So I know I write a lot about the dodgy men I date, almost date or run screaming from but as Thanksgiving looms I want to thank all of the men that help keep hope alive. Fewer, yes but (almost) more precious than a Tiffany pink diamond bauble ring.

One ex-boyfriend negotiated for my favourite Paella dish on the last day of my holiday despite it not being on the menu. Yes, yes he cheated on me, lied incessantly and ended it by telling me that he couldn’t love me in the way that I deserved to be loved but, for that meal, I felt truly loved.

And then there was the one who went skiing with 9 of his best friends and thought to buy me a warm ski top. I hate being cold. He scored points on 1. Getting my size right 2 choosing the right colour 3. Buying a gift that weren’t guilt flowers. I wore that ski top every time I was at his place. His hints for an orgy with his 9 best friends meant I had to ski off but escaped with the much loved top.

Then there was the one who used to pick me up when I got tipsy and horny. He lived in the depths of Sarf London and yet he would still fetch me at silly O’clock. He admitted that he didn’t like me much as a person and gave me chlamydia but at the end of the day, or night, I knew he cared.

Then there is the youngster who just loved taking photos of me. True, it was only one part of my body he was interested in but I quickly learned to love that asset too. A budding photographer you ask? Er, no he worked for Fitness First. And he was more than happy to show off that free gym membership body.

But most of all I love all of those men I am proud to call my friend. When my female friends ask where all the good black men are I think HELLO!!! There are PLENTY of them. Like the one who helped organised the black male stripper for my last annivorcary party. A big thanks from all the ladies. Another one bought me a gorgeous bright pink scarf in Budapest as it reminded him of me. Or my Dubai based friend who always makes time for a catch up brunch at Bluebird and listens to my crazy tales despite being a “traditional African man” Or the one who sends me helpful links for all of my ventures. And most recently, the one who got me Take That tickets. I love you all and you keep me sane.

So, no one is perfect (except me and all of you) but there are a lot of men out there with the potential to love my precious. As we creep closer to the end of 2010 let’s give thanks for them

© Chelsea Black