The trial and conviction of Romeo Mudpuddle

First of all, apologies to Mudpuddlers that I have been quiet the last couple of weeks. To tell you the truth I have had a bout of nothing to sayitis, and felt it best to keep quiet and be a possible fool than open my mouth and leave no doubt at all.

Being a single Mudpuddler, and, as I have lamented on here before, a somewhat lonely one, I have taken to internet dating sites as a means to an end. I am starting to regret it. I have always found the dating scene hard enough as it is, being completely oblivious to being given the come on whether that be with a subtle flash of beautiful eyes, or a rather more obvious statement of intent. Internet dating isn't supposed to be harder! And yet, and yet it most certainly seems to be.

Now, I am no oil painting I'll grant you, but I always fancied I had a certain whimsical attraction, a raspy, rascally smile and such, but over the last few weeks of internet dating (which ought to be known as known as internet humiliation), I am starting to feel like I have a second head that everyone but me can see, or have had some supper from months ago welded to my face without my realising.

I have been meticulous in only trying to engage in conversation those lasses that write a good summary of themselves and seem to want to meet people exactly as I would like to think I am - kind, considerate, warm, amusing and adventurous. Can I get most of them to reply to my missives? Can I bollocks (excuse the French)! I am honestly at a loss to explain why anyone would sign up to a dating website, write all of that and then just ignore someone introducing themselves. 'No thanks' would do, or 'Sorry, I don't like bald guys' or something - but no, I get the cold shoulder from most and the occasional reply seems to consist of 'Sorry, you are not my type' - How do you know?! Seriously, how the hell can you tell without even saying hello to me? I guess 'not my type' equates to 'receeding hairline and no obviously a muscular himbo. So, I get to feel like the Elephant man or some creepy stalker in the shadows on a daily basis. Go me.

It's not supposed to be like this. I am one of the world's good guys - I am supposed to get the girl! And on those occasions when my mask slips and I am clearly not one of the world's good guys but a slightly roguish character - well, hell, I am still supposed to get the girl..... by dint of irresistable roguishness.

It's all a mystery to me, it really is. I am not getting any younger, but I seem to be getting ever more naive. And yet I have come to the realisation that the one thing I don't want to carry through my forties is the loneliness I have taken through a great deal of my thirties.
C'est l'amour, c'est la guerre.