When friends find out about my blog they get a bit excited and shout “oh my god, you have to write about this date I went on..! Email me! I’ve got LOADS of stories!”
I generally decline. This is a blog about me; my ego couldn’t possibly tolerate it.
But I heard about a date the other night, so fantastical and astonishing in its awfulness, that I feel compelled to share it with you. The date was my new friend Talia. And I think you are going to like her story.
So, Talia met this guy called David in a pub in Brighton. David seemed like a nice chap and furthermore he was very attractive in a sort of moneyed bohemian sort of a way. Talia had always secretly longed to be part of the posh bohemian set, even though she didn’t belong there. I too have fallen foul of this rather pointless aspiration if the truth be told. It’s something about their leftie upbringings in Dorset, their fearless creativity, their fashionable clothing and their lives of effortless cool in London’s East End. They smoke cigarillos and know about things like collectivism. They organise alternative film festivals and write novels about transsexual Anglo Saxon peasants.
Talia turned up for her date with David in a carefully-selected outfit that said “I am open to you and your bohemian ways.” She was quite excited. And so she was a little disgruntled to discover, on arrival, that David had brought one of his work colleagues. The three of them sat in a pub in Westbourne Grove and discussed technology and power tools. As power tool conversations go, it was quite interesting, but it was not what Talia had been hoping for.
Finally, however, the work colleague left her and David to their own devices. Talia appraised David and his slightly wild hair (bohemians obviously don’t worry about things like hairstyles because they are genetically programmed to grow haircuts that don’t require third party assistance) and thought mmmm, I think I like you. David obviously felt the same; he kept touching her arm and behaving in an amorous fashion.
Talia is 6 feet tall and has an amazing figure – she’s slim but is still shaped like a woman. She is hot. And we think that possibly David was trying to convey this when he then stroked her arm, looked deep into her eyes and said “you’re sort of like a normal woman, only… only bigger.”
Wow! Talia thought. Wow! That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me!
Unsurprisingly she did not stay out much longer. But she did eventually agree to go on a second date with him.
They met in a Fashionable Pub in the East End of London. All around them were men with fashion facial hair and rolled up trousers. Talia couldn’t quite believe it – here she was in COOL LAND!
Unfortunately, David had brought a friend again. The friend was called Harry and he was aged approximately 82. He was a tiny little wisp of an old man and so Talia was a little surprised when he and David commenced a discussion on the merits of Ketamine as a recreational drug of choice. Harry seemed to be quite au fait with it all. Eventually the conversation was turned over to cocaine and Talia was asked for her opinion of it. Not being a partaker herself she tried a bit of gentle irony: “Oh, I, er, I prefer Pepsi myself.”
Tumbleweed floated past. David sort of roamed off and didn’t return to her side again.
Instead, he spent the rest of the night curled up on a battered leather sofa in the corner talking to himself. Talia was not sure which of the drugs in the preceding conversation he had succumbed to but she decided to plough on a little longer with the night. It might be her only shot at sampling this world after all.
One of David’s friends took pity on Talia and invited her over to join him and his girlfriend at their table. Talia did not feel comfortable talking to them. They were nice but just too cool. She felt awkward and a little insecure. And so, when she opened her mouth to say to the girlfriend “you really look like my school friend!” something went a bit wrong. Instead she shouted “I really like you!”
The girl and her boyfriend left.
Talia danced until three in the morning with Harry who was quite a mover for an octogenarian. When the pub closed he offered her a lift home in his trusty old van, which Talia gratefully accepted. There is no decent transport late at night in East London because everyone who goes out in East London lives there. Those who don’t are try-hards like me and Talia who spend hours shivering on street corners waiting for taxis that never come.
Just as they pulled off in Harry’s ancient and tiny Del Boy van, Harry decided that he needed to take David home too, because David was in a state of borderline consciousness and probably shouldn’t be left alone in the pub. David was thus bundled, barely alive, into the front seat with Talia. As I said, it was a tiny van, Talia is 6 foot and David had all but lost control of his body. It was not a comfortable ride.
When they got to David’s house, David somehow realised where they were and got out of the car without saying a word, fell into his house and disappeared leaving the door open. Harry shook his head and turned off the engine. “Sorry Talia,” he said, “I’m going to need to make sure David is ok.” Talia agreed; she needed a wee anyway, so in they went.
Rather strangely, David was nowhere to be seen. They stood and scratched their heads, puzzled. “I’m going to go and find the loo,” Talia said, “you do another circuit of the house Harry.” Harry agreed. Talia found the loo, upstairs, and sat down. The ordeal is nearly over, she thought tiredly. At that moment she noticed a large two foot square hole in the floor right next to the toilet. It went right through the floor to the hallway below, where Harry was staring up at her as she wee-d. “Talia I STILL can’t find him. I’m quite worried,” Harry said, looking old and confused.
Talia closed her eyes and tried to continue her wee.
After ransacking the house they eventually found David behind the sofa. With some effort, they put him on the sofa and left. They got back into the Del Boy van and tootled off.
A while later, they reached Elephant and Castle roundabout. After going round it a few times, Talia began to realise that possibly something was wrong. “Of course, I never actually took my driving test,” Harry said reflectively. “I still don’t really know how to navigate roundabouts so I generally avoid them. Do you know how they work Talia?”
They went round the roundabout several more times.
When Talia got home she decided that posh bohemia was probably not really for her. She went to bed, put it down to experience and fell asleep.
And so it was not without some degree of amazement that she woke up the next morning to find a message from David in her phone saying “Hey! Had a wonderful time last night! Let’s do it again really soon – can’t wait to see you! xXx”
I’ve no idea why but Talia decided not to see him again. Instead she went on a date with the man who she ended up marrying.
I am taking this as a lesson. If dates this bad can be just around the corner from the Date Where We Meet The One, there is hope for us all.
My search continues.