As you may recall, I spent a fair bit of Hallowe’en kissing. Given the hideous (visual) state of Toast and I, I didn’t expect to do any kissing at all so I was rather surprised at the outcome of the night as it was.
I didn’t really see it working when we met up again for a date but it all ended amicably anyway. That was the legacy of Halloween done and dusted. Or so I thought *dum dum duuuum!* </suspense>
There were a few other interesting and pretty girls out as part of the group that night, some who I lightly firted with early on in the evening. One had an amazing, if completely unwieldy, ‘Gaga’esque costume and the other was an American girl in a rather fetching top hat but with enormous fake eyelashes. Large fake eyelashes utterly terrify me, like killer attack-butterflies, so that gives you an idea how intriguing and attractive she was for me to get over my disability.
Actually, she appeared to be very much Toast’s type, pretty, brunette, lustrous shiny hair so, although I really fancied her myself, later in the evening I attempted to wingman for him and steer her back over to him on the dancefloor. After that I spent a lot of time kissing Elizabeth and that was pretty much me done for the evening.
So, a week or so ago Toast and I were included in a group email from the Birthday girl to everyone who was out that night. After replying I was rather surprised to receive a slightly flirty reply from ‘Gaga’ which was directed at me but sent to all. Toast noted how flirty it was too. It even had a ‘winky face’ on the end.
Shortly after, I received another group reply directed at me from ‘Lashes’; THIS one was overly flirty AND had the winky face of suggestiveness too. Blimes!
What surprised me so much was visible. What you should remember at this point is that Elizabeth is also on this group email. I was pretty sure that she had left by that point though and had not seen the kiss-a-thon.
Although both were very interesting, pretty and eminently date-worthy, Lashes was the girl who had really struck me the the most but who I thought was totally out of my league, so I was absolutely stoked that she had made contact… but obviously played it as cool as I could manage (which is rarely particularly cool).
The conversation went like this (edited down to prevent accidental outing):
Lashes (to everyone): “I have the top hat if you find yourself in need, Biscuit. Ya never know when you may need one …
(the one that looked like a floozy in fake eyelashes)”
Biscuit: “Hey you floozy! Of course I remember you with those utterly terrifying eyelashes!
Thought it best not to inflict my ramblings on the entire mailing list. I do have a top hat but I remember yours being nicer. We should definitely compare. ;) …unless the eyelashes are a permanent fixture!
Lashes: “terrifyingly awesome eyelashes? then yes, im most certainly your gal :)
sadly, those eyelashes aren’t permanent fixtures. booo. Im working on it.
how are things for you? I’m putting something together [next week] in [London location] if you’re available – more the merrier :) it’ll even have [two boys] participating from the [Hallowe'en] crowd. [link to interesting 'thing']
hope you’re well, and maybe cross paths soon?
Biscuit: Actually that looks really interesting. Quite fancy it. Are you gonna be uber busy running round organising things on the night?
And when I say terrifying eyelashes, I mean it! It’s a real irrational fear. Mind you, not one of those ridiculous fears of the dark or being buried alive,no, this is a proper sensible fear. :p
Lashes: “I forgot you had a legitimate fear of eyelashes (as rational as that sort of phobia can be). I’ll be sure to wear some [when I see you].
(not really) :)
do come. the uber busyness depends on how good of a turnout we get. should be a damn good time, too. and worst case, if it’s reaaaaallly bloody boring, it’s in a pub and drinks can be easily attained. win win.
hope you can make it!”
Conversation continued in this vein. I nearly blew it by making a joke about having to marry her but recovered.
I’m not sure what her M% was yet as these things so often depend on chemistry on the night but it was already high nevertheless. So, having been given a clear green light to meet up, I washed my best jumper and planned my next move.
There were going to be other boys there who I knew were also interested in her. This was the first time in a long time that I would be walking into a situation knowing I was going head to head with other men so this was possibly gonna get fighty!
*limbers up, cracks knuckles*
Recently we celebrated Toast’s and RB’s birthdays with a night out in North London. We started at RB’s place for Red Stripe beer and chilli jacket potatoes (essential pre-drinking stodge).
