Sometimes you just want a pasty.

Following my recent lack of enthusiasm for the American male race I have discovered a new untapped source of men of a more European nature... Brit lads on holiday! Yes I know, I know... It's sacrilege surely? I've moved all the way to a far (exotic?) land full of new flavours to try and all I'm hankering for is a good old pasty. Or in this case, a bit of Angus beef.

Sometimes a girl just wants a guy who will cut out all the bullshit, quit trying to sound intelligent, worldly, successful and all those other wonderful things NY dates are designed to showcase, and cut to the chase. What's wrong with a guy who'll feed you rum and shots until he looks like Johnny Depp and then tell you he is coming back to yours? "Get yer coat darlin', you've pulled", etcetera etcetera. On this occasion I was in no state to argue... Nor did I want to. I've always felt that one of my most favourable drunken qualities (besides being a total hoot) is the fact that I never seem to don a pair of beer goggles. No matter how absolutely off my tits I may be, there's just no way you'll ever catch me lowering my standards for a bit of nookie. How anyone can do this is beyond me, there's got to be some chemistry there, right? I guess there may be some semblance of a woman inside of me after all! Rest assured, if you make it into my bed it's because I think you are FIT, and this was no exception.

Angus was very tall and stubbly with long scruffy dirty blonde hair, actually, just a bit dirty looking all over really and kind of lop-sided looking, like Rhys Ifans. And he had a really naughty glint in his eye; My Mum has always said that I go for the kind of man who looks unpredictable, like a wild animal bred in captivity who could turn at any point. She thinks I want to tame them. I think I just want to fuck them. Plus, he had the most amazing hairy chest I think I have ever seen and I never turn down an opportunity to snuggle up to a rug that magnificent.

N.B. This is strictly the only circumstance in which I will EVER snuggle... maybe it's some sick Freudian link to my Dad who also has a rather impressive chest of hair? I think I actually just vomited in my mouth.

Oh, and he had a Glaswegian accent. 'Nuff said.