Month: June 2023

Cracky Gav

Cracky Gav

by LPW ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Let me tell you about my first blind date. In fact, it was my first date of any kind.

So, picture this; I’m 17, still fairly sweet and innocent, and completely naïve to the joys (and horrors) of the dating world, with a slightly Disney-tinted view of romance. I have just started coming in to my own and generating a little attention from the boys – yet I’m the last single one in my friendship group. So of course, my lovely friend Lola – whom I also worked with – decided to give me a hand with this by asking Olly the barman to set me up with a friend. A nice older guy with a good job and a nice car apparently. I won’t dwell on the process of us meeting – we got each other’s numbers, exchanged a photo (he seemed cute), had a bit of a chat and arranged a date. I got a pep talk, some outfit ideas and swore to check in with Lola and relay every single detail of the date. Obviously. And that was that, I was off on a date with Gavin!

So, date night. I’m sitting at the bus stop outside the bar we’d agreed to meet at feeling pretty nervous, but excited, about meeting what could potentially be the man of my dreams, about to whisk me away to my happily ever after. You have to think positively, right? Anyway, as I’m sitting there waiting oh so patiently for the date that is now 20 minutes late, I look up and see this funny looking little man walking up to me. About 5 foot 5 and sporting a bright yellow puffer jacket, bleached blonde hair in hedgehog spikes, two sparkling diamond-esque studs and a thick gold chain that would make Delboy drool. And, shock horror, this 90’s boy band reject walked straight over to me and said, “Hi, I’m Gav.” Ah crap.

Look, appearances aren’t everything okay. I mean, I’m hardly fashion forward myself and personalities are way more important than looks. And he kind of looked like his photo…just a bit different than the classy, older gentleman I was expecting. But that was an image I’d created in my own mind and he seemed nice enough, so I was open to seeing how it went. Now, one of the benefits of dating a 21-year-old when you’re 17 is that they can buy the drinks, right? Well that’s usually the case, unless the 21-year-old in question actually looks about 12. And doesn’t carry ID. So off we went on a tour of all the places in town that wouldn’t serve him. Turns out, there were about 9 of them. And did I mention it was March and I was wearing a dress? Fun times! Eventually we came across a delightful pub with crusty carpets and an aroma which can only be described as a body odour/urinal blend. So, I was actually grateful to take my long-awaited drink out in the cold beer garden so that my date could smoke.

Meanwhile, back at the restaurant…

Lola: I might check in with L and see how it’s going

Olly: Oh yeah, it’s her date with Cracky Gav tonight!

Lola: Cracky Gav? Why do you call him that?

Olly: Because he loves drugs

Lola: What? What drugs?

Olly: All the drugs! He’s always on them.

Lola: No! L hates drugs!

Olly: Oh…probably not the best person to set her up with then…

Lola: You think?! Well that’s going to be an interesting date!

Oh, interesting was one word for it! So, we had finally found somewhere that we could sit and have a drink, and the getting to know you part of the date could commence.

So why do you not carry ID with you when you look so young?

Oh because I don’t have a passport and I had my driving license taken away, so I don’t have any ID.

You had your license taken away? How exactly?

Oh got caught drink driving. Well, drink and drugs really.

Pardon?

Yeah think I’d had some Charlie at some point too but don’t really remember. Anyway, rolled my car over and wrote it off then they took my license off me. Bit shit really.

I see…I might just pop to the loo quickly. And never come back.

Obviously I was really just going to text Lola.

What have you set me up with? He’s a bloody druggy! A car rolling Aaron Carter wannabe druggy! No one would even serve him, so we’ve ended up in that rat pub…whatever it’s called. The dodgy one opposite the church. When is it polite to leave? Argh!!!

I hid out for as long as my nostrils allowed, and then I headed back out, telling myself to give him a chance. After all, that might have just been when he was young and stupid, right? We talked for a while longer about life, work, there were even a few more stories about getting drunk and he how he was supplementing his income by selling home grown weed on the side. Turns out his age was irrelevant; he was just stupid. And then, as though sent directly from heaven, I saw Lola and her boyfriend walk into the beer garden. I could have cried. Turns out she felt so bad about her part in this pantomime that she convinced her boyfriend to come along and give me some support, and thankfully the rest of the evening went along fairly smoothly. Turns out that Gav wasn’t such a bad guy, just made some terrible life choices. Not that I wanted to be around for any future idiocy.

