Tuesday, 19 June 2012
It’s been about 2 and a half years since the last update and what has happened since then?
A period of change for everybody really; Kat, Katie and Soph have got married. Jane, Sarah and Rach have had babies, Alison has bought a mansion, my parents have retired and me; well that’s a story. I’m now the proud owner of a Swarovski ring which represents a proposal only and not an engagement. Apparently.
So how exactly did this happen, I hear you ask?
Well get yourself a coffee, set your phone onto divert and have a read of the story below.
As the cohabiting amongst you know, there comes a point in every relationship where people start to ask “So, when are you two going to get married”?
For Mark and I, I suppose this point came when we decided to go to Dubai for Christmas. I think we all thought (myself included) that something sparkly could happen,but nobody was very sure. Despite the flurry of excitement bestowed upon me by various friends and relatives, I was sure that nothing would happen as I’d said to Mark that he would need to ask my father for his permission before any sort of proposal could take place. Given my father is married to my mother (who is worse at keeping secrets than me), I knew that if a proposal was within sniffing distance then the news would somehow trickle through and I would get wind of it. As you know I’m scared of surprises, so I was pretty convinced there wasn’t going to be one.
Sure enough that holiday came and went safely and we returned back to the UK the same way we went – if not a little lighter after the freak vomiting bug that had taken hold of us for 80% of the holiday.
The questions didn’t stop though, so Mark thought the best way to put people off the scent was to put in for a transfer to Angola. Yes, that’s in Africa. Miles away.
For those of you who don’t know, this involves him spending 4 weeks working away and then he comes home for 4 weeks holiday. This month due to social commitments he was allowed to extend his leave to 6 weeks during which he has fitted in 3 weddings, organised a stag do, built a shed (not), and of course our annual Neilson trip to Greece.
Now we’ve actually been to Sivota before and we love it there. Healthy food, runs, biking, fitness classes, tennis and all the watersports you can imagine. It’s our idea of holiday heaven. So I thought nothing when on day 3, Mark suggested that we take a double kayak out and go explore the coastline. It was a beautiful day, so he also suggested we made an afternoon of it which meant stealing items from the lunch buffet to snack on later. I thought this was a tad excessive but put it to one side.
Once we had made our packup we got on the kayak and rowed away from the hotel. Greece has some lovely bays and there are plenty of little random rocks and caves strewn about surrounded with proper lovely turquoise water and pretty little beachy bits everywhere.
We noticed a cove not too far away and rocked up to set up camp. As soon as we’d a fashioned a beer fridge out of a plastic bag, some string round a rock and a mini rockpool we were able to relax. I was just minding my own business when Mark starts with “Georrrrrrge. I have a confession to make”
Now I thought it would be something along the lines of him stealing cake from the dessert table, or nicking some ice from the bar but I was wrong. Very wrong.
The confession turned out to be a short tale about him not really going to see fat Dan last week but going to see my father instead. For the purpose of brevity I will summise the story in list form below.
1. He called my father on his mobile and arranged to meet him one night after work
2. He put his suit on and drove to Barnsley (where my dad was doing some on call work)
3. My dad welcomes Mark into what can only be described as student doctors digs and offers him a bag of Doritos (a grab bag)
4. 15 minutes later, my dad remembers that he also has some dip and offers this to Mark ( who has by now finished his Doritos)
5. They chat about the weather.
6. My dad then decides that he should cook for Mark as it is now too late to go out for dinner
7. Mark is subjected to a meal of microwaveable rice, chicken strips and sweet chilli sauce (this is gourmet cooking for my Dad).
8. Mark cuts to the chase and tells my dad how fabulous I am (probably) and asks for my hand in marriage.
9. My dad says 2 things
a. “We haven’t had an engineer in the family before. Now we have one”
b. “My aunt married a white man, so we already have white people in our family. So don’t worry about that. You are very welcome here”
10. My dad walks Mark back to his car and comments that at some point in the future the mx5 will be thought of a classic car. They shake hands and the deal is done.
Back to the beach. So Mark is telling me this and I’m thinking what is he going on about? Is this a story with a normal ending? I kid you not, it didn’t cross my mind for a second that he was about to propose.
