WHATEVER happens with Kylie, I will always regret not following my heart and dating a woman who is British, middle-aged and drinks too much. And now, at 29, I fear it may be too late.
All my life I’ve felt pressured into dating famous beauties like Lily-Rose Depp and Eiza Gonzalez, but deep down I wanted to be with a 40-something British woman who says things like: ‘Looks like it’s Prosecco o’clock!’ Her being slightly overweight would be the icing on the cake.
Many times when filming in England I watched these unattainable nymphs from a distance, my heart wracked by yearning as I stood outside Spoons. But how could I go into a pub and expect that middle-aged women would want to sleep with me? It was ridiculous.
I’ve even invented an imaginary British partner, ‘Ange’. We have a magical fantasy life together: trips to the big Asda in Stafford, watching repeats of Grand Designs, her telling me about her sister’s problems with her combi boiler. But what are my chances of meeting a woman like that?
There are just too many obstacles to finding a real-life Ange. Her friends might not like me. She’d be stuck in a luxury hotel all day while I was filming in exotic locations. I know little about British culture, and what woman would want a man who couldn’t talk at length about the Premier League?
You’ve probably guessed this emotional turmoil is the cause of my problems with Kylie. It’s not her fault, and she’s an attractive 28-year-old woman. But is she always hassling me to put out the wheelie bin? Has she got pain-in-the-arse teenage children from a previous marriage? Is she always shitfaced on Blossom Hill? No, no and no.
Will I ever find the happiness I crave? I’ve accepted it may never happen. But if any middle-aged British women are reading this, I am not too proud to be a sympathy shag.
