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.