Since I was thrown back into singledom I have learned a few things; how to build a flatpack desk all by myself, how to cook lasagne properly (we used to get the ready meal version), and more recently, how we single girls just can't get it right no matter how we're feeling. Someone is always there to question us.

I did the heartbreak, the anger, the throwing myself into another 'relationship'... I did it all, and my friends saw me through it for which I am eternally grateful. But now, now that I am for the most part enjoying being my own person in my single little life, I go through phases of not wanting anyone to come and mix it up followed by phases of wanting a man in my life - but no matter which phase I'm in, someone has to put in their two cents and tell me I'm doing it all wrong.

I know they don't mean to - it's usually my friends that put their foot in it so I know they wouldn't try to make me feel rubbish intentionally - but really, must my love life be commented on just because I am single? I don't meet up with my attached friends and tell them what they're doing wrong in their relationships, so unless I'm asking you what I'm doing wrong (I tend not to ask that, unless there is a lot of wine involved and it's with my best friend who feels the same) I'd prefer a little support rather than all the questions or jibes. Pretty please.

Recently, out in a bar, I made a half-joke that they should have a door policy where they just let in single people who are all over a certain height (I'm talking men, here) so that the likelihood of being chatted up by someone with potential was heightened. I may not have put it quite like that - a bottle of Pinot Grigio had mysteriously been consumed by this point, but it was along those lines. Instant reaction from my (also single but far better at dating) friend - 'Wow, desperate much?'. Ouch. And this just to a joke about wanting to chat to a decent man for a few hours. 

So if I want to find a man and I talk about it, I'm desperate; the lovely Mullies' column over on Cosmo summed that up perfectly, complete with all the cliches I am sick of hearing. No, it won't happen when I least expect it, because to be honest my expectations have been pretty low, or non existent since the last guy I saw and nothing has cropped up thus far. But on the flip side whenever I am more nonchalant about it, and mention that actually I am quite content being single and am not really looking for anything, I get asked why? Why do you not want a boyfriend? What's wrong? 

I was asked this by a very annoying tourist in Zebranos once. His mate had bought my mate a drink so he thought that entitled him to hassle me, while I politely sipped my own drink and prayed he'd disappear. The conversation went something like this after he asked, with a smirk, if I was single:

'Yes.'

'Why are you single?'

'Well, I just am, why is anyone?'

'So, do you want a boyfriend then?'

'No, not right now.'

'But why not? Every girl wants a boyfriend, don't they. I could be a good boyfriend.'

I gulp my wine and tell him I'm off to get another drink.

If it's not random men in bars who won't get the hint that they are pushing ancient on the age scale and could really do with reigning in that pervy tongue, it's friends who just don't understand how I could not be desperate (there's that word again) to get back into a relationship. 'How's your love life?' they ask, as if everybody has to have a love life. 'Why not try online dating?' 'You need to just get out there',  etc etc. I simply can't get it right.

As seen in my recent blog posts, there are pros to being single and cons to the lonely life. Everyone knows that, even those of you who live in perfect pairdom. Sometimes I crave having someone to come home to and snuggle with, and other times I feel secretly lucky to be so independent. But if I am telling you I wish a bar were full of eligible men just for me, don't call me desperate. Pay me a compliment to make me feel better. Or if I am telling you I'd rather be a nun than have a man in my life, don't jump in with the cliches - just let me be right, for once. After all, I don't have anyone else to win arguments with...

Having recently dipped my toe back into the rather cool - icy even - pool of internet dating, I found myself wondering whether this now common way of finding a date is turning us into more critical singletons, with expectations that are far too high. 

With shows like Take Me Out getting me fired up (just check the Twitter feed - sorry to my dear followers), about both the men and women on it, it's all too easy to dismiss someone almost instantaneously because of a less than perfect first impression. Not as tall as you'd like? Lights out.  Lives with his mum? Blackout. Dresses his puppy in little outfits? Bit weird. Likes to dress as a woman and sing? Well, that might be pushing it. 

