Last night there was a small gathering of some of the regular characters on the blog. MyLoveLifeInYourHands was around with the visiting Marni (also known as Blossom on this blog), FleetStreetFox was celebrating her birthday and some of the Schwingalong Girls were out.
I had invited the Theatre Producer along too. We were going a fancy pants party, but it didn’t start till later so we joined the gang in a pub for a few drinks before the bash.
There was a lot of giggling. The girls were all exceedingly well dressed, lots of floaty dresses, power pencil skirts and some-what optimistically shorts. Optimistic because the weather hasn’t been exactly great.
Everyone got on very well.
The whole affair was terribly pleasant, but also had a hint of MyLoveLifeInYourHands and I presenting girls we like to Her Royal Foxyness for judgement.
I had tried to get Biscuit to appear too with Jen (who has already been fox-judged) but he made up some rubbish excuses.
After a few drinks the Theatre Producer and I walked over to our swanky party. There was free champagne and a BBQ with proper grown-up food. Not tiny canapés. This was a very pleasant surprise and so we set about eating and drinking slightly too much while playing ‘Is that a famous person?’
While we were playing this game the bar ran out of pink champagne, so we had to slum it and switch to normal coloured champagne. Tough times.
Some time later we went back to the Theatre Producers place, which incidentally is a proper grown-ups house rather than the ‘Lost Boys nest’ that Biscuit and I live in.
She gave me the presents she’d got me in America, they were all silly, pointless and lovely. The stand-out items were three water-pistols that were shaped like dinosaurs. She said she’d got three so she, Biscuit and I could use them at the same time. I thought that was unbelievably sweet.
We chatted, I was given the guided tour and ended up staying the night.
The next morning I quizzed her on important facts. I’d already decided that I wanted her to be my girlfriend so I was just clearing up some final details which included her views on white chocolate, avocados, robots and David Bowie’s trousers in Labyrinth.
She passed all the questions and so I asked her, “So Theatre Producer, will you be my totally awesome girlfriend?’
She said yes. She also said that she’d never been properly asked out like that before. Men of the world, up your game.
When she was out of the room making me a cup of tea I punched the air and said ‘Yesssssssssss’.
Marriage percentage: 56% – Steadily rising.
Biscuit should start looking decidedly nervous if he has any sense.
Well FleetStreetFox is a lady of her word. She got me a cushion with the saying I wanted on it.
‘I do not like the way I behaved at several points in our relationship.’
It’s a line from the 1500 word email I received detailing my faults.
The cushion is amazing and the first item of soft furnishings the blog has generated. I love it although, I will have to hide it most of the time because if a girl sees it there will be questions.
Also what is the difference between a cushion and a pillow?
Toast and Fleetstreetfox have berated me for not having ‘the chat’ with Little Miss Naughty.
You know ‘the chat’; you have seen each other a few times, have maybe had some hijinks and the relationship between you two might or might not be going somewhere.
I did mean to have this talk with Little Miss Naughty on our last date. However I was a very bad date and then bottled it.
Firstly I turned up an hour late to meet her in a bar. I got lost. I got lost because I somehow managed to plan totally the wrong tube route there. Also we had to change venue as the first one was closed, so I was walking the streets trying to find the new bar.
Much to my chagrin, I am STILL ill and was on antibiotics in an attempt to clear my throat/chest infection. After a couple of attempts at calling her I lost my voice AGAIN. At this point, I was exhausted, frustrated, disheartened and just feeling ill… and an hour late.
Miss Naughty was incredibly good about it and was sporting a fetching newly cut fringe and dyed dark red hair. We drank gin and ate dim sum and generally had a fun time. Then she came and stayed over. She obviously wasn’t expecting to stay over as she hadn’t brought any pyjamas or a toothbrush.
By the time I’d dropped her back home the next day we still hadn’t had the chat.
This state of ‘non chatness’ was silently realised but not acknowledged by us both. So we did what all responsible adults would do… had it via MSN instead.
We both knew we had been a bit full on and keen at the start and that it probably wasn’t a sensible, but that it was still fun. Having talked, we both know where we stand at least. On the basis that there’s not any meaningful future potential I have to make the marriage percentage 15%
This is the Wed or Dead Wager. I am currently no nearer to success than when I started so in the meantime occasional hijinks is not off the cards.
Oh, by the way, Little Miss Naughty’s ex, who is still living with her, is no longer talking to her after he found evidence of my stay there. In the bin.
