Desperate Anglo Housewives : Bordeaux > she's back and dating in her 50s

One of the questions I have often asked myself is why about 80% of men post photos of themselves holding up the fish they have caught. Is it some genetic throwback from Neanderthal times? So, you're scrolling through your dating app, hoping to catch a glimpse of Prince Charming, but instead, it's a sea of... well, fish! Picture after picture of men proudly displaying their conquests, not in the form of fancy cars or six-pack abs, but in the form of slimy, scaly fish!   You might start to wonder if you accidentally swiped onto "Plenty of Fish" instead of Tinder. But no, it's just the infamous phenomenon of men and their fish photos. You can't help but chuckle at the variety – there's the "I caught a fish as big as my ego" pose, where the fish looks like it could swallow them whole.  Then the "big fish" shots practically screaming, "I can handle anything you throw at me... or vice versa."  Let's not forget the classic "

  I was going to tell you about my first "coffee dates" but have just been reading about British MP William Wragg's outing of the very very naughty photos he sent to someone he met on a dating app and it reminded me I hadn't yet told you about my escapades with dick pics. I'm always amazed at the ease with which politicians wiggle out of their libidinous activities. Remember 49 year old Clinton swearing he had not had a " sexual relationship " with Lewinsky. God knows what label we should stick to 18 months of Mr President being pleasured at his Oval desk by his lithe 22 year old intern   - knee strengthening, tongue yoga, dusting?  He later went on national television to admit he'd had an inappropriate relationship with her. Inappropriate?? And, even then, the nation's trust in him was not fractured. Imagine the witch hunt if a female president were to do the same. This morning, I actually burst out laughing at MP Wragg's slimey and orchest

My first steps onto the dating apps were pussy footing in every sense. Tentative would be an exaggeration of the the slow and apathetic effort I made to get my "profile" up on line.  First conundrum - which sites? Clearly, I was going to have to get onto the +50s sites but which one? Disons Demain ( Let's say tomorrow) sounded far too much like death row, life insurance scamming or sugar coated oldies with more wobbly bits than bones ( or do I mean boners?). I opted for Elite - a site which made a lot of song and dance about assuring privacy and monitoring good behaviour, selecting appropriate & suitable candidates, etc. Seemed ok so far. Then came the info for the profile which, in a nutshell, seemed like an overt online bias and discrimination scouting.  Which religions would you accept? Which ethnic groups will you accept? What age would you accept? ( an open door for 70+ would be "daddyohs" to select 20 somethings and vice versa) What height would you ac

 I don't think anyone imagines the dark abyss and underground emotional corridors of online dating before trying it out. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Having been elbowed into this by my enthusiastic happily married friends, my first project was to actually have the guts to even download the apps.  I gingerly google  best dating sites for over 50s.  I am immediately swamped by photos of silver foxes, who all look remarkably like George Clooney (these people have really done their homework on my generation) spooning in beddies with their silver foxettes on top of their high cotton count Egyptian duvet cover, or, arms around each others' totally tanned shoulders sipping champagne out of heritage crystal and gazing off into a mediterranean sunset, a small breeze blowing through their matching white linen evening wear.  I put on my glasses and peer at these perfect people and wonder if their wobbly bits are carefully contained under the floaty linen? Most sites have ludi

Can you remember your (sex)life before menopause - that incessant desire and heat running through your veins. No one ever warned me that one day my body would literally turn the tap off - a mere flicker of that desire left behind like a sad single cake crumb on a platter. If I'd known, I would have been on many a missed shagfest! I really really want to tell you that with love and good communication the flame can be reignited, but, if I'm honest, for me, that sadly was not the case. Then along came breast cancer - a chaotic battle where I fought armed with chemotherapy, radiotherapy and my sense of humour. If menopause stripped me of my youthful desires, the effects of treatment threw me into a sexual desert where I not only felt robbed of my sexuality but of the very essence of my femininity.  I dragged myself along to many a "sexual energy workshop" for post cancer treatment women - the best experience was when one of the nurses came out with a basket of vibrators a

 It's funny, isn't it, how life just seems to be not just one mountain to climb but entire RANGES of mountains. You feel like you've finally got to the top of one mountain and then there's another bloody mountain to get over. I left writing this blog about 6 years ago - healthy, happy, smug, partnered up, peri-menopausal and amused by life. Nothing could go wrong now, I believed.  But, my god did things go pear shaped.  Menopause was a total bitch and had me sweating bricks several times an hour. Plus, although I was maintaining my gym routine ( watching the men flex their biceps was  motivational), my metabolism had other ideas, and, I blew up like the balloon - yes I "ballooned," gaining 25kgs in what felt like just one season of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills! Got through the dark tunnel of the onset of menopause and even lost the weight. Then early 2019 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Another mountain to climb. Then there was COVID. Then there wa