Last night I went out with a chum, one who has decided she will be known as the Editor.
This was arranged ages and ages ago before I’d even met the Theatre Producer, before even the New York Trip.
But, well it just so happens that the Editor is the mutual friend who I know the Theatre Producer through. Life is weird sometimes eh?
Because of this there may have been a bit of polite information gathering going on in-between drinking galleons of champagne and downing oysters.
Yes, I know sometimes my interrogation methods can seem a bit tough but I get results.
I’m like the Jack Bauer of dating, but with better trousers.
Thursday. It’s often the best night out, Fridays have their moments too but I’m a Thursday kinda guy. There is something pleasingly louche about going out in an evening when you know you have work the next day.
This Thursday I had a date with a singer/song-writer/actress. We started chatting on Twitter about, well nonsense. After a few weeks the the vague suggestion of a drink was mentioned. Thursday was the day when our calenders finally matched up.
I had a cocktail thing in one bar and then a lavish launch of a TV show for later. Perfect for a night out. The cocktail thing was through my chum and so I met up with him for a drink first and then we went to the cocktail bar. The bar was near Soho and a little bit flash.
The first cocktail
We were just being served our first round of cocktails when The singer/song-writer/actress turned up. Let’s call her Rebecca. She was tall, very tall. with dark hair with blonde highlights. She was wearing a short, slightly floaty purple dress with a black jacket. Her hair wasn’t as big as it was in her music videos but she was recognisable.
We said hello and then started chatting with the other people at the party. We talked about all sorts of stuff occasionally breaking away from the group to chat about career related things before rejoining the group to talk about cocktails or dogs.
I was given a cocktail that had a chili draped over the edge as a garnish so I decided to eat it. It wasn’t too hot, then pleasantly warm, then ‘oh blimes’, then ‘oh dear’, then ‘Just kill my mouth to end my suffering’ before settling into a background level of pain. I didn’t cry but my eyes did get moist.
I’d used my poker face skills to not give this away. I think it must have worked because all the other chaps in the party started munching down on their chilis too and then also battled against showing pain because pretty girls were there.
We men are such prats sometimes.
After a while the rest of the group when on to another thing and we sat down at the bar for a more in-depth chat. It was pleasant, interesting and unguarded. I like chats like that. So much communication is so inconsequential it’s nice when you really talk to someone. We finished our drinks and hopped in a cab to the second part of the evening which was in a music bar.
Two bars, one night
We arrived and the place was busy but there wasn’t a person on the door. There wasn’t a press area or any sign of anything going on. After a bit of hunting around I tracked down the organiser. She was all flustered and said there wasn’t a press area but a band was turning up.
It didn’t appear to be the lavish party I’d been promised and had promised to Rebecca. Oh dear.
We got some drinks and sat down on a table with some other people who’d also been invited to party and who were also confused as to what was going on. Bitching about the lack of canapés is surprisingly bonding.
There were more drinks, and then more. A band appeared. They played amazingly while appearing to be stupendously bored. It was quite entertaining, for the two songs they played before disappearing.
We drank more.
The organiser had told us that a man in a pork-pie hat was going to appear and look after us a bit. So we waited for him while drinking more gin. We still hadn’t eaten anything so at this point we were luxuriously drunk.
Almost instantly it was time to catch the last train home.
Rebecca and I said goodbye to our party friends and waltzed off into the night, pausing only to buy chips before we got on the tube.
We got on the wrong tube so our goodbye was slightly rushed because Rebecca suddenly had to change lines. She texted me when she got home thanking me for a lovely evening.
I’d had a nice time. She was entertaining, interestingly complex and pretty. There weren’t any dramatic moments or startling insights just a nice evening.
Marriage percentage: 20% If I had met her six months ago I’m sure it would be tripled, but I’ve met so many amazing women in the last few months I’ve had to adjust my scale. Also, even though Biscuit is romping ahead with Jen I’m trying not to jump into anything.
I don’t want a repeat of The Consultant.
I had a date on Saturday to meet a girl for coffee. We met on The Strand. She was short and curvy, with long dark hair and very good eye-liner.
She was wearing a black dress with a black cardigan over the top.
We said our hellos and then strolled over to a nice coffee shop I know nearby. The conversation was easy and by the time our ridiculous cakes arrived we were giggling away about brass rubbings and plays.
She works in the theatre and so we were talking about things to do with that as well as the usual family/growing-up/plans for the future stuff.
There was a lot of laughing and the conversation flowed easily, I was having a lovely time.
I had to go home to do some work stuff so we parted ways with plans to meet up again in the week, possibly to see a show.
Normally I’d put a marriage percentage in here and it would have been reasonably high but I’d not accounted for the magic of Eurovision.
Later on that evening
I was doing my work stuff while she was at a Eurovision party with some gay friends. I had received a few text messages from her about the acts on Eurovision and had been replying when I could.
She invited me to join her and her chums at a super gay club after I’d finished working. I was pretty tired but we had got on before so perhaps it would be fun. Also, this blog makes you say yes to things.
