though could try to find someone with a name beginning with Q (more of that later).

First hurdle: finding the right pub in a crowded and rainy Soho with a Nokia that had given up for the day;

Second hurdle: finding the right bloke. I found myself standing over two blokes on separate but neightbouring tables, each with a newspaper (one: the new-look Guardian, one the Telegraph), a half-empty pint (Guard-bloke beer, Tele-bloke lager) and a mobile phone.

While I was texting my date-to-be, Guard-Lager looked up and mumbled at me in that scary-drunken-bloke-by-himself way so I gave him a haughty look, turned back to the bar , sent my text and then found out that he was none other than the bloke at the beginning of the alphabet. Not the best start.

My friend Pat had sent me some handy hints for a first date (courtesy of Marie Claire, so she claimed) :

- Flatter him
- Laugh at his jokes
- Touch him lightly on the arm
- Give him lots of information on yourself
- Don't get drunk

My marks out of ten:

- Flatter him (couldn't get a word in edgeways to do this: a poor 4/10)
- Laugh at his jokes (like a banshee? Probably not good to overscore here: 15/10)
- Touch him lightly on the arm (got to do this when I showed him how a tarantula walks - all it did was freak him out and scratch him with a false nail: 2/10)
- Give him lots of information on yourself (didn't get chance to flatter let alone describe myself in more than two words: 3/10)
- Don't get drunk (those two words were 'drunk' and 'bored': 1/10)

So, probably not the best.

Walked to the tube station with him where he had the chance to share his very *interesting* theory on how you can catch a tube to Mill Hill without walking up/down any stairs. A quick kiss on the cheek and then a 'I'll ring you' (we both said this and I suspect we were both lying).

Onwards and upwards. Next, the letter B.