Lez Miserable: "I'm more Byron Burger than Lord Byron. Is that why I can't get a date?"

Meet our new columnist, Eleanor Margolis, as she takes a frank, funny and cynical tour through life as a twentysomething lesbian. In her second piece, she describes what it's like to fancy women who wouldn’t give you the time of day on their ironic 80s Ca

A bunch of us are round at The Austrian’s, drinking wine. As usual, I’m being boring about my bad luck with women. The Austrian is having none of this:

“Try harder,” she commands.

The others agree. They set me a challenge for the next time we go out: if I say some words to a real life attractive female, they’ll buy my drinks for the rest of the night.

It strikes me that even my best buds have no faith in me. I don’t have to take this hypothetical woman home, I just have to do some talking with her. That is my insurmountable task.

But some lesbians have this really specific way of being aloof. Let me paint you a picture:

Nikki is 25. She’s skinny, gamine and lovely, with a Mia Farrow circa ’68 haircut. She enjoys cups of tea and riding her bike through the ‘queer poetry’ section of bookshops in Hackney. She DJs at a club night called ‘Minge Attack’. She once knitted an entire house and lived in it for a month as an art project. She claims never to have bought a chain store item of clothing in her whole life, although every time she goes into Urban Outfitters on Commercial Street, the staff wave at her.

Yes, I know she’s pretentious, but I still kind of fancy her.

Yet, if she existed, Nikki wouldn’t give me the time of day on her ironic 80s Casio watch. I’m stubby and veering towards moustache-y. And if I took penicillin, I might die.

I run into a lot of Nikkis on the hip ‘n’ happening East London queer scene. They ignore me because I use phrases like “hip ‘n’ happening”. So it goes.

Then again, it’s not like I’ve ever made a real effort to talk to a Nikki. I’m no chatter- upper of women. I’m more Byron Burger than Lord Byron. More of a “watch nervously from a distance” kinda gal. My face even has this special shade of red reserved purely for when a woman catches me checking her out. I call it “Just Go Home And Have A Sad, Quiet Wank Vermillion”. Weirdly, this was rejected by Crayola when I suggested it to them as a new shade. 

So, the night out arrives. We’re going to Club Lesley, a lesbian club night at the tit-achingly cool Dalston Superstore. I put on some Prince and apply red lipstick like war paint.

As we walk into the Superstore, I’m confronted by what looks like a swarm of American Apparel models. I already feel like the complimentary bag of salad that comes with a take-away curry.

And then I clock her, over in the heaving crowd around the bar – it’s Nikki. I find myself veering towards her, leaving my friends behind, looking tense. My feet are moving, while my brain is sending out distress signals:

“What do you think you’re doing, you sad, hairy twit? Do not attempt to engage.”

My feet have other plans and suddenly I’m next to her. I know it’s creepy, but I can’t help noticing how nice she smells – like pencil shavings and CK One. It’s uncanny – she ticks every single Nikki box: the pixie haircut, the Urban Outfitters shirt, the aura of someone who may have once knitted a house. I’ve accepted that my brain isn’t on my side, so I do what I’ve never done before - I listen to my vagina.

“Packed tonight, eh!” I announce, over a remix of some early 00s R&B hit.

She glances over at me. My God, she has pretty eyes.

“Uh-huh!” she replies. We’re both having to shout over the music.

“Ahh, gotta love this song!” I say, while my brain says, “You have absolutely no idea what this song is, you complete and utter wanker.”

“Mmmm. I prefer their earlier stuff, to be honest!”

“Oh yeah, classic!” I reply, while my brain is now screaming the word “arsehat” at me repeatedly.

I spend the next few minutes staring at my feet, while waiting to be served. I order a gin and tonic and flee.

Flustered, I return to my friends.

“There. I did it. I spoke to someone.”

“Yah, and then you ran off like a pussy,” says The Austrian.

I’m not even going to bother fighting her on this one. Technically, I’m owed a night’s supply of drinks, but I know I don’t deserve them.

I spend the rest of the evening dancing limply, while keeping one eye on Nikki and frantically thinking up reasons why I hate her. “Look at her over there with her eyes, and her shoes, and her possible cool job in the media. I loathe her.”

At around two in the morning, I realise that my face hurts from frowning so much. All I want to do is lie in bed, eating a kebab and crying. I head off, leaving the others to enjoy the rest of the night.

The next day, I meet The Austrian for a hung-over brunch.

“You know,” she says, “Zat girl you spoke to last night – she liked you.”

