So, I'm sure by now you're heard of Grindr, it's an app on the iPhone that lets you chat to other gay men and tells you how far away they are to make it easier to hook up with them. The theory being, you log on when you're bored, find some amazingly attractive man a few doors down the road and have some amazing meth-fuelled orgy with them and lose your job, your sanity and your teeth in that order.
Only, I went to the dentist lately and he said I've got lovely teeth and that I'm looking after them really well, so I'm not about to meth all that up because of idle clicks on some app on my phone. So, it's not quite gone the way that I think the fuck-addicts were hoping it would and I'm probably completely failing as a gay because instead of chatting about penis size and favourite sex acts, I have, you know, started talking to people on there. It's quite hilarious, and the degree to which people engage in banter and conversation there makes me wonder if anyone gets laid from it, ever.
Since joining Grindr, I've used it to chat about anarchist politics, coptic christianity, where to find decent food in Chiswick, the collections of different museums, relative levels of tolerance in different cultures and lots and lots of marathon banter. I've learned a lot about running, swapped training tips and been sent as many pictures of really silly things as I've been sent turgid biological reference material.
It's quite refreshing to know that most people drop the pretence that we're all horny fuck-monkeys only interested in being a headless, big-chested sex toy and that there's a lot more to all the guys on there than you'd see on a profile page.
Of course, now my faith in humanity's been restored, I should log off, I've got a meth orgy to get to 114 yards away.