Friends came over last night for yet another christmas dinner. S had been talking about the game of golf he had played earlier in the day, remarking on how relaxing it was and that if you ever want to de-stress, then golf is the way to go. "Do you play at all?" he asked. "Well yes, sort of.. ish" I said. I told him the story of what happened the last time I played a round of eighteen holes with W.
All had been going well until the seventeenth. We are fairly even when it comes to skill level, or lack of, and we had just finished on the green. As we started to walk on towards the next Tee, I noticed a shiny white golf ball on the edge of the green. Thank you very much, I thought to myself as I reached down and picked it up. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to me that there maybe people playing behind us and as we reached the next Tee a guy walked over to us and asked "Excuse me fellas, you haven't seen a ball land over this way have you?" The ball in question was the one in my hand. Bugger, I thought, I had to apologise and own up. Now some golfers I know have a tendency to be quite touchy when it comes moving their golf balls, or walking on their line. Not knowing how he how he would react, I tried to be as honest as I could be.
Me - No, sorry mate. Did you see where it went at all?
Guy - I thought it landed somewhere near the green.
Me - No, sorry (shakes head) I didn't see anything land.
W - It landed near the green you reckon?
I wanted to put gaffer tape over W's mouth. "No there was nothing on the green" I said, looking at W and indicating that the ball was in fact, in my hand. "No, no, I didn't see anything on the green" he confirmed.
The guy walked off to look for his ball as W lined up to Tee off for the eighteenth. "He's not happy" said W, as he lined to take a practise swing. The guy was looking for his golf ball and cursing to his friend as he swung his golf club into the grass, using it as a scythe. "Will you just take your shot so that we can move on" I said, feeling slightly stressed. W tutted and took his swing. "You're going to have to drop it" he said. He was right of course. I took my swing and we started to walk off to take our second shots.
Not wanting to be obvious in dropping it, I thought i'd let it run down the inside of my trouser leg - something i'd seen in a James Bond film. Needless to say, the ball ran down the inside of my leg as expected, but got caught at the bottom, leaving me with what looked like a golf ball sized tumour on my ankle. More stress, as I tried to shake it loose, which eventually, I did before moving on to finish the hole.
Now golf may be, i'm sure, a relaxing and de-stressing experience, but on this evidence I think i'd rather opt for a bath and a pot noodle.
Tuesday 29 December 2009
Tuesday 22 December 2009
Waiting For Buses
I was told that I was going to have to work in the South London office for a few days. I had grimaced at the thought. The office in question is based on Walworth Road, which broadly speaking, is the alimentary canal, which feeds through to the anus of London that is Camberwell. So not a pretty picture you might say. This would also mean that I'd have to take a bus to work, rather than my usual 30 minute stroll through the city and I wasn't looking forward to it. I loath buses and the one thing worse than catching a bus, is catching a bus through a not nice part of town.
My fears were realised as I waited for the bus in question. I watched and waited and watched and waited. A 100 bus flew past, followed by an RV1, then another 100, then a 78. All I wanted was the number 42. More buses past by - 100, 78, 78, 100. "Oh for God's sake" I muttered under my breath.
"Murder isn't it", said a voice behind me. "Oh, er yes" I smiled "Sorry, I didn't realise I was that loud." "No, no it's always like this and that's usually my line. I only wish I could walk to work". I smiled, "I usually can" I said. "You're lucky" she replied. She, was petite with big brown eyes and long dark brown hair that was tied back into a pony tail. Her hands were deep in her pockets and she wore a thick scarf as she braced the cold air.
"So why are you catching the bus today?" she enquired. "I'm working out of a different office for a couple of days near Camberwell". "Mmmm.. lovely place" she mused. "Yes, isn't it just" I replied. She smiled. "I'm based in London Bridge so need the RV1" "You're lucky" I said. "I know" she smiled.
A number 42 bus pulled up. "This one's mine I'm afraid" I said. "Lucky you, don't worry about me, I'm sure I'll survive the cold" she mused. I couldn't let this opportunity go. Thinking quickly, I smiled and handed her a business card. "Well, why don't you give me a call. You know, just so that I know you've survived". She took it and smiled. "Maybe I will".
