Thursday. It’s often the best night out, Fridays have their moments too but I’m a Thursday kinda guy. There is something pleasingly louche about going out in an evening when you know you have work the next day.
This Thursday I had a date with a singer/song-writer/actress. We started chatting on Twitter about, well nonsense. After a few weeks the the vague suggestion of a drink was mentioned. Thursday was the day when our calenders finally matched up.
I had a cocktail thing in one bar and then a lavish launch of a TV show for later. Perfect for a night out. The cocktail thing was through my chum and so I met up with him for a drink first and then we went to the cocktail bar. The bar was near Soho and a little bit flash.
The first cocktail
We were just being served our first round of cocktails when The singer/song-writer/actress turned up. Let’s call her Rebecca. She was tall, very tall. with dark hair with blonde highlights. She was wearing a short, slightly floaty purple dress with a black jacket. Her hair wasn’t as big as it was in her music videos but she was recognisable.
We said hello and then started chatting with the other people at the party. We talked about all sorts of stuff occasionally breaking away from the group to chat about career related things before rejoining the group to talk about cocktails or dogs.
I was given a cocktail that had a chili draped over the edge as a garnish so I decided to eat it. It wasn’t too hot, then pleasantly warm, then ‘oh blimes’, then ‘oh dear’, then ‘Just kill my mouth to end my suffering’ before settling into a background level of pain. I didn’t cry but my eyes did get moist.
I’d used my poker face skills to not give this away. I think it must have worked because all the other chaps in the party started munching down on their chilis too and then also battled against showing pain because pretty girls were there.
We men are such prats sometimes.
After a while the rest of the group when on to another thing and we sat down at the bar for a more in-depth chat. It was pleasant, interesting and unguarded. I like chats like that. So much communication is so inconsequential it’s nice when you really talk to someone. We finished our drinks and hopped in a cab to the second part of the evening which was in a music bar.
Two bars, one night
We arrived and the place was busy but there wasn’t a person on the door. There wasn’t a press area or any sign of anything going on. After a bit of hunting around I tracked down the organiser. She was all flustered and said there wasn’t a press area but a band was turning up.
It didn’t appear to be the lavish party I’d been promised and had promised to Rebecca. Oh dear.
We got some drinks and sat down on a table with some other people who’d also been invited to party and who were also confused as to what was going on. Bitching about the lack of canapés is surprisingly bonding.
There were more drinks, and then more. A band appeared. They played amazingly while appearing to be stupendously bored. It was quite entertaining, for the two songs they played before disappearing.
We drank more.
The organiser had told us that a man in a pork-pie hat was going to appear and look after us a bit. So we waited for him while drinking more gin. We still hadn’t eaten anything so at this point we were luxuriously drunk.
Almost instantly it was time to catch the last train home.
Rebecca and I said goodbye to our party friends and waltzed off into the night, pausing only to buy chips before we got on the tube.
We got on the wrong tube so our goodbye was slightly rushed because Rebecca suddenly had to change lines. She texted me when she got home thanking me for a lovely evening.
I’d had a nice time. She was entertaining, interestingly complex and pretty. There weren’t any dramatic moments or startling insights just a nice evening.
Marriage percentage: 20% If I had met her six months ago I’m sure it would be tripled, but I’ve met so many amazing women in the last few months I’ve had to adjust my scale. Also, even though Biscuit is romping ahead with Jen I’m trying not to jump into anything.
I don’t want a repeat of The Consultant.
My evening plans had radically changed. I had got chatting to a not quite an old not-quite-a-flame about meeting up but that plan got delayed for something else.
So I was wondering around the house building BBQs and drinking wine. It was a nice day so this wasn’t a painful activity. I was chatting to a few people on twitter, about nothing really and I said in a DM to one person, who I’d never met
‘Fancy a drink some time? <A FRIEND> thinks we’d get along and she is only mostly wrong most of the time.’
To which they replied
‘Sounds like a brilliant idea! We’re drinking in South London at the mo if you fancy x?’
And that is why about 30 minutes later I was knocking on the door of an almost complete stranger to gatecrash their garden party. Well it was a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon, what else was there to do?
It wasn’t so much a garden party as two girls getting drunk in a garden. One was wearing a blue play-suit and the other was in a floaty summer dress. The one in the play-suit was blonde with blue eyes, the dress girl had dark hair in a bob and loved Doctor Who. They were friends of friends so it wasn’t massively weird. Just mostly weird and polite.
They were lightly sizzled and I joined in the fun. By joined in the fun I mean I got ruinously drunk, with people I didn’t really know. Wine is good isn’t it?
After we’d drunk all the wine in the house, we went to the pub which was next door and got more drinks. A man turned up and set up a karaoke station. Another person I didn’t really know, but I could pretend to be a F.O.F. turned up, there was more karaoke related fun going on.
The stupid idea
I got not just drunk, but destroyed. How do I know this?
