I first met Strapping American last summer in ‘Afterdark’, a shameful (brilliant) Reading nightclub where many a good man and woman goes to drink cheaply, dance like they’re having a stroke and stick to the walls until the bouncers peel them off. My friends and I were concocting one of our unpopular themed dance routines when suddenly an impressive strapping shadow fell upon our group of four, and we peered up through the darkness to see a man of Gulliver proportions smiling smoulderingly down at us. The easiest way to describe him would be to say ‘Imagine Captain America, but dark and more Republican’. Strapping American is 6 foot 4, with Byronic curling hair, a granite-hard square jaw and big melty Labrador eyes. In other words, he’s a certified danger to all womankind.
Since I have known what a man is – and been keen to find out what it is they are good for – I have often found myself lying prostrate on the torturous rack of love. For the best part of a decade I have yearned and pined for one undeserving soul or another, and as such I feel that I am better qualified than most to offer advice on the matter. Here are my expert tips on how to avoid the rack of love- heed at all costs or your arms and legs will be so long from all the stretching that even octopuses won’t want you. Continue reading