I boarded the bus and it drove off. I looked through the back window to see an RV1 pulling into the bus stop behind. A few minutes later my phone beeped.
- Been rescued, although need to warm up. How about a drink sometime?
I smiled and put the phone back in my pocket.
My fears were realised as I waited for the bus in question. I watched and waited and watched and waited. A 100 bus flew past, followed by an RV1, then another 100, then a 78. All I wanted was the number 42. More buses past by - 100, 78, 78, 100. "Oh for God's sake" I muttered under my breath.
"Murder isn't it", said a voice behind me. "Oh, er yes" I smiled "Sorry, I didn't realise I was that loud." "No, no it's always like this and that's usually my line. I only wish I could walk to work". I smiled, "I usually can" I said. "You're lucky" she replied. She, was petite with big brown eyes and long dark brown hair that was tied back into a pony tail. Her hands were deep in her pockets and she wore a thick scarf as she braced the cold air.
"So why are you catching the bus today?" she enquired. "I'm working out of a different office for a couple of days near Camberwell". "Mmmm.. lovely place" she mused. "Yes, isn't it just" I replied. She smiled. "I'm based in London Bridge so need the RV1" "You're lucky" I said. "I know" she smiled.
A number 42 bus pulled up. "This one's mine I'm afraid" I said. "Lucky you, don't worry about me, I'm sure I'll survive the cold" she mused. I couldn't let this opportunity go. Thinking quickly, I smiled and handed her a business card. "Well, why don't you give me a call. You know, just so that I know you've survived". She took it and smiled. "Maybe I will".
I boarded the bus and it drove off. I looked through the back window to see an RV1 pulling into the bus stop behind. A few minutes later my phone beeped.
- Been rescued, although need to warm up. How about a drink sometime?
I smiled and put the phone back in my pocket.
Thursday 17 December 2009
FH Part 3
I was awoken by the sun shining brightly through my bedroom window. The rain clouds of the night before had given way to a beautiful morning. I had a smile on my face. It was a smile of mild contentment. FH was sleeping peacefully. Her right arm was draped across my chest as she nuzzled into my neck. I ran a finger softly up and down her back.
The wine from the night before had left me feeling s little dehydrated and in need of a glass of water. I carefully lifted her arm off my chest and walked quietly to the kitchen to pour myself a drink from the kitchen tap. The water was refreshing as i gulped it down. I was refilling the glass for a second time when I felt a pair of hands go around my waist. "Morning" she whispered, as she kissed the side of my neck. "Can I have a glass too?" she asked. "Here", I said, and handed her the glass I had been refilling. I turned around to face her as she gulped it down. "You know, you look pretty good with no clothes on" I said, smiling. She smiled sweetly, "I know". she put down the now empty glass and took my hand. "Come on" she said, as we left the kitchen.
An hour later and we were having breakfast in a local cafe.
FH - Oh where's the nearest tube station?
Me - Don't worry, I'll drop you. I've got the car parked just around the corner.
FH - That's very sweet, thank you (smiles).
Me - I know (smiles).
FM - Can we stop by yours on the way. I think I've left my earrings by your bed.
Me - Sure.
We set the world to rights over bacon and eggs as we flicked through the morning papers. After enjoying another cup of tea, I paid the bill and turned to her. "Right," I said "lets get you home". She smiled.
I left her in the passenger seat of my car as I went to get her earrings from my flat, pausing only to clarify where she left them. "I think I left them on the window ledge by your bed". "Great" I said. "Back in a sec".
I entered the flat and went straight to the bedroom. I scanned over to the side of my bed and saw a pair of silver hoop earrings. "Excellent" I thought as i put them in my pocket and headed back out to the car.
She was adjusting her lipstick in the mirror of the sun visor as I climbed back into the driving seat. She looked at me and smiled as I handed her the contents of my pocket. "There you go, one pair of earrings" I said as i played with my seat belt and turned the ignition key. I smiled and looked across at her. She looked back at me, only this time the smile had been replaced by an icy stare. "I don't wear hoop earrings".
