Story From A Diary

I found a diary last weekend whilst clearing out my spare room. I don’t usually read diaries once I have written them, but the sense of curiosity had got the better of me. What caught my attention was the story of my first attempt at internet dating. It was a memorable evening, for more than one reason...

I was 5 minutes late to the arranged meeting place at Leicester Square tube station and found my date looking less than happy. She was a petite American girl of 30 and was checking her watch. “Hi” I said. “Hi, you’re late” she said with her arms folded. “Oh, sorry about that, I was engrossed in reading and went way past my stop”. “Well I’ve done that before myself, but even so..” She can’t be serious, I thought, it’s 5 minutes, not 50. I asked her if she’d like a drink. “Yes that would be nice” she said.

We walked to a pub just off Shaftsbury Avenue. It was a cosy place with sofas upstairs and a clientele that was slightly less touristy than a number of bars in the area. We had just ordered drinks and were standing at the bar. She was in the middle of talking about her job as a project manager in a bank, when I accidentally yawned. “Am I boring you?” she demanded. The realisation that I had just yawned in her face suddenly dawned on me. Shit, “I’m sorry” I said. “I was at a close friend’s birthday party last night and it didn’t finish until very late” (8am to be honest). “Hmm ok” she said, sounding unsure.

We moved to one of the sofas and carried on our conversation. She started to talk about how she was finding life in London, having recently moved here from Manhattan. Now I like Manhattan and so we found a bit of common ground. From a bit of a shaky start, this didn’t seem to be going too badly.

A girl walked over and asked if the sofa opposite was free. “Er, yeah, sure, help yourself” I said. “Thanks”, she said with a smile as another girl and a guy joined her. I turned back to my date who had now crossed her legs, folded her arms, and was checking her watch. “Er, are you ok?” I asked, sensing hostility. She snorted. “Well you’re obviously only here with me because you can’t go home with her!” The girl on the sofa overheard and raised her eyebrows. I was stumped. “Huh? – She asked me if she and her friends could sit on the sofa, I said yes. What’s the matter?” I’d hoped that she might be reasonable, but she simply raised her tone. “Well nothing, if it wasn’t for the way you were flirting with her!” I had never heard anyone use the word flirting with such vitriol. “Are you serious? She asked a question, I answered, that was it” I said, incredulously. She looked at me, legs still crossed and arms still folded. “Well I’m not going to have sex with you now!” she spat. The girl on the sofa coughed into her drink.

“I’m gonna go” she said, standing up. “Really? I thought we were just starting to hit it off.” “Are you kidding me? I’m not sure I want to see you again” she retorted, zipping up her jacket. I was tempted to make a W with my fingers and thumbs. That would have been too much of a red rag though and instead I mouthed “WHATEVER” as she reached down to pick up her handbag. “Well are you at least going to walk me to the station?” “What do you mean, at least. You’re the one who’s leaving early”. I said, standing up. “Oh, so I’m walking on my own then am I?” Bile was oozing from her every pore. I sat down again slowly and smiled at her before confirming “Yes, pretty much”. She turned and seconds later she was gone.

The girl on the sofa leaned forward. “Excuse me, but I don’t think she was all there . You’re probably well rid of that one”. Her two friends agreed with her. “Would you like to join us?” “Thanks” I said and for the next two hours we talked dating horror stories, relationships and politics – not sure how we moved onto the last topic, but it was a lively discussion. We got to the end of the evening and the girl on the sofa and I exchanged numbers. We are still friends to this day and I have mentioned her a few times before in this blog. Regular readers will know her as G, and this was the bizarre tale of how we first met.

Childhood Nostalgia

I have many fond memories of my childhood years. Some of the fondest though are based in Clacton on Sea. It was the place where my grandparents on my father’s side lived. We were not terribly wealthy when I was growing up. Many school friends would talk about their summer holidays in Corfu or places in Italy. Their trips all seemed very grand and beyond our reach, and yet it didn’t seem to matter. From being a toddler through to my teenage years, my brothers and I would spend at least one week a year at Clacton on Sea and we loved it. We would walk from my grandparent’s house, past a very large mock Tudor house that supposedly housed a pop group (whether it actually did or not, we never found out). It had a big sign on the door warning of a Doberman patrolling the grounds, although we never saw it. We would walk excitedly towards the sea front, eagerly waiting for the moment when we would catch our first glimpse of the sea. When we finally got there, we would marvel at the pier in the distance. The walk along the sea front seemed to go on for miles. We would become more eager the closer we got to the pier, watching it grow on the horizon line. Once there we would scour underneath it for any discarded remains of the fishermen's catch that morning.

I make reference to all of this because I travelled to Clacton again last week, to visit a friend who has recently bought a house there. I am a sucker for nostalgia and can be prone to sentiment. So I decided to revisit the childhood stomping ground of those early years. One of the first things I noticed was the chav nature of the town centre. It was most likely always that way in hindsight and such is the innocence of the young mind that we probably just used to see through such things. The amusement arcades in town, once seemingly like a mini Las Vegas, now looked small and provincial and used by pensioners and a few hoodies. The pier no longer seemed to go out for miles to sea and the amazing rides we used to go on were now closed down until late spring. When we were very young, we used to wonder what might be out to sea in the distance – Sharks? Treasure? Pirates perhaps...? Now I know. It’s a wind farm and is 5 miles off shore.

The details of the road my grandparents lived on are so clear in my mind. The imagery from childhood so vivid that it was like comparing photographs of now and then. To my mind it was exactly the how I remembered it, even down to the colour of the paintwork above the garage door next to the house itself. I looked up the driveway and was overcome with an urge to walk up to the front door and call on the new owners, wondering what the house looked like now. I got halfway, paused and then turned back. I decided that some memories are probably best left in the past.

So you may be thinking that the passage of time has taken the sheen of a once favourite place by the sea. The truth however, is quite the contrary. What actually happened last week when visiting Clacton was that I walked some old walks and drove the roads my father and grandparents used to drive. I ate in cafes by the beach where previously my mother had bought us buckets and spades and for two days I was taken back to the memories of one of the happiest times of my life.

I popped into my local pub to meet a friend, upon returning to London. We hadn't seen each other for a little while and he asked what I’d been up to. “I’ve just spent a few days with a mate in Clacton” I said. “Clacton on Sea? He asked "That’s a bit bloody boring isn’t it?” "Only a bit mate" I told him, "only a bit".