At about 11:30 I had finally finished working so I changed into a better shirt and caught the tube over to the club.
While I was underground she had called a few times and sent some text messages. She was clearly mashed.
I turned up and she introduced me to her gay chums, one of whom looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t work out why.
We went inside and got some drinks. She kept pushing up against me. Not a subtle brush or a ‘whoops I didn’t mean to do that’ no this was just shy of a martial arts manoeuvre. I would back away to give her room and she would move closer.
I bought a round of drinks and chatted to her friends. That was when I recognised the faintly familiar one. He is in a band, quite a well known band (They’ve sold a million records), who I’ve seen perform earlier in the week. It really is a tiny world sometimes.
There was more chat, and she was drunkenly pressing up against me some more. The club was loud so I was talking into her ear, she kept trying to kiss me. Then she just asked if she could kiss me. I said okay. So we kissed.
She was really very kissy. Now I’m fine with public displays of affection but this was getting a bit out of control.
She was snogging my face off and trying to undress me. She managed to unbutton most of my shirt before I caught her. I felt sorry for the poor gays in the club, they didn’t want to see this.
She also kept saying how much she liked me. I think she said it about a dozen times, actually probably more than that.
We tried to do a bit of dancing but she was so interested in rubbing up against me that if I lifted one of my feet off the floor I was in danger of falling over. So when she suggested we leave I said okay.
We caught a cab back to her place. It was only a short journey but in that time she revealed her some-what disastrous dating history and how she’d manage to destroy a previous relationship by being to aggressively needy. Even in my slightly drunk state I realised that was a bit of a warning sign.
I toyed with the idea of asking the cab man to just take me home but I didn’t want to seem rude.
Back at the house
Back at her place she made me a lovely glass of water and told me she really liked me some more. As I’m sure you can guess things got a bit naked at this point.
The most alarming point of it all was when she tried to remove the condom because she wanted me to, well she wanted the thing that the condom stops to happen. I told her no, because that causes babies, she was noticeably put out by this.
Some time later we both fell asleep. My dreams all involved running away, from a fire, a flood and even spiders. This may have been my subconscious trying to tell me something.
The next morning I waited until about 9am and made my excuses and left.
Marriage percentage: 5% - If we’d just had the first date it would have been high but she was a so full on and the stuff with the condom was well, a bit scary.
If anyone needs me for the rest of the day I’ll be in the shower with all my clothes on rocking myself.
On Friday it was an old friend’s birthday. I’ve known her for years now, we almost kissed once but since then we’ve settled into an easy, honest friendship.
She is a Dominatrix.
Not the sort that just dresses up in leather and is a bit shouty, she is a serious Dominatrix.
I once asked her what she was doing in the evening and she said she was driving to Birmingham to sew up a man’s arsehole.
The mind boggles.
She is lovely though and working on her PhD so an pleasingly complex character, albeit a self confessed sadist.
Her birthday was in a club in East London and the dress code was 1940s. We arrived a bit late so the party was in full swing. Everyone had made a huge effort so the place looked amazing.
All the girls had Betty Page style fringes and feirce red lipstick. The men were mostly in suits some of them were even wearing gloves. My Dom chum had two slaves with her that night one who was her butler/driver and another who was sort of handmaid who would show his underpants on command. I was terribly impressed.
I chatted away to a few Doms about fetishes and the route of kinky stuff. One of them (who often works with my friend) as a real thing for copper. Yes the metal. I asked if brass would do, or perhaps bronze but no, it has to be copper. It made me a bit sad that I never carry any loose change.
We drank cocktails and talked nonsense with more people at the party. Biscuit made balloon moustaches for the ladies and a selection of rude hats for the men. There was a lot of drinking going on.
Biscuit pointed out that there was a person there who was exactly my type. Tall, leggy, strong features, good hair dark hair, clearly very clever and wearing a smashing frock. The only problem was it was a man.
Some time much later someone proposed to someone else with a Haribo ring. They accepted and paraded around the bar showing it off. This new couple then insisted that I propose to the girl I’d been chatting too. She was tall with thick black hair with a red bow in it and was wearing a wiggle dress.
The newly engaged couple were really quite insistent and so I was cajoled into proposing, with a Haribo ring. I can’t believe my first ever proposal was to a Dominatrix who I didn’t really know with fruit flavoured ring.
She accepted, on the condition of a very long engagement and then offered a ring to me. She didn’t use her hand, no she put it in her mouth and well, the exchange involved a bit more tongues that I expected.
It made Biscuit say ‘BLIMES’.
There was more drinking and talking but my fiancée and I parted ways because she was going off to a foot-fetish club and I wasn’t really in the mood to worship someone else’s feet. She was still wearing the ring as she got into the cab to leave.
I wish her well, but I think this is going to be an engagement I’ll have to back out of. I don’t even know her real name.
It had been a very strange evening.
The first half of this post is going to sound a bit stalker-ish but hold on it’s worth it.
