Saturday, 18 July 2015

Choppy Waters

It seemed that over the last year I caused something of a small sensation, at least amongst my friends, off the back of a post I wrote about the perils of using Tinder. Wow, I thought, I must be something of a minor Dickens, penning such incisive social commentary. Wow, had I yet to have some real life experience! 

2015 began promisingly, with, as the reader can imagine, a couple of Tinder dates. These led to little, except being ejected from the infamous Admiral Codrington pub for a little too much ‘heavy petting’. I think the words of the bartender were ‘that’s enough of the floor show’. A good tale, but I have yet to darken the doors of that particular establishment since. Was it a good omen for the year to come? That’s for you to decide. 

Following another number of pricey and rather disappointing dead-ends through the labyrinth that is the dating app, I decided that the best thing was to eschew all forms of online succor and try my luck in the scary, real world. I must say that it has been a damn sight more successful but also a little more frustrating when thing have not worked out. That’s where I find myself as I write this post. 

When I write this, I must try very hard not to come across as some scorned lover or a melodramatic fool, it’s an unattractive quality and, those who are familiar with me know that I am intense enough as it is. 

Writing is a great therapy and perhaps a great way of casting off one’s sorrow at the peril of another’s rancor. I hope not to the latter, it’s certainly not my intention to hurt anyone, as such everything remains in vague terms. 

I’ve always believed the best things happen when you’re not looking for them, a much harder thing to achieve than you would believe! But so it was that, riding on a high from great weather, great booze and a few hours bantering with a best mate I headed to a party in Central London. 

It was one of those nights in which everything clicked, especially my charm. I’m an acquired taste at the best of times and I met a few kindred spirits that night. Most notable there was one, an attractive girl, fun, sparkling conversation, great figure... I think we all know where this is going. Drink followed drink, followed drink followed drink, until we were all huddled around a kitchen table drinking slivovitz and raising toasts to imaginary luminaries, conceived on the spur of the moment...

...The next morning hit me like a ton of bricks, but I had woken up with someone rather attractive and with great chat (the most important thing, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise). Peeling myself, reluctantly, from bed, I helped/hindered in cleaning up the aftermath of the party and made my way to Finsbury Park to take advantage of a free ticket to Wireless - a hugely generous present from a very special friend. 

The seeds were sown and the dating started. I’m afraid I am a novice, but I invest, and I threw the kitchen sink at it, great restaurants, largesse came to the fore. I am sure that most men reading this will share a certain concern, in that dating is an expensive pastime in which there is often little reward... It makes me sound very bitter, don’t get me wrong I have no regrets but when you look at the bank balance, it’s a chastening experience. 

In the basest terms of this dating escapade, we had: a fish supper (a bloody good one too), drinks, many more drinks, sex, dinner, drinks, drinks, drinks, weepy friend turning up, night at home, drinks, drinks, drinks, drinks, drinks, drinks, both too drunk for sex, museum visit, drinks x 6, dinner, drinks x 8, argument, grumpy cab ride, sex, 1/2 week of texting... end! 

Wow, I have put it in the most base terms, and it feels a bit harsh, but it’s hard to describe a fling (although I felt it was a little more than that). It was one of those terrible situations when I feel I was more into it, more indulgent and as a consequence more vulnerable. 

I wanted this to develop into something more but, you know what, you cannot force someone to be interested in you and if they want to end it in the early stages, for whatever reason, then fair enough. I’m mature enough to understand, no-one wants to feel trapped. Better to find out now than later down the line. 

I think the worst moment is receiving a text to the effect, it’s terribly impersonal more than anything else. An anodyne statement that it’s over coupled with a half-hearted excuse, rooted in the virtues of personal freedom and my personal welfare. It always seems that I obtain this kind of statement on inappropriate platforms or at inappropriate times, which never helps; I remember one occasion I had a break-up call on a train whilst sat with my then managing director, stalled outside a Nottinghamshire power station!  

Such is life I suppose and it’s best not to look back in anger but focus on three weeks of great fun shared with someone entertaining. It had its moments, but overall I had a great time and it went to prove to myself how much I enjoyed dating. I look on, and look forward to the next romantic adventure with no hang-ups. 

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