Then he finishes his story and goes “close your eyes for a minute” At this point, I twig and emit some sort of squeal. When I finally opened my eyes, he was there on one knee (the non-gammy one), with the blingiest ring ever and that dashing smile of his. Then he pops the question and the following conversation goes something like this:
G: “Oh my god, what do you mean? Oh I don’t think I can look at you
M: “Yes you can, come on?”
G: “But I don’t understand? Is this for real?”
M: “Of course it’s for real, why wouldn’t it be?”
G: “This is too much information to process.” (It really was, I was temporarily confused)
M: “You know you haven’t said yes yet”
G: “Oh no, sorry I mean yes. Of course.”
We hug it out.
I would say that the shock factor took at least 3 hours to wear off. As a result I was very quiet; almost pensive for the remainder of the afternoon. And I have no idea why. Absolutely no idea. I think Mark was upset initially because I wasn’t jumping up and down and doing cartwheels. Chrissie made up for it though. When I rang her she screamed down the phone for at least 30 seconds and then asked how I would have my hair.
Nonetheless it’s been almost a week now and I’ve got used to the idea. I’m MOST happy.
I seem to be entering a world of themes, colours, flowers, music, venues and a whole host of other things which are mainly alien to me. Mark can’t understand why I won’t consider Goodison Park as a venue, but as a compromise I have said that blue can have a prominent role in the colour scheme of the wedding.
The fellow Brays and Welshes are of course over the moon and my mother has probably already started planning her outfit complete with shoes and hat. My father said he was very proud of me, which put a tear in my eye, and aside from seeing Mark at the altar, the main thing I cannot wait for is to hear my Dad make a speech. I’m sure he will do a brilliant job and that’s one thing I’m really looking forward to.
So that’s the story, 2 and a half years after we met. I thought that writing another episode to conclude the series would be an appropriate tribute. I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading these episodes as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them. I can say with a bit of confidence that this will definitely be the final one.
Monday, 4 January 2010
I'm not sure why I'm writing this one, it feels a tad premature, but i'm just sitting at my laptop and letting my fingers do the talking.
It's exactly 2 years to the day that Christopher and I decided throw in the towel on our relationship. And whilst 2008 was a truly terrible year for me, it made me want to make up for it in 2009. If you had told me last January that within the next year I would get a new job, go round Thailand my own, record a piano piece for Radio 3, run a half marathon, go to NY for my birthday, become a celebrity in Eastern Europe, and buy a new car, I would have laughed in your face. And that's just a summary of some of the stuff I did last year. It sounds preposterous looking back on it. But I think all of it was fate's way of showing me that I am capable, and that splitting up with Christopher was necessary in order for me to start doing more things with my life. And when I'm a little bit older, I'll look back fondly on 2009 with a warm smile.
Ok philosophical lecture over.
But from a karma perspective I have been on A LOT of shit dates with A LOT of shit men. But each episode that I have written (and it has been the best therapy) has taught me something new about men and what I expect from them. So I am happy to report that I have earned myself some serious karma points through doing this and now the universe is playing ball and has sent a lovely man my way.
Now I'm not one of those girls who gushes about boys all the time. The most you'll get from me is "he's nice". None of this 'oh I think he's The One' nonsense. I don't tend to talk at length about men that I like. But I do have to say that this boy (Mark) is lovely. Quite lovely.
He happens to be from Rainhill which is spitting distance from Widnes. So he sounds like Christopher. But a lot more Scouse. And I have a soft spot for any man with a Scouse accent so I don't really mind.
I sourced him from Are You Interested, a facebook application where you click yes, no, or maybe on people's profile pictures. I can't remember who clicked yes on who first, but we became facebook friends maybe about 3 weeks ago and have been exchanging emails and things. Obviously he is on a limited profile. I can't have him reading my constant status updates.
So anyway, we've had two really lovely dates so far. The first date we went to Sandanista (his choice) and just had a couple of beers and a natter. Last Sunday night we went to the Sky Bar (his choice) for a few cocktails and more of a natter. I should add here that he absolutely loves cocktails (his words) and can drink out of a Martini glass without wondering if he looks gay. And he runs!
So I'm thinking he's a pretty nice guy so far, we seem to have a lot in common. And he likes watching The Gadget Show!
And he turned up on time, wasn't stingy with drinks, didn't try to stick his tongue down my throat, and pretty much didn't do anything that made me think Eugh. And he even got me to admit that Nandos isn't that bad a restaurant!