Ages ago I got into an American TV show. So on Twitter I followed the writers and a few members of the cast including an extremely pretty woman.
She posted very amusing tweets, let’s call her Olivia because that’s not her name. Fairly normal so far.
Well over a year later I had a meeting with someone to discuss some business stuff. Nothing came of it but we got on and followed each other on Twitter. How modern.
Last week Olivia tweeted at the person I had a meeting about how she was coming to London and they should go out.
I saw this and thought ‘This blog has caused some amazing adventures, and the main lesson from it is just go for stuff, take a chance’.
Okay, I didn’t think exactly that I thought ‘OMG SHE IS COMING TO LONDON AND HE KNOWS HER I WONDER IF I CAN MEET HER’
So I emailed the guy and said this
Hi Mr Man,
I hope you are well.
I saw on Twitter that Olivia is going to visit your club on Thursday. I was wondering if it might be okay to pop in to say hello?
I’ve got such a crush on her, and it was a shame I missed her last time she was causing mayhem in London.
If it’s a off-the-radar visit for party times, so a bit of a no-no then I completely understand.
All the best,
He replied, and the key bit was
She is indeed fabulous – v good friend. Would be happy to introduce you. This thurs!
Bring a crew and I’ll sort you out a table if you like. On us. Then it’s not so obvious!
So he was going to introduce us. Huzzah! What a star!
The worst night ever
The plan was to meet at the club at 11. I had thing to do so I met up with my chums in a bar for a quick drink before going to the club. Biscuit was waiting outside with Jen.
We got into the VIP queue bit. The man in front of us got denied entry because he hadn’t booked. I told the door lady who I was and how I should be on a list somewhere.
She went away. For ages. And ages.
I got to stand around awkwardly while Biscuit, Jen and my chums looked me and said things ‘look it’s okay if we can’t get in we can find another club’.
They were only half joking.
The lady appeared and ushered us in. I had been told we’d have a table but there was no record of this. The man hadn’t turned up yet either.
We stood around and then bought some very, very expensive cocktails.
We drank them and the man still hadn’t turned up with Olivia. So we bought some more expensive cocktails.
The evening was starting to get very expensive. The club was rammed too, so people get bumping into us it, well it wasn’t that good an evening.
I apologised to everyone, I’d dragged them out to a busy club to spend a fortune on booze.
Then one of my chums suggested we get a huge cocktail to share. So we did. It involved a fireball. It was amazing. The fireball must have scared some people off because we suddenly had a table and a stupid drink.
The man tweeted me to say he was in the club with Olivia.
The best night ever
I tried to spot the man but I couldn’t see him so I circled the club a few times. No joy at all. Then, the sea of trustifarians parted and I saw him and I saw her.
She was much taller than I expected, and my word she was pretty. She was wearing black Basque-like top with a pink ruffled skirt, black tights and giant black heels. They were some serious shoes.
I said hello to the chap and he made the introductions. Olivia was extremely friendly. She complimented my trousers and asked to try a bit of my drink. She was quite tactile, but in a nice way.
A huge treasure chest of booze turned up with fireworks. We started drinking it and talking about how I knew the man and what she was doing here. You know little stuff.
Some more booze turned up on my chums table so went over and joined in the fun there. I was trying to play it cool of course.
Then I got Biscuit to make Olivia a balloon dog. It would be an understatement to say this was a big hit. She adored it and took loads of photos of us with the dog. Biscuit was then forced to make more and more balloon things including his infamous rude hat.
They went down brilliantly, more pictures were taken.
Olivia and I chatted some more, this time about you know, longer term plans and stuff. I said there would be dance off later, and while we might be friendly here there were no friends on the dance floor. She laughed.
Introduced her to my chums and she was perfectly charming. Jen said she thought Olivia was in to me. I tried not to get too excited.
I bounced between the two tables trying not to linger around her too often but really enjoying talking to Olivia about all sorts of stuff.
Play it cool Toast. Play it cool.
Rescuing a lady
Out of the blue another of the man’s friends grabbed me, a pretty red head with an extremely expensive haircut. She was with a chap who was being a bit forward and said she needed me to rescue her from him.
She asked me to save her so I did and we got chatting.
She had a boyfriend but was with another man who was being a bit weird. I said she could hide with us if she wanted so she joined our table. Introduced her to everyone and we got chatting.
She said I was cute. I said thank you. Then she said I smelled amazing. I said thank you again.
For a moment it looked like she was about to kiss me and then she pulled away and danced off into the club. I didn’t see her again but she had made a point of memorising my name from my business card.
After a few more drinks with my chums I returned to chatting to Olivia in a corner of the nightclub. We had really in-depth chat. She has a boyfriend, but he is new and she said she wasn’t so sure about him. We talked about boxing (she does it too) and a load of other things.
Proper things that you talk to people you properly know, not strange men in nightclubs who happen to have nice trousers.
Teaching an iPhone to pretend to be a Blackberry
She made me install an app on my phone so we could chat like people do with Blackberries, and entered her phone number into my phone. She also made me tweet a special keyword at her so she could follow me back.
