YOUR FRIENDS' ACTIVITY

    Dan About Town

    • Treat them mean, keep them keen. I've always thought that was quite a wise phrase. And if you gave me a quid for every time I've seen it proved right, I'd be able to buy — something. Like a nice pair of jeans, or a coat.

      I don't tend to treat girls mean on purpose, I normally do it inadvertently. They love it. Or so I thought, until this week.

      After my last date with Carina, she texted me as soon as she got home, saying she had a nice time and breaking the 'x' barrier. I responded in kind. That was on Friday night. We exchanged a couple more texts in the coming days and agreed to go out on Wednesday week. She asked what I had in mind for our date. I replied four days later suggesting dinner (I'm very imaginative). So far, so smooth. But no.

      Carina replied the same evening saying she didn't want to go out with me any more because my "lack of effort/communication" gave her doubts about my keenness.

      I was astounded. This just hadn't happened before. Sure, girls had chastised me for not

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    • So a 20-year-old woman claims that squeaky clean singer Justin Bieber got her pregnant backstage at one of his shows. Mariah Yeater says sex with the whiny teen lasted "approximately 30 seconds" and that Justin refused to wear a condom. But most eye-catching of all in her vivid description of their alleged antics was the location, apparently taking place while she was "on some type of shelf".

      And this is where I have sympathy for Mariah. A shelf is not a nice place to make love. In fact, having sex in random places is overrated. What's wrong with a good old-fashioned bed? Here, in addition to "on a shelf", are five more of the worst places to have sex...

      On a beach
      Ah, it's so exotic and adventurous — there's even a cocktail named after it. Sex on the beach — woo!
      Or more accurately - noo!  Sex on the beach is an underwhelming and uncomfortable experience because of sand — a substance you don't want anywhere near your genitals due to its sharp, painful texture and tendency to get stuck

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    • dateDate two with Carina. The first was an unqualified success, now we're sitting opposite each other in Strada on a Thursday night and it's quite nice. She's looking at the menu and I'm looking at her. It's fine. Then I'm struck, without warning, by some kind of existential dating crisis just as they bring us the olives.

      Online dating is weird. It's about as organic as a Pot Noodle. Take two complete strangers and fling them together in the hope they will want to spend the rest of their lives together.  That's not going to happen, is it? Women - plucked out of a vast universe and plonked in front of me. Is she the one? Nope, next. Is she the one? Nope, next.

      But if only it were that simple. The journey towards "nope" is rarely so quick. Rather it's a destination you trundle towards over time — one date, three dates, six months — time ultimately wasted. Right now we're on one and a bit dates. I still haven't arrived at "nope" but I'm I'm already wondering when I will and why.

      Carina seems

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    • The one that got away

      By | Dan About Town – Mon, Oct 24, 2011 17:00 BST

      It happens, at my age, that your mates start getting married. And your exes get married. And also, the girls you had crushes on get married.

      That's what happened with Hannah. Hannah is a friend, or at least a good acquaintance, but we'd kind of lost touch, which is a shame because I think I could have easily fallen in love with her.

      Nothing ever happened between me and Hannah. Not even close. But every conversation we had was brilliant. It fizzed and crackled, we laughed and flirted. Chemistry, I think it's called.

      To clarify, Hannah isn't some outrageously attractive superwoman totally out of my league. She's just a normal girl with unspectacular looks. I just had a good feeling about her.

      But we were never more than pals. Either I was going out with someone, or she was going out with someone, or we didn't have a chance to talk properly. It just never came up. We saw each other rarely. We weren't close enough friends to go out for a drink together. Yet we were friendly enough

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    • I'm not a bad-looking man, but I wouldn't describe myself as a head-turner. Yet on a recent visit to a bar called Patch in St Paul's, I attracted more female attention in 10 minutes than I had in the previous 10 months. I wasn't sporting a new aftershave, haircut or penis. It was, as an estate agent might say, all about location: I was at my first singles night.*

      The night was organized by the Lovestruck dating website and my mate George and I went along with few expectations. Upstairs, Patch was a normal bar. But as we descended the stairs into the basement, it was clear we were venturing into something abnormal... and exciting.

      It was a packed room, with lots of girls in it, and they were all looking at us. ALL of them, with peculiar expressions that managed to amalgamate curiosity, desperation and lust. I attempted a tricky manoeuvre: scanning the entire room to see if any of the girls were actually hot, while simultaneously trying to avoid eye contact with them because their

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