RB has a bunch of rather lovely friends and I set about making balloon models for them to play with, because we are all grown-ups like that. We left the house all wearing one of many fezzes that had been bought for the occasion and the shenanigans continued on the bus where we met a gentleman straight from the pages of ‘The Chap’. He was wearing a rather dapper wide-brimmed trilby, which one of RB’s friends managed to persuade him to let her try on.
With her long black hair, fringe cut straight above the eyes and long coat she looked like a sexy ‘40s private eye. I must say that was a much better look than the Fez.
Toast and RB had booked tables in a painfully hip bar, the kind of place that seemed to have an unspoken ‘no ugly people’ rule. Fleetstreetfox and Scalene also arrived and everyone set about pouring as much booze into the birthday boy and girl’s faces as possible.
Having been so impressed with RB’s ‘film noir’ friend, I made an effort to chat to her through the evening. Toast and RB had already pegged that there might be a little chemistry there and were watching with anticipation.
After lots of chats we were on our way to the bar when the DJ played Prince’s ‘Kiss’, which we both gleefully began singing along to:
You don’t have to be rich to be my girl
You don’t have to be cool to rule my world
Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with
I just want your extra time and your …
…at that moment I cheekily bobbed my head down and kissed her. Well, what could I do? Prince TOLD me to.
Noir looked surprised and then pleased.
The rest of the night was a mix of chatting, dancing and kissing, in about a 30%, 30%, 40% ratio. I’m very aware of kissing ‘in peoples’ faces’ (other peoples’ faces, not the person you’re kissing obviously) so I tried to keep it to the edges of the bar and at least semi discrete.
The two moments which I remember the clearest are when she grabbed my bum, making me feel like a teenager, and when she said “I’ve never snogged a posh boy before”. The latter of these two made me giggle as I was born in East London and don’t consider myself posh. Though, if you were an American speaking to me on the telephone you might envisage me in a bowler hat, sipping tea from fine bone china whilst eating a cucumber sandwich and bemoaning the weather and England’s cricket performance.
Eventually it was time to take a drunken Toast home so we swapped numbers on the genuine promise of calling her all said goodbyes to the rest of the birthday crew and the painfully hip bar before parting ways.
Toast said to RB that he had basically already lost the wager as Noir was basically my type (great fringe, naughty eyes, pretty, cheeky) but wasn’t mental.
RB whispered to me that I had better be lovely to her or else. Yikes! Mind you, there’s no better way for her to look out her friend as she can read exactly what I’m up to here. Actually, on that basis I’m not sure why more people don’t want to set their eligible female friends up with us .
Friday night night was something of a last minute plan. With Dragonforce now in Quatar, I agreed to meet a man I barely know to go drinking on the rock scene. Toast then gleefully announced that the planets had aligned in his favour and he *would* go to the ball come to London after all.
“You two really are a right pair of pussies.” – FleetStreetFox
In a ‘come one, come all’ spirit, I threw the invite to join us open to all who I thought might fancy it. I was joined by FleetStreetFox who, prior to meeting us a week earlier had scathingly taken us for a couple of inept morons. Whilst that may well be the case, we were clearly shaping up to be a likeable couple of inept morons at least.
“Your joint state of pathetic romantic anxiety would probably not help you get invited to any [threesomes]“ – FleetStreetFox
With Toast planning to hook up with us after meeting Betty Page I attempted to coerce Scalene to join us to in an effort to reunite the anonymous blogger quartet from the previous week, but he was otherwise engaged on a non-romantic encounter.
“You three would make the world’s least successful and most inept sexual tag team.” – FleetStreetFox
FleetStreetFox was again living up to her moniker, dressed in figure hugging black and leather; serendipitously the unofficial uniform of the rock scene, so she fitted right in!
Alternately pouring caustic scorn on the perceived fashion crimes of the venue’s incumbents and confusing Toast by replying to his Betty Page updates on my phone, she was thoroughly enjoyable company once again.
“Biscuit would have to be Soggy Sam. Liable to wilt under pressure.” – FleetStreetFox
After a while I even managed to overcome her reticence and enourage her onto the dancefloor, which felt like a deleted scene from “School of Rock” where Jack Black teaches that it’s easy to dance to rock music after all.
Then something utterly surprising happened. Standing at the top of the stairs we were face to face intently discussing something that has long since ceased to be important. The next I knew, we were kissing! Blimes!