We went out for a cigarette, she smoked I was just company, and talked some more about things, about London and hidden things and relationships.
I have to admit my memory is a bit hazy but at the time (I was utterly mashed by this point) I remember thinking it was nice and that she was really interesting. Really, really clever. Clever is good.
There was more drinking and more dancing, possibly a bit of a dance off. More photos were taken of us together, on her phone. There were a lot of photos that night.
It was 3am and the club was closing.
We said goodbyes, with great sadness. She said that she was working all day but that we should try to go out again before she leaves.
Biscuit, Jen and I got into a cab and went home. I had three hours of sleep and then had to go to work still drunk. It was totally worth it.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. Of course I’d love to, but even if I don’t I think that’s fine too, in it’s own way. We had one perfect magical London evening and sometimes that’s enough.
- Forcing Biscuit to make things out of balloons to impress girls always works.
- Asking random people to do you a big favour also works.
- It’s possible to sort of go on a date with almost anyone if you set your mind to it.
- London is amazing. Just Amazing.
- Everyone loves a dance-off.
I have lots of female friends. I’m not showing off or anything, I’m just stating it as a fact.
They are great because you can ask them why a girl you are dating did something weird, they are often more willing to go clothes shopping and they are generally more up for a dance off.
Also you can provide them useful things in return, insight into the male mind, fixing things and help lifting heavy objects.
I love my female chums, no that’s not quite right, I treasure them.
I think any chap who thinks guys can’t be friends with girls (or the other way around) is a fool and they are closing themselves off to a whole world of fun.
Yes there is occasionally the little sparkle of something else there when you hang around with them but that just adds a bit of extra fizz to the friendship, like the bubbles on top of a glass of champagne.
This post isn’t a party political broadcast though. It’s a record of what happened last night.
How I learned to jive badly
I’ve made some new chums in the past few weeks, it’s one of the best things about London. You never know who you’re going to bump into or which chance encounter is going to turn into a friendship.
There is an actress. She is a friend of a friend, or she was. Biscuit and I went and saw her in a play. She was terribly good and we had a brief slightly awkward chat afterwards before we went off to another bash. She is a small brunette with massive, expressive eyes and an excellent fringe.
A few days later I was at an event and she appeared. Loads of other people were there but we spent most of the night talking nonsense, got incredibly drunk and had a great time. When the party ended we (a group of us) went to a restaurant. There may have been some dancing. It was one of those perfect Soho moments.
She has a boyfriend who she lives with so it’s not line any sort of nonsense was planned, and there were other people there so it was just a jolly lovely time.
We went out again on Friday. She had been drinking all day with a chum. I rocked up after work and joined in the drinking. Everyone was pleasantly mashed. Some of the chums left because they were ruined and we ambled on to a restaurant. There wasn’t any dancing, it was quite a sensible meal really.
The point where the levels of fizz become dangerous
After the excellent food the rest of the people left.
She called her boyfriend to ask, on a scale of 1 to 10 how much trouble would she be in if she stayed out for a few more drinks. He said 1 and so we ended up in a club.
I ordered some drinks. The man messed up our order and so we got a double round. Then the dancing began. She pranced onto the dance floor and did some moves, after the song finished she got a standing ovation from the entire club.
I was taught how to jive, I picked it up reasonably fast and soon I was flinging her around the dance floor. I only fell over twice and I didn’t smash any glasses which is a personal best for me.
Every time a rubbish song would come on we’d stop, sip cocktails and down pints of water and ice. The club was really warm, really really warm. Her hair got a bit messed up and I took my jacket off (I was wearing a suit).
At one point she started up a limbo and we got complete strangers to join in.
There was a lot of dancing, and a bit of drinking but mostly dancing. We made a pact that if she becomes a mega celebrity I have to become a professional dancer so we can win Strictly Come Dancing together. I think, provided I can get enough practice in we would do okay.
Some time, much later we stumbled onto the last tube home, sweaty but laughing like morons.
I parted ways with rushed hug as I changed tube lines. There wasn’t a hint of any sort of nonsense, but after conferring with Biscuit he said I had to write about it because while it wasn’t a date date it had some of the same properties of a nice date.
Something could be about to begin, or not. It’s complicated, but in a nice way. Just like the best friendships between men and women.
7 nights: 1 city, 1 spouse to find. Despite resembling extras from The Walking Dead when we arrived in the country, we dragged ourselves out through a combination of caffeine and peer pressure. Time is short after all and we are on a mission.
Toast has briefly chronicled the kooky bar that we found ourselves in, still jet lagged and bewildered. Within a few minutes of being there I had seen pretty much everyone there and was furtively throwing glances at a pretty Asian girl who had caught my eye and I clearly fancied more than anyone else there.
I eventually got a chance to talk to ‘Kim’ and was bewitched by her delicious accent, asymmetric hipster styled haircut and cheeky smile. By the time we’d left I had her contact details scribbled on a scrap of paper (because I had managed to leave my phone in England) and had set up a date for Tuesday.
