Jen, Toast and I had gone to the mash-up night on the Friday of the first of the two long weekends we’ve just had. On the Saturday Evening she text me to invite me to visit her (she lives outside the M25 remember) and get pizzled with her friends on the Sunday
Although I was initially a little reluctant, it sounded like fun and I did enjoy spending time with her so agreed to come and play.
After she met me at the station we sauntered down to the riverside bar where they were all drinking. There then followed one of those memory games where you have to memorise a collection of items before they’re covered back up, some removed and then you have to remember what was missing. Only I played this game with about 12 people.
Her friends were great value entertainment and I seemed to strike up a slightly jokey/antagonisic relationship with one of the girls fairly quickly. To be honest I thought I might have totally misjudged the situation and actually wound her up.
After a flurry of cocktails, we headed back to hers for grub before going back to town to a pub and then a divey, dark indie club. Here I met many more people, at this point I was struggling to remember most of them but just thrust my hand out and started talking to anyone who appeared to be part of the group.
The place was BOILING so I joined Jen outside to keep her company whilst she had a fag.
We’ve not actually talked much about either of our past relationships. I still feel sufficiently bitter about Cupcake that I don’t really want to bring any of it up. However we started to chat about some of our recent history whilst stood in the dark alley that was the smoker’s area.
I mentioned that she had said to me that she had blown out three other men who she’d been on dates with once we had a couple of dates. Well it turned out that one of the men I had been talking to was one of them.
This is the problem with small towns and why London is so great.
This was faintly amusing so, in the spirit of honesty, I said that she had been sat at a table in the comedy club with a couple of other people I ‘d done naughty things with. It was a relief to start to open up about things and we covered a little ground about significant relationships too. After some amorous kissing brought on by the party atmosphere and excitement of new levels of intimacy, we headed back inside.
Eventually it was time to leave. Jen’s feisty friend who had been particularly fighty earlier was full of hugs for me and effused to Jen, out of my earshot, about how lovely I was. Seemingly I had judged her just right after all, which I was reaslly pleased about as I didn’t want to come over as a dick to her friends.
The fun fair
After a VERY long snoozy lie in we took advantage of the amazing weather and walked to a local park that was hosting a travelling fun fair. You know the type; where wondering if the contraption will fall apart mid ride sending you hurtling to your death is all part of the fun.
We ate ice creams and too many donuts then went on the most vomit inducing ride we could find, which I somehow managed to make even more sickly by timing our momentum to keep us spinning at such a speed that the centrifugal force felt like it would break our neck.
Aren’t I just the best date EVER.
After a bit of a lie down on the grass to recover, we bid the fair farewell and she dropped me back at the station for my journey home.
Marriage percentage: 61% – I think this is really going somewhere. This is the first time in a couple of years that I’ve felt this comfortable with a girl I have amorous interests in. Of course… it’s not long until the May 5th deadline so I had better make my mind up soon.
The following is actual dialogue that happened on Thursday.
Toast: My sister is going to be there. Just warning you. She is a bit evil.
Biscuit: Sister? So no…
BISCUIT MAKES KISSING NOISE AND MIMES SNOGGING HIS HAND
Toast: She is my sister Biscuit
BISCUIT SLICKS BACK HAIR
Toast: And she is engaged, to a man, who will be there.
Biscuit: You haven’t actually said no.
Toast: I’m going to put this on the blog.
Biscuit: You’ve still not said no.
Biscuit: To the blog? So kissing is fine?
Toast: Blog fine, kissing sister not fine.
Biscuit: So just to make sure. You don’t want me to kiss your sister, much?
Biscuit: No to that you don’t want me to kiss her much? So you don’t mind if I do.
BISCUIT’S DATE ARRIVES
As a side note after meeting Biscuit my sister sent me a text message.
‘Biscuit seemed a good bloke although I suspect he might be a womaniser’
Fridays eh? Everyone loves a good Friday night out. Last night was a good example of the sort of night out that tends to only happen in London. Or at least big cities.
I had a vague plan to meet up with some fashion girls I didn’t actually know. I’d chatted to them on twitter a bit and some how this had progressed to ‘lets meet in a pub!’
So I went. It was fun. They were very tall and slim. Both of them had huge hair, massive fake fur coats on and ‘on trend’ dresses. Everyone there worked at a fashion company and so were painfully hip. Achingly so. There was a girl there who had a job which was just to spot trends. I told her she should bring pipes back, and stovepipe hats
It was faintly awkward because I’d joined a work night out mid-swing but one of my 2011 things is to meet more people so it’s all part of that. I only stayed for a drink and then to scampered off to an album thingy.
