Tell me, Clarice- Have the lambs stopped screaming?

So there i was, alone in a house with a 35 year old, unemployed psychopath from Brighton wearing 'Bam Pow' boxershorts and night vision goggles. I can't say i wasn't warned, i had been... many... many times. 




The Silence of the Lambs is a psychological thriller released in 1991. It raked in a total of five Oscars including one for best picture. It focuses on Clarice Starling, a young and inexperienced FBI agent trying to hunt down 'Buffalo Bill' an escalating serial killer. In order to catch him she is forced to seek assistance from Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a manipulative cannibal serving a life sentence for various crimes including the unfortunate eating of a 'census takers' liver with fava beans and a nice chianti. 


As far as i am concerned Clarice Starling had it easy. There is no denying a sexual chemistry between Hannibal Lecter and Clarice that starts in this film and proceeds into the sequel. He assists her in her quest to find Buffalo Bill and at the same time gets to spend time with her while getting inside her head. But it is made clear from the start that he is insane, an insane canibal. There is a big glass wall, security guards and straight jackets. There are no smiles from across the room, wine and small talk followed by the exchange of a telephone number. She knows what he is.  


Having said that i was also warned, not in the glass security cell and straight jacket kind of way, but more in a "he is bad news" kind of way. Dianna's notorious house parties had long been a favourite place for me to meet men and this particular occasion was to be no different. I got there late as usual and it didn't take long for Lance to stroll over and introduce himself. He stared at me like i was the only person in the room. He told me how he sued his old work place for bullying, got a pay out and now pretty much does nothing with his time, my heart skipped a beat. 


It didn't take long for the modern day Facebook add, phone number exchange and late night text messages. We started chatting on the phone and before long he had my address and was on his way to pick me up for our first date. It was 40 minutes before the agreed arrival time and i was quickly applying my last coat of nail polish. While i was sitting there i began to hear what can only be described as a race car circling my street. Then the phone rang, it was him, he was early. 


I headed out the front door an saw a black Lexus with tinted windows parked directly across from my house. I walked over to the passenger side door and attempted to get in, to my surprise the door was locked. I couldn't see in the car due to the tint so i just stood there as awkward as arse wondering what was happening. Out the corner of my eye i saw a light flashing on and off in the centre of the road, moving closer and closer like some kind of travelling light house. It was Lance, he had parked about 800 metres away and he was signalling me with a torch. An interesting start but i am in no postion to be fussy, besides i was in a new dress and the night was young. 


We headed off to the movies, romantic chick flicks were off the menu as he carefully selected an action blockbuster about remote control robots. He proceeded to pull out his velcro wallet complete with a hologram dragon sticker and removed his pension card with a proud look on his face. Not to pay, but to rather romantically ensure that i got a discount. I had been swept off my feet and i wanted more.  


Fast forward a few weeks and i was pulling up outside the front of a huge Brighton mansion, metres from the beach, with gates reminiscent to a scene from The Castle. He met me at the gate and on the way in pointed to a beautiful statue of a naked woman and said 'thats my mother'. 


The house was a mess, not dirty but certainly messy. There were toys and gadgets, clothes and papers laid out in piles around the room.  One thing lead to another and before long there i was, alone in a house with a 35 year old, unemployed psychopath from Brighton wearing 'Bam Pow' boxershorts and night vision goggles. I can't say i wasn't warned, i had been... many... many times. It had officially become a scene from The Silence of the Lambs, i didn't know whether to run or to wait for Ashton Kutcher to arrive and tell me i had been punk'd. So i did nothing. 


The moral of the story is that with or without all of the warning signs, the flashing red lights and the sirens we still make the wrong decisions regardless of whether we are FBI agents or Social Workers. 

Hannibal: "I came halfway around the world to watch you run, Clarice.  Let me run, huh?  Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me, 'Stop, if you love me you'd stop?'"

Clarice: "Not in a thousand years."

Hannibal: "Not in a thousand years?  That's my girl."

The Older Man Appeal...

This morning i woke up in desperate need of a cold shower. I had spent what felt like hours dreaming about an older man, a much older man in fact. It was surprisingly the one and only Dick Van Dyke, all glorious 86 years of him. His wife also made a guest appearance (Make-up Artist Arlene Silver- aged 40), we were standing there arguing over him. He was rather unfortunately in a hospital bed, however i won the fight and proceeded to get in it with him.

Dick has been a recent topic of conversation amongst my friends, the recent marriage, the huge age difference, his appeal circa Mary Poppins and his current appeal, if any. I had no idea he was on the market, if i had perhaps i would have done something about it and risked being disowned by both my family and friends.


So whats the appeal? Recent studies by Oxford University found that women are looking for solid resources and social status, men prefer younger partners who are 'trim and beautiful' and women prefer older men, except for women in their 60's, who are for some reason after younger men. So it would seem Hugh Hefner, Rod Stewart and Woody Allen all have the right idea (statistically speaking).


Older men have a certain self assurance, the type that can only come with, well i guess being old. They know the importance of picking you up for a date, paying for the movie tickets and they know how to make a phone call, usually from their home phone (none of this text messaging business, to be fair they probably havent quiet grasped the concept). They understand how to charm, a skill that seems to be lost amongst generation Y.


Lets face it they know stuff, they were around when the classics were being made. They watched Caddyshack at the pictures and brought Journey on Vinyl. They have seen it all, traveled to the most exotic locations, paid off their homes and are now left with some rather attractive salt and pepper for their efforts.


The best bit...they will always be older. You will always be slightly more firmer and less wrinkled, you will be chewing steak with your own teeth while they look on with envy, you will not have to worry about them leaving you for someone younger and you will most likely be financially secure. With the assistance of Viagra men can continue to procreate well into later life. Take Paul McCartney who had a child at 61 or Charlie Chaplain who fathered a child at 73, sure its not ideal and the quality of the sperm is certainly deteriorating but they are not faced with the same limitations as women.


As for Dick i will keep my fingers crossed and hope that things fall apart for him and his new wife. And when they do, i will be waiting.

The one that got away...

From an early age i had a plan, by the time i was 27 i was going to be married, by 28 i was was going to be paying off my first home and by 30 i was going to be pregnant with my first of two children, a boy then a girl two years later. 

So how did i come to be 30, living with my parents, single and purchasing avocados and cat food on my credit card? Well to be honest i dont really know. I had lots of dates, month long stints here and there, when i was 19 i dated someone for close to five years and then at 25 another for two years. But since that ended it really has all been down hill. And by down hill i mean i have dated the works, from middle aged Jewish lawyers with OCD to grungy band members with too much facial hair and not enough deodorant.

Having said all that i do have a rather strick criteria around the men that i date, they must be tall a 6ft minimum, have brown hair and blue eyes (however i would be flexible enough to consider brown). They must be funny and outgoing and i wont lie to you i am partial to man that looks like he could kill a bear with his hands, why that is important i dont know, evolution i guess? 

It could be argued that i am too fussy but believe me when i tell you im not, like most people i just have a 'type'. These blogs will mainly focus on dates both past and present, with tales from travel and other encounters thrown in for good measure, there will be stories that will make you laugh and those that will make you cry (more than likely out of pity). Thats it in a nutshell...watch this space...