Art on front by Seung-Hwan Oh – the mix interaction of photography and bacteria – “subjects blur into negative space, creating a sort of dystopian nightmare”

He leaned in – and started telling me about his studies. “Harvard”… “I went to Harvard” he smiled. Ooh the studious sort… I thought… that’s pretty sexy. “I’m studying my MBA in London… and ideally one day I want to get married” he leaned in… and stared into my eyes. “That’s really nice” I smiled back. I wondered if his eyes might be a little too close together. I reflected on ‘that’ old saying.. ‘never trust a man who’s eyes are too close together’. Where did that idea come from..? I pondered looking at his face. I wondered how many people born with eyes too close together might be unfairly tarnished with this untrusting brush. Or maybe.. it wasn’t unfair?

His fingers lightly brushed my arm snapping me out of my trance. I watched them dance daringly across… testing the water. He turned to the subject of marriage again. It was a first date so I was suspicious. Was he using my age against me thinking this was what most women my age wanted? What was with the marriage thing?

“I love the park. Will you come for a walk in the park with me on Sunday?” he queried moving his head wistfully and looking at me with wide expectant eyes. “Yeah. Maybe” I answered submissively. “Let’s get some food?” “Sure!” he replied.

Five minutes later we were sat in a nice restaurant… “Halloumi!”.. “Let’s get some Halloumi!” I declared excitedly ordering. Five minutes later the food arrived. And he leant his head in his hands. I thought he was looking down at the food. But slowly…as he looked down…his eyes closed. I took a bit of Halloumi looking on in perverse amusement as his head sank lower. Fuck. Omg. Has he… just… fallen asleep? This is going to be a terrible marriage I reflected. I shook him gently by his shoulders.. trying to awake him from his slumber slightly embarrassed that we were sitting in the middle of a busy restaurant. “Wake up…” I whispered… “Wake up”. He didn’t stir.

“Er yeah so how embarrassing was that” – I declared to my friend. “Hahaha!” she laughed. Some creepy looking guys were staring over at us as we sipped our drinks. It was early in the afternoon… “I’m really concerned we’re going to talk to them.” I declared out loud. One of them walked over. “Would you like a drink.” he asked us. He was a big man with a scary face. “Erm…” we both hesitated looking at each other. He sat down next to us.

“We are from the Ukraine” he smiled darkly peering at us. Nothing about him alluded light. “Oh that’s really nice!” my friend played along. A dark shadow passed over the table. The other guy walked over. “What do you do?” I queried to the other man. Crap question usually but I didn’t care in this situation. “Nothing – I’m a gambler. I gamble a lot of money.” he said looking out of the window. Hmm. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“They’re fucking pimps… seriously I reckon they’re pimps! Don’t trust them” I whispered to my friend as they headed to get a drink. Five minutes later I was putting my coat on. I had an appointment to get to. “I need to go – please please don’t stay with these men for too long…call me???” feeling bad for leaving. “Course” she winked. I ran out and peered back through the window mouthing the words to her MAKE SURE YOU CALL ME…

An hour later I got a text… “All good in the hood – you were right though – one of them came out with it and just told me – they were pimps!”.

“Eurgh” I replied. Shuddering at the memory of them. Disgusted that they had the bravado to think they were worthy of our time… “I think I might stay home for the rest of the year” I texted back.

“For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.”
Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games

Recently Becki has recently finished reading and recommends Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor E Frankl and finds herself reflecting on the idea ‘what is it that life wants from me?’…

Be good,

Becki Bx




“Human beings are poor examiners, subject to superstition, bias, prejudice, and a profound tendency to see what they want to see rather than what is really there.” — M.Scott Peck

This #DatingDiary was written whilst listening to Friendly Fires.. ‘Paris’ (Aeroplane Remix)

The other day I found myself pondering on all the times a guy had uttered the words… “just trust…me…”. And how most of the time I wished I hadn’t. But I hadn’t heard the words uttered for quite some time until I met an intensely charming ab of steel, personal fitness trainer that oozed sex appeal. The type of guy, that one has to mentally compartmentalize if one should decide to touch. Within five seconds my intuition had summed him up… charming… player.. good for kissing. Too hot to not.