As we walked back towards the train station, we said our goodbyes and like the coward I am, I lied to his face and told him I’d had a lovely night and would definitely see him again. A text seemed like a much easier way to tell him the truth anyway. But as I went to hug him goodbye and he leaned in for a kiss, I’m pretty sure my Matrix worthy bend away from him let him know how I really felt as I never heard from him again. Not the best way to start my dating life, but I figured things could only get better from there at least.

Oh, you poor naïve little girl…

L xo

Mr Sparkles

Mr Sparkles

by LPW ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I don’t know if any other singletons have noticed this, but when you’ve been single for a while all of your non single friends seem to want to set you up with some half acquaintance of theirs. It’s a nice thought, really, but it never seems to be an ideal match. In fact, they’re usually trying to pair you up with another sad, single person that can’t find themselves a date either. But it gets you out of the house, right?

So one of my darling friends decided to set me up with their window cleaner, who we shall call Mr Sparkles. This could well be his real company name, I genuinely don’t remember. But then my memory never has been the most reliable.

Our first date was surprisingly alright. We were both quite busy and having trouble finding an ideal time to meet, so we decided to go for a quick drink just to get the initial meet out of the way. He was nice. Quite good looking, fairly interesting, owned his own business. All good. I just didn’t feel like there was a “spark” (pun not intended). But then it’s unfair to judge someone after only one glass of rosé and less than an hours worth of small talk, right? So when he asked me for a second date, I felt like I owed it to myself, and to him, to give it a second chance. The offers weren’t exactly rolling in after all.

So a few days later I receive a text asking if I liked bowling, as that was a hobby of his, with a meal out thrown in to sweeten the deal. Once he’d confirmed he was fine with me having no idea what a bowling average even was, we agreed to go to a slightly nicer bowling alley a bit further away, as the local one didn’t seem to have been updated (or cleaned) since the mid 80’s. This meant having to fuel the conversation for an entire car journey, but that actually seemed to flow fairly naturally which was nice. It was all nice actually, just comfortable and easy. Until it came to ordering dinner anyway. Usually a fairly uneventful part of the date, but this is me we’re talking about.

Anyway, he ordered some kind of steak meal and I went for a salad with a glazed salmon fillet. This wasn’t in any way an attempt to be healthy, or to come across as the dainty girl that only eats salads, but purely because I’d spent the previous couple of days eating and drinking more than is usually advisable. So a nice light salad was just what I fancied on a warm, summery evening. The waitress seemed to approve of my order, so as I turned back to my date with a smile on my face I was surprised to be met with a look of absolute disgust. Which was then followed by a rousing chorus of “what’s wrong with girls?” Apparently it is so fake of us females to order salads at dinner, as it paints an unrealistic picture of ourselves. Which would be more understandable if I was attempting in any way to come across as a super model. I was told that I would have made a much better impression if I had just ordered a dirty great mixed grill and a pint of beer. Believe me, if I fancied that, I would have ordered that. And if I’d have realised I was going to be judged for my choice of food, I’d have stayed at home. As stunned as I was, I had to ask what prompted the outburst. To which he replied that “all girls pretend to be a certain way when you’re dating and then turn out to be someone else when you get to know them”. Wow. All I did was order a ruddy salad! Trust me, I do not look like the kind of girl that eats salads for every meal and I am in no way trying to trick anyone in to thinking otherwise. In fact, if you saw a photo of me in a quiz round it would be in answer to the question “who ate all the pies?”. Anyway, after being ranted at for what felt like hours, the meals turned up. And I would like to point out that my ‘dainty little salad’ – a heaped bowl of colourful, glistening deliciousness just dripping with sticky glaze – made his measly steak look like a kid’s meal. A small victory, but I took it. Nevertheless, I figured he’d just had a bad experience so I decided to push that whole catastrophic dialogue aside and try to salvage the conversation by changing the subject. And then completely killed it.

“I get it from the guys all the time, beam me up Scotty”

Are you Scottish then?

“No, I’m not Scottish.”

So why do your friends call you Scotty?

“Because that’s my name. Scott.”

But I’ve been calling you Andy this whole time.

“Yeah I know.”

Silence

Needless to say, the rest of the evening was pretty awkward. We skipped the bowling, thankfully, and proceeding to have the longest drive home imaginable. He did keep trying to explain his motivation for hating salad eaters, but I think by this point I was more interested in watching the headlights of the oncoming cars, mostly picturing them heading straight for me.

The moral of this story? Always take your own car on a date! Or check the bus timetables. And please, ladies (and gents of course), order the biggest, dirtiest meal on the menu. Heaven forbid you come across as healthy!!