Leaving for home shortly after, we grabbed a taxi back to mine as she had previously arranged to crash in the spare room. There may have been unspecified further hijinks but, being a gentleman (and fearing for my vital organs) there will be no further details.
Or at least someone attempted hijinks but I was having none of it because I’m not that kind of boy.
” I still think that eventually one of you, or Scalene, will elope with the foxy FleetStreetFox.” - Molly Bennett
“You will have to arrange a lobotomy too. And get several bottles into me.” - FleetStreetFox
Throughout the night, I had taunted her that every time she rifled through my phone/facebook/email messages (ever the tabloid journalist) I was deducting from her final marriage percentage.
With this in mind, and obligated by the rules to provide a M%. I can officially declare the final figure.
Marriage percentage: minus 13%
All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable night with great company! Now, if she could just refrain from trying to find out if I am conducting an illicit homosexual affair with my ‘advisor’ or am hiding a body under the patio then she could have retained the previously healthy score. She can’t say I didn’t warn her!
*runs away and hides… and changes name…*
If there is a lesson here, then it is surely the following: We might APPEAR to be utterly hapless twats, but we are at least personable with it!
“I am NOT ‘an opportunity’, neither. I’d be a fucking lucky break, especially for one of those twats. JESUS.” - FleetStreetFox
Last night Scalene introduced Biscuit and I to FleetStreetFox. There was laughter, there was vomiting and there were serious conversations about weddings. That’s quite a lot for a Tuesday evening.
We met the infamous FleetStreetFox in a bar so dark that I think Scalene found her by echolocation rather than sight.
FleetStreetFox was working on a bottle of wine and we said awkward hellos. FleetStreetFox was definitely foxy, we (Biscuit and I) were both caught slightly off guard by that. I think Biscuit was even momentarily shy.
I’m not allowed to give a longer description of her because she is all secret, we weren’t even allowed to know her real name.
Once the ‘oh my god it’s mad people off the Internets’ bit was out-of-the-way it was fun. It’s always interesting to find out if you match your blog persona. According to FleetStreetFox we are both a bit older than she thought and I am less stupid in real life. Only a bit mind.
Everyone got on terribly well, we drank far too much wine and covered some very important subjects. Namely DragonForce/Scalene, who has dated the biggest pervert and the nature of bets.
FleetStreetFox and Scalene both thought that the wager should end at the wedding, because people can have really long engagements and that would be cheating.
We also discussed the nature of the forfeit. My suggestion that the loser should have to shave every single hair from their body did not get approved. Which is probably for the best given that at the moment Biscuit is clearly in the lead.
This sort of nonsense went for most of the night and only stopped when the bar staff forced us to leave. We ambled home, pausing only to get chips and for Biscuit to do some light acrobatics and then collapsed for the evening. It was an excellent ‘quick drink after work’ on a Tuesday.
I won’t say who was sick the next day but their name rhymes with Miscuit.
- Drinking nice wine may make you feel sophisticated but it will still make you do and say stupid things if you put enough in your mouth
- No-one wins when you have a competition over who has dated the biggest pervert
- After drinking a lot of wine, it’s not a good idea to go near the Internet, or your phone
- Scalene is surprisingly light, according to FleetStreetFox
Lunch dates are funny old things. Especially lunch dates that you drive or ride too.
This means you can’t get drunk. So no long afternoon destroying a succession of bottles of increasingly cheap wine before stumbling into a louche cocktail bar.
In a correctly executed boozy lunch you will leave the cocktail bar with a new life-long friend, if not something more. Fact.
Anyway, back to this lunch. The initial greetings were a little bit awkward, but that only lasted a moment. We’d only met briefly a few weeks ago (while Scalene caught up with his hot female chum*) but soon we were chatting away happily.
She was wearing all black with a cool retro-style motorcycle jacket. Think the lady version of something the Fonze would wear and you have it about right. Her hair was chocolate-brown with that sort of soft wave in it that I thought only happened in commercials for shampoo.
Motorcycle girl is tall, and in amazing shape. Sort of like a English version of an Amazonian warrior princess with the swagger to match. Confidence counts for a lot.