Because I challenged a girl – one I didn’t actually fancy – to a game of strip Scrabble.
I don’t know why? It wouldn’t even work as a strip game, because Scrabble mostly just involves two people arguing about words. That’s not very sexy is it? Also when would you strip? Would it be a points system? Or when you use up letters? Why did I ask I girl I didn’t fancy to play it with me? Did I just assume she looked like the sort to have a Scrabble set with her? Or did she look like the sort of person who would have access to a set but also wouldn’t know any good words?
I clearly hadn’t thought this through very well. Luckily at exactly the time of the nudie-scrabble-challenge I was waiting for my cab to appear so I dived into it and went home. The next day my head was very hurty, but also a bit glad.
Sober Toast has reasonably good judgement and self control, drunk Toast is a bit of a berk sometimes, but I forgive him because he is so much fun and he has nice hair.
It was Friday so we decided to see some more sights in Manhattan and then meet up with a few people in the evening.
MyLoveLifeInYourHands wanted to see as many people as possible so the evening was mapped out very carefully.
We ‘grabbed a slice’ before wandering around looking faintly lost while we tried to find the bar. After only a couple of wrong turns we found the right place
Blossom was there with one of her male chums we had met before. It was a classy place and everyone was drinking wine which felt strangely sophisticated compared to the events of the last week.
One bottle turned into a few. More fun people turned up and soon we were bring pressed pretty hard to stay with them and go to a BBQ place for supper.
Biscuit had made a new friend, they went out for a smoke (him was just keeping her company) and when they came back they announced they were getting married.
In light of this big announcement we gave in and ambled over to the BBQ place. I got some booze and MyLoveLifeInYourHands waited in the queue for food with Blossom chatting away.
Once we had some drinks we (the other chums) had to hang around waiting for a free table for us to take. It was like musical chairs but while carrying a gallon of cider. Musical chairs should always be played with a gallon of cider.
Eventually we grabbed a big enough table just before MyLoveLifeInYourHands ordered. It was perfect timing really.
There was a mass scrum to sit down and I ended up sat in the corner, next to Biscuit and his new wife.
They were secretly holding hands under the table, which made me suspect that their ‘marriage’ had a bit more too it than just a throw-away joke.
I’ve known Biscuit for a while but I’ve never seen him move so fast, they had known each other for hours. I think we can all guess which way this story is going.
Opposite me were MyLoveLifeInYourHands and Blossom who had been glued at the hip all evening. I was right on the end so I ended up having a conversation with a man with a massive beard, and then sitting in silence. It was an evening of awkward moments.
Biscuit and his new friend had started snogging at the table. Marcy turned up with some other people and apologised for texting while drunk last time we were out.
Everyone had finished stuffing amazing meat in their mouths so we stumbled on to another bar for more drinks.
The crowd thinned out a bit and so I was left making awkward conversation with a man who lived in a car while MyLoveLifeInYourHands and Blossom chatted away furiously. Biscuit and his ‘wife’ left for ‘a walk’ and we didn’t see them again for the rest of the evening.
We went onto another bar because it had old arcade machines. The crowd thinned some more.
Blossom and MyLoveLifeInYourHands were playing games with each other on the machines. I was struggling to keep the conversation going with the ‘living in the car guy’. There is only so much you can talk about the freedom of the open road and getting good miles to the gallon on your house.
This went on for a while before I thought I’d just bow out and get a cab home. I said goodbye to MyLoveLifeInYourHands and Blossom and jumped in a cab. I didn’t see MyLoveLifeInYourHands until the next day either.
The cab dropped me off at the end of our block and I got to witness a rolling street fight between a group of youths. It was quite exciting. I was a bit worried at first, I was drunk, wearing a waistcoat and a pink tie but they acted as if I was a ghost and just ignored me.
It had been another exciting evening, although one where I had felt a bit like a third wheel. I think I should have gone into Soho, but regrets are for other people.
The chaps had fun and I did get to swig from a gallon jug of cider so in balance I’d call that a win.
What is the trip to New York all about? I’ve been asking myself this. I mean it’s a great idea and I’m sure we will have fun, that is a given but what are we doing it for?
Meeting girls seems a bit vague.
Hook-ups, as charming as they are, aren’t really the aim of this blog. It is the Wed or Dead Wager, not the Get a Shag And Never See Them Again Challenge.
So we’d like to meet somene really nice, someone really, really special, right? But that presents problems too.
What say, if one of us meets a lovely girl and has a week so perfect that Louis Armstrong rises from the dead just to sing love songs while we dance through the streets of the city that never sleeps. Well what happens when we have to go home?
Who wants to be a thing when you see someone for a week every now and then? That’s not a relationship, that’s a form of torture. A very expensive form of torture that gets you lots of airmiles and lots of complimentary toothbrushes.
So not only have we got to meet someone aces, we have to get to the point, by the end of the holiday that one of us (the two people who haven’t met yet) is seriously considering uprooting their entire life to be with the other person.