It's very early days and there is obviously a massive chance that he could go off me, so I'm not getting too excited. But I am. A little. Secretly. We're going out for dinner on Friday, so I might know more then.
The only fly in the ointment though is that he is an engineer of some description, and he is going to Brazil for 3 months in April. So I hope i'm not just filling in time between now and then because I'd be massively offended if that's the case. Even if it doesn't work out though, it's still nice to know that there are still eligible men out there. I was beginning to wonder you see.
Do you know what, I actually don't want to write any more about him - which must mean that I quite like him. Eeek!
This has been the shortest George and the City ever. I hope it's the last one for a while.....
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Just so you know, this one isn't very funny because I'm in a bad mood. But I shall try to make it light hearted.
I'm slowly beginning to realise that despite one's best efforts, you cannot make a fire from a wet lettuce and a match. No matter how much girl guiding experience you throw at it.
I generally know when to call time on a man. I do it when they start to behave like fools. Sometimes this can be after 5 minutes, other times it can be after 5 weeks. Most times it's after they've offered to buy me fried chicken.
But as the months pass by, I have tried in vain to be less dismissive and critical of such foolish behaviour because those first few dates can be nervewracking. And who am I to automatically dismiss them just incase they accidentally make a poor first impression?
I'm aware that people's perceptions of me after meeting me for the first time are vastly different from their opinion of me after they've known me for about six months.
But some things you just cannot change. No matter how nice they eventually seem, how rich (or generally poor) they are, if they don’t excite you on the first date, it’s massively likely that they are never going to excite you.
I know sparks can be created by a bonding over common things - I'll automatically fancy any guy who can play the piano - or pretty much any musical instrument.
I'll also automatically fancy any guy who can make me laugh by being his natural self and not telling shit jokes.
And I know it takes time to get to know people etc, but I figure that if you are still none the wiser after two dates, then you should probably get rid.
The current man in question is Nathan. SpeedDating Nathan.
I Really don't think I'm picky. But I'm contemplating kicking Nathan to the kerb. Reason being that there is no spark whatsoever. I’ve had two very boring dates with him and have decided that even though he is very good on paper, and somebody who my mother will love, there is no chemistry between either of us and no potential sparks at all. At all.
Don't get me wrong, he’s a lovely chap. But spending time with him is like rubbernecking a fatal car crash on the motorway. You know it’s gonna be bad, but you go and have a look anyway just to see. And it’s ten times worse than you expected.
Unfortunately poor Nathan bored me to tears on the first date - conversation was generally about his ability to tell me the capital city of any country in the world. And he didn’t get this knowledge from travelling. Oh no, he just really likes looking at maps. He also told me about the time he put £13 in the coinstar machine and only got back £11.86. Then he questioned me on my attitudes towards coinstar machines and whether I thought that 8% commision was too high considering that the machine doesn’t actually do that much. Not to mention him turning up 20 minutes late, and ringing me to tell me to get him a Stella as opposed to apologising for running late.
I put this whole shocking experience down to nerves (his), and foolishly went out with him again.
The second time (cinema and drinks) started off well. Mainly because we were both watching the film (Harry Brown). Then afterwards he suggested that we went for a cup of tea. Yes tea. I agreed and followed him into Frankie and Benny’s where he tried to explain to the waiter that although we wanted a booth, we would only be ordering two cups of tea. I let him die for about ten seconds and then gingerly suggested we drive up to Trio and have a proper drink. Which we did.
We chatted about his colourful past - he used to be in a boyband (he soooo has the hair for it), he was an extra in emmerdale & heartbeat and spent 5 years in London trying to 'make it' as a superstar. Which made me think that deep underneath his soulless exterior there lay a pretty normal bloke. I tried in vain for 2 hours to get him to open up but the most I got was his description of a typical day at his work.
" I get in at 8.10. At 8.15 I probably go and make a cup of tea. Unless of course I get in the office and realise that somebody is about to make one. Then I ask them, but otherwise I'll just make one for myself. Then by that time it's about 8.20, so I sit down and go through my emails. Then at about 8.30………”
I just don’t know what to do. He’s nice. I’m sure he is. But he bores me. He actually bores me. Properly bores me. I listen to him talking and I’m thinking ‘Surely he can’t think that this is good conversation’. But I think he does. Maybe we’re just a little too different.