Back in the day (and this isn't even that far back, for me anyway), you used to see someone, get to know someone and see where it went. Now, in a dating world where it's harder to find a date and anyone and everyone is online in some shape or form, we're getting snappier and stricter with our judgements. And it's not just that we can find them online - even after a first date we can Google them, Facebook stalk them, find them on Twitter or on their blog and see what makes them tick before making a decision, without so much as sending them a message to say thanks for the drink.

With this immediate approval or disapproval in mind, we online daters seem to be looking for Mr or Mrs Perfect - and nothing less will do. I'm hardly in a position to be fussy, that much is clear - and I'm trying to be quite open minded online, putting age differences and usual type aside when browsing. But flicking through some profiles on a site recently left me feeling really rather inadequate (and then, when my senses kicked in, just disappointed) because I wasn't sure I could meet the 'would like to meet' criteria of most of these men. Are we so used to getting the right stuff in just a few clicks that we expect dating to be the same? The top profile put-offs for me so far have been:

So guys, (and girls) - can I make a suggestion? Rather than describe in detail the absolute ideal of the person you are looking for, perhaps make it a little more open to, you know, real people. Cheryl Cole (or enter perfect woman/man here) isn't going to be looking for you on there, but the One might be - don't make them click off in the first second just because they're scared of heights or not a fan of Indian food. You at least want them to be interested enough for them to try and Google you...

OK, so despite my last post things aren't all rosy in the singles camp. They can be a little prickly at times. While I am enjoying my arguments-less, toilet-seat-down freedom, there are a few cons to balance out the pros of being all alone...

 

This one is in both lists because let's face it, even though it's irrelevant rubbish when you're single it can become dull to be the grumpy unattached one who cries out that Clinton's simply invented it to make money out of us all for the first thirteen days of February. Most of those in a relationship can look forward to a guaranteed night of attempted romance, a present, some alcohol and maybe even an engagement. Will he, won't he, ooh the excitement. (He probably won't. It would be a bit uninventive to put it in your dessert at TGI Fridays). 

2. Manly Jobs
Get your minds out of the gutter, I am talking DIY. Around the house. I live in a house with very high ceilings and I do not own a ladder, nor do I want to for heights are not my strong point. This means changing a lightbulb when one of our spotlights goes bang is basically impossible and I have to live in the dark(ish). A man would find some way to sort it out I'm sure - that's his job*. He would also put manly things in my man drawer (Michael McIntyre reference, look it up), and generally be my DIY hero for anything I couldn't manage. (I say this, having built my very own *cough* flat pack *cough* desk, thank you very much). 

*Promise I'm not sexist... I swear boys like to play with tools. And lightbulbs. 

Probably the single reason that could sway me away from liking being single is the lack of hugs going around. There are two people that give amazing hugs: my mum, and my (currently non existent) man. I don't see my mum anywhere near enough since evil National Rail and co keep boosting train prices so much that I struggle to even go back home once a month. Friends give hugs but they are always a quick hello or goodbye - but for the ones I miss, I'm talking about the kind of wrapping-you-up, not letting go for a good half hour type of hug. I miss those. 

I would like a weekend boyfriend. I pretty much had that when doing the long-distance thing and it suited me quite well - too busy in the week for anything but work and sleep, and then lots of spare time at the weekend that needed filling with fun, hugs and getting to know someone better. These days my weekends tend to see me exhausted trying to be creative while also trying to remember how to relax, but really it would be quite nice to have someone to get a Sunday roast with or to watch films all day with... sigh. 

As we saw from my rant about turning a QUARTER OF A CENTURY OLD (I'm not over it yet), being single at 25 wasn't in my plan. Just a few years ago I was thinking about how I would decorate the flat that me and my now ex would buy together one day. Silly, silly me. While that plan is well and truly de-planned (a good thing), a lot of my friends are looking to buy houses, looking at rings in jewellery shop windows, looking at baby scans... and well, they're all settling down a bit. Which makes me feel a little odd, since in my head I could easily still be 18 and the thought of settling down scares the bejesus out of me, because all I want is someone to travel with and to still party with the girls on a Saturday night. It would be nice to have a new plan forming though, or at least some unplanned fun which shows a glimmer of possibility of a plan later on. You know, before I turn 30. Which is just five years away *gulp*...

