The One That Went Spectacularly Wrong

I love chatting. So any guy who happily engages in that automatically gets held in higher esteem than others and gets ‘first dibs’ on a date. I sometimes chat to two or three guys¬† and my time is sparse so I have to choose which one to go out with. Add to that the occasional voice message thrown in and I’m already pretty taken. Yes, I’m not asking for much.

So I was quite excited to go on a date with this geezer – in his own words although he didn’t talk like Delboy thank God – as grand finale of an already pretty awesome weekend that I spend with good friends climbing a few mountains.

We met at Liverpool Street Station and strolled up to Shoreditch to one of my favourite bars up there. Now before you say anything, I have A LOT of favourite places in London so get used to it. We got the last bit of Happy Hour too, so made the most of that, as in ordering about five or six cocktails in under an hour. We got on fabulously, although that might have been down to the fact that we both were quite merry.

Now, I knew he had split up with his wife a few months earlier and the conversation brushed over that but it mainly involved around TV shows, travel and motorbikes, in short pretty cool stuff we both liked and it just flowed. We decided to grab a bite to eat and round the corner is the Urban Food Fest, which is open over the summer with food and drinks stalls. We got some Jamaican stuff and a jug of cocktail and just as I’m thinking this is going really well, he goes, I have to tell you something. So, he had told me he was out with a friend for lunch. Turned out that ‘friend’ had been his wife. Who wanted a divorce. And he wanted her back. Right. Excellent. What. The. Fuck. Why exactly were we here then?

After this little let down I probably decided to make the most of him having a guilt trip and paying for everything and pretty much downed that cocktail jug by myself. The flow of conversation suffered substantially after this revelation so a last drink before trains was the course of action. Bad Idea. Very bad.It wasn’t even alcohol anymore, just a Coke but my stomach had had enough. And decided it would be a glorious idea to empty its contents pretty much onto this guy. I managed to use some napkins, dive into the ladies and kind of sort myself out. Ever tried drying a dress under a wall attached blow dryer? Works surprisingly well. The smell of sick in my hair was a bit of a give away though. Bloody hell. A very nice waitress came to inquire about my well being and to tell me I wouldn’t be served any more booze – no shit Sherlock, did she really think I would want anymore? Surprisingly, geezer boy was still there, but needless to say the walk to the station was rather awkward.

Thank god there wasn’t anyone on the train I knew, which tends to happen when I am not at my best on the way home from a night out. We exchanged a couple of messages the next day but then the geezer decided to block me. Ah well, not that I was that bothered although I did find it was little childish. But I guess I deserved it. I do still think though he shouldn’t have gone out with me in the first place. Or told me about his lunch date with his ‘friend’. Pretty sure he won’t forget this day in his life, for all the wrong reasons.

The One With The French Garcon

After a couple of months of dating Cowboy Steve, we had our first, rather spectacular break-up. This one was actually more on my account, quite ironic given how this would play out in the future. Let’s just say, don’t leave the choice of condoms to the guy…..

Anyway, as my lighter heartbreak remedy of choice has always been a new date, voila the French guy appeared on the scene just at the right time. There was no way this was going to be anything serious ever – not because he was French of course – so I was pretty flirty and maybe, possibly a little on the risque side too both in my texts beforehand and when we met. This date was actually really good, probably or despite us both knowing from the start it wasn’t going to be anything else than lighthearted distraction. He had to find me in the National Gallery, I just gave him a hint what exhibit I was looking at. Try it sometime, I promise you it’s a lot more fun than you think. We had a coffee in the Crypt Cafe, followed by a trip to Camden Lock, having drinks and the occasional cigarettes (no I don’t normally smoke, but as I said, risque and all that). We flirted quite blatantly with each other and as the evening drew in it was very obvious where this was heading. I was trying to play a little bit hard to get, just to keep up appearances at least to a degree, but I reached the point of fuck this (literally) quite soon. No one knew this guy, the likelihood of us ever crossing paths again in normal life was zero percent so I might as well have a bit of fun.