Nonetheless I've agreed to go on one more date with him on the proviso that we get drunk. If he opens up after a few bevvies and we have a laugh, then I’ll know that he was just nervous all the other times and I’ll give him another chance.
If however he remains the same, then I know it’s not meant to be.
I think 3 dates is enough to work out whether you like someone isn’t it?
Anyway, since it’s nearly Christmas and most of you are going to be doing couply things, please spare a thought for your single friends and how they may be spending the festive period. Should you feel the need to break from your cosy cocoon, then give me a ring and invite me out on the town. I almost feel ashamed that I’m technically touting for business but winter is a lonely time, and I would relish the opportunity to go out for a boogie. You don’t have to be my wing(wo)man or anything, and who knows, you could even feature in a future episode.
I’m pretty confident that somewhere there is a nice man who will quite like the look of me when he meets me. And he’ll be normal and not have any social problems. And he’ll let me go to bed after 10.30pm and also let me eat cake whenever I want.
But until I find him, I shall continue to fill your inboxes with humourous anecdotes about my experiences with the freaks that run amongst us.
Until next time…….
Thursday, 29 October 2009
The days are getting shorter, and soon everybody will be having cosy nights in front of X factor instead of going out on the town. This is not good. Especially for me – a well established singleton.
I happen to believe that a fool is somebody who does the same thing over and over again in the hope for a different result. So rather than rejoin match.com which I know you all frown upon, I've decided to utilise an alternative method for snaring my next victim. SpeedDating.
I think the jury is still out on speed dating. The married and longterm amongst you think it must be so exciting and fun to meet so many eligible men in one single evening. The singles amongst you have a slightly more negative take - more of a disbelief in the fact that you are basically being pimped out to loads of guys over which you have no control.
But like I say, nothing ventured nothing gained, so this how I found myself sat amongst a mixture of 21 – 35 year old single men on Wednesday evening.
Ironically I arrived bang on 7.30 which was my first mistake. My second mistake was to go on my own - especially when I found out that the game wasn't scheduled to start until 8.15. Oh the joy of trying to look cool for 45 minutes on your own in front of a load of men who are watching you, and a load of girls who are unusually suspicious. Fortunately two women took pity on me after about 20 minutes and invited me to join them for a natter.
And then it started. I'm not going detail it man by man (there were 22 of them) but essentially I spent 3 (sometimes painful) minutes in the company of each man before the whistle went and the next man came along. We had a ten minute comfort break after every 7 meetings and then optional mingling at the end. We were given a checksheet and at the end of each meeting, you had to write either Yes or No and a brief description of the guy beside his name to aid your memory. At the end of the night, you handed in your checksheet and at some point next week, I will find out whether guys that I have ticked have ticked me back. Simples :)
What surprised me was how normal and comfortable it was. At the end of the day, we were all there for the same reason, so you could blatantly tell who was flirting and who was just chatting politely. And most of the guys were average looking - mainly 6's,7's, a couple of 8's. There were guys like me - who were quite sociable, and then there were guys who had blatantly never spoken to girls ever before in a social context. But I was nice to everyone, I smiled encouragingly at some really really bad conversations and tried to sound interested in what they had to say.....
One guy started with ' I went on a speed dating night last week and it was full of older women who wanted to get married and have babies. I don't want any of that'. I burst out laughing and he looked positively shocked. He also a really strange stare. This prompted me to remove my name badge from my chest and stick it on my purse.
One guy gave me a short lecture on the benefits of living in Selby, and how it was interesting that I came from Darlington because he used to live in Bedale and did I know that postcodes in Bedale start with DL even though it's in Yorkshire, and also Northallerton postcodes started with DL too? Granted he was a delivery driver so he probably knew a lot about postcodes. I didn't dare tell him about my direct mail background - we would have been there for weeks!
Another guy sat down and went 'Georgina? Let me tell you about me. And then talked at me for 3 minutes. Non stop. Mainly about how he was a professional poker player and had been for 8 months. I wasn't even allowed to ask about it because he went straight onto why he wanted to do a TEFL course and go live in South America. Given that i interrupt a lot, I hardly got a word in at all.
Ben from Horsforth seemed lovely and I think he was just passing the time before he got to girl number 2 (Diana Vickers lookalike but with better hair). Then when I mentioned that I'd done the great north run, it was like a lightbulb went off in his brain. He got proper excited and didn't want to leave. So I decided to tick him
There was another guy who I blatantly had no interest in talking to until he said that he played the piano. Then I changed my tune (ha ha). But yeah he was quite boring otherwise so no tick for him.
