Long day? Tired? Trumped out? Don’t worry. Put your feet up, I’ll do the talking.
The unthinkable keeps on happening. The more I try to understand it the more confusing and unpredictable it becomes. If 2016 has taught us anything, it’s that we must all learn to expect the unexpected, it’s the new black.
Take yesterday afternoon for example. I went out for a couple of drinks with my mate Nick. Just a quiet couple of afternoon pints. Several hours later I was fleeing a club after being aggressively twerked by a young man who seemed perfectly sane just moments before. It turns out twerking is as hilariously unsexy in real life as it is on MTV.
A couple of weeks ago I put on my lucky T-Rex socks and went to meet Hugh, a man who was frankly punching above his weight by asking me out at all. Hugh it turns out….is a total shit. Hugh never bothered showing up for our date, Hugh never even bothered texting me to let me know he wasn’t going.
As the barman cleared up empty glasses around me I had the feeling that it wasn’t really happening, that this could only happen in a scene from a film.
My life is becoming more filmic actually, there is more going on these days. I’ve had a sudden spike in richness. I’m talking about enjoyment and experiences here, not Scrooge McDuck richness.
Did I tell you that one of my new year’s resolutions was to be less frigid? I’ve always been jealous of people who can meet someone they like, enjoy themselves and then continue their life without endlessly dissecting ‘what it means’
I was telling a junior Doctor this last Thursday. Just to be clear, I was his date, not his patient.
That Thursday started strangely with a shock Trump win. Later on a bloke called Edward got the rare chance to make a second bad first impression…. by cancelling our first date for the second time. Perhaps it was this snub that made me agree to go to Dartford in the middle of fucking nowhere to go on a different first date….cue the Doctor.
It was great, and strange. We sat in a bar in a near-deserted shopping centre. There’s not much going on in Dartford. This young man was an over-achiever on an epic scale. Fashion model, child genius, karate champion and recording artist, he also spoke just about every language under the sun including Mandarin. He seemed very proud of himself, and who can blame him.
Wild Tangent alert. Do you remember me telling you about the text rationing odd ball from earlier this year?
Forgive the skip back in time here. I once invited ration man over for dinner, but he wasn’t having any of it. He said it was far too big a gesture for so early on, that he wasn’t comfortable with it, and that he was commitment phobic and had only ever gone out with one person.
Do you see where this is going? My date on Thursday was only that one person!
As soon as he told me about ‘a friend’ who stumbled across a Faberge statue at a flea market in Paris I knew straight away.
I broke the news that I had also dated that guy. It was less awkward than you might expect. The real awkwardness was only an hour away.
After a brilliant evening he dropped me off at Dartford Station. We sat in the car for a moment anxiously waiting to see if we were going to kiss. We didn’t, we weren’t drunk enough.
It was in that anxious moment that I somehow missed the last train back to London. When I realised this he had already driven off. Fuck, fuck and fuck. I was stranded a squillion away miles from home.
With no other option I bit the bullet and sent the guy an SOS text message. He came back to pick me up and said I could sleep at his place as long as this wasn’t ‘a ruse’.
His place turned out to be a hospital dorm the size of a chest freezer. We were right on top of each other, and not in a good way.
After a few drinks and a few hours of nervous small talk we both squeezed into the single bed to turn in. As I lay there I thought “I can’t fucking believe this”
He was clearly thinking of something else
“Can I help you with you new year’s resolution?” he asked
Yes please. Sometimes the unexpected can be delightful.
Harrison out, sleep tight