Introducing your new love guru: Loveless Letitia

Loveless Letitia

or ‘how to lose a guy in ten minutes’.

Most people have romantic visions of falling in love at Oxford, swanning around in the bright sun on bikes or punts, picnicking in meadows and lounging glamorously in black tie together…

And most people come to realise the reality is very different.

However, despite the less than glamorous tales of Park End liaisons and crew date conquests, MOST people have at least some items of interest in their history of romantic (or otherwise) encounters.

Josie Grossie

Josie Grossie

I, however, am not most people. Tragically, depressingly, and really quite hilariously (for others…) I have not only failed to capitulate upon the multiple opportunities for manipulating beer goggles, or downright beer blindness, but I have not enjoyed so much as a SQUEAK of romance in my entire time in Oxford.

Ok, in (nearly) my entire life.

So, here I am, Loveless Leticia (not my real name, don’t try to stalk me on nexus, although I just know I’m going to attract hordes of admirers), ready to regale you with the hilarity of my desperate and frankly quite embarrassing situation, in a whole series [please, editor?] of exciting instalments.

This would be like the real-life Bridget Jones, except she had some people who were willing to use her. Obviously I don’t WANT to be used, but at least if they wanted to use me I could reject them.

Getting more action than me...

Getting more action than me…

Having given great thought to the issue, and in order to clarify that I am just an average girl with some rather poor luck (you can be the judge of that…), I am going to suggest some reasons why I have not always been an immediate success, and you can read along and simply bask in your wonderfulness by comparison.

Like a self-help book, but more obvious: DON’T DO WHAT I DO!

If a boy so much as looks at me, I immediately assume he is in love with me.

This tends to result in a reaction out of all proportion to the situation, including girlish giggling (read: unpleasant snorting), a light glow of embarrassment (otherwise known as beetroot cheeks) and hilarious tales of my past (incessant babble, some might say).

The reason for this assumption is quite unclear. Obviously, I am GREAT, but why I interpret a simple glance at the library clock as a desperate attempt to woo me after a completely secret yet passionate development of pure unadulterated love is not strikingly obvious.



It’s not as if experience has offered strong evidence to support the idea. The time early in first year (those were the days) when I seized an opportunity to insist a boy went for coffee with me springs to mind.

He thought it was fun introductions, I thought it was lurrrvee. It wasn’t.

I didn’t actually do anything, except attempt to unleash the full force of my charming personality upon him.

We haven’t spoken since, and although I occasionally spot him in the library (neither glancing at me nor at the clock), I have perfected the petrified hunch.

I’m sure he’s still secretly in love with me though.

University of Oxford