Goywonder

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The life of a twenty-first century male is always a scramble for alpha-male dominance and authority.

I’ve always taken an interest in the different ways men use to crush their competitors and ensnare their womenfolk.

I was particularly tickled to hear about a creative new game called Millionaire that some of my friends have been playing in Norwich.

Here’s how it works: before you head out to a club, you and your comrades head to the nearest cash machine and take out a healthy stash for the night ahead.

Now that might sound pretty commonplace – but here’s the clever bit.

Rather than each guy keeping hold of his own money, you pile all your purples into one communal stash. One of your friends – the designated ‘millionaire’ – takes custody of it.

As you enter the next nightclub, your heavy-pocketed friend heads straight to the bar, barging his way through the crowds.

He orders his drink (a designer vodka should do the trick) before gesturing towards his faithful entourage.

“And whatever these guys are having too, love”, he booms across the bar.

Throughout the night, the ‘millionaire’ must keep the act up: brashly taking the hit for round after round of drinks.

My friend swears that, within minutes, you’ll be surrounded by so many women you’ll be fanning yourself with twenties just to keep cool.

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Sorry guys – unfortunately Robin and I had to cancel our meeting this week. We’re hoping to reschedule the interview soon (well, I certainly am anyway).

Tomorrow he flies off to Bahrain for a bit, but he’s promised to get in contact once he gets back to Norwich.

As well as that, I’ve got a few other interview ideas up my sleeve. So do watch this space.

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I’ve just read this big hunk of gastroporn in the Guardian.

I’ve never heard of Taybarns before. Still, a guilt-free feast of near-Biblical proportions – it’s exactly the sort of thing Norwich could do with.

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Last month the Daily Mail broke the story that Liberal Democrat MP Lembit Opik was dating twenty-one year old lingerie model Katie Green.

Today the Guardian asks if the whole thing is just a publicity stunt – a crafty way to make sure Lembit’s new campaign hits the headlines.

Goy Wonder reserves judgement. But, for what it’s worth, I bet many of us have done it too – faked a relationship for devious purposes.

Anna is a good friend of mine. She’s sexy and elegant, with a svelte body and a cut-glass accent. But she’s also a single mother.

Late last summer she was looking to rent a new house – something which can’t be easy with a screaming toddler in tow.

One night, Anna called me with a predicament. She’d found the perfect house – but she was in competition with two other potential tenants.

“They’re the cheesiest couple you’ll ever see,” she hissed. “I bet they’re already planning where to hang their matching dressing gowns.”

As an unreliable single mother, Anna knew she had no chance against the newlyweds. But, luckily, she had a plan.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind coming along to the second viewing and – you know – pretending we’re a couple,” she suggested.

I let a short silence hang. I wasn’t quite sure what to say. But before I could make up my mind, Anna butted in again.

“It’ll be easy, and it’ll only take an hour or so,” she said. She spoke quickly, giving me no chance to air my reservations.

Eventually, I gave in and agreed to me her at the house. Maybe it was chivalry – or maybe I just fancied deceiving an estate agent.

Either way, 90 minutes later, our mission was complete. Anna stood contentedly at the end of the drive way, scribbling her signature at the bottom of a contract.

As our Brylcreemed estate agent walked over to his car, he grinned to himself – no doubt thinking of his hefty commission.

And as I looked down at the crumpled notes in my hand, I knew exactly how he felt.

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Working for a charity certainly has its perks. Especially when it’s the official charity of the Miss England beauty pageant.

In fact, just last month, the competition organisers asked for someone from our charity to be on the judging panel for the Miss England semi-final. Well, guess who grabbed that opportunity.

So – out of all the girls on show - who did I pick? Did I go with the consensus and scribble a star next to Rachel Christie – our medal-chasing Olympic hopeful?

Actually, no, I didn’t. Instead, my first choice was blossoming English rose Charlotte Packham, pictured above.

Charlotte stood out from the start - as would any girl who introduces herself with the line, “Hi, I’m Charlotte, I’m twenty-one and I’m a farmer.”

She then regaled the panel with a story of looking after an ill, orphaned rabbit she’d found in one of her fields.

“The vet told me not to bother,” she said. “They said he’d never last a week without his mother. But two years later he’s still going strong.”

A soft decision? I don’t think so. Very rarely do you see that drive – that balls-to-the-wall defiance – in a person. Let alone in a wispy blue-eyed blonde, tottering in high heels.

So Charlotte got my vote. Sadly it wasn’t enough to win her the crown.

* Incidentally, I heard one of the Miss England girls phone a colleague of mine today, to offer herself as a spokesperson for our charity.

“In fact, your colleague who judged the contest told me I was one of the best entries,” she enthused.

Yeah, sure, I did. You and all the others, honey.

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It’s Tuesday 28^th July. There are still six days to go until Virgin send an engineer to activate my broadband going. And, believe me, I’m counting them down.

Since I moved into my new flat, I’ve made do with a Vodafone USB stick – those little gadgets you plug in for instant pay-as-you-go internet.

I really can’t wait till I get the go ahead to toss the useless thing out of my window.

It cuts out in the middle of Facebook chats; it blocks out the News of the World, Attitude and Ask Men as ‘pornography’; and it makes watching YouTube videos as expensive as a premium rate phoneline.

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Let’s get one thing straight: yes, I know this blog-post is a little self-indulgent.

But, come on, I’m a blogger; I’ve made a start on my memoirs ; I even refer to myself in the third person every now and then – honestly, what did you expect?

Anyway, let’s get down to the post. It all starts with a hypothesis I found at Salon.com, one of my daily internet reads:

The Scorecard

“Every one of us has things that make us attractive to the opposite sex (you know – sense of humour, independence, looks) – and things that let us down (insecurities, unemployment, hair loss etc)

It’s always good to be aware of our personal dating scorecard. That way we can play to our strengths and duck our shortcomings.”

So tonight, as an example of the Salon theory, I thought I’d blog three things that I think go in my favour.

Before you grill me for it, I will also be blogging things that go against me. And, of course, you guys are welcome to point them out too – there is a comment button on the right, you know.

So here are three of my strengths, in no particular order:

1. My job

Sure, there are things I’d change about it, but, on the whole, I think I’ve got quite an attractive job.

Of course, working for a charity is always going to score compassion points, but if I start hinting at some of the juicer stuff – the six-figure sums; the celebrity involvement – I’d say it makes quite a sweet package.

2. My voice/accent/diction

What’s your favourite compliment you’ve had lately? I’ll tell you mine. I was chatting to an old friend of mine when he paused and said, “You know, I really like the way you talk – I could listen to it for ages.”

This is actually something I’ve worked on over the years. I’ve known a few acquaintances (and scores of school teachers) with atonal, monotone voices and seen how they’ve struggled to hold people’s attention.

So I’ve always made an effort to make my speech engaging – using changes in tempo; different stress patterns; onomatopoeic vocab etc.

Still, I’m no Roger Lloyd-Pack. Not yet anyway.

3. My confidence

I’m quite an outgoing person. I didn’t used to be (in fact, as a child I struggled with eye contact), but it’s something I’ve picked up over the years.

These days few things faze me: whether it’s celebrities, alpha females or job interviews, I’m happy to say I’ve learnt to hold my nerve.