It’s a cool wet afternoon in early September as we wander past the Oxo Tower on London’s South Bank. We walk arm in arm and are dressed for a day in late October, such has been the seemingly permanent miserable nature of English summer. “Well..?” I ask. She takes a deep breath and looks at me, “You’re crazy and intense – it’s too much. I don’t want to see you anymore!” I frown as I look at her. “Well that’s not very nice is it” I say as I scratch my chin. “Well how else am I supposed to get through to him?” says G.
I haven’t heard a lot about this guy she’s seeing, and so I’m curious. “Well what’s he like - is he a dick?” I ask. “No, not really. He’s a nice guy” she says. “Okay..” I say, pondering as I take in the information. “What does he look like – is he ugly?” “Nooo” she says defensively, before smiling “In fact he’s got sort of a Bruce Willis thing going on.” “Really? Is he bald?” I ask. “No, he’s not bald” she snaps, “he’s just got a shaved head.” “Oh, you mean like Matt Lucas?” She looks at me with her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. “So how's your love life?” She asks. “Uh uh, don’t change the subject” I say, kicking a stray conker on the floor. “Do kids still play conkers?” asks G as she watches the conker leave my shoe. “No idea” I say “30 years ago I’d have had that one and taken it home. These days I think the little bastards either spend all day masturbating or playing with their X-boxes.” “Or masturbating WHILST playing with their X-boxes” G counters. We laugh and bump shoulders.
“So, what about this guy?” I say. “Ohh I don’t knowww...” she says, in a way that reminds of my nieces, when I ask them what they’re going to do with their lives. “Well, if he’s a nice guy, then be nice to him and let him down gently. There’s no point upsetting people needlessly. And don’t do what I did with ‘tits on a stick’.” She looks at me, puzzled. “What happened with her again?”
Tits on a stick, as the name suggests, was a girl with huge breasts and a tiny waist, who I went on a number of dates with a few years ago. She was nice and a sweet girl. She was opinionated, which I like, although her opinions tended to be a bit sanctimonious and when we met up, you kind of got the feeling that she had swallowed that days Guardian. Ultimately though, my heart wasn’t in it. I liked her, but I didn’t like her enough to want to go out with her and if I carried on seeing her, then sooner or later she would get on my nerves. As I walked her to the tube station after our last date together, I knew that it was a journey I was making with her for the last time. I looked at my shoes as we walked the last 20 or so metres as I wondered what I was going to say. So when she hung her arms around my neck and said “Ok, see you in a few days”, all I could think was ‘You won’t you know.’ In the end I took the coward’s way out – I didn’t reply to her emails or texts.
“You bastard!” says G. “I know!” I protest. Her eyes are narrowed as she spits out the words “I hope you realise that you probably made her feel like shit!?” “Yes, I know, which is why I’m telling you that if this bloke of yours is a nice guy, then to go easy on him.” I take her arm again and we carry on walking along the river, past the National Theatre. “Don’t get me wrong, I am ashamed of what I did and I wouldn’t do it again.” “Hmmm...” she says, not quite believing me. “Ok, do you know B?” I ask. “Oh I think I’ve met her a couple of times” she says, before raising her eye brows and indicating to me and an imaginary person with her index finger “you mean you and her..?” I nod “Yup” Before she prods me “Well what happened?”
I start to tell her the history. That I went on a few dates with B but that it wasn’t a good time for me. I’ve no idea why really, looking back she was great. The point, was that I didn’t want to go on seeing her just for the sake of it. She was a nice girl and so I didn’t want to hurt her, although inevitably she was bound to feel some hurt. I took her out for a drink to talk and I explained, or tried to explain, that I didn’t think it was the right time for me to be in a new relationship, and that because of that, I felt my heart just wasn’t in it. I liked her though and told her that I would like to remain friends. Yes, I know that might sound like a typical “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, but I genuinely meant every word. She had no idea it was coming as she looked at me and sighed a big sigh. “Ohh... ok.. (sigh) well.. if that’s how you feel...(sigh) I’d better go..” She picked up her coat and bag, kissed me on the cheek and walked out the pub door. As I watched her leave, I knew that I had done the right thing. However, I also felt as if I had just shot Bambi’s mother in the face and had Bambi standing in front of me, pleading, with tears in his eyes, as to how I could be so heartless.
“But she’s a good mate of yours isn’t she?” asks G quizzically. “Yup – but that’s what I’m saying. If this guy’s a nice bloke, and you’re not too harsh in how you finish it, then you might end up with a good mate.”
The clouds open as we reach the second hand book market under Waterloo Bridge. “Come on” she says, “It’s my round and I can’t think on an empty stomach.” We walk into a bar opposite and she fumbles with her bag. I put my hand on her arm “I’ll get this, you can buy the next one” I say. She smiles and turns to pop to the ladies. She’s half way there before she turns back to me. “Oh and by the way, I can be very nice. In fact that’s why you like me so much” she says and sticks her tongue out before giggling and heading to the toilets. I smile and watch her go before noticing her perfect bottom in her tight low slung jeans as she skips away. ‘Of course, that’s exactly the reason...’
