How to Tell if a Man Fancies You Using Superstition Alone

There are days on which science just doesn’t work. Those sort of days where cats fall upwards, quanta are visible to the naked eye, and naked men are invisible. Or possibly not there.

These are the sorts of times where one has to turn to superstition alone the answer the big questions in life, like 'Why am I here?' 'Why do I hear?' 'Can one hear y’s?' And, of course that old chestnut ‘How Can I Tell if a Man Fancies Me?’

Although, just so you don’t think that the above chestnut is the only form of nut people google to discover my blog, recent queries have included:

‘How to hoover woodlice.’ (I’ve referred that to Anthea)

‘Does everyone have a G-spot?’ No. And, as of the moment they turn the Large Hadron Collider on, no one will.

‘How do you to find a G-spot?’ OS maps are traditional, modern folk use Sat Nav, I advise thoroughly searching the entire body as it’s simply more entertaining that way. Whatever the method you use do it soon before they make the black hole. Not that black hole, include that one in your search.

‘What to do in the sauna?’ Not break your foot.

‘Morreau naked.’ If you really want to see me naked I’m on public view in the changing room of the gym most nights, on the book cover and if you require a private viewing please make an appointment. Reciprocosity expected/anticipated.

And, of course that old chestnut ‘How Can I Tell if a Man Fancies Me’.

The thing about superstition, as opposed to science, as a method of discovery is that it is a lot more straight forward.

Here are the top ten ways of discovering if a man fancies you using superstition alone:

1. If he crosses your path wearing black (especially black pyjamas, underwear, a black condom or a darkish colour negligee)
2. If he ties knots in his handkerchief, or his trousers look like they’ve got a large knotted handkerchief down them.
3. If he walks under a ladder carrying a penny that he’s just picked up (it also shows that he knows how to balance evil with good if that’s your sort of thing)
4. If he has a foot like a rabbit or a rabbit like a foot long.
5. If he is standing at the foot of a rainbow (a small warning here – leprechauns are infamously bad lovers)
6. If you see him shooting stars (again, a warning, if he is shooting very famous stars in a public place it really doesn’t bode well for a long-lasting relationship)
7. If he is 13
8. If he gets into the wrong, or even the right, side of your bed
9. If he itches your palm (or possible anywhere else)
10. If he breaks mirrors (of course you might not fancy him then)
11. If he knocks on wood (ok, wood fetishists may not be your cup of tea but at least he fancies something)
12. (my personal favourite) If he’s a chimney sweep and says ‘cor lurve, I really fancy you’ in a fake cockney accent.

Not Crème Brulee

I’ve had my first request for a blog post. This is exciting. It happened last night in the pub. The request I mean. ‘It’ could be construed as something far more exciting which is generally not happening in my life. Thus a request for a blog post leaps up the rankings of generally exciting events with all the alacrity and enthusiasm displayed by a flea when it catches sight of a piece of naked flesh. Which is probably similar to my alacrity and enthusiasm at the same sight.

So, a blog post. The request.

Crème brulee.

Now, my requestee claims to be a reader of my blog. But somehow I wonder. What, I’m asking myself does crème brulee have to do with thinly disguised analogies for sex? Or thickly disguised analogies for sex? Or sex?

However I realise after a smidge of further wondering where crème brulee fits into the scheme of things – it’s like custard. Ah ha!!!

I begin to prepare some cunning experiments to test the properties of c.b. Things like swimming pools full of the stuff to test the old sink or swim non-newtonian liquid thingy. Large bowls on vibrating plates to enact the spooky wobbly wibbly thingys. Huge vats with ginormous weights balanced on top to apply however many g’s it takes to rule the world.

I am slightly flummoxed by the lack of this particular culinary delight with which to experiment. I am, I discover, much to my chagrin and mild surprise, crème brulee –less. The cupboards are empty of the stuff. The fridge contains no crème, no brulee. The wardrobes, similarly are rich-desert-less. As is even the shed. Although the camels may have eaten it.

I am left with no choice but to create my own large quantities of crème brulee on which to experiment. I am in no way defeated by the fact that I have very few of the ingredients and specialised tools required for the creation of crème. I can substitute along with the best of them.

Here is the recipe I found on a well know encyclopaedia site:

3 pints heavy cream
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ tsp salt
1.5 tsp vanilla extract
12 egg yolks

Here is the recipe I used:

3,000 pints of heavy water
340 cups of granulated dust (found under kitchen cabinets)
No salt (as it’s bad for you and I ate it all on my dinner earlier)
150 tps extract of tumble dryer
I thought the eggs were probably not important

This is what I discovered using scientific methods (stirring):

Crème brulee is not a non-newtonian liquid.
I can swim.
Crème brulee when vibrated does not get excited.
I do.
Crème brulee when put under pressure doesn’t flinch in the slightest.
I do.
Cardiff City Council do not offer a free crème brulee disposal service.
Camels do not eat crème brulee.

A special thanks to my requestee for involving me in this evening’s entertainment. If anyone else has any blog requests I ask only this – please supply the correct ingredients. Otherwise fuck off.

Does anyone know what camels eat?