Betty Page, Gaugin and Dayirman
I have some new dates arranged. Thanks to a simple plan.
I cunningly waited until Biscuit was distracted with moving house, and thus all of the women in the whole world were mine to talk to alone. Ha! In your face Biscuit!
It worked too, although they are not ‘dates’ as such, not yet at least.
I’ve got that sort of pre-date arrangement. You know where one of you says ‘do you fancy a drink’ and the other says ‘yes that would be lovely’ and then you both make a serious face while you try to find a day as soon as possible when you are both free but that also gives you enough time to shave various parts of your body and find your good underpants.
There are three pre-dates arranged, two of them sensible, one highly unlikely.
Date 1: Betty Page
She contacted me first, which is always fun. Lives in West Hampstead, runs a web consultancy. Is a bit kinky, but not in a scary way, I hope. She asked me out for a drink, specifically said that we would be getting drunk.
The drink bit means I can’t ride down on a bike so that will make planning a bit more tricky. This will probably have to wait a week or so as weddings are eating up most of my free time at weekends at the moment.
Date 2: Maths Teacher
A Jewish maths teacher, she lives in Hampstead and her brother has a tiny little dog called Dave. I contacted her first, and I have to admit she wasn’t hugely responsive, however I kept going in a chatty light-hearted way. This was mostly due to it being a way of avoiding packing*.
I think normally I would have given up and moved on but I didn’t and a couple of hours later we ended up talking on Skype, for ages.
The call lasted three hours, making it one of the longest conversations of my life, ever.
It was three hours of giggling about Eurovision, mathematics and Azerbaijani rap bands called Dayirman (who are aces it turns out) and it only ended because it was really, really late and I had to move house* in the morning.
So who knows how long it would have gone on if that hadn’t been the case? Being able to talk to someone at length – about nothing in a funny way – is incredibly important to me.
Biscuit is of the view that a three-hour conversation is practically a date and so I have to give a marriage percentage. I’d say she is a solid 50% just going on her mind. If we get on in real life then she has to be a contender.
The vague plan is to go and see the Gaugin exhibit in the Tate so I suppose I’ll find out then if she is actually a man. Even if she (he?) is, given the quality of the phone conversation I think I’d have to consider it a little bit.
Date 3: Highly Unlikely
Californian jewellery designer, has good hair.
I really shouldn’t look at the profiles of girls in different countries on dating websites. I’m just teasing myself.
It’s like looking at a sweet shop full of sweets you aren’t allowed to eat. delicious sweets that you want to try but that are forbidden. Forbidden doesn’t really work for me so I ended up having a brief trans-atlantic phone call about Jam at 3am in the morning.
On the plus side I now have an offer of a meal from Californian woman next time I’m in San Francisco, which is lovely but well it’s a bit of a commute.
*I’m moving house too, somewhere a bit rubbish for a few months and then on to London!**
**Eeek I’ve just realised this means I’m distracted and so Biscuit is going to have all the women in the whole world to talk to, alone. Damn it.