The Isle of Man

                                                                                                Man in all its Da Vinci splendour

When you read the title of my blog, it probably brings back memories of exotic holiday destinations, islands, cocktails (a word whose origin I've always been curious about), etc. But I do not refer to the small isle you may have learned to associate with The Isle of Man. In my mind, it is Men Planet. Men Headquarters from which all secret operations are discussed and executed. You see, the way dogs mark their territory with a golden surprise, the territory of a man too can be easily recognised. There are certain similarities that should make an alarm of suspicion blare in your head. When comparing bacherlors' apartments, they all seem alike.

The greyness of their walls and coldness of their interior is a familiar sight for any woman lured to the predator's nest. A porn tape may be stashed away in a distant closet no female hand is allowed to touch (unless of course the high-quality work of filmmaking is to be enjoyed together), but small signs of perversion aside, all bachelor pads seem designed by the same person. There is a high availability of high-fi technological devices such as flatscreens, stereos and computers, which by the way, is a topic of conversation best left untouched if you do not wish to be bored to death by a lengthy speech on the subject (their inner nerd is shy, but when provoked, strangely enthusiastic).

When it comes to cultural miracles such as art, books and soothing, instrumental music, a man's apartment is oft completely devoid of these things. Men are more interested in a comfortable, practical home so they can lie on the sofa after a long day of work and watch TV (meaning sports, porn or action flicks).

These modern day bachelors are an odd breed altogether. Most consider a woman won the second her foot steps over the threshold of their front door. All ambition to seduce a woman properly and lead her down the sinful path of temptation is stifled once she agrees to have a cup of coffee at his place or however you wish to phrase it. As if agreeing to such a thing means consensual sex is a sure thing. For a man, showing a woman his home is the last step. And once a woman is seduced into his bed, what is next? Most relationships do not survive a night of passion - or five minutes of frustration in some cases.

So when you are brought to such an apartment, what does that say about you? After all, should a home not reflect the personality of its owner? Indeed, are women secretly attracted to the kind of man who would want to inhabit such a place? Do they want cheap thrills? We tell ourselves we don't. Yet the macho man in leather jacket often lures us to his trap. Opposites attract, but the macho man can only be bed, not wed.

With a one-night stand, we have no standards. But what do we look for, for a long-term relationship? Our expectations are unrealistic perhaps. That a dashing young man will approach us in slow-motion like in commercials and whisper some intellectually stimulating pick-up line such as: "You're hot. Are you new?" An image that does not correspond with our imaginary future boyfriend encounters. We romanticise men. Why? It makes reality a bit more bearable. Some of them must be decent. Surely. But they're all taken...Are they?