Nathan (no 9) seemed the most promising. Aged 30, he lived in Farsley, drove some sort of mazda and worked in finance. We discussed work briefly but then just started chatting about anything and nothing. I don't actually remember because I was trying to work out if I fancied him or not. 3 minutes is not that long. Nonetheless he got a tick and hopefully I might see him again.
I did actually. He was the only guy that approached me during the 'optional mingling' afterwards. We had quite a nice chat but then my 2 friends from before came and sabotaged the operation and started talking to him about cars and football.
I'd say that I had a rather enjoyable evening. It isn't scary because it's very non threatening. Obviously there are people that you avoid like a barge pole, and others that you hope might notice you. You get to talk to everybody so there isn't that sense of missed opportunity.
The only worrying thing about it all is that I'm probably only a very small step away from going to a full blown singles party – which is essentially 300 confirmed single people in a room with a load of booze and optional party games – one of which is a rather phallic sounding game called 'Lock and Key'.
If you hear as much as a whimper from me about wanting to go to one of these functions, please hit me as hard as you can and keep hitting me until I surrender.
Until next time my dears
PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP (the sound of a whistle)
Thursday, 10 September 2009
I don't know why I'm convinced this one is controversial. I think it's because i've been seeing quite a bit of Anthony, so technically I shouldn't be cruising for other guys - for want of a better phrase. But it seems that I'm suffering from FOMO (fear of missing out), which will from now on be my excuse for absolutely everything.
So last weekend I went to Hungary for a works do. Yes you read that right. 30 of us from the UK office went to Budapest for the weekend all expenses paid, to take part in the annual company international football tournament. Obviously I didn't play any of this football; I went as a dedicated supporter. Nonetheless I still had a great time meeting all the other people who work in the markets, and putting faces to the people that I email.
There are 7 markets in total - Hungary, Poland, Romania, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Mexico and the UK. All in all I think there must have been close to 500 of us on the day. And the sun was shining and everybody was in good spirts.
Halfway through the afternoon, I went to queue for a hotdog and this Mexican guy came up to me and asked to take my photo. I thought nothing of it, and posed and smiled. Then 2 minutes later, this Polish guy asked to take my photo. I thought he was being a bit pervy so I said only if we could get somebody from each market in the photo. So I grabbed the nearest Slovakian and Romanian people but he got annoyed with me because he only wanted pictures of foreign girls. I thought it was a bit weird and left it at that.
Then later on in the afternoon, I was sat in another part of the stadium and the Hungarian cheerleaders came up to me and asked if they could have a photo. At this point I began to suspect it must be a black thing (don't shout at me, I have a built in knack for this), but thought nothing of it, and just smiled and struck a pose.
Then on my way back to the bus, a bunch of Romanians ran up to me and were like 'Hi, how are you' and started chatting away. One of them happened to be a rather dashing young chap called David who had the most perfectly shaped eyebrows that I have ever seen on a man. I made a mental note to find him later, and got back on the bus to the hotel.
The evening's entertainment was a boat trip up and down the Danube and then a party boat disco. Random people kept stopping me to say hello everywhere I went which sounds hard to believe, but it really did happen. Our Hungarian host actually confirmed to me later on that it was because I had dark skin but she was like - don't be offended, they are not being rude, they are just curious!.
Midway through the evening I caught up with David. I don't remember how, but we ended up chatting together for pretty much the whole night. And I was genuinely amazed at his standard of English, especially when he told me he'd learnt mostly from films like Pulp Fiction and Swordfish. We discovered a mutual love for house music, quentin tarantino films and trips to Italy and then had a bit of a boogie on the dance floor.
The party finished up at about 3am and we walked back to the hotel where we just chatted and stuff*. And it was lovely.
We went down for breakfast in the morning before he left on the coach for his 18hour trip back to Bucharest, and he promised to keep in touch via email.
So i'm back home now and true to his word, he emailed me on Monday. Now considering I didn't give him my email address, I'm pretty chuffed. Although to be fair, I am the only Georgina in Provident UK. Anyway, he writes really sweet emails and puts Kiss at the bottom instead of xx. Which I find hilarious - I think this must a European thing.
