Men and voters

It's been a rare day at home, alone, and I've been efficient, defrosting the freezer for the first time ever, doing laundry and reoiling my kitchen worktops. I've also been uncharacteristically quiet - I sang along to the uke for a while, but I've spoken to no-one and not said a word aloud, other than a reprimanding sigh of 'Janey!' when my absent-minded whistling Waterloo Sunset started to drive even me to distraction. It's been a productive and pleasant enough day and I'm trying to save money and avoid restaurants, but solitary loafing, always craved in theory, is rarely as glorious in practice, and as the hours have whiled away, I've found myself mulling over two things: men, and the coalition government.

Politics first. The ConDems have just celebrated their first 100 days in government, and the verdict from this one-girl jury is not positive. I stand by my reasons for voting LibDem: my principal issues were education and Parliamentary reform, and the Liberals seemed my best hope for both. Equally, I can still see why I supported the coalition with the Tories - the Libs badly needed to get away from the accusation that they've had no experience of government, and I believed that the agreement for a referendum on AV was a fair compromise.

But everything's fucked up. By scheduling the referendum for the same day as local elections, Labour support for the vote evaporated (although it's questionable whether we ever would have had it in the first place), which mean that getting even AV, a watered-down demi-solution if ever there was one, is now pretty much impossible. And in the meantime, the Tories' godawful academies policy and terrifying NHS shake-up (that will lead inexorably to privatisation), their pathetic JSA plans, the austerity measures which hurt women, children and the poor most of all, and their disgusting but unsurprising inability to tax the richest has made me sick to my stomach - although the fumes from the Danish wood oil in the kitchen are doing their bit. The left-wing papers today are crowing about the new A* grade at A Level, using the predicted results as further proof that the education gap is widening. No shit, Sherlock. Meanwhile, state schools' only hope is that local parents are rich enough to be able to spare the time to take over. Hell in a handcart. I'm deeply disappointed that Nick Clegg has turned out to be so spineless, and feebly hope that Simon Hughes can exert some influence - the LibDem conference in late September should be interesting.

And men. There's a boyban and I was well behaved last night, successfully repelling a possible suitor by being on my spikiest form. Nah, in fairness, it was more complicated than that - it really wasn't clear whether he was interested or not, but I only found out after he'd left that he had been waiting ages to say goodbye to me, and I'd only bothered to dismissively wave at him because he was leaving at the same time as a (single) girlfriend of mine, and I'd assumed they were leaving together, as in, together, and I was vaguely stropping. Turned out they weren't, and my utter lack of interest in his departure has almost certainly ensured that that was the last I'll ever see of him. No great loss though - if he didn't have the cojones to step up and ask for my number then he's probably not got the cojones to cope with my electric intellect and cheese-wire wit.

Concurrently, without actually going on any dates, I have still managed to find a way to self-flagellate, chastising myself for being rejected by a boy who has never met me. I asked him out on a date over email weeks ago, before the boyban, and we engaged in protracted emails, him largely rebutting me but always making clear that his reasons were nothing to do with my appeal - it wasn't me, it was him, timing was off yadda yadda. Meanwhile, I know, he is single and looking. Annoying. Much as I'd love to believe that it's not me, it's him, I am a loyal disciple of the cult of He's Just Not That Into You - I don't know a single guy who's ever, EVER ended something (or not begun it) with a girl because of timing, or shyness, or work, or anything else. The only reason a guy doesn't date a girl is because he doesn't think he'll like her. He hasn't seen my photo so I can at least comfort myself that he is not rejecting me based on my appearance, but he does read LLFF, so I'll assume that the self-pitying and over-earnest whining that goes on in these paragraphs is clearly not the irresistible aphrodisiac I'd imagined. In fairness, I can understand the contents of this blog being deeply offputting to a potential date, but these words have won me male fans in the past. OK, one fan, and it didn't end well. Regardless, this guy is not interested and I'm annoyed. He's a writer and I'd hoped he'd be able to separate the online persona from the truth. Sure, I'm 100% honest on here, but it's not the whole picture. ANYWAY. I don't know why it bothers me - just as he doesn't know the real me from Eve, I don't know the real him from Adam, so how can I feel any sense of outrage or rejection? I dunno. I just can.

After far too much beer and wine at the ukulele hootenanny last night, Vikas asked me a question along the lines of whether or not I was happy. Happy? I asked. Yes! Sure, I knock back 20mg of anti-depressants every day, but that's medicine, like insulin for a diabetic, and as long as I take it, I think I'm one of the happiest people I know, actually. Sure, I have my bad days, just like anyone, and I vent about things on here as though I'm a candidate for anger management, but the truth is that deep down, on the whole, I'm a smiling, grateful 33 year old. I lucked out big time with my flat, my job is totally bearable and secure, I have great friends, my parents are fantastic and I love them to pieces, I have mornings when I walk naked past the full length mirror and don't spontaneously vomit at the body opposite, I'm headily excited about going up to Edinburgh, and then to Morroco, and to the States next year, I have my health, all four limbs, I can breathe in and out without a machine... it's all gravy. "So why," asked Vikas, "do you want to find a man so much?" I was a bit startled, and not sober enough to reply properly. Even now my answer isn't particularly helpful or representative - there's something there about the mating instinct and biological clocks, as well as an inate urge to replicate the joy that my parents' relationship so clearly brings to them. I don't think my desire for a partner is particularly rational. Relationships clearly bring as much heartache as happiness, which, when added to the vulnerability of putting all your eggs in one man's basket, and the restrictiveness and boringness of having kids - well, it's obviously not sensible. I'm happy now. Why do I want to rock the boat? I dunno. I just do.

But not now. The boyban continues - without it I'll get even crapper at meditating. Now I must go and watch Danish wood oil dry.