Monday night was uneventful as Toast and I crashed out for 12 hours sleep so Tuesday seemed to come quite quickly.
Edit, I forgot about this little gem of info: I warmed up for the date in the excellent bar that Toast’s OK Cupid contact recommended. The toilets in it were even so nice that I would have happily rented it as a tiny apartment. Fearing that we had been wandering the streets a little while and I was just off to meet a girl, I thought I’d take the opportunity for a quick ‘freshen up’ before the date. I’ve mentioned this kind of pre-date freshen up before. Thankfully I can now immediately tell the difference between squirty soap and squirty alchohol gel by texture.
I can’t, however, tell the difference between normal squirty hand soap and super cooling minty eucalyptus squirty soap. I minced back to Toast somewhat gingerly and sat there with a pained expression on my face for about 5 minutes. I felt complelled to explain my mistake.
Since ‘MyLoveLifeInYourHands’ was in Washington I left Toast to wander the streets whilst I went to meet my date.
Kim came straight from work and was wearing an endearing huge fluffy hat and working the smile overtime as she bounded towards me. We set of for a restaurant to grab some food.
At her behest we stopped by a comic shop and I found out she used skate. I tried my best not to go all doe eyed as she was racking up massive kudos.
We had the choice of a HUGE Mexican meal or a HUGE burger so had a quick snowball fight in the park across the road to decide and settled on Mexican with the proviso that we drank margaritas, which seemed like a reasonable deal to me.
Something started to feel very familiar.
The margaritas were huge, I mean seriously HUGE. They were so big that I took a picture of one next to Kim’s face to show how huge it was. It was then I had my realisation; I had been on this date before.
I was sat in a Mexican restaurant with a Filipino girl armed with enough margarita to give even Rasputin a bit of a gyppy tummy. This was exactly the setup of one of my first dates on the wager.
The date became pleasantly silly and we were practicing left-handed writing to see who would be the best at sending ransom notes or something.
Somehow we eventually beat the Sisyphean task (the man who had to push the boulder up the hill forever) of finishing the margaritas and Kim lead me to a bar to carry on drinking. Well, she tried, but I spun her round in the street and planted a cheeky kiss on her lips. Smiling coyly, we walked hand in hand to the next bar.
Although there was a pool table and cool hipster types hanging out, I didn’t really pay much attention as we spent most of the time chatting, giggling and kissing.
Kim had work in the morning so eventually we called it a night and I jumped on the subway with her as I needed to go and meet Toast who was on a date and had the only key to the apartment.
Finding him was promising to be a bit of a trek so Kim casually sugguested that it might be easier to stay at hers since she lived en route. This seemed like a much better idea so we walked hand in hand through the FREEZING wind to her apartment.
There was lots of kissing and other hijinks which was all very lovely, I really like her a lot.
In the morning I walked to the subway with her and kissed her goodbye at my stop with the promise of seeing her on Thursday night. Unfortunately my plan of heading back to the apartment was thwarted as Toast, the keymaster, was staying at girl’s place and MyLoveLifeInYourHands was in DC.
I camped in a Bagel shop for an hour and a half until Toast surfaced. There are certainly worse places in the world to be stuck than a New York bagel shop.
Marriage percentage: 35%
I am really looking forward to Thursday and seriously thinking twice about meeting up with any of the internet dates I had made vague plans with. Gosh, American women are lovely!
Saturday I had a first meet with an internet date. I had actually contacted her just after new year but we hadn’t been able to find a convenient time to meet until now so we had occasionally swapped witticisms via the dating website, text and then Facebook.
Moving to Facebook contact early is a double edged sword. It may be generally better that a potential date does not see my stream of consciousness about accidentally squashing kiwi fruit in my work bag, or see the picture of me in just speedos with bad wetsuit sunburn. Sometimes I think it’s better to fool a girl into not thinking that you are a massive spaz until she is hopelessly infatuated with and betrothed to you. However I reasoned that since I am unlikely to keep it hidden for long enough to get that far then it’s probably better to get it all out in the open from the outset.
The dates I’ve had of late have been mostly with people who I have met first in actual real life so first impressions had already been formed (apart from Little Miss Naughty, but we had already formed certain impressions of each other based on ‘other’ characteristics). This time I felt I had an opportunity to make a decent first impression so drew lessons from some of my earliest failings and resolved to arrive well dressed and on time.
I put on my smartest black shiny shoes, a short sleeved shirt and, my nicest jeans. Unfortunately, because I was posting my last update, I put them on about an hour after I SHOULD have done to arrive in good time for the date.
This necessitated an unnecessarily stressful emergency taxi ride from West London to Soho. 25 minutes and £25 later I arrived, miraculously only 5 minutes late.
Oh well, one lesson out of two is better than none.
I’d opted to meet mid afternoon, which allowed plenty of time for adventures but also meant we could cut our losses and not wipe out an entire evening if the date was terrible.