Obviously nothing will come of this, I'm not going to move to Romania or anything. If he lived in England then things would be a little different I think. But he doesn't, so they won't. And I haven't had an email today, so think it's fizzled out already.
Incidentally, we've just had our team awards this month, and I received an acknowledgement for going above and beyond the call of duty for building relationships between the UK team and the Romanian team. Fortunately, the group head of marketing thought it was because I did a few extra hours last week. Well I guess I did really!
Anyway, that's all from me.
Oh incase any of you were wondering, I haven't heard back from that journalist guy. I guess perhaps GATC isn't quite right for Company magazine. I'll keep trying though.
Monday, 24 August 2009
I'm about 5 months into my new job and reaping the benefits of working in town. Yes the potential for dating is immense, there's cafes, bars and shops a plenty to try and attract the attention of a foxy guy on his lunchbreak. However it's not that easy to strike up an innocent conversation whilst waiting for the Philpotts lady to assemble your salad. You can’t really make any jokes about couscous and olives without looking a little strange. So I admit it is harder than I thought.
Nonetheless I relish any opportunity to go out on the town, so last Friday after getting my hair cut (Yes, a new month, a new hairstyle for George) I tottered of to the Elbow rooms for a couple of cocktails with my work colleagues. Time moved swiftly on as did we up the streets of Leeds. And then we stopped at what I believe is the worst place ever on lower Briggate. Well, second to Nandos. The Hogshead. Have any of you ever been there? Now there is nothing actually wrong with the place but everytime I have ever been past, I usually see some lout with blood dripping down his face, and a load of fat men in football shirts. Not the sort of place one would expect George to hang out in. I went in anyway, didn't want to look like a snob.
After about 20 minutes standing randomly at the bar, some guy happenend to start talking to Rachel and I. Something along the lines of 'Are you girls having a good night?' Innocent enough, nothing cheesy, just a simple question. And he just seemed a decent guy - good height, build, full head of hair, good set of teeth (albeit with expensive invisalign braces) and just generally nice. Until we started chatting a bit more, and I discovered that I perhaps am a little more snobby than I would care to admit..
I gingerly tried to ask why he was drinking in the Hogshead and he said that his friends had been barred from the Elbow Rooms. I looked at his friend and nearly had a heart attack. Imagine if you will, the chavviest person ever, in a tracksuit with a gold chain and missing teeth. His other friend was passable, but still looked a little chavvy. Yet this guy, Anthony, looked normal. I gave him the benefit of the doubt - thinking that they might have been loose work associates and carried on talking to him. And then after some gentle coaxing from Rachel, I let him take my number and we arranged to go for drinks the following Thursday.
I think it is good for me to date people from a wider circle than perhaps I am used to – you never know how it could turn out.
So here’s why Anthony passed:-
1. He's a plasterer. I've never dated a tradesman before or in fact anybody who doesn’t do 9 till 5.
2. He is only 24. This isn't so bad, but he texts like a 16 year old, and has the spelling age of a 14 year old. In the grand scheme of things, this isn't a dealbreaker, but I just don't understand why ppl feel da nd 2 tlk in txt spk.
3. He has black roots. Now people often ask me why I don't go out with black guys. This isn't a conscious decision - it just so happens that black guys rarely approach me. Actually that’s a lie. Sometimes when i'm wandering about my daily business and I happen to walk past a black guy, they do the look, and then the noise. Occasionally I get a 'Hey sista!'
I was sat in our little office garden a couple of weeks ago, and this black guy comes up to me and goes. 'Hey, how are you'. I responded appropriately and then he said ‘ Do you know where British Gas is?’. For those of you who have never been to my work, there are 3 buildings surrounding the little garden. Only one of them has a sign outside. This sign says British Gas.
I appreciate the fact that he tried to get conversation going, but black guys for me are terrible at starting conversation. Here’s another one I’ve had.
Him ‘Where you from’
Him ‘ I’m from Nigeria. We’re next to each other on the map, so maybe we can be next to each other in bed!’
Me ‘ I think you’ll find that our countries are seperated by Togo AND Benin, so that keeps me safe really doesn’t it’
Anyway, so Anthony's father is mixed race/dual heritage whatever and originates from Africa. So genetically he's a bit black. So now you can all stop asking me about the black thing.