Recently we celebrated Toast’s and RB’s birthdays with a night out in North London. We started at RB’s place for Red Stripe beer and chilli jacket potatoes (essential pre-drinking stodge).
RB has a bunch of rather lovely friends and I set about making balloon models for them to play with, because we are all grown-ups like that. We left the house all wearing one of many fezzes that had been bought for the occasion and the shenanigans continued on the bus where we met a gentleman straight from the pages of ‘The Chap’. He was wearing a rather dapper wide-brimmed trilby, which one of RB’s friends managed to persuade him to let her try on.
With her long black hair, fringe cut straight above the eyes and long coat she looked like a sexy ‘40s private eye. I must say that was a much better look than the Fez.
Toast and RB had booked tables in a painfully hip bar, the kind of place that seemed to have an unspoken ‘no ugly people’ rule. Fleetstreetfox and Scalene also arrived and everyone set about pouring as much booze into the birthday boy and girl’s faces as possible.
Having been so impressed with RB’s ‘film noir’ friend, I made an effort to chat to her through the evening. Toast and RB had already pegged that there might be a little chemistry there and were watching with anticipation.
After lots of chats we were on our way to the bar when the DJ played Prince’s ‘Kiss’, which we both gleefully began singing along to:
You don’t have to be rich to be my girl
You don’t have to be cool to rule my world
Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with
I just want your extra time and your …
…at that moment I cheekily bobbed my head down and kissed her. Well, what could I do? Prince TOLD me to.
Noir looked surprised and then pleased.
The rest of the night was a mix of chatting, dancing and kissing, in about a 30%, 30%, 40% ratio. I’m very aware of kissing ‘in peoples’ faces’ (other peoples’ faces, not the person you’re kissing obviously) so I tried to keep it to the edges of the bar and at least semi discrete.
The two moments which I remember the clearest are when she grabbed my bum, making me feel like a teenager, and when she said “I’ve never snogged a posh boy before”. The latter of these two made me giggle as I was born in East London and don’t consider myself posh. Though, if you were an American speaking to me on the telephone you might envisage me in a bowler hat, sipping tea from fine bone china whilst eating a cucumber sandwich and bemoaning the weather and England’s cricket performance.
Eventually it was time to take a drunken Toast home so we swapped numbers on the genuine promise of calling her all said goodbyes to the rest of the birthday crew and the painfully hip bar before parting ways.
Toast said to RB that he had basically already lost the wager as Noir was basically my type (great fringe, naughty eyes, pretty, cheeky) but wasn’t mental.
RB whispered to me that I had better be lovely to her or else. Yikes! Mind you, there’s no better way for her to look out her friend as she can read exactly what I’m up to here. Actually, on that basis I’m not sure why more people don’t want to set their eligible female friends up with us .
I like silly bets. This blog rather proves that. Just under a month ago FleetStreetFox wagered me that I still wouldn’t be seeing The Virginian a month later.
I laughed at her suggestion and the stakes got pretty high, to the point that a whole mars bar was involved. Yes, we don’t mess about when it comes to wagers.
Anyway, give that it was a bet, I didn’t want to lose. A lot.
Not wanting to lose has extended the thing with the Virginian probably beyond the point when I would have normally given up. Even with the lure of a mars bar I’ve rather reached my limit.
The Virginian had wanted to meet up on Saturday night but I said it was unlikely because I was moving house. The move took far less time than I expected, and so I was lured out to a pub by Biscuit.
The following text exchange is from that evening and is completely unedited.
Toast: My word has got cold
Virginian: Yeah I had to get a hat on
Toast: What sort of hat? I am drinking with Biscuit in King’s Cross as part of a ‘hurrah London’ celebration.
Virginian: Knit. I have plans for tonight.
Toast: Good stuff.
Virginian: You insisted that you’d be busy so I made other plans. Have a good one!
Toast: I know. I am a spaz.
<five hours pass the next message is at 2am>
Virginian: You are. What’s shakin?
Virginian: Come over
<At about 5am I had to make an urgent call on the porcelain telephone so I was up and groaning about how I was never drinking again, ever.>
Toast: Crashed out by the time I got this. Nasty hangover brewing.
Virginian: I just woke up. Bad hangover as well. Pub hopped then met up with a group and went to a club? I’m going back to sleep.
Toast: I wish I could sleep
Virginian: Yeah I’m up now. Cuppa tea, toast, and a lovely sky.
