Public Displays of Affection: It's a No from Flo

This may be hard to believe, but I have not always been the kind of single girl who makes Bridget Jones look suave. There was a time when I didn't fill my days fantasizing over wholly unsuitable men, watching, re-watching and re-watching again the TV shows these men star in and idly wondering if I'm ever gonna sort out the cellulite that's appearing rapidly on my thighs.

I've had boyfriends, and I remember what it's like to be head over heels for them. I know how it is when you look at your new beau and envision rainbows and chubby angel babies and many nights ahead stuffing your faces together watching films that he will pretend to enjoy because he likes you that much. I remember how it is to lose sight of everything because you are blinded by love unconditional fondness and the idiocy that often accompanies it. I understand how that all works.

But I don't understand PDA.

If you did not know, PDA stands for Public Displays of Affection. Examples of PDAs might include cuddling on the sofas in Starbucks; kissing with almost violent urgency in the middle of dance floors in clubs; generally remaining tightly entangled in one another's arms even in company, that sort of thing. PDAs are essentially couples getting physical in public, whether they're just out and about together or in the company of their awkwardly spectating friends.

Contrary to what you may be thinking now, my dislike of PDA is not because I'm bitter that I don't have anybody to "eskimo kiss" over a McFlurry. I'm actually fine about that. Ask any of my friends who are couples; I have no problem being the companion who stares unsettlingly at them together and sporadically squeaks comments like "VLARGH! YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTEEEEEEE!!!!" or "YOU'RE A GREAT GREAT GREAT COUPLE!!!! I LOVE YOU GUYS!"

Hey, if it hasn't evolved by itself yet, I am even quite happy to get the ball rolling with ideas for their "power couple" name.

But you couples who engage in Public Display of Affection in front of us all: please know it makes me feel very uncomfortable. It makes everybody around you feel very uncomfortable; I can't think of a single time a couple has gone all "Allie and Noah" in front of a group of pals and we've unanimously reacted with "awww! How lovely! Tongues and all eh?" PDA drags everybody else in on something that should be kept intimate between you two. Behind closed doors, it doesn't matter what crazy shenanigans you get up to - but in front of them, you should know a little better.

One thing that strikes me about couples who really put go to town with putting on a show in public is wondering why they feel the need. If I were honestly happy and secure in my relationship, I wouldn't feel the need to make it seem official by attaching myself to my boyfriend's hip and planting a big smacker on his lips every time I need to leave for a second. Something to prove, perhaps?

Also, it isn't terribly considerate to the single people in your presence. Even if your love life is going swimmingly and your new partner always "has a little something on their lips, let me check - ha ha ha!" that doesn't mean it is not going disastrously for somebody you're with, who may see it as a painful reminder. As somebody who foresees having to buy a small dog to dress up in a tuxedo once a year to re-enact the wedding I'll never have, I actually don't appreciate seeing the sort of thing I will probably miss out on. It just isn't considerate to anybody.

This doesn't mean I'm totally against all PDA, period - hand holding is sweet. Hugs from the right person can be the boost you need on a bad day. A peck on the lips is a pick up. If you've not seen the person you would drunkenly dedicate "Halo" to at a karaoke night in a long time, chances are there is little to restrain you from jumping on them, where ever you are. These things I can all understand.

But as for everything else, I'd like to propose a new meaning behind PDA: Please Don't, Actually. Because when it comes to public displays of affection, well yes - please don't, actually.

50 Shades of Grey, Dull Anti-Climaxes.

Tulisa Contostavlos, Kristen Stewart, Eva Longoria and Kelly Brook. What do these megabucks-earning stars all have in common besides good looks and bank balances to die for? Well, these are the celebs most recently been snapped clutching 50 Shades of Grey, the erotic novel that has taken the literary world by storm. Somewhat uncomfortably dubbed "Mummy porn", verdicts thus far have remained mixed. Guy or girl, there's a pretty good chance you've heard of it - but what's all the hype about?

Penned by EL James, 50 Shades is the latest "bonkbuster" to hit the shelves after huge success online. Soon-to-be graduate Anastacia Steele is unaware, unworldly, and unassuming, making an interview with brooding businessman Christian Grey a recipe for disaster. But when the mysterious young entrepeneur pursues Ana and appears to take a deep interest, she's swept off her feet by the man behind the mysterious exterior. Mr Grey is emotionally cretinous, with interests "kinky" doesn't even cover;
though he admits to not being "love hearts and flowers", he does do ropes, chains and whips. Hardly a match made in heaven, right? But Ana has never been fuelled with such desire for a man before..do sparks fly or fireworks combust? No prizes for the correct answers - it's aimed at women, and there's usually nothing we love more than a story of tortured romances.

The racy novel sold it's 10 millionth novel last week, and the title may very well have been held by me. Most books that have stirred up controversy in the past are usually...well, good books, ones that have made an impact. I'm afraid to say this novel only left a bad impact on me, no matter how much I gawped at the nature of the more explicit scenes.

Essentially, Ana Steele is a bit of a wet blanket, and it's damn well painful. She's laughably timid for a 22 year old woman, frustrating to listen to and does little more than flushing, biting her lip and weaving between her careful subconcious and sensual inner goddess. I saw her as a victim than the heroine, and when she "surrenders to her grief" at the novel's conclusion, I want to hand her a tissue exasparatedly rather than applaud her for being a sassy bitch Austen would kick herself for not creating first. Christian frequently expresses his awe for Ana, at one point proclaiming her to be "the most fascinating woman he has ever met"; really? Her best mate and budding journo Kate seems a little more vivacious and "fascinating" to me.

A dislikable protagonist does not a good novel make, jaw-droppingly raunchy or otherwise.

As for Mr. Grey (who incidentally is the rumoured reason Kerry Katona left her most recent beau, but I'll leave you to make your own mind up on that one), he is depicted as a bit of a sex god - smouldering good looks, a finely chiselled body,excellent taste in cars. But that does not conceal the fact his enigmatic personality only begs one question; what the hell is wrong with this man? He's not even a remotely charismatic "troubled soul"; just a plain old "troubled soul", who from my perspective appears to exploit Ana, and his occasional pleas of affections just don't seem genuine.

Overall, it's poorly written and cannot possibly be deemed worthy a place on my prized book shelf; both characters have nothing going for them, the plot is predictable with no unexpected twists to engage the reader and there's no real chance of the reader's jaw clenching with sheer desperation for these two to have a happy ending. On the plus side, if you're into BDSM, you can just skim through those scenes in Waterstones and save yourselve a few quid.

The blurb claims it will "obsess, possess and remain with you forever". I am confident this will not be the case; the "obsess and possess" aspect only predictably parralells the plight of Anastacia Steele in the following installments..
50 Shades is a shining example of the literature of lust becoming lacklustre literature; and with a film in the pipeline ,the buzz won't get swatted any time soon.