A musician was going to do a sneak preview of her new record and I thought I would go along because it sounded fun, also there was the promise of free gin.
The place was absolutely rammed with a huge queue outside but luckily I had remembered to save the PR’s contact details so I called and she ushered me in, put some gin in my hand and sat me down in the press area.
There were four extremely drunk women in the press area so I said hello. They said they were from a paper, I said I was also from a paper and we played the traditional game of find-the-mutual-friend. We found a couple and then proceeded to get more drunk.
I was feeling a little bit tipsy at this point but two of them were absolutely obliterated. To the point where they thought dancing on tables was a good idea. There was also an outrageously camp man with them who was blind drink. Think of the drunkest anyone could ever be and then add one more.
They were having more fun than anyone has ever had, ever.
I got chatting to the most sober of them who had only recently joined the paper. She was very pretty and looked faintly like Minka Kelly. Actually I just googled Minka Kelly and she looked a lot like Minka Kelly.
The subject of films came up and I said
‘Oh so are you going to the premier tomorrow the one for XXXX?’
‘No, I’ve only just joined so I don’t get to go to nice things like that,’ she pointed to her boss who was happily dry humping the camp man on top of a table,’ she gets to go all the parties’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ve got a spare ticket if you want to come along?’
‘When is it?’
‘Sunday, at 1pm’
‘That sounds lovely, but I might be in a bit of a state, I have a big Saturday planned. Can I call you and let you know?’
‘Of course, just warning you though it’s going to be red carpet so it will be quite dressy.’
Phone numbers were exchanged. I’d say there is a 50-50 chance of her calling. Which might be for the best ‘looking like a celebrity I fancy’ isn’t a great basis for a marriage.
The drunk girls left, we said goodbyes and I texted a friend on the paper saying ‘I’ve just been out with some of your co-workers’
The reply was that there was no-one matching their description at the paper. So I’d either been hit with a line or I hadn’t heard where they worked correctly.
I got chatting to someone else, yes a girl, about music. It was a nice chat about stuff but then the massively camp man strode over and poked me in the chest.
‘Don’t bother chatting him up,’ he said to the girl ‘he is a massive gay.’ He then stomped off.
I tried to refute this, without sounding like a homophobe but the girl wasn’t that impressed. Every time I tried to counter it the man would pick at my top and say ‘GAY’.
He was the worst wingman ever, and I didn’t even know who he was.
Biscuit appeared and started talking to people. He was chatting to a friend of the gay man about something and I went to go and see what the band was like. It was the reason I was supposed to be there. They were good. Two songs later I looked back to our table and Biscuit was snogging the lady.
Snogging really quite a lot. In a school disco sort of way.
I had a couple more drinks, talked to the PR a bit but I was utterly spent and poured myself into a cab and went home.
Biscuit wanted to stay a bit longer with his new special friend, who then ended up having a sleep-over. I’m sure he will post about that in a bit.
I had another internet date. This was with a girl who contacted me first. I’ve been sort of relying on that for the last few months. This is a bad tactic to settle into. Be pro-active!
Anyway this girl contacted me. She was tall, with dark hair and seemed interesting in an intelligent, faintly fighty way. So yes all my weaknesses in one.
I had been invited to a party on Wednesday for, well I couldn’t really work out what it was for but there was going to be complimentary drinks, a magician and the possibility of winning a cool video camera. Ideal for a date.
We met in the rain on the corner of Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street. It was pleasingly dramatic. There was some confusion of exactly where we were meeting but after about half a dozen we had finally managed to find each other.
She was tall, and well she looked, well like her photos. She had a soft South African accent and you could tell her family originally were from Serbia by her fierce cheekbones.
We hopped on the tube down to South West London. The bar was sort of in the middle of no-where so we had a reasonable walk to get there.
This was really good, because it gave us loads of time to talk. Before we had arrived we had covered, quantum physics, feminism, philosophy and how we were determined to win a camera.
The bar was dark and we were quickly shuttled into the VIP area where they served us dim-sum and other lovely things. My luck, or skill was with my on the night too as I managed to win a video camera. I gave it to the girl. She was impressed.