I nearly choke on my eggs Benedict.

“What the..? How? No she didn’t.”

“Yeah, we got talking to her and her friends later on. You know what she said about you.”

“Oh God, what?”

“Your mate is cute. Kind of aloof though.”

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose column "Lez Miserable" will appear weekly on the New Statesman website. She tweets @eleanormargolis

Legs. All the legs. Photo: Getty

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.

Photo: Getty Images
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I'm far from convinced by Cameron's plans for Syria

The Prime Minister has a plan for when the bombs drop. But what about after?

In the House of Commons today, the Prime Minister set out a powerful case for Britain to join air strikes against Isil in Syria.  Isil, he argued, poses a direct threat to Britain and its people, and Britain should not be in the business of “outsourcing our security to our allies”. And while he conceded that further airstrikes alone would not be sufficient to beat Isil, he made the case for an “Isil first” strategy – attacking Isil now, while continuing to do what we can diplomatically to help secure a lasting settlement for Syria in which Assad (eventually) plays no part.

I agreed with much of David Cameron’s analysis. And no-one should doubt either the murderous barbarism of Isil in the region, or the barbarism they foment and inspire in others across the world.  But at the end of his lengthy Q&A session with MPs, I remained unconvinced that UK involvement in airstrikes in Syria was the right option. Because the case for action has to be a case for action that has a chance of succeeding.  And David Cameron’s case contained neither a plan for winning the war, nor a plan for winning the peace.

The Prime Minister, along with military experts and analysts across the world, concedes that air strikes alone will not defeat Isil, and that (as in Iraq) ground forces are essential if we want to rid Syria of Isil. But what is the plan to assemble these ground forces so necessary for a successful mission?  David Cameron’s answer today was more a hope than a plan. He referred to “70,000 Syrian opposition fighters - principally the Free Syrian Army (FSA) – with whom we can co-ordinate attacks on Isil”.

But it is an illusion to think that these fighters can provide the ground forces needed to complement aerial bombardment of Isil.  Many commentators have begun to doubt whether the FSA continues to exist as a coherent operational entity over the past few months. Coralling the myriad rebel groups into a disciplined force capable of fighting and occupying Isil territory is a heroic ambition, not a plan. And previous efforts to mobilize the rebels against Isil have been utter failures. Last month the Americans abandoned a $500m programme to train and turn 5,400 rebel fighters into a disciplined force to fight Isil. They succeeded in training just 60 fighters. And there have been incidents of American-trained fighters giving some of their US-provided equipment to the Nusra Front, an affiliate of Al Qaeda.

Why has it proven so hard to co-opt rebel forces in the fight against Isil? Because most of the various rebel groups are fighting a war against Assad, not against Isil.  Syria’s civil war is gruesome and complex, but it is fundamentally a Civil War between Assad’s forces and a variety of opponents of Assad’s regime. It would be a mistake for Britain to base a case for military action against Isil on the hope that thousands of disparate rebel forces can be persuaded to change their enemy – especially when the evidence so far is that they won’t.

This is a plan for military action that, at present, looks highly unlikely to succeed.  But what of the plan for peace? David Cameron today argued for the separation of the immediate task at hand - to strike against Isil in Syria – from the longer-term ambition of achieving a settlement in Syria and removing Assad.  But for Isil to be beaten, the two cannot be separated. Because it is only by making progress in developing a credible and internationally-backed plan for a post-Assad Syria that we will persuade Syrian Sunnis that fighting Isil will not end up helping Assad win the Civil War.  If we want not only to rely on rebel Sunnis to provide ground troops against Isil, but also provide stable governance in Isil-occupied areas when the bombing stops, progress on a settlement to Syria’s Civil War is more not less urgent.  Without it, the reluctance of Syrian Sunnis to think that our fight is their fight will undermine the chances of military efforts to beat Isil and bring basic order to the regions they control. 

This points us towards doubling down on the progress that has already been made in Vienna: working with the USA, France, Syria’s neighbours and the Gulf states, as well as Russia and Iran. We need not just a combined approach to ending the conflict, but the prospect of a post-war Syria that offers a place for those whose cooperation we seek to defeat Isil. No doubt this will strike some as insufficient in the face of the horrors perpetrated by Isil. But I fear that if we want not just to take action against Isil but to defeat them and prevent their return, it offers a better chance of succeeding than David Cameron’s proposal today. 

Stewart Wood is a former Shadow Cabinet minister and adviser to Ed Miliband. He tweets as @StewartWood.