The pub was attached to a down market chain hotel. It had been picked by her because it was close to her work. It was, well it was bland. The sort of place you eat at because you are hungry and it’s close rather than somewhere you go to because it’s special. We grabbed our non-alcoholic drinks (Boo!) and sat down. I explained the work project she could be involved in. It didn’t take long and after I’d covered what was required and what was on offer. She said she wanted to do it.
The food arrived and we chatted about things, you know stuff. With the business stuff out of the way we both relaxed a bit and I found out a bit more about her.
Motorcycle girl spends the winter teaching people to ski and the summer riding motorcycles and working for her dad. She is training to be a Yoga instructor (she made a few comments about being flexible) and is trying to break into something to connected to what I do. She revealed she is a closet nerd (five points) and told me about the time she went to a Hells Angels meet (ten points)
It was nice but there wasn’t any real buzz.
She was prettier than I remembered. Charming, interesting and animated. Everything was right, but I suspect she just wasn’t that into me.
Anyway, I’m definitely going to use her for some work stuff in a non-letchy way. She is perfect for the project and it could be big break for her. That’s good for the soul, if not for the wager.
So not a wasted lunch in the slightest.
Marriage percentage: 30%
*Scalene only seems to know pretty ladies I think it’s some sort of union rule.
** If you don’t understand the significance of this video Google ‘play them out keyboard cat’
Biscuit is off at a wedding with both Cola Lollies and Cupcake so I thought I’d do a state of play post too. From the slightly garbled text messages I’ve had from Biscuit it sounds like the events of the wedding will be amusing. I’m looking forward to finding out what happened too.
I’ve not heard back from Mia, so we can only deduce that Internet Rats ate the message. There is no way of contacting her again without seeming like a total mental so I think I’m going to have to leave that one.
However in Toast DreamsTM we have been going out for ages. I’m not talking about day dreams (I hardly know her) but actual proper dreams. In dream world we’ve been going out for months. It’s all a bit Inception really.
Last night I dreamt we met a load of her friends at the Tennis Club. I was wearing a red suit which seemed a bit off, but worked well against the green of the lawns. I was late to met her at her imaginary flat in East London (I couldn’t find it on Pretend Google maps) and she wasn’t ready so I had to go on with out her.
Her friends were nice, if a bit awkward because I’d never met them before and Mia wasn’t there to introduce us.
Eventually she turned up wearing an excellent plum coloured summer dress. She was delighted to see me and we danced in the afternoon sun to a band playing in a big white tent. We drank champagne and ate cucumber sandwiches in between songs. It was terribly civilised, and a complete mirage.
I have dreams like this most nights. Let’s not talk about what happened when I got a bit drunk meeting her brother that she might not have. Honestly, if I ever bump into Mia again it will be a bit awkward because she will feel like an ex.
On the rest of the dating side of things it’s gone a bit quiet. There was the girl Scalene and I met in a bar. I’ve now contacted her on a vaguely flimsy work-related pretext, well quite a good work related pretext but something she couldn’t get involved in and so we are in the hinterland. The awkward pause in a conversation. I think I’ll leave it for now. I don’t need anyone else to be haunting my dreams.
Last night there was a party in London hosted by Pot Noodle. Yes the snack. I’ve never been a huge fan of them, but I think I’m always going to have one around from now on to remind me of what happened.
I had assessment day thing at work so I wasn’t sure if I’d have the energy to go to a bash in London and since I’m single I don’t really have anywhere to stay. About half way through the day I grew some balls and decided to go. This was the right thing to do.
The party started off at about 7ish. I was even a bit early and got papped going in by some photographers and a load of tourists. I think this was more to do with the fact I was wearing stupid shades (as part of a costume) than the following of The Wed or Dead Wager.
Pretty much the entire London crowd was there, being lovely. Tate had just broke up with her chap and was feeling a bit fragile so she needed gin and hugs. Scalene was looking slightly nervous because the girl who he started the blog about was going to appear and meet us for the first time. It was terribly thrilling.
It was also bloody hot. The bar was far, far too warm. The place was rammed with journalists, very minor celebrities (Cheeky Girls, Bradley from S Club, and some others I can’t remember) and various frowning PR people with great hair.