Cue self reflection: as one can start to dangerously question one’s own intuition… perhaps a desire to remain open minded or perhaps in hope… led down the path of self reflection, which gently leads with the opening line of ‘well….maybe he’s different…’. I find myself reflecting on whether I’m being judgemental… or perhaps stereotyping… and end up with YEAH RIGHT. Don’t be so naïve. And I get a grip.

We talk for hours. He tells me about his prison stays. His child out of wedlock. His cat. He tells me how it is to impregnate someone and have no power over the outcome (a story which hits me with a burst of gratitude that I will never have to experience that avenue). His stories are intriguing. I try to reciprocate something of interest. But find it hard to find a story of the same calibre. I resort to the subject of favourite films, which starts a light discussion about the difference between Julie Andrews and Audrey Hepburn as I assure him Audrey Hepburn never starred in Mary Poppins. Light but certainly not as interesting as his war stories.

He tells me he changes his number frequently. He asks for my number. I tell him I don’t know it. But he can have my email. He wrinkles up his nose and looks annoyed as I write it down. I know he won’t email. But he gets his ego stroke anyway.

I later reflect on why I find myself attracted to emotionally unavailable men. How perhaps part of me enjoys being on the periphery of the dating experience… self protection measures that halt one having to get in too deep…

A few days later I check my email. Nothing. And although I expected nothing, I can’t help but feel slightly disappointed. If not for the stories. I guess you can’t force your feelings to act a certain way. Which is an annoying part of being human. But I also feel a slight relief. Aware that he’d be a terrible person to get involved with. Although I do find making amusingly poor excuses for the situation… Maybe he can’t write… always a possibility (Cue: open mindedness).

“What you doing tomorrow?” my friend asks me after a traumatic trip to the cinema to see Carol which was far more depressing than I thought it was going to be.“I’m playing squash!… Some guy on a fitness group on asked me if I fancied a game…new ways to stay fit in 2016”.. and she starts to laugh. “What?” I query. “My ex used to randomly email girls and get them to be fitness partners from there.. he said he slept with two of them… he’s probably just trying to meet you!”…

“Oh. Seriously?” I ask. Surprised. YOU ARE SO NAÏVE! My brain shouts at me. I find myself amused. “I haven’t even looked at his pic you know. I don’t even know what he looks like.” I reply contemplative.

I decide to go anyway. I want to play squash.


ART: Carne Griffiths is raisingmoney for Cancer – you can sponsor him here and have the opportunity to win a piece of art in return: a worthwhile cause!

Happy New Year!

Becki Bx


Dating Diary: Girls

Artist on front: Lykke Steenbach

“Go talk to her” I urge an old male friend.. “she looks fun”… I hadn’t seen him for a few years. And with a bookful of drink vouchers we were both feeling just around about merry.

“Hmmm” he looks over at the two girls giggling at the bar. Clasping his leather briefcase, I shove him in their direction. With a facebook timeline oozing babies and marriages I decide I need to make new girlfriends to play with. I mean have fun with. I push my buddy in the direction of his penis.

“Go on.. go..” I whisper encouragingly in his ear.

My friend oozing charm walks over.. and introduces himself. He starts whittling on about some of his passions in life. And they seem to enjoy the topics of conversation. With everyone giggling away and alcohol having dulled everyone’s senses he suddenly changes direction and looks down at my friends chest area… “Fake?” he splutters pointing at them with an air that could have initiated a reaction that could have gone either way.. I cringe.. but she smiles and laughs.. “yes”.

She looks down at her assets and all eyes in the circle suddenly direct themselves to her chest area. “How can you tell that?” I demand forgetting to think. They certainly didn’t look fake. To me. “Lets go for a cigarette” she offers.