I had arranged to meet in a tiny shop which boasted the most decadent cakes I have ever seen assembled in one location. I walked in to see my date smiling back at me. We had joked about her wearing a wedding dress on the date. Instead she was wearing a tight vest top with a rather risqué neckline, tight slinky jeans, cream heels and a rather cheeky grin.
I don’t normally notice shoes… maybe I am catching the gays from Toast?
Armed with red velvet cake and coffee, which I bought in penance for being late, we pulled up a couple of stools to the breakfast bar and started chatting. This is the first time I can remember meeting for a first date and not immediately furnishing ourselves with alcohol. There’s something very reassuring about a refreshing gin or full-bodied ale and maybe I haven’t realised quite how much I have come to rely on it to calm the nerves on a date.
I’ll admit it, I was nervous. I’v been on so many dates over the last year that I’m almost NEVER nervous anymore, and certainly not an hour into the date. She seemed a little nervous too and we were both a little hyper, although in retrospect perhaps that was the massive sugar rush from the ENORMOUS slice of cake.
She works in IT (which is the LAST thing I would have guessed) but was quite dismissive of it, however I’ll still call the the IT Girl because it sounds quite pleasing. We actually barely talked about grown up things at all and quickly settled into a slightly silly and irreverent banter.
Leaving the cake shop for Chinatown we stopped to enjoy some of the partying and watch the Lion dances for Chinese New Year. the IT Girl is a little, well, ‘little’ so I found her a good step so she could see what was happening. Managing to avoid buying a ridiculously tacky ‘Alladdin’s’ style lamp we finally got to a pub and started putting booze in our faces.
The conversation got even sillier very quickly and Vegas weddings, sex with horses and doing bad things to children were all mentioned. I fancied her before we started drinking and only fancied her more as we carried on. I sent Toast a text saying “Marriage percentage 60%”. I mention this because he then posted it all over Twitter and I was mocked for my recent run of enthusiastically high M% that go into exponential decay with each date.
Despite living in London, I don’t really know my way around the streets and drinking holes yet. Thankfully the IT girl did. We moved from cozy pub to painfully classy cocktail bar (where I was glad I had put my nice shoes on) to a cheap and cheerful dive of a pub.
Mid chat about her family I dropped a clanger that made me go bright red. I meant to say something throwaway about ‘if I met her parents’ but what actually came out was “when I meet your parents”. With sudden horror I realised my mistake and I was suddenly rather flustered and backtracking rapidly. Thankfully she didn’t make a girl-shaped hole in the wall and laughed it off instead. *phew!*
I rather wanted to kiss her from about halfway through the date but wasn’t confident it would be reciprocated. I got my chance on the walk to Trafalgar Square. She stepped into a sheltered spot out of the wind and backed up against the wall to spark a sneaky fag. Something about the conversation made a perfect excuse to step in close. I don’t remember what that thing was because we we then rather distracted by the kissing. It wasn’t quite as cheeky a moment as obeying the little purple love imp when he tells you to kiss but it was pretty perfect apart from that.
…or it would have been if we hadn’t stepped apart and noticed the puddle of piss that had been next to us the whole time.
We were sat in Trafalgar square about 10pm waiting for the firework show that had clearly already been and gone when she got a text from the friend she was due to be staying with. She lives outside the opposite edge of London so it would have been a nightmare to get home. Her friend said that he was going to bed. IT Girl weighed up the options between going there or attempting to trek all the way back home.
I had told Toast that there was NO WAY I would be bringing anyone home as my room was in an utterly shameful state. This is a bit like the boy equivalent of not shaving your legs. Feeling slightly prompted I tentatively offered that she could stay at mine if she preferred. Pants on though, as I’m not that kind of boy. I did offer the spare room but she gave me the raised eyebrow implying ‘yeah, like THAT’s going to happen’.
I had forgotten to let Toast know that I was bringing a guest back until a few minutes before I arrived so really hoped that I didn’t find him and the consultant ‘holding hands’ in the living room. The plan of ‘no hijinks’ plan didn’t quite work out, even with the messy room.
Despite everyone’s jibes I am going to stick to my original M%. Yes, it is enthusiastic but there’s no harm in a high M%, as long as I take it slowly and calmly.
…and for those of you now scoffing at me, it’s not very becoming. :p
- Good shoes are a must for first dates.
- Being late because you are writing up last night’s adventures is costly and stressful. Don’t do it.
- Don’t send Toast marriage percentages, he will use it against you.
- Dropping clangers that makes it look like you had already planned the honeymoon is embarrassing and should be avoided at all costs.
- French Martinis are not as delicious as raspberry Martinis.
- The tidiness of my room seems to be inversely proportional to the likelihood of me bringing home a guest.
- Look for puddles of wee before you kiss.
I was supposed to meet with The Naughty Girl for a date yesterday. In fact, we ended up meeting a day early because she blew off a party that she was supposed to be going to because it was a promising to be a bit lame and we had spent 5 days text messaging back and forth .Quite a few of the message had been a bit risque. Some had been downright rude. One of them was accidentally sent to Toast. It mentioned my winkle and it was not a message that either Toast wanted to receive or that I ever wanted him to see.