The wine from the night before had left me feeling s little dehydrated and in need of a glass of water. I carefully lifted her arm off my chest and walked quietly to the kitchen to pour myself a drink from the kitchen tap. The water was refreshing as i gulped it down. I was refilling the glass for a second time when I felt a pair of hands go around my waist. "Morning" she whispered, as she kissed the side of my neck. "Can I have a glass too?" she asked. "Here", I said, and handed her the glass I had been refilling. I turned around to face her as she gulped it down. "You know, you look pretty good with no clothes on" I said, smiling. She smiled sweetly, "I know". she put down the now empty glass and took my hand. "Come on" she said, as we left the kitchen.
An hour later and we were having breakfast in a local cafe.
FH - Oh where's the nearest tube station?
Me - Don't worry, I'll drop you. I've got the car parked just around the corner.
FH - That's very sweet, thank you (smiles).
Me - I know (smiles).
FM - Can we stop by yours on the way. I think I've left my earrings by your bed.
Me - Sure.
We set the world to rights over bacon and eggs as we flicked through the morning papers. After enjoying another cup of tea, I paid the bill and turned to her. "Right," I said "lets get you home". She smiled.
I left her in the passenger seat of my car as I went to get her earrings from my flat, pausing only to clarify where she left them. "I think I left them on the window ledge by your bed". "Great" I said. "Back in a sec".
I entered the flat and went straight to the bedroom. I scanned over to the side of my bed and saw a pair of silver hoop earrings. "Excellent" I thought as i put them in my pocket and headed back out to the car.
She was adjusting her lipstick in the mirror of the sun visor as I climbed back into the driving seat. She looked at me and smiled as I handed her the contents of my pocket. "There you go, one pair of earrings" I said as i played with my seat belt and turned the ignition key. I smiled and looked across at her. She looked back at me, only this time the smile had been replaced by an icy stare. "I don't wear hoop earrings".
Sunday 13 December 2009
Christmas Dating
A wise man once said of Christmas "Always have a relationship to see you through the holidays!". Ok, it was Jude Law playing Alfie, but the principle stands true and for us singletons, even more so. This is why internet dating can be so much fun at this time of the year. Because every singleton is prepared to overlook the potential flaws in the opposite sex. Especially in the quest to have a very merry Christmas under the mistletoe.
Which brings me onto my date this week with S, an attractive and petite brunette girl, who I had met through an internet dating site. We had agreed to meet for drinks at a pub in Covent Garden. Unfortunately, she started by arriving late. Now late isn't necessarily bad. Late can be characterful, at least that's when I tell my friends when I’m the culprit. But S was 45 minutes late, and with no apology. I put this to one side in my mind, in the knowledge that this is Christmas time, and to look at the bigger picture. She then broke into what felt like a 60 minute monologue on why Olly whatshisface should win X-Factor. I’m a bloke – I don’t care, I thought as I nodded politely, before she demanded another glass of wine. I could feel my arteries hardening. Unfortunately, it was only my arteries and I needed an escape. My early Christmas present came in the form of a text from friends who were having their own party 10 minutes away.
I know that I said that we can overlook flaws at Christmas, but sometimes escape is the only path. Oh well, at least is still a week and a half left to get merry under the mistletoe.
Which brings me onto my date this week with S, an attractive and petite brunette girl, who I had met through an internet dating site. We had agreed to meet for drinks at a pub in Covent Garden. Unfortunately, she started by arriving late. Now late isn't necessarily bad. Late can be characterful, at least that's when I tell my friends when I’m the culprit. But S was 45 minutes late, and with no apology. I put this to one side in my mind, in the knowledge that this is Christmas time, and to look at the bigger picture. She then broke into what felt like a 60 minute monologue on why Olly whatshisface should win X-Factor. I’m a bloke – I don’t care, I thought as I nodded politely, before she demanded another glass of wine. I could feel my arteries hardening. Unfortunately, it was only my arteries and I needed an escape. My early Christmas present came in the form of a text from friends who were having their own party 10 minutes away.
I know that I said that we can overlook flaws at Christmas, but sometimes escape is the only path. Oh well, at least is still a week and a half left to get merry under the mistletoe.
