Where are all the cool single guys in London?

• hair in the hoover, matted in balls in your socks so you have a small lump under your heel all day, white fluffy scarf put in with your dark wool wash, curby grips everywhere, combined beauty creams that smell like refreshers but taste foul when you have a cheeky midnight face lick, using a new cup every time tea is made, finding random things she was holding and swapped for something in the fridge, your fitted shirts are now ironed properly, finally being allowed the simple pleasures in life - tea & cigarette with your morning dump, NO MORE FUCKING CUSHIONS to put back as you found them, lids put back on so they don't fly off when you shake the jar, no more low fat spread that no one eats, wearing comfy clothing that's slightly too big - burnt orange is not a manly colour especially in a medium jumper, owning an umbrella for more than it's first use, knowing that where you left something is where it will always be, not having your change gone through and put into 5 different money jars, no more stinky £10 ballet shoes, not having to untangle 20 pairs of tights a week after washing, no more fluffy towels that shed onto your face hair making you look foolish all day, your water resistant clothing isn't washed in conditioner rendering it useless, no more hiding cycling related receipts, knowing how much is in your account because you actually take a receipt from the cash machine, not finding 11 socks in the bed....
  
  

Ha!
But some of them are actually mine - things I'd do, as I;m more house trained than my wife.
No half eaten stuff left behind, no banana peels on top of my books, no half eaten packets of nuts left in the cupboard ("remember to buy mixed nuts!"), telfon frying pans which are not scratched with a knife, no rugs drying on my bikes, no more hundreds of bottles of half used shampoo cluttering the bathroom,
no hair in the washing machine, no fake nails in the washing machine or bed, full access to the walk in wardrobe, no fake tan or mascara on my pillow, no more hidden platform fucking high heel shoes spread all over the floor I always step on when I want a piss in the middle of the night, no more Jeremy Kyle, no more recorded episodes of Celebrity Big brother, X Factor, You can fucking dance etc. cluttering the hard disc of my Sky box....