Flirting. The act of making ourselves emotionally and physically appealing so that one day, we might get oily and freaky in a shower or visit some kind of weird S&M sex prison in Soho and rub shoulders with the Tories and Jamie Theakston. The road to sexy Nirvana.

To teach you something of flirting I have decided to share with you an example from my recent past. Involving a girl whose real name I shall not reveal (for code purposes we will say she is called Sexy Sarah).

Sexy Sarah is my friend. She is lovely and good fun and I had been practising my flirting on her for a good while before I felt ready to take my skills onto real girls that go to nightclubs and drink white wine in an Absolutely Fabulous fashion.

Now this starts a few weeks ago when we went to the beach. Now I must clarify that this wasn’t really a date (Sexy is very clear on this) as we are just friends but it was an outing, (some might call it a romantic outing – she wouldn’t) but the point is it gave me a chance to practise my craic. Anyway, details aside, we went on this pretty romantic date to the seaside, the perfect way to show my sensitive side and intelligent gentleman brain.

Rule number one then, when going on a date to the beach, do not take books with you. Apparently this might suggest that you are disinterested in your target and as my friend Aled The Mountain told me (see below for picture of Aled The Mountain) it is, “Nerdy as fuck and why you never ever have sex, you fucking nerd.”

Aled 'The Mountain and not The Snowman' Jones

Anyway, remember this, books are generally a big no no, unless maybe you have some outstanding at the library and the library happens to be on the beach in which case it probably makes sense to take them with you. Now, if you do insist on taking books with you (even though you shouldn’t), let them be something about poetry or art or maybe some travel guide of the Himalayas from when you (pretend) lived their once – “Oh…wow I didn’t realise that I still had this in my hand…..how embarrassing..you know I lived there once? Yeah amazing..we ate fresh goat everyday.”That would be cool because it would make you look worldly or sensitive and chicks love that shit.

So, it’s agreed then that if you must do books, art and poetry all the way. What you don’t want to do is take a book about the Victorian serial killer Jack the Ripper cos that’s creepy as hell. Again though, if you insist, at least keep it in your bag. Don’t get it out while you’re eating fish and chips near some pensioners as an icebreaker to show you ‘read’ before opening it to the ‘previously unreleased crime scene photos.’ Never ever do this.

[Fascinating read by the way available here, turns out Montaque John Druitt did it – I guess you never really know anyone do you]

Also as a quick side note,  not really sure of how appropriate it is to take a bag on a date if you’re a heterosexual male, I think it’s maybes a bit gay. Anyhoo, I digress, date mistake numero uno, don’t take books about serial killers and never ever talk about it or show the pictures. Got it? Good.

And now, drum roll please the final act of error. It begins with this.

We are in a nightclub called WHQ, dancing, joking and having fun. Earlier on Sexy Sarah had said the words, “Jordan, can I stay at yours tonight?” Admittedly she meant on my settee and not with me in my bed, but it’s a start and at least she would be in my lair –sorry home, and it’s not like she can stay awake forever, at some point she would have to sleep. At which, I would have had the opportunity to strike…”oh Jesus…I must be sleepwalking again…naked…yes it would appear to be a World War II gas mask…DVD?”

But yes, we are dancing and I turn away for a second and she pours her drink all over me. My head was wet, my shirt was drenched and my glasses had done that nerdy humid thing of getting a bit wet and then steaming up. So, because I am a child at heart, I turned, saw her glee and promptly emptied my very full drink over her head. She was livid. Personally, I thought she was over reacting slightly considering it was she that started it. Twat. Anyway, she was soaking and if the chafing I was feeling was mutual, probably really uncomfortable too. She then left the club and got a taxi home…alone.

Sadly, this is not the end of it. The next day in talking to her, I find that, it might not actually have been her that poured the drink on me and in hindsight, I never actually saw the pourer of said drink and simply assumed it was her because she was smiling and having fun. Basically, I assaulted a girl in a nightclub for nothing and probably ruined her night a little bit. I am not proud of this.

Worryingly this also means that there is someone in Newcastle who dislikes me enough to pour a full drink over me (and drinks in World Head Quarters aren’t that cheap, so that’s a lot of hate). Even more worrying is the fact that this is not the first time someone has poured a drink over me in a club but that’s a whole new blog.

So yes, in short. When flirting do not show pictures of dead prostitutes to your target and definitely never, I repeat, never pour a drink over a girls head. Its just dicky.