Wednesday 9 December 2009
Moving On
Last night I met with W. We were having a catch up and he was telling me about his ex girlfriend. Apparently she saw him and his new flame out together last Friday night, kissing in a bar just off Leicester Square. She has since been texting him relentlessly, telling him what a bastard he is for breaking up with her, and that he has ruined her life. She’s also been texting some of his mates, to remind them what a bastard their friend is – just in case they didn’t know. Quite what she hopes to achieve from this lunacy, other than a restraining order is quite beyond me. It got me thinking though about my own ex girlfriend, and made me realise how fortunate I am. You see, my ex is one of my best friends. We have a close and healthy relationship and she is a family friend. In fact the only thing that had made me wonder of late is how our relationship might change in the event of either of us meeting someone new. This brings me onto last Saturday, which proved to be a bit of a milestone. What happened last Saturday? I hear you ask. Well, I will tell you.
I had been in the gym for an hour and a half and decided that I had earned the right to a greasy breakfast - well my willpower in the gym only goes so far after all. I walked the short distance to my local cafe and made my way through the front door. Once inside I was looking forward to bacon and eggs and the morning papers. It was busier than usual as I scanned the room for a free table. Above the noise of the chattering clientele and the barking of the cafe owner to the kitchen staff, someone called out to me. It was A, my ex girlfriend. I noticed there was a jacket on the chair opposite her and a half eaten plate of food in front of it. In my mind I realised who they belonged to and had the new found knowledge that her new boyfriend (who I had recently heard about) was in the building. From there my mind darted to the next important question. Not the menu, but what did he look like? Now in practical and grown up fashion, this shouldn't have mattered or even occurred to me. She is my ex girlfriend after all, and I want to be happy for her and have good things happen in her life. As such I should have just focused on the menu and started thinking about my stomach's breakfast desire. But somehow, there was something inside me that wondered. It wondered about things like, what if he was better looking than me? What if he was richer? What if he had a George Clooneyesque square jaw and tan and that the Porsche convertible parked outside really belonged to him? You know, the usual paranoia. These thoughts, were racing through my mind as I engaged in the "how's work?" chit chat of an everyday catch up.
And then, he appeared and sat next to me. "Hi," he said "Nice to meet you". Needless to say, he was a regular guy and perfectly pleasant. Not George Clooney, not Ricky Gervais, just a nice guy. We chatted, my ex smiled, no doubt happy that we appeared to get on. Then eventually, after nearly half an hour of greasy (although delicious) food and conversation, the three of us left. We said our goodbyes outside and I walked one way and my ex and her new boyfriend walked another. As I walked I looked over my shoulder to see her arm around his waist and his draped over her shoulder as they huddled and walked in the crisp morning air.
And that was that. I turned back the way I was walking and smiled. I was happy for her and glad that she found a nice relationship, but my smile was more for myself. I was feeling happy and contented - I had moved on.
I had been in the gym for an hour and a half and decided that I had earned the right to a greasy breakfast - well my willpower in the gym only goes so far after all. I walked the short distance to my local cafe and made my way through the front door. Once inside I was looking forward to bacon and eggs and the morning papers. It was busier than usual as I scanned the room for a free table. Above the noise of the chattering clientele and the barking of the cafe owner to the kitchen staff, someone called out to me. It was A, my ex girlfriend. I noticed there was a jacket on the chair opposite her and a half eaten plate of food in front of it. In my mind I realised who they belonged to and had the new found knowledge that her new boyfriend (who I had recently heard about) was in the building. From there my mind darted to the next important question. Not the menu, but what did he look like? Now in practical and grown up fashion, this shouldn't have mattered or even occurred to me. She is my ex girlfriend after all, and I want to be happy for her and have good things happen in her life. As such I should have just focused on the menu and started thinking about my stomach's breakfast desire. But somehow, there was something inside me that wondered. It wondered about things like, what if he was better looking than me? What if he was richer? What if he had a George Clooneyesque square jaw and tan and that the Porsche convertible parked outside really belonged to him? You know, the usual paranoia. These thoughts, were racing through my mind as I engaged in the "how's work?" chit chat of an everyday catch up.
