My complete history of dating failures...

Diet schmiet. Totally gone out the window after losing 8 pounds and feeling insanely smug. This never ending stream of snow has thrown everything into disarray. I've had to work from home 4 days this week, Sproglet's nursery has closed twice (try working at home with 'Horton hears a Who' on repeat behind you (or when he has an almighty tantrum - today's was quite special, I'm surprised he has any vocal chords left); and I'm trapped at home - terrified to get behind the wheel again until this slushy scary mess has melted to oblivion. Supplies are dwindling, every shoe/boot is wet, I've had to cancel seeing the osteopath (which I was desperate to do post crash with a niggling twinge in my back gnawing away at me no matter which way I sit) and I have raging cabin fever. Yes, I am moany. Bear with me - I am a pulsating combination of rage, menstrual hormones and boredom.

So I've been watching DVDs - in between Horton marathons (bring back Kung Fu Panda I beg of you Sproglet). An interesting one was 'The complete history of my sexual failures' - catchy eh? A documentary by a unwashed pretentious 'independent film maker' who wanted to know why all his exes had dumped him. Within 2 mins the answer to this misguided bloke's question was crystal - he was the most arrogant narcissistic slovenly selfish male that I have ever seen. I just kept wondering what these clever beautiful women had ever seen in him in the first place.

An interesting journey into his psyche went off course and ended up being all about his (small) penis and how much he needed to get laid. He overdosed on viagra but that failed to produce any signs of personality from him - he just wandered the streets asking women to shag him; bless, you need looks to carry that one off. He ended up arrested. The most amusing moments in this film were obviously contrived - Chris (I think he was called) desperately tried not to smirk at the shoehorned in comic moments as if they had just organically evolved. The film ended with him getting another bird and getting a bit weepy with his most beloved girlfriend (he hadn't wanted to commit, she had left and was now pregnant and quelle surprise Chris felt now that he wanted her back)but didn't really hold a mirror up and solve his main problems by stating the obvious - you are a prick Chris - and obsessed with your own!!

It made me think of my own list of sexual failures - well, not MY failures but exes - some of whom were definitely failures. Why did I date the ginger bob-haired wannabe actor who listened to radio 4 all day and cleared his throat every night as he brushed his teeth? Or the dullest man in Britain who was cute but refused to ever perform cunnilingus? (He dumped me by the way - he said I had 'too much personality for him.' By that I think he meant I had one - as he didn't. He lived on a boat that smelt of dead sheep. That would be because there was a dead sheep trapped between said boat and barge). Or the German who looked like a concentration camp survivor and spent most of the day (and night) in a stoned stupor? Or the now-famous Hollywood actor who had two photos in his room - a tiny one of his then girlfriend (I thought they had split up) and an enormous poster sized print in black and white of himself, proudly facing his bed - so when he made love he could stare at the person he was most interested in - himself. Or the misogynist comic who couldn't kiss and introduced me to his girlfriend. One of 6 of them. Or the cute thick store-guard who could barely string a sentence together and two timed every girl he dated but was hot in the hay... Or the (still single)commitment phobe who would pace the floor every time he came near me, his Catholic guilt eating him up as he worked out yet another (am sure valid) excuse why to not be with me - only to get frisky with me again months later - and then at parties kiss other girls in front of me, whilst I abstained from alcohol - to take my medicine for vicious cystitis courtesy of him. This loop played out for several years - and I thought that was what love is!!! Give me strength. Or the film director who had a woman in every port (no, I didn't know about that either) and promised to sweep me to LA only to replace me with an aging English actress over 40. Where was my head? I don't need to visit them to find out what I did wrong - I need to ask myself what the fuck I was doing with any of them to begin with! I say this not out of arrogance, but with the beauty of hindsight. If I could take my 17 year old self (and upwards until 28) aside, I would have a strong word in my shell like.

Anyway, tonight's fare is Savage Grace - about a Mother who ends up shagging her own son. Nice. Pass me the chocolates...especially those nice little Munchie ones. Only £1 with a DVD. See the things I know these days? The snow has got to go....