Dating story: The Accountant

The Accountant and I encountered each other on the slightly more classy than most app: Elite Singles.

The Accountant (or TA to just use a label) lived in Stroud, just a briefish trip down the A40 from where I was living that year.

TAs profile was impressive: A partner in a national practice, having career and non-work fun in equal measures, cars, sailing and travel, yet books and films too.

And a dribble-worthy head and shoulders photo against a drop-dead gorgeous sun-sea-sand backdrop.

I may have actually dribbled.

There were nice, chatty emails.

We moved to the phone and TA was…


A bit of an Accountant.

I looked for the promised fun side of TA but it wasn’t forthcoming in that call.

Or the one after.

But hey, whatevs, let’s give TA a go, I thought.

I upped my game for the date.

I made sure that when I left the house I had done every conceivable thing to make yours truly look more than average.

When I checked myself in the mirror I thought I looked doable.

We met at a pub in the gorgeous Gloucestershire countryside, on a stunning summer evening.

TA was prompt.

And TA was Absolutely Gorgeous.

I may have dribbled some more.


It quickly became apparent that TA was an actual Accountant.

TA was dull, sense of humourless, boring, and, and, and…


And TA had all of the in-person sexual magnetism and charm of a haddock.

A not living haddock.

At the end of the evening TA made a facial lunge for my mouth which I managed to sidestep with a hug and a cheek-offering.

TA had a cold handshake.

I wondered if TA had been an accountant since birth.

I haven’t figured out how TA had such stunning good looks yet such an unfortunate demeanour.

But that’s how it was.

An absolute prize of a date on paper, but in real life?


Just no.

Friendly Fire from my own phone

I dropped my handset a few days ago, and broke the glass.

Annoying and expensive, as the phone is less than two months old.

So I took it off for an in-store repair which, to give Geek Squad credit for, they turned around in one working day.


I had backed up all my data, contacts, emails, photos and all that jazz, but when I carefully unpacked the phone at home and put the old SIM card in, the Samsung genie who lives inside the handset asked if I wanted to do a full restore from two days ago?

I said ‘yes’.

And it did it.

It just did the whole thing by itself; restored the phone from Samsung’s cloud-based services, and I didn’t need to touch the backup I’d taken at home.

But the phone has also restored the entire history of text messages sent/received, going back to mid-2012.

And I’ve sent/received a lot of texts over the last five years!

Most of these texts are mundane.

Some are not.

Some are very… pointed.

In a ‘phew *fans self*’ kind of way.

Reading texts to two people in particular got me very hot under the collar, to use a physically inaccurate euphemism.

As I was sitting at home last night, I started thinking about them.

What are they doing now?

Do they still live in the same places?

Are the phone numbers I have for them still live?

And do they still look as drop dead gorgeous as they did a couple of years ago, when I was very active in the dating world?

I sort of hate myself for even wondering these things.

I’m not looking.

I’m in a relationship.

But I couldn’t stop myself.

Is this normal?

The queen of Hearts she had some…

I am not a tart.

I don’t even know where the line is that separates someone from being ‘experienced’ from someone being ‘a slut’.

In fact, I don’t even know what those two things mean.

They are just words I hear. Around.

Does the fact that I have only ever had one yes that’s right just one one-night stand make me promiscuous?

Or does the fact that I’ve had one one-night stand make me a slut?

I don’t think so – to either question.

The people (around) who talk about anyone who has had multiple sexual partners would, if I exposed the truth, call me promiscuous.


Alright, I may have had (since I became sexually active (when I was 17 years old) 23 sexual partners, but all of those (with that one exception) were proper relationships.

Relationships that lasted months and, in a couple of instances, years.

There’s a lad at work, in his very early 30s, who has had 40 (FORTY!) sexual partners, and a significant amount of those were ‘encountered’ at ‘lads weekends’ on Ibiza, and Majorca, etc.

So they weren’t proper relationships or anything.

So is he a tart?

Or a slut?

Is he?

I just keep my numbers secret; nobody needs to know.

Do they?


When I looked at my LinkedIn contacts earlier and thought ‘Done that one, and that one, and that one, and ooh yeah done that one properly and so would do that one again and again, and that one’, and (eventually) ‘Oh My God I have had sex with way too many people I have met through work!’, then maybe it is time to review my dating strategy?

Not that I’m dating at the moment anyway.

Because I’m living with someone.

So that’s it, right?