He did ask me on a third date though….

L xo

The Dote

The Dote

by LPW ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

You know when you have one of those afternoons that turns in to a random night out? The “lets have a quiet couple in the sun” moments that suddenly turn in to “You’re closing? How is it 3am already?!” kind of nights?

My friend and I had been at a BBQ that afternoon and decided that even though we had been drinking all day, we definitely needed to continue. So naturally we headed in to town for a few more drinks. I’ll be honest, some of the details are pretty blurry, but I’m pretty sure a few drinks turned in to many drinks, as before we knew it the lights were up and we were being ushered out of a club.

Now, bearing in mind I’d just spent the afternoon surrounded by couples or listening to stories of dates and crushes, I was feeling in need of a little male attention. And although I’m pretty sure the guy that approaches you just as the club is closing is probably not the best guy to be leaving with, my lonely drunken state led me to believe otherwise.

So here I am, on the curb outside, talking to this adorable Irish guy trying to convince him that I’m a good girl and that we should just exchange numbers and meet up another time rather than jumping in a taxi together. Or maybe I was trying to convince myself? Anyway, it turns out he was just visiting a friend for the weekend and would be flying home the following night, so this was a one time only offer. I don’t think I needed much convincing after the amount of cider and rum I’d consumed, but he was trying his best nonetheless. And did I mention he kept calling me a dote? “You’re such a wee dote”. I had no idea what it meant but it turned me all shades of pink anyway. And those baby blue eyes…how could I resist?!

Just to add, I now know that ‘a dote’ is someone that’s cute. Well shucks! It could also be possible that he was calling me a dolt…but I’m going to believe the former and move on.

So there I was, in the back of a taxi with 5 Irish guys on the way to…well, I had no idea where I was going. Then the taxi pulled over unexpectedly and out jumped the guy that actually owned the house we were supposed to be going to. I think he was going to meet a girl or something but to be honest I wasn’t really paying attention. By the way, I get that this is the point where I also should’ve jumped out, but no, I stayed in the taxi with 4 men I didn’t know heading who knows where in a state where I probably needed some kind of adult supervision. Just one of the many genius moments I’ve had in my time…

Once we got to the house, I had to put up with a bit of jeering and banter from the other guys before I was lead upstairs to the spare room, which the others had kindly let Mr Blue Eyes have to himself due to the circumstances. Such gents. Now how I got up those stairs is still a mystery to me – steps are a challenge for me at the best of times – but as I seemed to remain bruise free I’m going to presume I managed it with some form of grace and dignity. Anyway, there we are in the bedroom, getting to know each other a bit better. And what do you really want when you’re “getting to know” a man? His mates knocking on the door and popping their heads in to cheer you on. Love it. What makes it even better is when said man, or boy really, is then putting up a struggle against using a condom. Why the hell wouldn’t someone want to cover their limb before they swim? Especially in unknown waters?! It’s worrying that it took so long to set them off, but finally the warning bells were ringing, and I suddenly felt surprisingly sober. So, being a lady and all that, I thought I should subtly take my leave without offending him. Or provoking some kind of negative reaction of course. And how did I manage that, you ask? Well, by saying I was popping to the loo whilst grabbing all my stuff and making a run for the front door. How else?!

Why are you putting your clothes on to go the toilet?

So your friends don’t see me in my underwear.

And you need your handbag for that?

Girls always take their handbags everywhere.

And your shoes…?

Well I don’t know what state the bathroom floor is in….

And then he was snoring.

Which was followed swiftly by the sound of me running down the stairs (again, without incident) and the front door shutting behind me. Phew!

But as I sighed in relief, it suddenly dawned on me that it was 5 o’clock in the morning and I had no idea where I was. Shit. As I’m wandering along wondering what the hell I’m going to do, I just happen to bump in to the guy that jumped out of the taxi earlier. Busted! He just laughed at me and asked me if I was alright and knew where I was.

Yeah it’s cool, I’m good thanks.

Maybe I should have mentioned the emerging feelings of impending doom. Or the colossal freak out that I was about to have if I didn’t figure out where on earth I was. But I’m far too polite for that.

Luckily, as I got to the end of the road, I started to recognise where I was, and even luckier for me it was only a short walk from my house. And now I had relaxed a bit, I was able to enjoy my wee dander home whilst the birds were singing and the sun was rising, with only one thought to ponder as I walked;

Damnit….what was his name?!

L xo