I suggested we went for drinks in the Adelphi around 8. I turned up promptly at 8. At 8.02 I got a glass of wine, and sat in the litle side room. At 8.07 I started to panic. I held it together though, because I'm not a freak. He turned up at 8.15, but fortunately he was really apologetic and got me another drink. So I forgave him and we sat down and chatted and stuff. And I was really suprised at how lovely he was. I presumed that cos he a totally different upbringing, then he would automatically be a cretin. But he wasn't. Which was lovely. He has a right thick yorkshire accent though.
Time passed and conversation ranged from our preferred electricity providers, trips abroad, who really could swim faster out of a shark and a dog, and the fact that his little sister is best mates with the girl who does my waxing.
Time continued to pass and at about half past 12 it became obvious that the staff in the Adelphi wanted to go home. Unfortunately, Anthony didn't want to go home, and I didn't really as I was having quite a nice time. So we walked along the canal, got to the end, had a bit of a kiss, and then walked back to get taxis. And that was that.
Since then, the weekend has been and gone, he's text me a couple of times. I know I rang him during my lost hours in the V festival hidden garden, where I also lost my phone, my pride, half my lunch and the opportunity to watch the Ting Tings. Apparently this has only made me cooler in his eyes, although I've earned the nickname 'shandy pants' - I think it means lightweight.
But yeah he seems like a nice lad, so I we're going out again on Wednesday.
PS, I could go on, but I’m now on 1200 words, and you’ve probably all got work to do.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
The most recent reprobate that I had the misfortune of spending time with was Paul (Episode 9).
It started off well, we went on nice dates to Trio, Comedy at the Oak, ice skating & the cinema (Watchmen, his choice; bad film). We got on ok, had a couple of laughs and that.
Now although he was a lovely guy, he just seemed to have a juvenile personality. But boys grow up eventually, so I tried to ignore it in the hope that he would suddenly mature. But alas,
this wasn't true and it had to end.
Just to prove that I wasn't writing him off too soon, I've listed a few of his good points below in conjunction with the corresponding dealbreakers.
He cooked me dinner (which was lovely) at his house.
|He put on the Sky planner on the tv for background music|
|We went ice skating, and then he suggested dinner afterwards||He wanted to go to Nando's|
|We had a nice date in Browns||He said it was old fashioned because the bar had ceiling fans as opposed to air conditioning|
|He liked live music||He thought that live piano music in a bar was really old fashioned and "sad"|
|He said I had a really nice (and tidy) house||He dissed my piano. In front of me (and it). In my own house.|
Nonetheless, I still put all these bad points to the back of my mind just incase I was being too penickity. I can't be too choosy at my age you see.
The nail in the coffin happened after he stayed over at mine, and then didn't contact me for 3 weeks. He later said that he hadn't been in contact because he'd been in London. Yes London; apparently he has some sort of phone which doesn't get reception there. What nonsense. I decided that I couldn't be bothered with such a rude individual and subsequently didn't
text him back.
And then yesterday, I got a text from him (after another 2 weeks of no contact).
P: Hey George. I'm finally back from London now. Do you want to meet up for a drink next week?
I thought about it for 20 seconds, and then thought No. So I replied
G: Hi Paul, thanks for the offer but I'm going to decline. I think we're just a little bit too different. Glad we hooked up though ;) take care, love George.
I thought that was a textbook response and left it at that.
3 mins later
P: Really? That's a shame. I thought we had fun, and I can't stop thinking about your great bum. <--- (Cheap shot I thought, but fine.)
G: Thanks, what a nice compliment. 10 mins later P: Look, I really had fun with you and still owe you a fiver from the grand national, let me take you out for a KFC!
After picking my jaw up from the floor, I decided it was time for the true George text wit.
G: KFC?? I hope that's you being witty! I'm afraid no amount of spicy chicken wings would tempt me. Best use the £5 for a bargain bucket for one. My treat x
I then got something along the lines of how he was more of a Burger King man. I don't remember exactly because I deleted it. Safe to say though I was unimpressed. I didn't reply. I've since seen that he's altered his match.com profile, but I don't want to click on it just incase he gets any ideas.
I'm hoping the next episode will be a Thailand exclusive. I'll be on my own for the 14hr flight and for the first week as well, so I'm going to have to actively make some friends. Until then as always keep your suggestions coming. It's been 14 months now, and time is ticking by.......... x