That’s quite an ask for seven days. Still, if it was easy it wouldn’t be a fun bet.
I think I’m going to need some better shoes.
I walked through the misty streets of London. Hustlers and tourists bounced off each other as I headed for the train home. The train to safety. My mind was reeling. Not from the cheap wine, not from the cheap whiskey although it had taken the edge off the world.
I’d kissed her, Mia, the dame who lured me back to London, on the lips. It was a goodbye, at the end of an interesting night. Nothing too brisk but more than was required. I was a little shocked, enough to make me blink.
As I got on the tube I thought back a few hours to try to work out how this happened.
We were in a bar, there was a contest going on. Six of us from work were there. Six brave souls on a chilly Monday night with nothing planned apart from self-destruction.
Mia was there, we were both drunk from winning the contest and the free-flowing liquor. To win the contest we had pretended to be married, it made sense at the time.
She was leaning on me as we drank more. There was subtle touching going on, nothing overt just more than was required. Occasionally she would lean into me a little with her hips. The air tingled with something, something unwise but tempting all the same. I thought back a few hours to try to work out how this happened.
We had just arrived in the bar. I knew a couple of people on the table, but most were strangers. Mia wasn’t going to be joining us, but people were sending her messages to get her to come down. She turned up after just enough resistance to make it seem like we had earned it.
We drank slugs of fortified wine and chatted. I’d been out with work people before, but not with her yet. It was our first chat outside of the office.
We talked of little things, and then as the booze kicked in more serious, interesting things. I’m not sure how the subject came up but I said I wasn’t in a relationship.
She was confused, someone at work, a guy who works for me had told her I was. We laughed. I said I was free and single. We both drank and laughed. A laugh with hidden meanings, filled with ‘oh really?’ and ‘Gee that’s interesting’. I thought back a few days to try to work out how this happened.
It was my first night out with work. I sat down with one the guys who works for me. Drinking had begun well before the final whistle of the day and so in the pub we had reached the point of dangerous honesty.
“Who do you fancy in the office then? Who is your top three?” He asked.
“Mia,” I said, “The probably The Doll and The Glasses.”
“Oh really, that’s interesting, not The Hair?”
“No, I don’t do blondes.”
“Well watch out for Mia, she is a bit mad.”
“You’ll find out, just watch out.”
I thought on this, Mia wasn’t there so I couldn’t find out more. I thought back to try to work out how this happened.
There was an awards party months earlier. I picked up an award and a girl on a nearby table caught my eye. She was pretty, pretty enough to make me walk over and strike up a conversation. The place was so loud I didn’t quite catch her name. There was something about her that was very intriguing.
That’s how it happened.
This is going to be a sort of mult-update. Lots of things have happened, and I’ve been very lax in updating the blog. Hopefully this post will bring everyone up to speed. Are we sitting comfortably? Yes? Then I shall begin.
Work and moving
I’m back in London settled in a house with Biscuit and we’ve even started running in the mornings.
My new job is amazing, utterly amazing. I can’t give away too many details for fear of outing myself but I can’t believe I’m being paid to go there.
I also sit about three metres away from Mia, which is good and bad.
I found her terribly distracting for the first couple of days but now I’ve basically calmed down and I’m working fine.
She is terribly charming though, as are many other women in the office. A chap could get himself into a lot of trouble there.
I will try to resist.
Date report – Fez mark 2
I’ve been trying to spend less time messaging people and more time dating them. What I mean by this is go fairly briskly from initial contact to meeting up for a drink.
This is good because it leaves lots of things to talk about on the first date. It also avoids the trap of thinking someone is great online, but when you meet them you find out it isn’t going to work.
Also known as ‘your picture is a decade old and you smell of wet dog.’
This date didn’t smell of wet dog, but she was basically The Fez with slightly different hair.
She had exactly the same job and I think they might actually do some work together. I’m pretty sure the companies they both work for co-ordinate on projects.
I didn’t want to date the Fez again and so the date was a very brief drink and I skipped off into the night.
This is the sort of thing that can be avoided by a bit more investigation before the date.
Marriage percentage = 5%
Cocktails with the Mermaid
The ex-blogger formally known as Fuckwittery invited me out for cocktails with the Mermaid and her. Scalene came along too.
It was very jolly. We drank lots of cocktails laughed and then went for a very drunken chinese meal.
It was an excellent goodbye to the Mermaid. I didn’t kiss her as we parted because we had company and it would have been a bit weird.
We will however go for drinks when she gets back, in five months time. Gah.
I won’t do a percentage because it wasn’t really a date, it was a load of people going out and having fun and it was totally worth the hangover the next day.
I don’t actually have anything lined up. I’ve got various lunches and catchings up with people I’ve not seen in ages, which will be lovely but these last few weeks have been a bit manic.
Of course I am in London so I could bump into the woman of my dreams at any moment. She is probably in the corner shop right now.
Which reminds me, we are out of milk…