Being responsible adults we went to buy some condoms (I chose!!) first, which was quite hilarious as the poor shop assistant got utterly red-faced watching us stand in front of them trying to work out which ones would be the best ‘fit’ (that one I left to Frenchie after all he knew better on that count). I think it had more to do with the fact that he tried to work out why two middle aged people needed them in the first place.

Let me tell you, at least this French guy was living up to expectations. More than once I might add. It was entertaining, satisfying and a lot of fun. Definitely a thing of the moment, but just what I needed and wanted right then. A bit like a KFC after a workout at the gym. Not something you would do all the time, but you can’t always be good and when you want to be bad, you might as well make it count. We did see each other again a few days later for a repeat performance, but by then things were smoothing over with Cowboy Steve and I couldn’t resist rekindling that so Frenchie was put on the shelf. I doubt he was too upset about this though, so don’t feel too bad for him.

The One With Cowboy Steve, Kettlethief

Before Cowboy Steve the Kettlethief turned into a Grade A asshole, we managed a pretty good first date – obviously, considering I was hooked on this guy for quite some time. Despite him having an aversion to texting throughout us dating, pre first date he did quite well with that. Full sentences and all. I guess it was a selective aversion after all.

As usual, our meeting point was LSS – what is it with me and guys and this place?! Now, I had never been greeted by being full-first-named before (only my dad does that, normally when he tells me off. Yes, still now), so I was a bit like wtf. But he was cute and I didn’t really care anyway. He did have an American accent even though he was a Brit – that took a little getting used to. I actually had to ask because I thought it was some obscure deepest, darkest England dialect. Whoops.

We went for dinner at Wahaca which I happen to love, so it was all good. He was interesting to talk to and we quickly realised a shared mutual appreciation of the F word. Very bonding indeed. After dinner, I dragged him to one of my favourite bars that happens to make pretty awesome Martinis, and we were knocking back the cocktails, quite a few of them. This was still going well, the conversation was flowing. I do remember checking out his ass once when he was ordering the next round of drinks and I thought, he had to get rid of those baggy trousers. Now going to this place had been a concession on his part but he got a little restless and finally asked if he could suggest something a little out of my comfort zone.

I know you’re thinking dark corners and all that, but as it turned out he was just talking about the pub down the street. With very steep stairs btw which after all those cocktails and some more cider proved to be a little on the challenging side. We kept drinking quite a bit, sitting opposite each other engaged in animated conversation. Maybe just on my part but he seemed to be having a good time too. I do recall that I kept opening and closing the top button of his shirt. I think I was checking out his chest hair (which he referred to as his rug, so there was plenty of that). No idea why I did that but I didn’t get a slap so it can’t have been that bad.

I managed to miss the train I had aimed for so we swung by another place for one last drink. Now, at least for a short while, we got ourselves a dark corner. He was a quite good kisser, so it was a little unfortunate I was so inebriated at that point that closing my eyes made the room spin. And that was not down to his incredible abilities I’m afraid to say. As he put it politely later, I was swaying. He did get me on my train home and even though I had to go to work on three or so hours sleep the next morning, I was pretty happy.

I used to refer to him as the text dumper so I think it is quite clear this one did not work out, although it took two years to get to the point of no return. I guess we were trying, or at least I was; but way too hard at that and he not at all. I have no idea really but it’s better to see it like that otherwise the time wasted on it would be too regrettable. I sometimes wish he had send me ‘that’ text sooner, because even though I knew this wasn’t working and made me miserable as hell in the process I couldn’t bring myself to tell him to fuck off. But hindsight is a stupid word, we’re all wiser afterwards. I did hate him for a while, but that’s subsided now. Strangely enough, the one thing I learnt from this guy is that it’s okay to be selfish. Ironic really.

The One With The Pilot

This one is a good example of how great expectations can turn into deflated balloons in an instant. Now I’m a girl who loves a guy in uniform. A suit will do as well. You know this air of authority and the assumption that they know how to save the world. Well kind of. You know what I mean.