Five minutes later.. she is removing her top.

“So… do you want to touch them???” she asks. I hadn’t seen fake breasts before. I look down at mine. And back at hers.

Erm. I start to wonder if I’ve been flogging a dead horse with the male species.

I look at her. And I feel confused.



“Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye” H Jackson Brown

I sat in the coffee shop trying to finish a novel. It was one of those coffee shops where each square metre is utilized, ie – I’m sitting far too close to the couple next to me and I can’t concentrate on one god damn word in the book I’m reading. But I find myself more enthralled by the scene being played out in front of me. So it’s ok.

The young woman, mirrored that of an Arabian princess, she had the luck of long black hair combined with striking features. The man, perhaps twenty years her senior, might have used a whole tin of Dax Wax that morning to mould his balding hair into a tiny little pony tail. Each hair slickly held in place. I was intrigued by the match. And thought the same as I did when Kate Moss started dating Pete Doherty. What the fuck was she doing?

I sat trying to concentrate on my book.

I started to curse the lack of space in the café as I could hear the man fluffing his male feathers at the table…“When I walk into the room.. I know I am the best! I look around and I think. Yes.. everyone is beneath me!”. It was a declaration of ‘I love myself’ from a position of arrogance. “Now! I must go for a cigarette” I heard him announce. And he got up and left the table.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air as I tried to appear as if I was lost deep in words. I looked up from my page and the girl smiled at me. I smiled back and before I knew it the words… “Sorry but… punching above his weight isn’t he?” fell out of my mouth. Really. Not. My place.

She started to laugh. “My friend thinks I should date ugly men.”

She got her phone out of her purse and showed me a picture of a half naked man, his ripped torso taking up most of the frame. “This is my ex. He was gorgeous but I could never trust him. He was a dancer and always cheating on me… so I thought I’d try… well you know. We just split up.”

Oh. So it was about control? “Oh”. I replied.

“He’s fit don’t you think?” she asked. “Yeah.. he’s good looking” I shrugged. Impressed. At the torso. “Obviously took a lot of work to cultivate that” I acknowledged.

Her date came back to the table, and she shoved her phone quickly back into her purse. We shared a smirk. “Hi, Becki” I introduced myself to her date, now feeling quite guilty.

“Hello! I am Antonio!” he said “Nice to meet you!” he smiled a wide smile.. his yellow teeth glimmering through. He looked from me to the girl. To me. ‘It’s not all about looks Becki don’t be so shallow’ I scolded myself picking up my book – recognising my cue.

I reflected back to a time I had a date with a guy… “I went to Richard Branson’s rooftop gardens last night” he had uttered in conversation “As soon as I got there I thought woah – these girls are out of my league!!!!” he’d laughed.

“Excuse me?” I had replied… “you think… I’m in your league?” I had half mocked.

I had left pondering what being in his league and out of theirs actually meant. A situation which sent him into stumbling blocks and me into a confused mental state of ‘why do we have to have league tables? What does this league table mean? Why do we have to play these weird league games? I suppose this is what the mating game is all about right…’…

I looked back at the Arabian princess as I gathered my things. I wondered whether it was naïve, and perhaps contradictory to assume that potential mates should be “accepted any way they are”. And attraction… well it is also very personal.

“Er…so you want to come back to mine for some…. ?” I could hear him hurriedly asking her. And I left hoping that she would soon meet a fitting match.



I thought I’d share this brilliant talk by Yann Dall’Aglio about the world of seduction…

The talk is cut short but he finishes with:

I believe that self-mockery
is one of the best means for the relationship to last.
There is a lot of beauty
and humanity in the fact of understanding
that I am too small, too mediocre
to confront the other and harm them, and vice versa.
In this regard, I would like to conclude this talk
letting you contemplate and meditate
on a sentence that you may already know,
but I believe it really deserves to be
rediscovered everyday:
“Us mere nothings should not be tearing
each other apart ”

Enjoy x

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