The Magic Number.

In an age where cross-dressing is the norm and where people think it’s okay to wear denim-on-denim, it’s odd to think that the number of people one has slept with, still holds so much responsibility for defining a person. Normally, I’d be of the opinion that it doesn’t really matter. But as of late, I’ve had a change of heart and think that actually, it does have a lot to answer for.

I’m not condemning men or women for sleeping with lots of different people but I think that, in all honesty, it can change your opinion of how important you are to them in the first few weeks of getting to know each other. If a guy tells you that he’s only slept with a few people, a couple of relationships and a couple of regrettable one night stands, then you think; normal guy. But if he says that he’s slept with over forty women at the age of roughly 22, most of which were ‘awesome one night stands’ then (correct me if I’m wrong girls) alarms bells go off in your mind.

I don’t know whether or not this stems from my Catholic girls school education where if you even kissed a boy you were called a slut, but I really do think people should start choosing who they sleep with, with a little more caution. I have a number of Christian friends who believe that sex should be something kept within marriage and although I would never agree with abstaining, I’m starting to think it’s actually probably a very nice thing to do. I’d hate to know that on my wedding day, my husband had slept with a ridiculous number of random women. Although knowing that I was the one who managed to pin him down for more than one night of fun would probably be rather satisfying.

I’m not saying that people who sleep with lots of different people are ‘dirty’ and I’m certainly not ignorant enough to believe that they’re more likely to carry an STI; it’s really more of an ‘emotional’ thing. I think it’s nicer knowing that you a) know all the names of the people you’ve slept with b) liked them all and c) you would still say hello to them if you saw them in the street instead of running in the opposite direction.

During a sex education class at sixth form, someone was made to stand on stage and have tape stuck to the hairs on his arm. The first time the tape was removed, it was painful, memorable, and the hall erupted in laughter and screams. But as the plaster was repeatedly reapplied and removed, it became boring and meaningless. This was the Catholic School’s answer to a sex allegory. Naughty eh? But despite the whole experience being completely cringe worthy and at the time disregarded, I can’t help but wonder whether they had a point. Does sex become more meaningless the more people you “do it” with..?

A guy asked recently what my magic number was and on telling him, he multiplied it by three and said that he believed that was closer to the truth. Looking flabbergasted, I asked him whether I looked ‘easy’ and he explained that for women you multiply whatever they say by three, and for men you divide it by three. And that’s the real answer. This made me start to think about whether or not people past the age of fifteen lie about their sexual history. Surely not? Despite being favourable of a more modest number, I still think it’s important to be proud of your past and if you feel it necessary to tell porkies, then you’ve got to realise that surely something’s up.

Being completely honest? I think it’s more a personal thing. If someone I really liked told me they’d slept with five billion people, I probably wouldn’t care. And if my best friend admitted to me that she’d actually slept with six hundred, I’d probably rate her…

Besides, on the subject of sex, practise really does make perfect.

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The Single Life.

Having been involved with someone or another since the age of sixteen, I used to forget what it meant to be single. Now that I am truly riding solo for once, I remember exactly what it means; you can start thinking about yourself.

When you’re in a relationship, you’re forever envying your single friends who are going out and playing the field. But why? You think they’re out partying all the time and having fun. In reality, they’re envying you for having someone to watch a film and order a take-away with whilst they’re doing the leg work to find their Mr (or Mrs) right. I guess the old adage ‘The grass is always greener’ is rather apt in regards to Pat Benatar’s battlefield of love.

However, there are undoubtedly both positives and negatives in regards to both relationship statuses. As a singleton, you can pick your nose, wear a face mask at night and commit all those other little ‘single sins’ that you love but can’t execute when someone’s sleeping in your bed every night. But then again, as an attachedton you get someone to create bad habits with that only you two on cloud cupid find cute, like eating ice cream in bed or squeezing each other’s spots. Both of which are incredibly satisfying (apparently).

