Last Thursday (yes, it really was THAT long ago) I made the ritual train journey to The London for my date with the sassy Irish Girl with naughty eyes.
I already knew that this was going to be a bit of a drinking date. This was the girl, after all, who I met on the streets at 4.30 a.m. as we were merrily on our respective ways home. She abused me for the crimes of my English forefathers, I grinned and agreed out of amusement (and a healthy fear of what might happen if I didn’t!).
Given the berating I have already had for my ancestors’ colonial behaviour, I can’t rightly keep referring to her as “the sassy Irish girl” so (drawing from an appropriate origin) shall call her “Siobhán”… sassy Siobhán! (for those not familiar, it’s pronounced “shi VAWN”… although all this seems rather drawn out for a pseudonym!)
Amusingly, there was no pretence of a meal, we just grabbed our first drink in the pub at the train station. This was clearly going to be fun! Before too long we got round to recounting our respective tales of the night we met, filing in each others’ blank spots of the conversation.
I was totally oblivious to the boy with her, who I thought was with her friend, just jumping in and snogging her mid-conversation with me! We discussed terrible customers, drinking and crazy stalking Italian men. After the one drink we were driven out of the pub by the music, which seemed to be pitched at the perfect level to inhibit any meaningful conversation, especially with my terrible hearing (what’s that sonny??? SPEAK UP!).
As neither of us had any idea where we were going we struck out purposefully, in search of our next watering hole. This one was cozy and, because of speakers in close proximity and a gaggle of guffawing bankers, just as loud. On the plus side, this did give me a reason to lean in closer… although my squinty “I can only just hear you” face didn’t do me any favours.
Giving up on that pub (more to the point, having finished our drinks), we moved to hunt our next conquest! The next one was a grand, and thankfully relatively quiet affair in which the only incumbents were men of a certain age. One in particular was of a particularly advanced ‘certain age’, and wearing full lycra cycling gear. When he was not stood at the bar presenting his protruding posterior he was jigging around in a bizarre display of part ‘dad’ dancing, part epileptic fit. It was facinating and horrifying at the same time.
To its great merit, the pub did serve PIE, and we were both quite hungry by now so tucked into pastry and meat along with our next drinks. What really warmed me to Siobhán was the fact that I felt I could happily sit, drink and yak with her all night about strange boys, the merits of vodka, and amusing national stereotypes. She even walked back to the train station and waited ’till my train arrived to see me off.
I gave her a peck on the lips before grinning and disappearing for my journey home. We swapped a couple of texts shortly after about having had a good time and both said we should do it again.
The great thing is, I really think we should. There’s a low level frisson rather than definite chemistry but it’s certainly enough to make it fun and a little intriguing.
Marriage percentage: 18%. I think she was more of a drinking partner than a marrying partner but someone I would like to stay in contact with and meet socially, even if nothing else ever comes of it, and that’s a pretty great thing to have in itself! :)
As everything went rather well, if there is a lesson learned here then it is a fairly mundane one. There were lots of very amusing moments which have now been lost in the fog of memory. Clearly, from now on, I need to jot notes on the way home. That way, much like vacuum sealing in the freshness, I can bring you dates crisper, more pungent and nore tantilisingly tangible than before.
This is clearly NOT a notebook that I ever want to drop on the floor mid date though. Not if I value my reproductive organs at any rate!
*buys cricket box*