Virginian: Hahaha my bedside clock was reset, I thought it was 1:30pm. Shit it’s only 8.
Toast: Yup. A whole day of being hungover ahead of you.
Virginian: I actually feel pretty good. Just had some oj and headache medicine. Just lost my voice again, but I think from yelling.
Toast: Can I come and visit?
Virginian: I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll see you at your party.
Toast: *sad face*
Virginian: You’ve taken me for granted. Congrats on the move and all that jazzzz.
Toast: Can I take you out for brunch?
< days pass >
And that ladies and gentlemen is how you piss off Toast. I offered her brunch and she never even replied. Brunch, who doesn’t like brunch?
FleetStreetFox gave this review of the Virginian
You should listen to me to start with. It will save on confectionary in the long run. A woman who is a mature student is mad. A woman who is not on her own continent is running from madness. And someone who chucks a bloke out immediately post-bonk has passive-aggressive commitment issues.
And she probably like cats too.
Needless anti-cat sentiment aside I think FleetStreetFox is on to something, and it looks like I’ll be buying her a Mars Bar.
She is wise, but also very smug.
Friday night night was something of a last minute plan. With Dragonforce now in Quatar, I agreed to meet a man I barely know to go drinking on the rock scene. Toast then gleefully announced that the planets had aligned in his favour and he *would* go to the ball come to London after all.
“You two really are a right pair of pussies.” – FleetStreetFox
In a ‘come one, come all’ spirit, I threw the invite to join us open to all who I thought might fancy it. I was joined by FleetStreetFox who, prior to meeting us a week earlier had scathingly taken us for a couple of inept morons. Whilst that may well be the case, we were clearly shaping up to be a likeable couple of inept morons at least.
“Your joint state of pathetic romantic anxiety would probably not help you get invited to any [threesomes]” – FleetStreetFox
With Toast planning to hook up with us after meeting Betty Page I attempted to coerce Scalene to join us to in an effort to reunite the anonymous blogger quartet from the previous week, but he was otherwise engaged on a non-romantic encounter.
“You three would make the world’s least successful and most inept sexual tag team.” – FleetStreetFox
FleetStreetFox was again living up to her moniker, dressed in figure hugging black and leather; serendipitously the unofficial uniform of the rock scene, so she fitted right in!
Alternately pouring caustic scorn on the perceived fashion crimes of the venue’s incumbents and confusing Toast by replying to his Betty Page updates on my phone, she was thoroughly enjoyable company once again.
“Biscuit would have to be Soggy Sam. Liable to wilt under pressure.” – FleetStreetFox
After a while I even managed to overcome her reticence and enourage her onto the dancefloor, which felt like a deleted scene from “School of Rock” where Jack Black teaches that it’s easy to dance to rock music after all.
Then something utterly surprising happened. Standing at the top of the stairs we were face to face intently discussing something that has long since ceased to be important. The next I knew, we were kissing! Blimes!
Leaving for home shortly after, we grabbed a taxi back to mine as she had previously arranged to crash in the spare room. There may have been unspecified further hijinks but, being a gentleman (and fearing for my vital organs) there will be no further details.
Or at least someone attempted hijinks but I was having none of it because I’m not that kind of boy.
” I still think that eventually one of you, or Scalene, will elope with the foxy FleetStreetFox.” – Molly Bennett
“You will have to arrange a lobotomy too. And get several bottles into me.” – FleetStreetFox
Throughout the night, I had taunted her that every time she rifled through my phone/facebook/email messages (ever the tabloid journalist) I was deducting from her final marriage percentage.
With this in mind, and obligated by the rules to provide a M%. I can officially declare the final figure.
Marriage percentage: minus 13%
All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable night with great company! Now, if she could just refrain from trying to find out if I am conducting an illicit homosexual affair with my ‘advisor’ or am hiding a body under the patio then she could have retained the previously healthy score. She can’t say I didn’t warn her!
*runs away and hides… and changes name…*
If there is a lesson here, then it is surely the following: We might APPEAR to be utterly hapless twats, but we are at least personable with it!
“I am NOT ‘an opportunity’, neither. I’d be a fucking lucky break, especially for one of those twats. JESUS.” – FleetStreetFox
BISCUIT IS BACK ON THE INTERNET!!!! =D This time, with added ‘London’.