I'm sure I've missed out a whole load of romantic stuff but let's not depress ourselves, shall we? I still stand by my pros of being single and at the moment, aside from a dark bathroom (seriously, anyone got a ladder they fancy using?) I am pretty happy. Most of the time...

What's that you say? There are good things to be said about singledom? Why yes, I believe there are. Not having a Match.com-advert-like life is actually not the worst thing in the world (it's brilliant, in fact, since I despise those ads). Romance is great, but relationships? Not so much, not always anyway. Just in time for that ridiculous date in the diary that we like to call Valentine's Day and circle with a red heart, I thought I'd put together a little list of things to be grateful for, all thanks to being happily single. And no, it doesn't mean I fail at life, hate couples, am gay or an angry feminist - I just quite like the freedom of being free.

I'm not saying all you gorgeous loved-up people have it bad - we all know you're pretty happy and we're happy for you. (There will, for balance, be a follow up blog on the cons of all this fancy-freedom).

The obvious one to start with - we singles are free from the pain of Valentine's Day. The overpriced cards, the overpriced presents which we have to buy at the last minute because the sweet little handcrafted gift didn't turn out so well, the pressure of finding something to do together that isn't just a meal in Pizza Express. With a coupon. Ahhh, bliss. This Valentine's Day is a Monday too so I don't even have to find a single-but-still-doing-something alternative. Amazing. Thank you, calendar.

2. Money

Closely connected to numero uno but definitely a point (or ten) in its own right is the money, honey. The money I earn goes on me (well, rent), my friends (read: wine with friends), family and nobody else. When I take a little trip to Matalan, I can skip the men's section. I tend to skip the women's section too and head straight for the home bit, but that is not the point. I used to spend a fortune when I was non-single - trips across the UK because of long distance fun, expensive presents, little presents, underwear, cinema trips, petrol, the list went on. Now Christmas is easy because I just spoil my family and I no longer think it's acceptable to go into my overdraft just to travel across the UK for a kiss.

You can have nights out with your friends when you're not single. (No really, you can). But some ladies don't understand that you can also leave the man at home, or that you can put your phone in your bag and he shouldn't mind too much that you haven't updated him about how busy the bar is and what your outrageously drunk friend is up to. Most of my friends are great at enjoying themselves when their other halves are at home or likewise out with the boys, but you can always spot one girl in the room who's got her Blackberry out (fine, iPhone, cool kids) or the one who is stood next to her guy because he had nothing to do and decided to tag along, but is now bored because dancing isn't his thing. My nights out are spent catching up with best friends, laughing as much as possible and dressing to impress - and I will keep that up even when/if I'm not in singlesville. (I do have some great friends though whose other halves are as much fun as they are on a girls' night out - so I hope my next man is one of those, please).

I didn't have too many of these back in the day thankfully, but when we did argue I hated it. I hate confrontation so tended to go quiet and stare at my phone wondering why it wasn't beeping with apologies. I don't miss the disagreements, the questioning of feelings, the second-guessing what the other was thinking - obviously, that relationship ended so clearly wasn't right, but I'm sure every relationship has its little quibbles. These days, the only arguments I have are with the adverts I hate on TV (here comes Match again) and the amount of calories in a Pop Tart. I win every time.

No, not Myspace. My space. Though Facebook probably features in here too, thanks to the lack of relationship status updates, stalking and anguish over why he hasn't put up that lovely photo of you both as his profile picture (this is a general point, not about me, promise). As a detached damsel not-in-distress, I get to do what I want, make a mess of my room if I want (actually, I prefer not to), do my makeup if I feel like it, stay in my perfectly acceptable non-silky pyjamas on a Sunday if I want to and generally have my own space whenever I need it. Wash his smelly socks and give up my bathroom? No thank you. 

Ok, there are plenty of downsides to being back in the world of dating - but while I have a think about those, what have I missed from the sunny side up? 

So. I am freaking out a little that I am 25. Twenty five. Twenty. Five. I have no idea where the last five years went, and I would quite like to have them back so I can do things differently. I know that's not productive, but if I'm already regretting the past half decade, what on earth will I be feeling in five measly years' time when I am thirty and looking back at my twenties? That is what is keeping me awake at night... literally, since I am starting to write this at 2:21am. I'm so worried that in five years I will be saying the same thing, that now the pressure is well and truly on for me to do something about it.

