Broke London

A car crash guide to surviving life

How to be alluring

If you’ve read even one of the posts on this blog you’ll be well aware of the peaks and (mainly) troughs of my dating life i.e. the guy that pinched my nipple without invitation on a posh street in Islington or the time i brought home the most beautiful man in the world and then behaved like a lunatic or the time I was an even bigger lunatic… yeah there’s been more troughs than peaks let’s just say that.

However this particular tale is one has been stashed at the back of my cupboard of shame just waiting for a rainy day. And today, you lucky people, just happens to be that rainy miserable day.
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Hold on to your hats for a masterclass in how to be the sexiest, most alluring woman alive.
I met P online (obvs – where else) and we arranged a date for the day before New Years Eve.
I maintained a level of cool about the impending date and resolved not to stalk him and to go in with an open mind. What did I care who he was (bloody lovely and funny), what he did (v. rich owned own business. Been open since 2012 by looks of things), what he looked like (v. handsome unless you count that bad haircut in 2007. What were you thinking babes?) or where he came from (looked like he grew up in Surrey but also had a stint in Dubai in his teens. Must have had something to do with his father, Steven’s, construction business or the fact that his Aunt Marie lived there too. But how would I know HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA).
Now I should preface this story with two important facts.
1) I had been involved with a man who I had effectively decided should be my husband that summer and spent the entirety of my best friends wedding following him around like a sad dog. When he weirdly didn’t offer me his hand in marriage I was distraught and when this date happened I was still trying to deal with this (i.e. I was being even more of a crazy bitch than usual)
2) I was also throwing myself into the festive period with gusto and had sort of lost track of appropriateness. Work felt like a distant memory as I hadn’t been there in over a week and had just been floating around between home and London eating meals consisting entirely of cheese, red wine and stuffing and drinking copious amounts from 11am onwards. WAS GLORIOUS. but also…y’know..fundamentally unhealthy.
We arranged to meet at half 8 so I decided to occupy myself before then by going for a drink with my friend H circa 12pm. I had also only eaten three jaffa cakes and a kit kat….so….I think you can see where this is going.
After having a few composed and civilised drinks with H* I headed off to meet P.
*drank enough wine to sink a small battleship and paired it with a cheeseboard. Shouted at waitress for ‘nooorrrr enuff cheese’ and then licked the board to ‘mop up the last of the chutney’ at the end. oh yeah and I tried to walk through a glass door that I thought was open.
Side note: people often ask why H and I don’t get it together being male and female and friends for over 10 years. I highly suspect its moments like this that have truly put the nail in that coffin.
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I trotted off to meet P full of hope and vigour and thinking normal, chilled person thoughts. Would we get on? Would he fall in love with me instantly? Would we go to Dubai in the summer or would he whisk me off before it got too hot. I’d probably get that nice kaftan from Anthropologie i’d been eyeing…or just borrow one of his Aunt Marie’s…whatevs.
Now, the problem was I was enjoying that ‘calm before the storm’ moment where you’ve had a couple (of thousand) drinks but it hasn’t hit you yet. Incidentally this is also the point where I reach peak arrogance and believe that I am in fact gods gift to men.
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This may also be what lead to me choosing to greet Patrick leant up against a wall like a pound shop version of Danny Zucko in Grease.
And wink at him when I said hello.
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I mean….
He looked slightly frightened but had the good manners not to mention the fact that I was quite clearly insane and we went to the pub. I had another glass of wine and that’s when things went rapidly downhill.
My memory of the night is a little hazy but P kindly filled me in. I’ll give you the run down in bullet points – here it is:
  • Find table at pub and he goes off to get drink. I begin to realise how drunk I am as I spontaneously slide off the pub bench and am helped back on by friendly stranger who i am obviously then really rude to (‘fuck off you PERV’)
  • P comes back with drinks (uhoh) and asks why man on next table is death staring us. I feign ignorance.
  • Conversation is flowing (i.e. I am RAMBLING about god knows what whilst he smiles politely and sips his beer. I also keep losing my train of thought so my stories don’t actually end up reaching a logical end. Sexy.) I decide to really open up to him, and talk about my innermost feelings.
  • We decide to call it a night and I suggest we go back to his house.
  • He politely declines and starts to walk off down the street until he is summoned back by a wail of ‘I can’t remember where I live’. Despite having lived in my flat for a year and a half I had no recollection of my address or how to get there. He begrudgingly agrees to take me to his house for ‘another drink’ (him: maybe some water for you yeah?)
  • I try and snog his face multiple times. Yum.
  • We stop at a shop for supplies. I bully him into buying a bottle of wine and then at the counter I decide that I should cement my devil-may-care cool girl image (lol) by stealing a mars bar and running full pelt out of the shop.
  • he follows me out and says ‘umm I just paid for that…I would have bought it for you….’ I say (and this is not a lie) ‘She who dares wins’ and wink.
I hate myself.
  • I’m at that wonderful stage of drunk now where i’ve started doing my favourite thing: telling outright lies to impress people/for no reason at all. Case in point: we walk into his bedroom and he has a poster of The Vaccines on his wall. What I mean to say is ‘I like that band. I’ve seen that band twice.’ What I actually say is…I KNOW that band. They are my friends.
  • Him: No you don’t
  • Me: I do
  • Him: OK what’s the drummers name then
  • Me:…..Neil?
  • Note to self: it’s not Neil, it’s never Neil.
  • He goes out the room to get some wine glasses. In the meantime I decide the best course of action is to take all of my clothes off as a sexy surprise. I cast around the room for where to arrange myself for top alluring effect. He has one of those giant bouncy exercise balls so I pose on that. Sexy no?
  • he comes back in and nearly collapses in shock. I think he actually screamed. RUDE.
  • He coaxes me into a pair of pyjamas and bed. ‘Nooooo P lesss danceeeee’ ‘Put the fucking pyjamas on NOW’ ‘catchh meee furrsttt’ ‘I will throw you out on the street’ ‘ok Imma put them on”oh god don’t cry’.raw-1.gif
  • I pass out, starfished and snoring. In his words ‘a delicate cacophony of snoring, drunk sleep mumuring in which you told me to ‘go and tend the goats you sheepy bastard’ and farting.’ excellent.
  • I wake up early in the morning with that dread feeling you get in your gut when you know you’ve been a huge knob. It’s also new years eve and I have to go to a party in Tooting (I live in Hackney). Fuck my life.
  • Can’t find my pants for love nor money so I elect to leave them there as I am desperate to leave before he wakes up. On way home I remember that these were my special Christmas pants that had an elf on the bum with a speech bubble that says: “The best way to spread Christmas Cheer, is singing loud for all to hear.” Good good.
  • Last part of the humiliation. Am wearing really high boots and the ground overnight has hardened into thick slippery ice. P lives on top of a hill. GREAT. I make the descent mainly on my bottom. Excellent.
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And we lived happily ever after.
Well…he did.

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