Girl Dates London

I called Tall Tom last night, after the text message incident, partly because I was feeling embarrassed and awkward and I wanted to chat to him and check that it was really all ok but partly just because I wanted to talk to him, catch up on his week, make plans and so on.

It rapidly became obvious that the urge to talk and connect was not mutual. We had a stilted call with him sounding distinctly unkeen, me babbling nervously and wishing I’d not phoned. We made some vague plans for the weekend and left it at that.

I emailed him today with a question about the weekend plans. Silence. No email, no text, no call.

I’m annoyed. Hurt. And my defensive “protect-self-before-heart-gets-broken” walls are going up. Why won’t he chat on the phone to me? He’s told me he spent two hours on the phone to a friend recently, so it’s not that he doesn’t like telephones. And why won’t he respond to a simple, factual, question?

I hate bloody dating.

Tagged by Watergirl, here goes:

1. Good manners. You know the kind of thing - everything your mother told you. Politeness, tolerance. Asking nicely, being polite, saying thank you, stepping aside to let people get off the tube, giving up your seat to someone more needy. It’s a wonderful thing. Steph’s got a point about all this anger going on.
2. Rain when you’re curled up in bed. Particularly if you’re in the eaves of a house. What’s not to like?
3. Endorphins. Say no more.
4. Cold, crisp, bright days.
5. Pesto. God’s nectar.
6. Love. Guaranteed to put a spring in your step and a smile on your face (altogether now… awwww).
7. Dogs. Dogs rock. Fact.

So now for my seven people: off you go Mel, Cat, PinkJellyBaby, Fweng, Wombat, Carlton and last, but not least, Bluesoup.

Here’s a tip: Do not send flirtatious/slightly rude text messages to your new love interest. At least not in work hours.

Apparently if you have a really flash phone, text messages appear on the outside of the phone as a sort of preview. Which means that the colleague who sits next to him also sees them.

He thought it was hilarious. I am mortified. And officially refusing to ever meet any of his colleagues.

At a drinks party last night, chatting with people, Tall Tom kept creeping into my mind.

Someone mentioned a film they’d just seen and I wondered whether TT would like it. I saw some impressively impractically dressed girls (a cocktail dress for an outdoor party in January, I ask you) and wanted to call TT and tell him.

It’s reached the point when almost everything I see refers back to him somehow and I can’t stop thinking about him. Hopefully this just counts as early-stage-dating-excitement and not mad-stalker-woman. Right?

A couple of drinks with the girls and VGF mentioned she wasn’t sure where she could buy x item (I forget the item in question). I told her “Try the internet. You can buy everything on t’internet these days. I love it”.

Emily then asked “so what’s the best thing you’ve found on the internet then?”

LG “Tall Tom”.

Cue slightly astonished faces from the girls (I am not often soppy) and a chorus of “awwwwww”…

To make a change from endless lime-and-sodas, I suggested Tall Tom and I went bowling. Cracking idea for a date, you might think. Except the minor detail that I have a dodgy back which temporarily escaped my brain. Dangling a heavy weight off one arm in an inept and unpredictable fashion wouldn’t be a particularly good idea then…

We had a little bit of competitivity, a lot of banter and a lot of fun, but sadly after four games (we drew) my back was crying out with pain and the fun evening was to draw to an end.

Testing blokes with their ability to look after me in extreme back pain does seem to be a recurring feature of my dating life. (Rugby Tom, Railway Richard, Craig as a small sample, in case you missed the stories at the time). Fortunately, Tom was suitably calm under pressure, sourcing an ice pack, getting me home, sorting me out with more cold packs, a blanket, trashy TV and generally being as fuss-free as possible.

He stayed calm when the pain reduced me to a sobbing, snotty, mess and simply lay on the floor beside me, handed me tissues and asked if there was anything he could do.

I stayed the night and spent much of Sunday in a similar state. Hobbling out to buy the papers turned out to be a bad idea and crossing London to go home frankly not an option. So he cooked me pizza (easy to eat on your back, see), lay on the hard floor next to me and we chatted for hours.

We talked honestly, but in a relaxed way, about life ambitions, family, friends and the respective pleasures of Leeds vs Bristol as places to live. I feel at ease with him and happy. Very happy.

Now I just need to fix my back.

Hurrah because
- It’s Friday
- I had a fun evening with friends and felt suitably relaxed and happy with banter and pizza.

Boo because
- I’m nervous as hell about tomorrow’s date with Tall Tom. I’m panicking about the fact that we didn’t speak on the phone during the week. Does this mean he’s not really interested, or just that he was busy?

- I can’t work out what on earth to wear. Last weekend he said I have a quirky, but good, style. Does that mean I need to replicate that? And how? I have never considered myself to be quirky. Moderately fashionable, at best. Aaargh.

And yes, I realise I’m fretting unnecessarily, but I’m a girl. It’s genetically programmed, right?

Is it just me or is this week going very slowly? Tom has emailed me at least once a day, has texted and generally been interesting, and a little bit flirtatious too. Hurrah.

So I’m not panicking (which I realise makes for a change). Just impatient.

Roll on Saturday.

Hi, do you fancy a chat & then may be more with me?

I danced tonight till my feet were sore, my cheeks hurt from smiling and the rest of me ached. I caught up with all the friends I haven’t seen since before Christmas, swopping stories of festive antics and ambitious New Year’s Resolutions.

To my great surprise, I also bumped into Fetish Boy for the first time in about a year. He was friendly, affable, and not nearly as hot as I remembered. Clearly lust does strange things to your judgement.