Last weekend I watched three films - ah, the benefits of being single - Step Up 3, Romy and Michele's High School Reunion, and Sex and the City 2. Random choices, simply because they all showed up from Amazon and I can never wait to play with something new for long. Firstly, I did them in the wrong order, since SATC2 with all its heartbreak and crying and borderline racism depressed me just in time for bed (and blogging). Secondly, they all got me thinking, which is both good and bad.

Step Up 3 started me off on a good motivational foot, reminding me (apparently I need reminding) that I love dancing, exercise can make you feel good and I need to stop sitting on the sofa watching films and get up and move. Seeing as this is part of my new year get-me-healthy plan too, I looked into some dance classes, found a gem of a dance deal on Wahanda (where else?) and managed to rope in a couple of brilliant friends to come with me. It may not be booked yet, but it will happen. Streetdance here I come. The only bad thing about this is that I reckon in another life somewhere I am someone who has been dancing since they could walk, knew how happy it made them and chose it for life (and probably has a better figure too). I kind of wish I had done that - it would have made a good hobby, also a new year's resolution. But this will have to do, because it's a bit late for that...

Romy and Michele's High School Reunion is a brilliantly, hilariously perfect film, and if you haven't seen it then I suggest you get the girls around and watch it pronto. It is, obviously, about their ten year high school reunion and how they haven't achieved all that much since school, so they make it all up and go to try and show off. The problem with this, despite the tear-inducing comedy, is that it got me thinking about the past ten years of my life.  Uhoh.

Next year it will be ten years since I left school, which, along with the big two five and the fact that it's flown by, is absolutely terrifying. When I was younger, 25 seemed far far away; it was a year by which I would have got the job I always dreamed of, settled down with someone, bought a flat, maybe even got a ring on my finger or at least the potential for one. Probably a couple of cats in there too. As you grow up, 'that age' at which you think milestones might happen gets a little older as you realise how time has a habit of speeding up, but I didn't think I would get here and have absolutely none of the above.

It's quite earth-shattering to think that even if I move that age to 30, that only gives me five teeny tiny years to get there, and I wouldn't even know where to start. I'm not saying you have to have these things by this age or else you're a failure - we all know that people are getting married, having children later in life these days and the housing ladder is near impossible to find let alone get on; but I can't help remembering 12-year-old-me and her grand ideas of having her life sorted by the age of 26 - and I feel a little guilty that I didn't make it happen. It doesn't help that most of the people around me have managed it, sisters included (not all of the above but the ring-on-finger at least).

Which leads on to the Sex and the City 2 effect. Apart from thinking 'who the hell wrote this script?', Carrie's marriage problems combined with the slightly sickening but wonderful love between her and Big gave me the blues, just what you want before you slip off into your dreams. But I didn't know whether this was the blues because I am single and nowhere near that marriage ideal, despite many of my friends being well and truly at that stop; or whether it was because I really don't want all that messy relationship stuff (they are quite hostile and argumentative in the sequel... and in the original, come to think about it). Being single is great because I don't have to have those horrid arguments, the ones that turn your stomach and make you want to throw your phone across the room... but it's also rubbish because you don't get that 'I got you a black diamond because I know you so well' feeling, ever. Sigh. There is of course a happy ending, but that just left me wondering whether I would get one of those or whether I was going to be a Samantha (with less naughtiness, ahem) forever.

Never before has 'so much to do, so little time' been such a problem, and I'm not sure how to deal with it. Is it good to have plans, or do they just make us feel inadequate when they don't work out?

I like to rant. Here's my first proper blog rant.

I am on a train for around 90 minutes in total each day. God that's depressing. It's not the best part of my day. It's a space in which getting a seat is a highlight, and something you feel a bit smug about even if it's only for five minutes - so hardly something to shout about. 

But, after yet another journey of suffering people who either have no manners, no sense or just no awareness of anything around them other than their nose, I thought it was worth blogging about. And so, without further ado: the Train Commandments. Please try and remember at least one of the points when you next board a train. Or, indeed, any form of transport where other human beings are present.

