Life is hard and haunted. The world is a mess, I am a mess. But I cannot just focus on the darkness and the panic: in order to keep driving forwards through the tricky stuff, I need to fill my tank with occasional joy. So I text a guy I vaguely know and I ask him to bring me tequila. And his dick.

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Look look! I’ve found it! After years of sifting through terrible dating ‘systems’ and advice that amounts to ‘treat women like they’re vending machines‘, I think I’ve found the worst online dating strategy of all time. One that misses almost every conceivable mark. Are you ready? Here it is…

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To the one night stands. To the fucks who didn’t love me, or ever need me to love them: a heartfelt thank you. You were not mistakes, but memories.

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Fully aware that I am about to launch into ‘why GOTN is wildly irritating’ territory, I ask the third guy in the space of a week: “You say you like me but… what exactly is it that you like?” It’s not that I want him to kiss my arse, I genuinely need to know the answer. Without a real answer to that question, I don’t think I can meet him. Dating during Covid has helped me realise that what I’m after in a date has been refined – or just better defined – since the last time I was single.

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Back when I was dating, in the times Before Him, a mate used to sometimes ask the question: “is he a friend? Or a Good Friend?” Good friend – that’s how we discerned them. The boys I was fucking from the boys I was not. I’m gonna tell you now about one of my Good Friends.

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