Toast dated a lady
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…