The Train Commandments

1. Thou shalt allow air into the train

I like air. Don't you? Nice fresh air that wakes you up a little, helps you breathe, you know the stuff. So why, oh dear commuter, must you sit there idly, in your privileged window seat, as we all roast in this cabin of heated hell? If the windows are steamy, it's not for drawing in - it's sweat and breath and goodness knows what else, so open a window. It won't bite. If there is not a single window open on your carriage, despite it being full of people sitting and standing in every space available, open a window. I don't care if it's raining. I don't care if it's snowing. You're probably wearing a coat. Man up and open it so that we don't all have to sweat and smell each other's breath - there's just no need to do that with strangers.

Are you sitting on the aisle side? Look at the seat next to you. Is it empty? Now look around the carriage. Is the train getting full? Are people standing? Are you approaching a station with a platform full of people? Here's a thought - don't keep an empty seat next to you for no reason. Someone will see it and they will climb over you to get to it. That will be awkward, they might even touch you a bit with their boot, and given that you like sitting next to empty seats that can't be good. Shuffle over to the window side (or the middle if you're in a row of three, there you go) and let someone sit down without having to negotiate the space between your feet and bags. Oh, and bags on a seat? Don't you dare. 

There's a reason kids are told to chew with their mouths closed. It's in the hope that they will remember it as they grow older and learn to eat like civilised human beings. None of us want to see that mashed up Maccy Ds in your mouth. More importantly, none of us want to hear you as you munch it, followed by a slurp of your drink, followed by more munching and loud exhaling through your nose. We don't want to see crumbs falling all over the seat. If you must eat food while travelling (we've all been there), at least get something that doesn't stink, doesn't make too much noise and that isn't messy. A Twitter friend had to sit on a train with a woman standing up, eating a Wasabi noodle soup. One can only imagine how sickening that carriage was, with its lack of windows open, full of people standing because the seats were filled by imaginary friends while she slurped on soup.

When you're standing on a train and need to pick up your suitcase/briefcase/Maccy Ds wrapper, remember: trains are quite small. People sitting down are at about waist height. If you then bend over, from your waist, to pick up said item, you are quite possibly going to thrust your backside into someone's face a little. This is bad etiquette. It is unnecessary. Simply bend at the knees and away you go, with no awkward encounters and probably no back problems because you really should lift with your knees, not your back. Those wrappers can be heavy. 

We all hate having coughs and colds and flu because we're British and we still have to go to work and make sure we infect everyone else. But when you're on a train, on your not so merry way to work, and that little tickle comes along - don't sneeze into your Metro. Don't cough into it. That is not a substitute for being polite. Use your elbow or hands to catch your grimey germs, or even better use a tissue. Or even better than that, stay at home. No one wants to touch your germy dribble while reading about the royal wedding. 

Train seats aren't luxurious, or wide, or particularly comfy, but they are a certain size. They are all the same size. Which means even if you are reading a newspaper next to someone who isn't, that does not give you the right to elbow them in the ribs as you do so. Nor does it give you the right to spread your paper across into their space. And if you do, you cannot then get mad that they begin to read it. In fact, they should probably be allowed to turn the page. 

Remember Funhouse? Well, in the final part of the game they had to wait for their team mate to come out of the funhouse before they could go in. Like a relay. Apply this logic to trains. Not only do you look like an impatient child when you shove your way past an old lady who is being slow at stepping off the train, but you are actually being stupid. The more people who get off the train, the more space there will be on the train. Let them get off, considering it's their stop after all, and when you step on there will be more seats to choose from. See? 

It's fine to have a phone conversation on a train. Really it is. But do you have to be so LOUD? We don't actually need to know that your best friend has annoyed you, or that you didn't get a pay rise. We're not going to sympathise as we are busy trying to breathe in this airless carriage while not slapping the guy digging his elbows into our ribs. At least try to talk a little quieter or keep it short - we'll know you tried, and we'll hate you less. 

It is unfair that you have to stand for part or all of your journey. We get that, we have been there. But We, the Seated, do not deserve to be suffocated by your coat. Or your bag. Or your scarf. Or your dreadlocks (seriously, this happened this morning, I felt quite pukey.) Remember that the aisle, like the seats, is a certain size, and while those people sitting down may look comfy, it doesn't mean they can handle having all the air, even the recycled air, taken away because you need to lean. This is no place for leaning. 

