David Mitchell and Victoria Coren Mitchell: A perfect love story

I’m pondering joining someone else’s relationship so the inevitable demise will be made worse due to the amount of people involved. It’s simple maths.

The Mitchell-Corens are my favourite celebrity couple. She’s cool and beautiful and he’s wry and likes jigsaws, and they’re both wildly clever.

I read his autobiography; it made me weep. She wasn’t ready to commit to him, so he did the gentlemanly thing and pined for her. PINED. Who pines anymore? It’s gloriously 18th century.

I’ve tried pining, it mainly involves me penning bad poetry whilst lying down. It’s far easier to just throw oneself at some unsuspecting and hopefully welcoming stranger.

However, pine he did. Then eventually, when he won her heart and proposed, she answered “Of course”.

Of course she was always going to marry him. Of course it was always going to end like this. OF COURSE. After the pining, obviously.

And now they have a lovely daughter, Barbara, and from the one photo I’ve seen of them, they look normal and knackered and happy.

I think I’d be a great addition to their family. Me, Dave, Vicky and Babs. I could do crosswords and reenact my favourite Peepshow scenes with David. I could get Victoria to teach me poker and drink gin with her. She could tell me about the porno she made.

If you haven’t seen Vicky’s show, Only Connect, I’ll quote an ex boyfriend on it “I came for the boobs, but I stayed for the quiz”. It’s a cracking programme.

I’d also get to hang out with Giles Coren who is a fox. So Christmas would be good.

So, as an alternative to marrying Spencer Matthews, who I’m beginning to suspect is too much like me from the comments on The Jump; an attention seeker; mercurial; a risk taker;  wouldn’t complain about taking two women out at once… I’m proposing the Coren-Mitchells let me join them.

We could be The Mitchell-Coren-Bundells and I’ll tell you now how it ends – with me running off with Robert Webb and his wife.


Bar Staff – with great power comes great responsibility

Bar staff. You all need to be more like Spiderman.

By working behind a bar, you instantly become 23.5% fitter.

One: You’re giving us booze. We like booze. It makes us forget we’re on a cold, long, lonely trudge to the grave. Plus, the more we drink, the more attractive you look.

Two: You’re on a raised platform LIKE A STAGE and all the chairs are pointed towards you, this has a double whammy effect of making you look taller and making us just look at you.

Three: You’re paid to listen to our nonsense. You’re bored so you may as well do. We don’t care you’re getting paid, in fact we’ll tip you too for the privilege of your understanding non committal comments.

I can’t count how many bar staff I’ve been in love with. I can’t tell you how often I’ve abused the tricks of being a member of that beautiful, boozy tribe.

But you must be careful. Because otherwise you’ll end up in a 3 month relationship with an insecure narcissist who demands you never wear your favourite joggers around them.

Or in a car with someone serenading you with “You were always on my mind” because they couldn’t stop cheating on their girlfriend.

Or simply crying because the beautiful Australian has continued with their travels.

So bar staff, on the whole, I love you. But try not to be dickheads please, we’re just mere mortals. Remember, you hold the power, you need to use it responsibly.

You should need a license to practice romance

I think romance should be more carefully monitored.

There should be stricter, legally binding rules we have to follow.

Everyone should have to carry two references, one from an ex lover and one from a friend that you have to show the person you’re dating. Because do you know what? If you have had numerous partners and you describe them all as having been dicks – it’s FAR more likely that in fact, you are the dick. A clear reference from somebody you have been romantically involved with and not traumatised will prove for definite you’re not an emotionally unavailable psychopath.

The reference from a friend is even more useful. I suggest lying on the form should be punishable by death so you’d have to give it real consideration whether your mate is okay to handle any form of romance or if they’ll actually be turning up on your doorstep crying, chain smoking and clutching a bottle of cheap gin within the month.

Your license should be revoked for varying lengths of time depending on your crime. You can reapply after the time is up.

Here’s a few examples of crimes against romance (let’s not dwell on where they’ve come from)

Person: “I love you…As a person” LICENSE REVOKED.                                          Me: *Totally ignores second half of sentence* LICENSE REVOKED. That would have saved 3 months of unanswered texts and boring tearful conversations with friends…To save you the trouble, I love you AS A PERSON very much does not mean the same thing as I love you.

Person: “I quite fancy your mate. But y’know, I’ve come out with you tonight”. LICENSE REVOKED.                       Me: “Yeah, that’s fine, I’m seeing a couple of other people anyway and I’m in love with someone else”. LICENSE REVOKED. What actually followed was 6 months of us destroying our own self esteems for absolutely no reason. Also, I wasn’t in love but he gets the honour of being in a future blog topic “People who say I love you on first dates should then be forced to marry you”.

Me: *I might get in contact with that person I used to see ten years ago who made it very clear they didn’t want a relationship* LICENSE REVOKED.               Person from a decade ago: *This is a really good idea. We should definitely do this. By the way; I’m not a relationship person.* LICENSE REVOKED. When does a romance become a saga? Because this felt like a fucking saga. Someone should have made a tapestry.

Essentially, if we had to be deemed fit for romance a lot of sorrow and nonsense would be avoided. We’re all as bad as each other at saying what we want so having the Love Police around to make things crystal clear would be helpful. Your crime would be instantly made public and you’d have to sit down and think about what you’d done and if in a year’s time your romantic partner wanted anything to do with you then fine but it would be at your own risk.

CULPABILITY people, that’s all I ask. I’m willing to abide by the rules, I should have been benched numerous times in my life. By my rules I’d be on at least marriage number 4.

So take a little time out. Google images of Spencer Matthews or Ryan Gosling’s sister at the Oscars. Or both, whatever gets you through.




The Spencer Matthews Possibility

After I break up with someone, I like to treat myself to one completely unobtainable crush, to encourage myself to start showering again.

Last time it was an asexual homosexual man.

This time it’s Spencer Matthews.

I don’t watch Made In Chelsea (apart from if my housemate is watching, and I will admit to getting quite worked up about Binky and JP – Binky, you love getting tipsy and copping off with boys, that’s grand, you don’t need boring horrible JP quashing your spirit) and I know next to nothing about Spencer, but something about his cheerful disposition when he dislocated his shoulder after Gareth Thomas hurtled into him on The Jump made me realise this Etonian was The One to help me recover.

So for the foreseeable I’ll be daydreaming about what it’d be like if Spencer Matthews started hanging out with me and my friends. Would he help us out with digging down the allotment and make polite conversation with the affable Davids that surround our plot? Would he help me name the scarves I knit?

“Yes darling, you should pay another homage to Morrissey with this one, everyone will want knitted goods that remind them how hateful it is to have successful friends.”

I wonder if he’d enjoy a board game evening, or perhaps he’d like to play table tennis down the park.

All I know is his sportsmanship and boyish smile appeal to me, and Spencer, if by any chance you ever hear about me, you’re always welcome round for a brew and a biscuit.