This kind of girl is likely to get me in a lot of trouble, which is exactly the kind of girl that I gravitate towards! Given this, I think it’s only fit to call her Little Miss Naughty.
The preceding messages and calls had involved a lot of varied chat. At one time she had worked writing about sex. Right at the start, when she found out that I lived with Toast she said “I cannot begin to imagine what Toast has said about me. If he mentions dwarf porn it was not my idea.”. Toast had not mentioned dwarf porn at all so that opened up a whole new avenue of rich conversation.
Due to the ongoing monkey-AIDS that I have had and will probably die of, I lost my voice on Christmas day. I spend the day with my family and would normally have played with the small children (more for my amusement value than theirs). However not being able to talk and feeling so rubbish meant that I was pretty much confined to communicating via non verbal methods.
Because of this I communicated with Little Miss Naughty more than I did anyone in the room. The curious six year old boy in the room suddenly took interest in what I was doing and wanted to know what I was sending and to whom. He was very persistent. This meant I had to be very careful that I did not leave my phone around because six year old boys can generally work that level of technology and I did not want to have to explain about “when a man and a lady like each other very much… even if they have not met… and have talked about.. err… grown up things… then they… err… LOOK!!! LEGO!!!!”.
Little miss Naughty has very recently broken up from a long term relationship. Things are a little awkward as she still lives with the boy for another month whilst he finds a new place. I am very aware of the potential for rebound so am a little cautious, but we discussed it at least so we are both trying not to get too carried away (even though Toast would probably classify this as a step beyond what he has done with even girls he has already sexed in real life, we clearly have different thresholds).
She did say that she was very surprised that she had been this naughty or keen before even meeting and would usually have run a mile but there was something about me which meant that I carried it off.
She had suggested that we meet at a bar which specialised in table football (or babyfoot, as the French call it). Despite wanting to, I had never been there before. This was the venue in which I was supposed to meet a girl for a date back in February but had turned up to its sister venue some 5 miles away whilst my date waited at the correct bar.
We had arranged to meet meed afternoon and I was about 10 minutes late because I had stopped off in town to buy her a present. She was sad that she had only received boring gifts for Christmas and was jealous at massive Lego playsets that I had bought for my cousin’s children so I bought her some Star Wars Lego. This, it turns out, is an absolutely winning gift.
I probably should point out that she is not aged 9. She is late 20s and a proper grown up so an appreciation of Lego, especially Star Wars Lego, earns massive points in my book.
…why is it I’m not married yet?
It could potentially be very embarrassing meeting someone who you have already seen and discussed a lot with(and seen a lot of) but I am totally un-phased by such situations and utterly brazen.It is really hard to get a feel for what someone looks like from photos alone (normal photos on dating sites, not any photos which may or may not have been exchanged via text). I wasn’t too worried how closely she resembled her pictures as I knew we were going to have a fun date and was very happy to let things take their natural course.
Thankfully I easily recognised her and joined her at the table grinning. Conversation was only slightly awkward for a moment and then easily slipped into familiar territory as though we had known each other for a long time. Without playing a single game of babyfoot we moved from the bar once we discovered that they were not serving food because we were both dying of the hungers.
Apparently 4.30 on a bank holiday Tuesday is a bad time to try and get food anywhere so we left to locate somewhere to eat. we kissed bit briefly en route. Eventually we found an American Style diner that looked like it was fresh from Grease. I dropped Gravy on my sleeve. We drank alcoholic milkshakes and yakked away at great length like old friends catching up. Well, actually she had to do most of the talking because I had only recently recovered my voice and could not talk for very long before becoming very husky and sore.
After grub we went to a pool bar and drank lots of gin whilst bouncing balls haphazardly round a table. After that we moved to somewhere else with lovely comfortable leather sofas.We kissed a bit more between the two. The place was empty when we walked in which meant we could find a quiet corner, relatively obscured from view.
The joy of having broken the ice in advance is that we got onto a lot of topics that we would not ordinarily have touched on. Some of it was quite rude.
Things were getting a little frisky so I asked she wanted to come back to look at my light sabers.
On the way to the station we saw a man who had clearly decided to have a sleep on the road in front of a bus. There were lots of police and ambulance there so the man might have had a tummy ache or something. This is what what I clearly explained to little miss naughty because she was a bit perturbed. Top tip: Dead bodies do not make for good sexy time build up.
Toast was out seeing The Lady at a VERY posh party so we had the pace to ourselves for a bit. Little Miss Naughty stayed over that night, which was a lot of fun and also really lovely to cuddle up to someone to sleep too.
I MAY have got a little overexcited with marriage percentage in advance. This is not to say that we didn’t have a great time it’s just that I can get things a little out of perspective when I get excited. Probably a more sensible figure is 50%. As she’s still very much post breakup (even though she was the one that broke it off) it would be very silly to allow excitement to run away with me or to rush headlong into anything. I also do not have a good history of restraint.
