Another boy, another blog

I recently went on a first date with a man who told me that he’d once been on a date with a girl who wrote a blog about it afterwards. He’d read it – somehow – and although he could tell it was about him, he was somewhat perplexed as to the point of it all (not to mention his confusion about whether they had been on the same date based on her write-up…)

Surprisingly enough, I didn’t tell him about this blog. This blog is not for the men – and them reading reviews of (/stories about) their date offerings is entirely not the point. But I found it interesting that there are more of us. Veritable hordes of us, in fact! Tube-carriages full of us, if you will! Not insignificant volumes of gin-drinking twenty-something hot messes of women in London blogging about their dating experience. Because although it really is an uphill battle with moments so bleak that you want to throw yourself into the Thames and hope that the RNLI are having an off-day, there are some moments that you just have to share. Because they are spectacular. Or because they’re hilarious. Or romantic. Or just so honest and (I hope) relatable that surely someone else has been through the same thing: “I can’t possibly be the only person this has happened to, right?!”

And that’s only those of us who are writing about it. That doesn’t include the many, many more who – much like my gorgeous housemate – have been on two dates this week with two very-promising sounding men, and had to actually run away from one of them because he so lacked conversational merit. (I don’t endorse running away from dates; I’m merely pointing out that this is how she chose to deal with a dire-sounding situation.) By all accounts, we need an avenue to share these experiences – in whichever way we choose – to assure ourselves that “we’re not all mad, here” and that, actually, it’s nothing that we as individuals are doing wrong/any differently from any other girl. In fact, we’re all equally perplexed as to why the others are still single!

I promised this man that I wouldn’t blog about our date and – in my opinion, at least – that isn’t a lie: I haven’t told you his name, or what he does, or where we went. But that promise might get a bit trickier to keep if things keep going so well…

“Good things come to those who wait.” Or, an exercise in the unexpected.

You know that moment, in the films, when The Girl walks into a party, spots The Boy from across the room and the rest of the world disappears around them? Complete fiction, right? Well, I used to think so too. Until this weekend, when it happened to me.

To set the scene properly, it’s probably important that you know a couple of things:

1. It wasn’t the first time that we’d seen each other. I’d met this particular boy – let’s call him Ciaran – at a mutual friend’s house party around 18 months ago. We had – of course – spent most of the evening together, fuelled by too many drinks and the pursuit of innocent-enough attention. But he was living in Leeds at the time and I had gone home with Robbie (that friend-with-some-benefits who you might remember from this Valentine’s post).

2. I had spent around 90 not-exactly-sober minutes on the phone to an ex-boyfriend the previous evening, discussing how we probably shouldn’t hook up the following night, but that we were very good at spooning and my house would be quite convenient after the party… (In case you were wondering, this ex- would be James, also name-checked in this post. Sigh.)

For complete disclosure it’s also worth pointing out that I had already had to put myself to bed that afternoon as a result of one-too-many mimosas at brunch, but had somehow found a second wind and been at the pub for several hours before stumbling into the Uber across town… I am nothing if not committed to the cause.

Clearly, then, as I arrived at the party and threw myself into acquiring (even more) gin, Ciaran couldn’t have been further from my mind.

And then I saw him. And he saw me. And then he was rather closer to my mind (read: face) than he had been in a fair while.

And that’s how I ended up taking him home at 6am.

To tell you the truth, I don’t even know how it happened. He was (so I am told) far from the most attractive man at that party and (one thing I do remember) he was absolutely not who I thought was going to be waking up next to me on Sunday morning. I had even agreed with my housemate that we’d “call it” at midnight as to whether this ex- of mine and the man she is on/off sleeping with would both be waking up at our house!

But it was almost as if it was a done deal from the moment we saw each other across the room. (Albeit a bit less romantic than the films would have you believe.)

Perhaps it’s because we’d never quite managed to meet for a drink (read: hookup) although we’d spoken about it quite a few times. Perhaps it’s because we were – at last – just in the same place at the same time, after missing each other at several parties since that first one. Perhaps it was just the easiest option because we live in separate cities and there could be no expectation past that night?

Or perhaps it’s because neither of us have any self-control.

Whatever the reason, it just goes to show that not everything in those films is made up That time-stands-still moment can happen in real life. It’s just that the real life version ends with a kiss in the taxi as The Girl waves The Boy off to get the train back home. And that’s happily-ever-after enough for me. For now.