However, it has to be said that being both single and attached have one thing in common; loneliness. When you’re single, unless you have a little someone to text or think about, it is fundamentally really quite boring. And when you’re attached, it becomes impossible not to lose touch a little with your friends, making the single person inside you very lonely indeed. It’s normally the realisation that you’ve lost all communication with the outside world that makes you feel as if you might like to be alone again, because as either man or woman, you feel as if you’re able to ‘do what you want’ when you’re single. But is this really the case? And what do you actually want to do when you’re single? Yes, you can kiss lots of different people and date which is rather exciting I suppose, but when you’re in a relationship, you’re guaranteed all of those things anyway, plus the sex is always far more satisfying. And you know where you stand.

I must say however, I do feel rather liberated when I’m single (with the help of Beyoncé of course), but I’m not sure how long that will actually last.

One thing I am enjoying though is being able to wear truly enormous pants.

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The Riot.

People have been making Jeremy Kyle and Broken Britain jokes for many years now. Last week they became unfunny and very, very real. As I sat at home watching the events unfold on sky news, I kept telling myself that it would soon stop and attempted to convince myself that damage was minimal. Tuesday morning ushered in a different reality. Businesses had been destroyed, the elderly shaken up and homes were broken into then burnt to the ground. This is not and I don’t think ever was, a political protest. Nor do I agree with David Starkey that it has anything to do with race. It’s merely a bunch of mindless youths ‘having fun’ on my streets, destroying my home and upsetting thousands of Londoners because they don’t have a life.

So I urge you all (not that you’d ever read this) to go and get a life. There are lives out there for everyone, no matter how hard the struggle to find one. Put down your canisters and your pathetic stolen items. Just because you’re rocking the latest Nike high tops doesn’t make you a “bad man”. If you’d worked hard and paid for them, then you’d be a “bad man”. Right now, you’re just a twit in shoes that are probably too small for you. That’s just embarrassing.

As you can probably tell, I’m angry at what has happened in the capital and across the country over the last few days, but more than that I find it saddening. I’m saddened to think that the generation coming through after mine are being labelled as ‘rats’ and ‘feral’, although I must admit that I did wholeheartedly partake in this harrowing game of word association.

We mustn’t forget however that there are hundreds of young people out there today cleaning the streets and working with the emergency services to resuscitate the city. And so we should. This is our home and mindless vandals are trying to destroy it. What we all need to remember is that we totally and utterly outnumber them. The city is predominantly made up of decent, law abiding citizens who only have love for London.

So I urge you all, do not live in fear. Our gang is much bigger, and better than theirs…

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The Timing.

I’m forever feeling as though I’m running out of time. And considering how much of my life so far has been determined by phases of time such as going to school, moving onto sixth form and leaving home for university, I’m pretty glad that I have no commitments post graduation. I’m excited to have experiences ahead of me, undefined by Big Ben. However, I’ve begun to question how much timing not only determines our careers and education, but how much it also determines how we feel about people.

Think about it. If you know you’ve only got a matter of weeks to spend with someone before they leave the country or before you move on yourself, the ‘romance’ will be far more intense. It’s like that wonderfully romantic evening spent kissing that mysterious guy on a beach in Thailand. You know that he’ll probably turn out to be some bloke from Watford who isn’t particularly interesting… Sometimes I think it’s the transience of the kiss that makes it special rather than the location or perhaps even the person…

For instance, when you meet a stranger who you connect with, it’s the thought that you might never see them again that makes everything all the more urgent. It’s the ‘what ifs’ that make the whole relationship far more magical and you can forever blame timing for something that potentially wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Despite this cynicism, I do believe that we come across people who we would probably have a life-long friendship with, or perhaps even a long term romance but due to the motion of that little thing we call ‘life’, moments fade and people come and go. However natural it is to form fleeting friendships, I still think it’s a great shame.

Despite my own battle with timing and relationships, I think it has become an overused excuse these days and if you’re really into someone; time, distance and even money won’t be an issue. So if that certain someone who you know will only be around for a brief fifteen minutes, or couple of months, gives you butterflies, maybe it’s worth making sure that your time frame isn’t set in stone. Give them the little time you have and enjoy their company because you don’t know when that next wonderful brief encounter might come knocking…

Tick Tock.

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