Girls, giggles and Gogol
Not to be left behind Toast as he streaks ahead… last Friday I went on a new date.
After the usual train ride to The London I eventually found my way to the rendezvous… late. Fortunately it turns out that my date was just as rubbish at turning up on time so that was a rather promising start. I prefer girls who turn up late every now and then as it masks my own appalling timekeeping.
Following my improvement points from my last date I put on some nicer shoes… AND a shirt.
The pub was a lovely place and had a little theatre in the back so was decked with stalls style seating around the edge and a variety of Thespian and theatrical decor.
The girl (who shall henceforth be referred to as ‘Maple’) was lovely. I have referred to lots of girls as lovely but this was the kind of lovely that also comes with a healthy dose of mischief, a dirty laugh and the ability to swear and make it endearing.
Conversations ranged over an encouraging range of topics such as:
- The man in the toilet who was earnestly attempting to spell his name (or something) in the urinal next to me,
- sewage treatment processes,
- being naughty for fun,
- a mutual appreciation of bitter,
- dancing bums.
We talked a lot about music, which is a big deal to me. Any woman who went to an AC/DC gig aged 14 deserves SERIOUS respect. To top that, she enthusiastically recommended I listen to a slightly obscure and totally awesome band (Gogol Bordello) who I already have tickets for next week.
This sort of thing is a bit like a kitemark of ‘girl quality’. If this kind of information were stamped on the boxes that girls came in then I would not even open it to check the contents before taking her home as I would know that I am assured that all the parts would be present, with an instruction manual, in English, no references to ‘flange A’ or ‘slot B’ in the construction guidelines, and she would probably come with a laser for lighting fires, or toppling megalomaniacal dictatorships.
After lots of Corona I reluctantly had to leave for the last train back to the countryside. Actually, I was worryingly late for the last train back to the countryside. We did a cheek-kiss at the station and I dashed off.
Marriage Percentage: 50%. Very promising indeed.
The tale would end there… however there was still one more surprise for the night. Hurtling up the escalators from the tube to my train, I screeched round the corner and hurdled on to my absolute last means of getting home that night. The chap I hurdled past was holding the door open for his wife as she ran for it it.
If I can just anthropomorphically personify ‘Fate’ for a moment, she was most certainly having a little giggle at my expense. I suddenly recognised the couple I had just dramatically vaulted onto the train with as… Cupcake’s parents!!! Not being able to ignore them, and seats being at a premium, we sat together.
Cue 1 hour 15 minutes of thoroughly awkward conversation.