CNPS numbers spotted 2 (731)
I seem to have been dating forever and yet even after tonight with number 29 there are still three more weeks of this madness left.
I have a gig on Sunday and still have not written a word of the show. I don't imagine this gig is going to be very good. Or maybe if you like to see a man squirm it could be the best gig ever. It's not like I don't have lots to talk about already; in fact I almost have too much to even start putting it down on paper. But it's still swirling around in my head - disjointed words and ideas looking for an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of type-writers and an infinite amount of Tippex to knock it into the right order.
It would be easier to sort out if I wasn't still right in the middle of my dating Marathon.
I bumped into Stewart Lee from off of BSB's "Up Yer News" (he's done other work since this, but nothing has been of such high quality. I liked him back in 1990, when you had never even heard of him. And everything he'd done since is shit. So I am best at liking him)this evening in Soho. He expressed some scepticism about my dating project, suggesting that maybe it wasn't so much an artistic endeavour as a way to get to go out with loads of women for my own gratification. I was not only shocked by this slur (even after all this time he has the perception to see right through to my very soul), but wanted to laugh in his opera-directing face.
Does he really think that taking out an endless parade of beautiful women gives me any pleasure? Does he not see the inner torment and psychological damage this is causing me? The number of years I am losing from my life? How I yearn for the company of another man? A man who farts and scratches his balls and is unable to express himself emotionally and has not perception about how anyone else is feeling?
At least Stew was good enough to have no perception about how I was feeling - if he had he would at least have farted or rearranged his gentitalia through his clothing - and that was some small comfort to me. He's not all bad, despite his misanthropic demeanour and love of "We Will Rock You!"
All the women I have dated have been so great that is actually really difficult to get my head round which ones I like and which ones I am going to see again and which of them I will eventually marry and in which order. I love them all, I love them crazily and they love me back, that's why they stay with me.
For a night.
Until I start talking about CNPS, Okapis or my singing skull choir.
Then they make their excuses and leave.
But unlike okapis women are not largely interchangeable and should not be judged merely by the appearance of their rear ends (that's right. They are NOT like okapis. I am a feminist), so how do I overcome the inner turmoil I am feeling and decide which of the 50 I really like?
Their personalities?
No.
Our shared interests?
Don't be ridiculous.
The one with the biggest bazoomas? ..... No.
Well.
No.
My friend Ben Moor came up with an excellent solution (we were chatting on instant messenger so I don't know if he was farting or scratching his balls, but I'd say it was a fair bet that he was) Why don't I just wait for the lottery draw of the Wednesday after all this is over and then re-date/marry the women whose numbers correspond to the main draw lottery numbers that come up that evening?
I can then marry the women in the order that the numbers come out of the machine, perhaps having a long running secret affair with whichever lucky woman is the bonus ball.
Of course this does mean that date 50 will miss out on a chance to be one of my wives, but I will make this up to her on the night by making love with her for free, rather than charging my usual £200 fee (so far, let's just say I haven't made back the money I've been spending on the dates through this arrangement). Or I'll get her a box of chocolates. Nice ones. It's her choice.
Some people might think this idea belittles women, romance and the idea of love itself, but I think it is an excellent metaphor for the random nature of how we end up with who we do. Most people marry someone they happen to sit next ot in a pub, or meet on a bus or in a public toilet. You might as well berate them for their random choice. After all they have not met every person in the world to find out who it is that they actually love the most.
And I am definitely going to do it.
So if you are one of the 50, don't forget your number and keep an eye on the lottery draw of the 16th June.
It could be you!