And then, he appeared and sat next to me. "Hi," he said "Nice to meet you". Needless to say, he was a regular guy and perfectly pleasant. Not George Clooney, not Ricky Gervais, just a nice guy. We chatted, my ex smiled, no doubt happy that we appeared to get on. Then eventually, after nearly half an hour of greasy (although delicious) food and conversation, the three of us left. We said our goodbyes outside and I walked one way and my ex and her new boyfriend walked another. As I walked I looked over my shoulder to see her arm around his waist and his draped over her shoulder as they huddled and walked in the crisp morning air.
And that was that. I turned back the way I was walking and smiled. I was happy for her and glad that she found a nice relationship, but my smile was more for myself. I was feeling happy and contented - I had moved on.
Saturday 5 December 2009
FH Part 2
I forgot to update on what happened with FH last week. Better late than never though, as the saying goes.
As per usual I was running late. Luckily for me, so was she. I received a text telling me so and advising that she had no sense of direction, but was sure that she would be able to find our meeting point. – a nice little bistro in Soho. I felt more relaxed as I slowed my quick pace to a gentle stroll, arriving ten minutes late but 5 minutes before FH.
I had forgotten the sound of her voice and was quickly reminded of Bonny Langford, circa Just William (i’ll thqueam and i’ll thqueam and i’ll thqueam).
FH: Sthorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long?
(Now to my mind, telling her I was also late would not have looked attractive, so...)
Me: Oh it’s fine, don’t worry. Did you find it ok?
FH: Yes thank you.
I couldn’t get Bonny Langford out of my head, which made me continually smile every time she spoke. This fell by the wayside however as we got into deeper into conversation. She was opinionated – a good sign. However, her opinions seemed to have been derived from the opinion section of the Daily Mail she had found and read on the tube – a bad sign. We covered a lot of ground though, food, drink, politics, celebrity. The actor John Hannah was sitting at the bar looking forlorn and checking his phone every few minutes. I’m “sthtar sthwuck” said FH. We both smiled, although i suspect for different reasons.
After more conversation and another bottle of sauvignon we left. It was getting late and had started to rain as we walked along Old Compton Street. We batted away the offers from the dodgy cab drivers that have become a permanent feature of Soho. The rain started to fall more heavily and the wind blew it in our faces. She clung tightly to my arm as I held the umbrella at an angle to shield us. “Looks like next summer has come early” I mused. She smiled as we moved to a shop doorway and kissed.
FH: I sthould catch my bus.
( kiss)
Me: Are you sure?
FH: Hmm... (kiss) no. But I think I (kiss) sthould.
(kiss - Bus goes straight past without stopping)
Me: Was that your (kiss) bus?
(kiss)
FH: Bugger
I ran my fingers through her hair and kissed her softly on her lips before pointing to a black cab that was heading towards us. “I’m going to catch that cab home to my place.” I said “Would you like to join me?” She smiled and flagged the cab.
As per usual I was running late. Luckily for me, so was she. I received a text telling me so and advising that she had no sense of direction, but was sure that she would be able to find our meeting point. – a nice little bistro in Soho. I felt more relaxed as I slowed my quick pace to a gentle stroll, arriving ten minutes late but 5 minutes before FH.
I had forgotten the sound of her voice and was quickly reminded of Bonny Langford, circa Just William (i’ll thqueam and i’ll thqueam and i’ll thqueam).
FH: Sthorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long?
(Now to my mind, telling her I was also late would not have looked attractive, so...)
Me: Oh it’s fine, don’t worry. Did you find it ok?
FH: Yes thank you.
I couldn’t get Bonny Langford out of my head, which made me continually smile every time she spoke. This fell by the wayside however as we got into deeper into conversation. She was opinionated – a good sign. However, her opinions seemed to have been derived from the opinion section of the Daily Mail she had found and read on the tube – a bad sign. We covered a lot of ground though, food, drink, politics, celebrity. The actor John Hannah was sitting at the bar looking forlorn and checking his phone every few minutes. I’m “sthtar sthwuck” said FH. We both smiled, although i suspect for different reasons.
After more conversation and another bottle of sauvignon we left. It was getting late and had started to rain as we walked along Old Compton Street. We batted away the offers from the dodgy cab drivers that have become a permanent feature of Soho. The rain started to fall more heavily and the wind blew it in our faces. She clung tightly to my arm as I held the umbrella at an angle to shield us. “Looks like next summer has come early” I mused. She smiled as we moved to a shop doorway and kissed.