So I was chatting to this pilot, not just one for some airline flying drunk Brits to Magaluf oh no, one in the service of Her Majesty – it had adventure and excitement written all over for me. He was a keen texter too, even called me a couple of times (with a voice to die for I admit) and knew exactly what to write/say to the girl to make her swoon a little.

We arranged a lunch time date in a country pub, a little off the beaten track. Now this guy wasn’t my usual tall, dark and handsome either, but he had something. Until we met that was. Now one thing I cannot stand is when guys exaggerate. Be it about their height, or amount of hair or prowess in the bedroom, just tell me how it is and we’re good. Make yourself bigger, better, taller and a sex god and Houston, we have problem.

The first problems arose in the car park when we both happened to arrive at the same time. Richthofen was nowhere near as tall as he claimed to be, so even in my moderate heels, I was half a head taller. And he looked good ten years ago. An up to date WhatApp picture would have been nice. I did manage to hide my disappointment; maybe he was at least able to provide stimulating conversation – and a free lunch.

As it turned out, we encountered the oh so well known issue of real life vs. text conversation. Face to face his talk was nowhere near as smooth and witty and entertaining than it had been in texts or even on the phone. Go figure the latter though.

He did like to talk though. Mainly about himself at that. Never mind I was busy with lunch anyway. I added dessert as well, But I think that was sheer desperation. This was one of the situations when having kids can be a life saver. I was quite bored and not really interested. Richthofen had let the side down big time. So I conveniently remembered the school run I had to do in a bit. He seemed a little disappointed. But just ever so little.

He walked me back to my car and I think he was overcome by a bit of a Mr Darcy moment because he tried to passionately kiss me good bye. Do you remember those really bad and awkward first kisses you wish you would have been drunk enough for them to be entirely erased from your memory? Worse. Than. That. Seriously.

He texted me the next day to inform me that he didn’t feel the spark between us and he needed a passionate woman in his life so I was out. I couldn’t have agreed more.

The Worst One Ever

Sometimes you have a date that is so bad, it deserves to be labelled the worst one ever. Because the guy you’re out with is just such a dickhead you don’t even try to be nice anymore. And you seriously question your judgement why you ended up wasting precious moments of your life span in the presence of a dumbbell.

Wouldn’t it have been for the large shopping centre we met up in, I would have cried about the waste of my time. For starters, he was late. Like, really late. Half an hour to be precise. And didn’t say sorry for being so, but said he had to get there after all. Yes my friend, so did I. Not a good start. So we went on a little wonder and I attempted some conversation. It was painful. There was a distinct lack of interest in pretty much anything. Shops – boring. Getting a coffee – naah. Trying to find some food – like pulling teeth. And he was rude. We were walking along and he turned round to me and told me if he had to walk any slower, he had to stop. Now he was quite tall, but so am I and I certainly do not bumble about. And even so, surely you don’t say something like that to a girl you want to impress.

I was pretty much pissed off at this point already, what an utter twat this guy was. I needed something to fill my stomach though so I asked again if he fancied some food. I really wish I hadn’t. After some umming and ahhhing, we went to Wahaca and from the moment we sat down, he complained about everything. He could have asked to go somewhere else, so tough shit, I was hungry. When our food arrived he just stared at my plate and declared quite loudly that he had no idea what on earth I was eating but it looked revolting. It was Tacos with sweet potato and some fried plantain. He didn’t know what either was though. I don’t think I actually chewed my food properly so overwhelming was my desire to ask for the bill and get out of there. Of course he worked out exactly what we each had to pay.

Surprisingly enough, he offered to walk me to my car. This sudden outburst of chivalry did confuse me a little so I had the sense to inquire why he felt the need to do so. Of course, I could carry my bags to the car myself, but he felt entitled to a snog and a fondle in the backseat. I think I lost my mind a little at that point and just started laughing. He was taken aback by that, I guess he thought it had gone great. I told him that that had definitely not been the case and he certainly would not walk me me one more step, let alone be allowed to put his tongue anywhere near me. Then I turned round and marched off. What a total arse. At least I had my shopping bags full of consolation prizes.