What’s more, it’s been my birthday, which was celebrated pre-emptively (and accidentally) with Toast, Scalene and FleetStreetFox; the result of which you already know if you have read Toast’s account of the evening and his very cryptic clue as to who was sick (‘rhymes with ‘Miscuit’… thanks).
I eventually made it to work for 3pm, “still obviously drunk” according to a colleague, and left at 5pm to start the post work drinks for round 2 of celebrations. Given all this, my actual birthday the following day was a quiet affair involving a hot bath, a cold beer, a good book and an early night!
Friday however, this was the night I had been waiting for. The night when I had actually planned not only to party, but to finally meet a girl who a mutual friend had been trying to set me up with. Previously referred to a ‘Wildcard‘, because she appeared to be SUCH an outside chance I now dub her Little Miss Sunshine as she is the most RELENTLESSLY positive and cheery person I have perhaps ever met!
Not ‘relentlessly positive’ in a “GEE! I just LOVE Mondays, they make me think of rainbows and kittens!!!” kind of way… but the kind of person who inspires you to be cheerful, optimistic and make the most of every opportunity.
Such a promising night full of all the right ingredients could only go one way… yep… WRONG!
First, the last of my friends flaked out on me, leaving me with no one to drink with. This has become more of a problem in the last few years as they are all getting old(er) and settled. Little Miss Sunshine, in true galvanising style, invited me out if I wanted to fly solo. On advice from both Toast and FleetStreetFox I decided to go all ‘carpe diem’! …or ‘carpe noctum’ at least.
Biscuit hits town…
As she would not be their until about 11.30, I had a few hours of preparatory getting drunk and playing Rock Band to do. Nicely lubricated I jumped on the tube and eventually arrived at the club.
Unfortunately, a significant wardrobe malfunction meant she was late and so left me half hour or so to amuse myself.
Having moved to London to escape the incestuous small town cliques, I was slightly disheartened to see that Stripy Dress’s ex was there (the one that caused her to go into a tailspin at Sonisphere). This wasn’t a problem in itself as he doesn’t know me, but did not bode well for escaping cliques!
After about 3/4 hour, Little Miss Sunshine gleefully weaved her way towards me on the dancefloor. After a swift introduction to her chums I grabed her a drink and we had a quick round of enthusiastic ‘hello!’ chats before heading back to dance.
She is TINY (to me at least), full of beaming smiles, a cheeky Estuary English accent and a mischevious glint in her eye. Standing pretty at 5’3″ with an cracking figure she cut a great presence on the dance-floor. Suddenly things were rather looking up!
Feeling buoyant with new acquaintances, the perfect balance of booze inside me and a pretty girl who I seemed to have a lot in common with, things could only go up from here.
Next thing I knew, a tap on my shoulder left me looking straight into the face of Stripy Dress.
This was the very situation I had specifically been trying to avoid. After my last post wrapping things up with the Dress, she did actually warm up again and so I decided to just roll with it and see if there was still any potential, although the hot-cold behaviour was still the order of the day.
Stripy Dress and Little Miss Sunshine seemed to know all the same people, although not each other. So, there is me, Little Miss Sunshine, Stripy Dress and her ex all within about 15 square feet of each other. At one point they were actually dancing side-by-side.
Far from being some kind of erotic fantasy, this was the worst of both worlds. I had to play it very low-key with both and was really quite stressed by it all. Whilst I am still prepared to put in work with Stripy Dress, this was supposed to be the night to get to know Little Miss Sunshine.
The coup de grâce was when I realised that Stripy Dress had left without even saying goodbye. I should not care but this pretty much finished off the night for me. Thanking Little Miss Sunshine and promising to see her soon I made my way home, somewhat cross and dejected.
As it turned out, Stripy Dress was actually hammered and apologised the following day as she was taken home and did a sick. Still, it had been the proverbial nail in the coffin for the night.
Despite the layers of misfortune, going out was clearly the right thing to do. I met new chums, an awesome girl and grabbed my new London life by the prickly horns.
From initial impressions, Little Miss Sunshine is exactly the sort of person that everyone should have in their life. I need to get to know her better to see if there’s anything more than great music taste and an obscenely upbeat approach to life in common, but it’s very postive!
Marriage percentage – 30%.
- Both ‘noctum’s and ‘diem’s should be ‘carpe’d at every opportunity.
- Girls will never fail to surprise you with their capacity to make a great situation obscenely awkward.
- Don’t wear your favourite white T-shirt to a venue with a floor which appears to be coated in mud.