Then I won another video camera, which also impressed the girl. I kept this one. The magic man turned up and did some really, really good magic and we drank more booze.
We got chatting to a chap to our left and while The Serbian was talking to him she started squeezing my leg. I raised an eyebrow to no-one in particular.
Leg squeezing seems to be the sign that a girl likes you these days, and my assumption was right because when our new friend went to the loo she lunged at my and kissed me on the face with tongues.
Clearly the way to a woman’s heart is expensive consumer electronics.
For some reason I was feeling a little bit cocky. I think the combination of a good tie, winning stuff and VIP areas at got to my head. I turned to her and said.
“I like you, we are going to go out again.”
“I’d like that,” she replied.
So there you go, sometimes you just have to tell a girl how it’s going to be.
There was some more kissing, and a bit more on the bus before we said goodbye. I will see her again, I mean I’ve given her a name and everything.
Marriage percentage: 20%
Rubbish first dates are over. It’s all about the swish dates
Winning girls stuff does impress them
If a girl squeezes your knee, she has designs on you.
Let me set the scene. It was Thursday. Mia had turned up to work in a dangerously slinky dress. Dangerously, it should have come with a health warning.
This fancy dress wasn’t just a celebration of the week nearly being over, it was because a load of people from for work were going to an exclusive ‘intimate gig’ with Mark Ronson at the studio on Abbey Road.
Mia has a bit of a thing for this chap as does most of the female population, so she wanted to look good. She did look good.
I wasn’t going to the gig because I was working a late shift. So I was all alone in the office typing away.
Then this message appeared on twitter from Mia
‘Toast we are drinking in the local pub’
‘The local pub? You turned down Mark Ronson for the local pub? You are so cool’
‘Toast You know it’
There was a pause in the conversation here because I had to do some more work. Then one of the other people at work, who is very good friends with Mia sent a tweet at me.
‘Toast I am with Workperson1 workperson2 and Mia clang name drop. Come! Or don’t whatevs x’
I let them know I had to finish some work stuff first and then I’d join them. Mia sent me another tweet.
‘Toast get here fast. There are naked ladies dancing and that’s just Workperson1’
So I finished my final bit of work and went down to the bar. There were a couple of bottles of wine on the go, and I was the only man there. Mia cleared a bag of a stool next to her and I sat down to join in the nonsense.
I suspected something might be up, but I was being a cool observer at this point. Or at least trying to with Mia in her slinky dress. It mades any sort of concentration hard.
We talked about all sorts of things, about dating. She hadn’t been on many and I’d said I been on loads and I asked her some of my special dating questions which she liked. They are good questions and surprisingly revealing.
She revealed she knew about the unwise snog but since she kept touching my leg I thought I was probably okay. I did explain that cakes had been involved.
Mia did tell me that I should feel honoured that she had turned down Mark Ronson to get drunk me. I said I was honoured and that I’d tease him about it if I ever saw him.
There was more leg touching, and in hindsight it seems that I spent most of the evening just talking to Mia. Apparently she normally goes out with scruffy men, loves where we work and likes going to festivals. We talked about dating habits and I said I wasn’t looking for anything throw away.
The rest of the group were slowly disappearing off into the night. It felt like five minutes but we were the last two left in the bar. Mia got another bottle of wine.
We had a really, really indepth conversation about losing fathers. I lost mine to the big C, she lost hers to malaria. We talked about what a shit it is and the vague sense of being cheated out of quality dad time. I’m pretty reserved with people so that was surprisingly out of character for me.
The conversation swung back to lighter subjects. A promise was made to take her out to a lovely restaurant for ‘lots of meat’, she specifically asked for that.
The next bit is a bit blurry I told her I thought she was very pretty and I definitely remember saying.
”Sometimes you just have to take a risk and do things if you think you should.”
And I kissed her, there was less than a pico second of surprise and then she kissed me back. A proper kiss. There was more kissing and then talking and kissing.
She asked if this was going to make work weird I said no, it wouldn’t. There was more kissing.
The bar was closing and we stumbled onto the last tube home. I took a slightly weird route home so we could get the same tube as her. There was kissing on the tube.
I went home fizzling with excitement. I may have punched the air a couple of times.
Sadly she was off work the next day so I’ve not seen her since, which is fine because I’m playing it cool.
Playing it cool is hard.
I’d like to kiss her some more.
Final score – Toast 1: Mark Ronson 0
Marriage percentage: 25% (I don’t really know her, yet…)