10. Thou shalt offer your seat to those who need it
A slightly more serious one to finish, but one that shouldn't even need to be said. No seats left and a pregnant woman gets on? Get up. No seats and some elderly people get on? Get up. No seats and a disabled person gets on? Get up. Just be nice - it's not hard. No one will think less of you, even in London. You might even get a smile out of someone - and that is something to shout about...

OK, my rant is over. That felt quite good. Did I miss anything? Train users, unite!

Sorry Sanctuary, the secret's out. After attending a very well planned blogger event at The Sanctuary Spa last summer, I finally got around to trying out the wonder product that all the therapists and PRs were raving about - the Therapist's Secret Facial Oil. 

Now, as we know, I have the most sensitive skin in the world (fact, I don't need a survey) and we also all know that faces are possibly the most sensitive area of sensitive skins - and the last place you would want to cause problems since your colleagues and, well, people have to look at it every day. They don't have a choice. 

So I was very hesitant about giving this a go. First, I tried it on my wrist. All good. Then on the inside of my elbow. Still all good. Then behind my ear (which was worryingly close to the face, but Twitter assured me it's the best test. And you have to trust Twitter.) All good. Then: the face.

Hallelujah! No allergic reaction, no redness, no nothing. And the best part? This beauty product actually does what it claims to do. 

The oil looks a lot like olive oil but has a gorgeous light sunflower scent to assure me it's not. In a slick glass bottle (I like to see what's going on my face, so this gets a tick), the lid has a dropper so there is no risk of wasting any of it - just drop what you need into your hand and enjoy the fact that this bottle (30ml) will last a long, long time. It claims to be a 'super charged plumping treatment for younger-looking skin'. It's made with pure oils of sunflower, jojoba, wheatgerm, rosehip seed oil, rose, and frankincense. And it's paraben free.

The lovely Lipgloss86 advised me to use it a few times a week, at night - that way, it has time to sink in and you don't have to worry about keeping your makeup on after. It also means you can rinse off in the morning to get rid of any that hasn't sunk in. This was a great tip since I'd already tried it in the mornings and didn't love it as a base (though this is one way of using it). Plus, once you've got it on, you won't want to cover it up with anything else - it's too luxurious. 

The only word that works to really explain how this oil makes my skin feel is 'nourished' - sorry to sound like Davina. The winter has brought back a bout of awful dry skin for me that E45 cream was barely managing to keep up with - until now. I've been using the oil every other evening plus always on the night before a night out, and it's given me the softest skin I have had in a long time. It isn't greasy, it smells good, and it definitely does plump the skin to make it more radiant. I'm not sure about the 'younger' bit yet, since I am having age issues (see other blog posts) and don't want to think about whether my skin looks old or not. But I will still be using this product when I'm 30, that's for sure.

A skin-saver that I'm not allergic to? That is a beauty regime I can get along with... 

Have you tried it, or any other Sanctuary products that are worth mentioning?

Disclosure: I received this oil as part of a goody bag at a bloggers event at The Sanctuary

I was recently very lucky to review the brand new, first-of-its-kind Hed Kandi Bar in Clapham for View London and I just wanted to share it over here. Putting Clapham on the map as a pretty decent destination for a night out (and on my map for potential places to move to!), the Hed Kandi Bar is, for any Hed Kandi fans out there, a bit of disco heaven. 

Slick booths, friendly staff, feel-good music, obviously, and cocktails that would put some of the best cocktail bars in London to shame; it's ticking all the boxes. It's also covered in the amazing Jason Brooks' infamous illustrations - one day, I want my house to have a room like that (with David Downton too, of course).

Yes, I say this as a huge Hed Kandi lover but also as a reviewer who has tried, ahem, quite a few cocktails in quite a few places. Plus, they gave me chocolate and fake eyelashes - what more does a girl need? Just a tip if you're at a loss for somewhere to go - get thee to Hed Kandi and be sure to try the Kandi shots... you won't be disappointed.