She’s going to be very busy over the next 6 months as she’s retraining and will also have to move house and jobs. I don’t want to put all my marriage eggs in one basket so have decided that it is best to cool it off a little, still see her and see how things go. I enjoy seeing her and we have very similar tastes in humour, approaches to life and sense of naughtyness.
Don’t buy your wedding hats quite yet, not unless she gets me a Lego Millennium Falcon at least.
I first moved to London almost a decade ago. I didn’t know anyone here so I ended up chatting away to anyone I bumped into, which is sort of how I met The Lady.
I’ll call her that because she was and is amazingly posh. She actually has a title, a more impressive one than that but that’s not important. The most beguiling thing about her was her exotic good looks. She had really lucked out in the gene game.
She was six-foot tall, with long silky black hair, large brown eyes and skin that was just lightly dusted with a touch of colour. Her figure was amazing, she had done some modelling but when I met her she was in a band and being filmed for a reality TV show.
I’d never met a woman like that before, she was, well formidable.
Our first date involved meeting in a pub on Sloane Square. I’d bought an entirely new outfit to wear, I remember it because I’d spent about three hours with a personal shopper just to get the look right.
We had a couple of drinks and then went on to see a friend’s band. I watched the band whilestealing the occasional glance at The Lady, she really was so mesmerizing.
For reasons I don’t really recall we ended up in a club, Funky Buddhas. It’s the sort of place footballers get caught out with aspiring models. We were in the VIP area. The Lady had got us in because she knew the people, I was suitably impressed.
I can remember ordering some cocktails, the club was very loud so we had to almost whisper into each other’s ears to be heard. Her perfume was intoxicating. We kissed. My knees wiggled a little bit. We kissed some more.
Some time later we got a cab home. I dropped her off home and then collapsed into bed. It was an excellent first date, my first date in London actually. I was bewitched.
The next meeting was with her friends at a party. I turned up with a vast bottle of champagne as a gift and chatted away to all her friends. I was on a massive charm offensive and it worked. I left the party to pick something up - I can’t remember what – and The Lady came home with me.
In the kitchen of my flat we kissed some more. Then my housemate appeared in his underpants. He was very hairy so it was quite a shocking sight, it made us giggle. We ended up in my room. Some clothes were removed but nothing rude happened. She wanted too, but she was far, far more drunk than I was and I said that wasn’t right so I got her a cab and sent her home.
I would come to regret this, but I’m also glad I did the right thing.
We met a few more times for dates and parties but she was always a little strange around me afterwards. We emailed each other a lot, I think because we both had jobs that weren’t that mentally engaging.
She holds a high honour of being the most expensive meal and date of my life. It was a lovely place in St James. We had moroccan food and ran up a £350 bill which I paid with-out even wincing. I just could not resist her.
I found her completely spellbinding when I was near to her. I couldn’t concentrate or even think straight, it made me sort of miss the less good stuff. I sent her flowers, I arranged amazing things to do, I even sent her jewellery on her birthday (a custom-made charm bracelet with the day we first met engraved on it – that went down well). This sort of worked, but if anything impressed her mother more.
She had a bit of a coke habit, which I ignored. It wasn’t bad at first. If anything it had a positive effect, some of her friends were such arses on coke that I was never even tempted to try it.
In the later dates would be fun but then she would get a strange look in her eye. Make a phone call, get something delivered and disappear into the loos.
I used to live near a jazz club and she would often call me from inside and invite me out. It was a tiny, painfully cool place that served red wine in shot glasses and you got told off for talking. It was very dark inside so it was often hard to see who you were talking with.
One of our final meetings was in this club. She had invited me out and was already fairly ruined but functional. She would often skip to the loos so I ended up having quite long conversations with people on her table.
I ended up chatting with an older American chap who was very proud of his son. His son was a guitarist, who was playing in the band we were watching. It was a nice chat punctuated by The Lady reappearing every now and then to whisper some garbled nonsense in my ear. She was so mashed I couldn’t really understand it.
It got late, well actually early and I had work in the morning so I said goodbye to the table and finally found out everyone’s names. The American chap was called Clint and it was only then I realised I’d been chatting to Dirty Harry about passport control and where to get a good coffee in London.
Someone must have had a word with The Lady because she arranged to go off to Thailand to detox and clear her head. I went to her fair well gig but didn’t stay long.
She was always a bit strange to be with, sort of remote until you were leaving and then really attentive. I think being that good looking, wealthy and clever must ruin you as a person a little bit.
Almost a year later she returned from Thailand. She was a lesbian now, with a burley lesbian girlfriend who looked like a man. We had a coffee but the spell was sort of broken.
She wasn’t in England for long, she ended up moving to LA to work in films which is where she has been for the last five years, I don’t think she is a lesbian anymore.
She returned last week and invited me to a cocktail party at her mother’s place. So of course I went, but that is another post…