So I have lots to tell you all of my dating adventures including a wild trip to Barcelona and a random hot guy on a train.
I’ll start with the guy on the train. Okay so I may have mentioned in the past how I’ve been picked up on London’s great public transport system. I even managed to score a date on a bus once – a long time ago I hasten to add. I was only 20 at the time and was still a relative newbie to the city (I’m a Northerner by birth). I was still at that naive stage of smiling and talking to strangers, before reality sinks in and you learn that most people in London are freaks, and if you’re speaking to strangers – well you’re probably a freak too.
So there I was, a self-acknowledged young freak talking to a good-looking guy on a bus, so of course we exchanged numbers and went on a few dates. Sadly nothing much came of him and I was left waiting for yet another metaphorical bus to arrive.
Several years (a decade and a half – cough) there was Train
Guy 1 – the original. A very tall slim guy, he looked like Michael Jackson sans Jerry Curl, when he was still relatively black and less creepy looking, that small window of time between Off the Wall and Thriller. Before his nose looked like something he’d stolen from Mr Potato head.
Train Guy used to get on the same carriage as me every morning. For several weeks, possibly even months, we exchanged furtive glances and the odd half-disguised smile. Eventually one morning he came over and spoke to me and after a few more morning conversations we exchanged numbers and went on a few dates. But as you’ve probably already guessed it came to nought – well not totally, we stayed friends for a while until he moved away and I ended up having a very short-lived fling with his half-brother who I much preferred and had way more in common with.
Then there was Crazy Italian – He’s a story in itself – which I’ll have to divulge in full in a blog post all of it’s own – it is that weird and scary. But just as a teaser intro, basically I was standing outside the tube station talking on the phone when I clocked a handsome tanned guy with short dark hair looking at me. I then walked down to the ticket area where he approaches me and asks me with a comedically (is that even a word???) strong Italian accent, how he could get to Baker Street. Eventually he admitted that he didn’t need directions at all but was just looking for an excuse to talk to me.
So another couple of years on and I’m on a crowded tube to work, pushed up against someone’s armpit on one side and with someone’s backpack pressed into the small of my back. Clearly I had not learned that all-important lesson that so many of us ‘Londoners’ have learned about avoiding eye contact at all costs and I ended up aimlessly staring at the people luxuriously lounging on TFL’s finest plush seating.
It was a few seconds before I realised that the person I was staring at with that vacant, slightly haunted look of the terminal commuter was staring back at me. In fact they weren’t just staring, they were grinning – and they weren’t half bad looking either!
I did my thing of looking away several times, but I could feel him still looking at me which of course made me look back like a kid that’s been told not to point and stare at the freakishly tall person standing directly in front of them. And speaking of tall… at the next stop he stands up, gives up his seat and pushes through the crowd to speak to me… This
guy is at least 6F 2” of dark, skinned handsomeness. He reminds me of a less muscle-bound version of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, and unsurprisingly he’s American.
Well, I mean come on! How many English guys do you know who give up their seat on the tube willingly just to speak to a stranger? Okay – you can’t include the pissed guys at 12 o’clock at night on the last tube home.
It turns out that he works in the same area as me and we get off at the next stop together where he hands me his business card and asks if I’d like to go to lunch with him some day…. Like OMG Hell Yeah!!!
But of course I smile demurely and say that that would be lovely and he laughs at my “quaint, English way of speaking”. I then rush into the office and google/online stalk him and his company like any self-respecting horny, crazed single woman would.
Jackpot! He’s handsome, presumably single and has a high-flying city job. And promptly I start day-dreaming about him possibly being my “Mr Big” of SATC fame.
A couple of days later… I’m a busy lady don’t you know – Okay I’ll admit I had to be forcibly restrained… I contact him and we arrange to meet for lunch at a posh French restaurant nearby before he has to fly off to Brazil on business…
And that’s where I’ll have to leave it for now. More on how the date went with Mr Big in the next post.