I caught up with an old chum who is a bit of a London gay icon. We chatted for five minutes, he went to the bar and I realised he didn’t recognise me. About twenty minutes later he came back and apologised and said my radical haircut and fitness regime had caught him off guard. He was very sweet about it.
I did my usual London thing of talking to random girls in the room about nonsense. There was a girl in a smashing frock who was being very flirty and then mentioned she had a French boyfriend. Zut alors!
The editor of a well-known gossip magazine turned up with someone I recognised. It was a the really, really pretty girl from the company awards a few months ago. We spoke then to but I couldn’t remember her name. I said hello and we chatted some more. I even introduced her to some chums but I still don’t know her name. Bums.
Also I promised her editor a ride on a motorbike and I think I spent a lot of the night accidentally coming on to gay men. I really shouldn’t complement other men on their shoes, even if they are great.
Carole Decker turned up to judge something and then ended up singing China in your hand on karaoke. It was a very special moment. A tiny sweaty touch of magic.
The party got a bit more wild after that. One of the karaoke stars (and eventual winner) took his shirt off and then fell off the stage. Someone else made a Pot Noodle with lager and there was even some dancing.
The pretty girl, let’s call her Mia because she has a haircut like that character from Pulp Fiction, and I were dancing away to something. She pointed to a man in a hat. He was really dancing, not just jiggling away to music but actual proper dancing.
She said she was the choreographer from Glee. Yes GLEE. I was so excited I marched over to him and told him how much I loved Glee. There was quite a long bit about how I thought the return of musical theatre was a great thing and how even though I’m not really the target audience, Glee really spoke to me.
It was more than slightly gushing, but it was Glee.
He smiled at me and said that actually he did the choreography for High School Musical.
I winced. We had an awkward conversation where I said ‘Well yes, that’s terribly impressive too’
There was more wincing and I slunk off.
Some time later it was time to go home, so I went back to my friend’s office to pick up some things before I set off, and caught another friend doing something NAUGHTY with a man in the office. This was so shocking we walked out, realised we hadn’t actually got the things we needed to pick up and so went back and CAUGHT THEM AGAIN.
I went home, reminded of what a brilliant town London is and with vague plans to try to find out what Mia’s name actually is.
Scalene and I went to the pub to talk about man stuff, okay to talk about girls.
I’ve not been feeling terribly pro-women over the last few weeks. I could name lots of things I like more than ladies (crisps, dinosaurs, gin) and I’m not really tempted to get in a relationship with one at the moment.
Even worse I’m not even tempted to run off with one to Vegas and get married by Elvis. That is just wrong. That is normally a constant urge, and why I have to hide my passport from myself on pay day.
As most of you would suspect Scalene and I just ended up laughing like idiots in the pub all evening, and definitely not talking to any of the girls there. Actually that was a bit weird, in the early evening the bar was absolutely stuffed with girls and no chaps. I should remember that.
It was an excellent evening and after talking over stuff with Scalene I think I’m ready to at least try meeting someone for a coffee/12 cocktails. However since I’ve not got a clue who to date next. I’m going to throw it out to the interspaz.
What sort of person should I try and go on a date with next? Try and keep it vague like an American rather than Lea Michele.
Currently my life seems to be imitating a sitcom. Very specifically, The Inbetweeners. What’s worrying about this is that this is a programme about a group of suburban 16 year old boys struggling through the trials of adolescence to find their way in the world. This is not an obvious parallel for me, as a 32 year old grown-up, but yet is frighteningly relevant.
Most of the people I tend to meet in social situations are younger than me. This is largely because the people my age seem to be shacked up, sprogged or have become boring. Unfortunately this tendency to meet younguns seems to be making an inexorable slide down the age range.
I mentioned the girl I met at the front of AC/DC. She was very pretty and very sweet and turned out to be 19! Whilst this is not, strictly speaking, out of bounds it is skirting the very edge of acceptability and likelihood of having anything meaningful in common.
Dragonforce has been gleefully ripping it out of me for seemingly only getting chatting to girls who who have a “1″ prefixing their age. As mentioned recently I got talking to a pretty local barmaid and swapped numbers on the promise of meeting up for a drink. Bar-work is not overly compatible with a flexible social life and so although she seemed accommodating to the idea of meeting up, free time proved to be a bit of a nightmare.
