The United Dates of Claire

I am fairly sure that it was a quotation from someone like Tallulah Bankhead or Marylin Monroe, probably not the most ideal romantic role model, but one that seemed perfect for the "I'll be fabulous any minute now" me that I was at around age 19. She said something to the effect of, rather than searching for that one suitable man, you should go out of your way to date as many unsuitable men as possible. Seemed like a clever enough plan to me. I couldn't - indeed, still can't - think of anything worse than reaching old age and sitting around wringing my hands wailing "what if?" and "if only!" - so it made sense that in order to avoid settling down and always wondering what else was out there, I would make sure that by the time I settled down, I would not only knew what else was out there, but would have dated them all just to make sure. Nearly 10 years later, I have indeed worked my way through plenty of unsuitable - though fun - blokes, and a few lovely but not quite ones.

There was Nicholas, the engineer whose firm I temped at, who talked about sausages a lot. I don't mean that in some dodgy metaphorical way - he was French, and literally liked to discuss various types of sausages. I invited him to a party at my flat and, giddy with his acceptance, forgot to plan the party until the night before when my then flatmate and I frantically rang round everyone we had ever met begging them to cancel their plans and come to our 'party' instead. It worked, and Nicholas and I had a somewhat lopsided - due to his full leg cast following a rugby injury - encounter on my front doorstep. After a couple of dates I bored of the sausage talk and soon after met Andy who was born on the same day as Jon Farriss - in fact, it hit me a while ago that in addition to Andy, I've also dated a bloke called Jon, an Aussie bloke (okay, a few Aussie blokes) and a drummer - it seems that I am unconciously Dr Frankenstein-like trying to build myself a Mr Farriss the Youngest. In the continuing absence of the real one showing up on my doorstep to declare undying love, I fear that I might next have to go after a bloke with a penchant for wearing sparkly trousers. Then there were the two actors, best mates, who thought it hilarious to constantly badger my flatmate and I for a foursome - we once called their bluff to see how they'd react and after a few bottles of wine spent a few minutes half heartedly snogging before I and one of the blokes got bored of the whole thing so went to my room to have a chat while the other two got on with it in the living room.

This was all before I left London for the first time. In the next few years, I learned that Canadian men are very flattering - sometimes confusingly so. A bloke I was head over heels with patiently sat me down to tell me how amazing I was rather too many times before I realized that this was his Canadian way of dumping me (poor bloke - can you imagine how his heart must have sank each time I gaily replied "well thanks, you're not so bad yourself. I'll call you later then!") Americans are quite brilliantly - although not always romantically - straightforward: "so I am really not in a place for a relationship right now, but you're pretty hot so I'll take you out a few times before I stop calling - how do you feel about that?" (Answer: "err, okay") Italians predictably romantic yet chauvinist (it seems that my eyes are like stars but, like all women, I can't drive) and Australians not only straightforward but somewhat impatient ("I've been talking to you for 5 minutes now - do you want to root or not?" - direct quote, by the way).