FH: I sthould catch my bus.
( kiss)
Me: Are you sure?
FH: Hmm... (kiss) no. But I think I (kiss) sthould.
(kiss - Bus goes straight past without stopping)
Me: Was that your (kiss) bus?
(kiss)
FH: Bugger
I ran my fingers through her hair and kissed her softly on her lips before pointing to a black cab that was heading towards us. “I’m going to catch that cab home to my place.” I said “Would you like to join me?” She smiled and flagged the cab.
Thursday 3 December 2009
The First Kiss
My palms were sweaty with nervousness as I walked her down Charring Cross road to the tube station. It was the end of the first date and my mind was ablaze with anguish. Were we going to kiss? We moved closer as we reached the tube, shortly to go our separate ways.. I could feel my heart racing inside my chest as I leaned to place a kiss on the lips of the goddess standing before me…. Only to be crushingly shot down moments later as she offered me – her cheek.
A lot has happened in the twenty years subsequently. The Soviet Union has imploded, the Berlin wall has come down, and my mother no longer cuts my hair. However, sometimes as with recent celebrations in Berlin, one gets to revisit certain memories. This happened to me this week when a work colleague told me the story of a first date he had just been on where, after a nice evening out, he had convinced himself that, in true heroic style, he would get to kiss the girl at the end of the evening. Needless to say, that in tragic Mr Bean style, he didn’t.
“She wasn’t giving off any signals and so I just asked her if I could kiss her” he said. Apparently she smiled, kissed him on his cheek and said “Thanks for a nice evening” .It wasn’t the result he was looking for and wondered where he’d gone wrong. I mentioned this to G, (who traumatised my credit card in the recent house plant extravaganza) who then proceeded to inform me that his fatal error, as Alan Sugar might say, was to ask for permission. “He should have tested the water” she said “He should have been a little bit tactile earlier on to see how she responded or even just kissed her without asking”.
It is small wonder really that guys like my colleague are anxious over how to proceed over seemingly trivial issues such as a first kiss. Feminist emancipation has a lot to answer for in some ways. Watching none other than former 007, Pierce Brosnan on television, telling his fellow men how much they are worth it is arguably evidence that the emasculation of men has gone far enough.
At the end of the day though, we men just don’t do hints. It is not good enough for an adoring girl to look at us and assume that we get the message – we don’t and we never will. So here’s a plea on behalf of my colleague and similar hapless chaps, brow beaten into a life of feminised domesticity. Try and make the first move at least half the time. You never know, we might not give you the cheek.
A lot has happened in the twenty years subsequently. The Soviet Union has imploded, the Berlin wall has come down, and my mother no longer cuts my hair. However, sometimes as with recent celebrations in Berlin, one gets to revisit certain memories. This happened to me this week when a work colleague told me the story of a first date he had just been on where, after a nice evening out, he had convinced himself that, in true heroic style, he would get to kiss the girl at the end of the evening. Needless to say, that in tragic Mr Bean style, he didn’t.
“She wasn’t giving off any signals and so I just asked her if I could kiss her” he said. Apparently she smiled, kissed him on his cheek and said “Thanks for a nice evening” .It wasn’t the result he was looking for and wondered where he’d gone wrong. I mentioned this to G, (who traumatised my credit card in the recent house plant extravaganza) who then proceeded to inform me that his fatal error, as Alan Sugar might say, was to ask for permission. “He should have tested the water” she said “He should have been a little bit tactile earlier on to see how she responded or even just kissed her without asking”.
It is small wonder really that guys like my colleague are anxious over how to proceed over seemingly trivial issues such as a first kiss. Feminist emancipation has a lot to answer for in some ways. Watching none other than former 007, Pierce Brosnan on television, telling his fellow men how much they are worth it is arguably evidence that the emasculation of men has gone far enough.
At the end of the day though, we men just don’t do hints. It is not good enough for an adoring girl to look at us and assume that we get the message – we don’t and we never will. So here’s a plea on behalf of my colleague and similar hapless chaps, brow beaten into a life of feminised domesticity. Try and make the first move at least half the time. You never know, we might not give you the cheek.
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