The main problem is that, having finished university earlier than her friends, they are all now coming home so any evenings not working are spent catching up….well… that’s what she said at least.
So, because the Kickball World Championship has been on the telly a lot, the pub she works in has been quiet. Because I hate The Kickball (yes… EVEN the World Championship) I agreed to pop down the pub whilst it was quiet during a match.
I explained this to DF who danced around giggling “you’ve got a daaaa-aaate”. I explained that this was NOT a date as I was just going to chat and read a book when she was serving. We bantered this back and forth in a panto style for a bit then settled down to watch inbetweeners. In this episode, Will, the 16 year old, gets a date with the school sexpot. Well, I say date. He’s going to keep her company her whilst she’s working the bar at an under 16s disco.
DF nearly wet herself crying with laughter.
On arrival at the pub she looked much sweeter and more naive than I remembered, which made me feel a little bad at first. Because I knew I was going to be sat for periods whilst she had to serve I decided to take a book as my thumb twiddling skills are not finely honed enough. I learned the trick of taking a book to a date from Scalene. Amazingly the book I just happened to be reading was one she loved and definitely upped my standing very early on in the not-date.
About 10pm she finished as it was so quiet and sat with me chatting. 3 notable things happened.
- I realised that she was not nearly as naive and sweet as she appeared and was actually very switched on and really quite intriguing.
- I managed to knock the last inch of my pint over her legs with my massive waggly spazzy arms.
- I discovered that she had not finished university. She had finished her FIRST year university… and was in fact 19.
The thing is, I actually really like her and would like to get to know her better as she’s pretty cool and easy to talk to. However: 19!!! :/ This is not really an issue as we will both be moving away in August anyway.
Marriage Percentage: 20%
DF killed herself laughing when she found out number 3.
This should be the end of the story except, in the spirit of karma, I got a degree of my own back. The following night DF and I went to a gig in London. At this gig we got chatting to a couple of lads who both took a shine to her. By the end of the gig she had become super good ‘fwends’ with one of the boys and swapped numbers…ans]d then saliva. It was at this point her friend whispered to me that her current snogging partner was, in fact, 19. HA!!!
I couldn’t help myself. I sidled up and gave her a double thumbs up and a gleeful “awh! Fwend!” (this clip is worth watching entirely on its own merit, but if you’ve not seen it it will make this make much more sense). This was the joke that never wore thin. After all the grief she had given me, she was snogging a 19 year old and it was my turn to milk it dry! …which I preceded to do for the rest of the journey home.
That’s ALMOST the end of the story… but on the way home a woman struck up conversation with me on the tube because of a T-Shirt I was wearing (the SAME T-shirt that had opened a conversation with the barmaid. It is now officially my lucky T-Shirt).
Well, in the short period of acquaintance with the pretty lady, who I was becoming rapidly interested in, I discovered she was actually studying. No, not a Ph.D. or even a degree… No, she was still at school …studying A-Levels …making her 18.
I think DF nearly asphyxiated with laughter as she desperately gasped for breath and coyly stuck two thumbs up whilst barely managing to mouth “fwend”.
Victory was SO short lived.
What to say eh? If you’ve got any sense you will have read Scalene‘s account of the weekend. It covers most of it.
Although doesn’t quite get across the large amounts of booze consumed or the excellent bit in the morning where we forced Scalene to play Lady Gaga songs on the piano. That was aces.
We need to talk about DF, or as I now call her Cat’s Milk. Her actions weren’t a drunken mistake.
Eating a raw sauasage is a drunken mistake (I’ve done that) or trying to drink a glow stick is a drunken mistake (done that too). No her actions on Saturday night were a sustained campaign to stop any girls from being too interested in Biscuit.
Cat’s Milk either told bad stories about Biscuit or implied that they were in a relationship. She did it a lot.
I noticed it, The Fez noticed it and the Fez’s friends noticed it and it’s just not on. But let’s draw a line under the matter now.
The evening was fun. The Fez’s chums were all really late so by the time they appeared I was pretty drunk. I think I talked to them a bit. I can remember asking a biochemist how long away we were from developing unicorns. I took a lot of blurry photos of the inside of a pub and tried to organise a game of ‘who can stay in the freezing paddling pool for the longest’.
It was a success, in ways we didn’t expect.