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

A tale of romance, anticipation, and a twist that even Shakespeare would envy! It all began with a charming fellow who burst into my life like a comet streaking across the night sky. From the moment we matched on the dating app, he showered me with compliments, sweet messages, and promises of a magical first date. Receiving texts 24/24, hour long telephone conversations, ooos and ahhhhs over my responses to his questions. Yes, I was being "love bombed" * and fell for it hook, line and sinker. I can't stop thinking about you he'd whisper in a voice message, sending a photo of his designer expresso machine sitting next to his bed replete with white sand washed linen duvet cover....and this was only after 24 hours!! By day #2 he was sending (to my horror!) screen shots of train tickets down from Paris to Bordeaux...for a "coffee together." My good sense had me texting back the french equivalent of " settle down tiger!" However, the following week ...

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...

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...

WORLD CUP WIN oh yeah There is a certain magic when a country wins a cup, a world cup.  The last time I experienced a win my daughter Colombe was bouncing on my tummy kicking at me waiting to be born. She will be twenty in December and it only feels like yesterday she was begging to be born in the wake of a national win in the world cup. We felt the French economy bend and grow with confidence, we felt the people reach out and grab the international, we felt real understanding on an international level. There was also an amazing sense of "community" within France where different racial groups were applauded rather than condemned. Let’s hope history repeats and expands upon itself. I love this country I call my home, FRANCE,  I so hope it can grow and benefit….your opinion??? Creme B rulee    non?? double cream, approx 350 ml ( in France I use the thickest whipping cream I can find) 100ml full-fat  milk ...

Having recently turned 50 (argh) the French state sent me an invitation for a free mammo. I took this very seriously and went in for a check up. Breast cancer, the second commonest cancer worldwide  (1.4 million new cases: 11% of all global cancers and 360,000 deaths), is the commonest potentially fatal cancer of women. T here is currently a greater than 4-fold variation in age-standardized incidence rates between countries with the lowest (East and Southern Africa) and countries with the highest (Western Europe, North America and Australia/New Zealand).  We all have friends who have had scares and ops and I am the first to step up. But, I have to honest, I really hate mammos (who doesn't!), and frankly, they scare me. I have over-read about the risks of over-radiation with testing and over-prevention. In the end, who cares, I feel it's better to check myself out.I don't believe our health is something to play with. The new testing system in France is the Rolls R...

Are you a modern machine fan or do you prefer it the old fashioned way...by hand? OK relax this is not a post about sex toys...that will be another day! I have admired Nigella Lawson for years, although must admit that since she lost her wobbly bits I am not identifying as I once did. I have all her recipe books which I actually read. In one of my favourites, Kitchen, she lists her " Kitchen Gadget Hall of Shame." Everything from jam makers to super juicers were fired from her kitchen. Totally understand these ridiculous fixations we all get for unnecessary kitchen gadgets - I once stayed up until 3am trolling the web for a second hand ice cream maker because I "NEEDED" it. I have had everything from sausage makers (only used once because the experience was hideous and put me off sex for weeks!...what was I thinking, a sausage maker!!!) to thermal steamers not to mention the drawer full of once-used hand tools such as melon ballers, cherry pip removers,...

Days off from work make me realise just why I love my life in France so much....walking, market, coffee, crowd watching, cooking... "Eating the seasons" has become a life choice in France. And it's easy! On my days off I just throw my basket over my arm and head off to the market where I find all the seasonal spoils. It probably sounds like a cliché but it's not. In Bordeaux we are utterly ruined with good markets - the best has to be Capucins where the fruit and veg are lined up like jewels, the choice is phenomenal and the sellers charm you into buying twice as much as you need.  I follow the market shopping with a long coffee outside on a terrace and watch the world go by then meander home and cook. It's bliss. Today the markets were full of new season's asparagus in every colour, shape and form. Proudly sporting my new basket, I went to my usual chap who just loves to test his English on me. After buying what seemed like a few kilos of aspara...