The Bold and the Beautiful
Chronically depressed with the impending threat of spending another Valentine's day alone (instead of in the Ivy with Brad Pitt) I try to work out where I've been going wrong in my time in fair Oxford. It's not as if I haven't been working hard: last term my pulls read like a list of top fantasy men - a marine, personal trainer, rugby player, break dancer (remember the fit one at the union ball?)... but, in accordance to sod's law, none of them lived anywhere near Oxford, in fact, one guy didn't even know he was in Oxford. And so I have long arrived at the conclusion that Oxford is lacking in fit men (and certainly void of straight ones).
A serious plan of action was therefore needed and back-up arrived in the form of a friend of mine (also single). After lengthy discussions a decision was made: over the next few weeks we would reshape our lives - we were going to have Bond-girl bodies and the man to go with it. So, after having spent five days on a draconian fitness regime, and feeling totally irresistible, we decided to venture into Park End with the Oxford U21 rugby team; we were to ignore the revolting sticky floor in pursuit of love!
My prayers seemed to be answered when shortly after arriving I was introduced to a well-spoken, Surrey-bred, pleasant-looking rugby player that after five minutes had invited me on holiday to his house in Phuket. I realised that something was strangely amiss when, after thirty minutes he still hadn't pulled me: drunk men usually act within the first thirty seconds. Could it be that he was just being charming and gentlemanly? I didn't think so.
While giving me a piggy-back home, his friend unfolded the mystery. The bastard had a girlfriend.
My hopes of having better luck at the Bridge a few days later were ruined when immediately after arriving, good-looking-bastard-with-a-girlfriend approached. Charming as ever, he kissed me on the cheek and showered me with compliments, he clearly wasn't planning on telling me that he was wedded to another. I decided to use the hard-to-get tactic and sashayed away, flicking my hair back as a defiant gesture. Already totally wasted after a glass of wine, (yes, really, it is possible!) I found myself being consoled by two lovely men. Of course, nothing could have happened with them either, because I had now realised that there was there was another obstacle to 'The Plan' - all straight men in Oxford have girlfriends.
6th Feb 2003