Saturday 24 September 2011
Saturday 3 September 2011
A Moment of Shyness
I’m at a Jazz concert with friends, eating dinner and drinking wine, within the crypt of an old church in the West End of London. The band itself is playing quite a funky mix of covers and quite a few members of the audience are dancing around their tables – some, more embarrassingly than others it has to be said. The demographic is such that we seem to be one of the most youthful tables at the venue – although this tends to lend itself to a more relaxed and friendly atmosphere.
Out of the corner of my eye, I have seen a girl dancing alone who seems to be having a great time. She looks like she might be Spanish or Portuguese. She is about 27 or 28, with long brown hair and big brown eyes. Whether she’s alone or not, I can only guess, as I scan the area to see who she might be with.
Someone fetches another bottle of wine and we dip into more conversation. I occasionally look over to steal glances at the girl as a friend talks to me. She hasn’t stopped dancing and looks for all the world like she’s having the time of her life. I turn back to my friend to listen to the rest of what he is saying, and realise that he has stopped talking and is staring at me. “What?” I say. “Go and talk to her” he says. “No, she’s obviously having a good time and is just into her dancing. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway” I say casually. It’s true, I have a mental block about what to say. This is ridiculous. How is it that I can arrange a date with a beautiful stranger at a set of traffic lights in the pouring rain and yet I’m too shy to say hello, in a relaxed and romantic setting such as this..? “Just fucking go and say hello” says my friend, supportively. He knows the truth though - that I have been struck by a crippling shyness and can’t see a way out of it.
An older woman looks at me, and motions for me to go over to her. She has been sitting to the right of where the girl is dancing and I wonder if they’re together as part of the same group.
I walk over to her and smile. “You young people, you waste too much time” she says, shaking her head and indicating over at the girl. “You’ve been looking at her all night – go and dance with her” I look at the dancing girl, and she looks at me and she smiles and then we are dancing together and it feels so easy, and then two minutes later I hear the lead singer of the band over the speakers “Ok, this is the last song of the night”. “Oh what!!?” I’m not sure if I’ve said it aloud or in my head. I look at the older woman. “I told you” she says.
The girl and I continue to dance until the music stops and I tell her my name and ask her where she’s from. She offers me her hand. “I’m Priscilla” she says “I’m from Brazil but I’ve only been here 3 days” It turns out that she’s in town for only one more day before going to Liverpool for a few days and then going on to the Czech Republic, before heading back to Brazil. “Are you here with friends?” I ask. “No, I’m travelling alone. I love it that way and I’m having such a wonderful time. Every day I’m thinking of 5 things to do and then I discover 5 more things. It’s a wonderful city” She is full of optimism and wide eyed enthusiasm, in a way which is so unbelievably attractive. A moments silence ensues as the place starts to empty “Well, I’d better go – I need to try and call home. It was lovely to meet you though” she says, as my friends walk over. “Bye then” I say, unable to think of a way to detain her, and I watch as she turns and walks off with a wave of her hand.
“There you go mate, do you feel better for talking to her?” “No” I say, “Oh fucking hell..” I dejectedly curse under my breath. I’m annoyed at myself for faffing around and not speaking to her earlier and I tell my friend as much on our way to the exit. As I get to the bottom of the stairs though, I see her again, picking up leaflets of things to do in London. “Hello again” I say. “Oh hello” she says with a smile. We climb the stairs to the exit together and she talks more in detail about her trip and how she enjoys travelling alone to see new places, as she gets to do a lot more things and meet a lot more people. My friends walk over to say goodbye to me, and she takes this as her cue to leave, for good this time. “Oh well, it was really lovely to meet you” she says. She hugs me goodbye and we kiss on both cheeks and I watch as she joins the crowds of tourists heading towards Trafalgar Square.
“Sorry mate, we didn’t mean to interrupt. We only came over to say see you later.” I sigh and let out a deep breath before wearing a manufactured smile. “Don’t worry about it mate, my fault.” I turn back and watch, feeling impotent to the moment, as she gradually gets crowded out by the tourists before finally disappearing from view. And already the self recrimination has set in, as I torture myself with the haunting memory of yet another road not taken.
Still, I guess there’s always next time...
Out of the corner of my eye, I have seen a girl dancing alone who seems to be having a great time. She looks like she might be Spanish or Portuguese. She is about 27 or 28, with long brown hair and big brown eyes. Whether she’s alone or not, I can only guess, as I scan the area to see who she might be with.
Someone fetches another bottle of wine and we dip into more conversation. I occasionally look over to steal glances at the girl as a friend talks to me. She hasn’t stopped dancing and looks for all the world like she’s having the time of her life. I turn back to my friend to listen to the rest of what he is saying, and realise that he has stopped talking and is staring at me. “What?” I say. “Go and talk to her” he says. “No, she’s obviously having a good time and is just into her dancing. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway” I say casually. It’s true, I have a mental block about what to say. This is ridiculous. How is it that I can arrange a date with a beautiful stranger at a set of traffic lights in the pouring rain and yet I’m too shy to say hello, in a relaxed and romantic setting such as this..? “Just fucking go and say hello” says my friend, supportively. He knows the truth though - that I have been struck by a crippling shyness and can’t see a way out of it.
An older woman looks at me, and motions for me to go over to her. She has been sitting to the right of where the girl is dancing and I wonder if they’re together as part of the same group.
I walk over to her and smile. “You young people, you waste too much time” she says, shaking her head and indicating over at the girl. “You’ve been looking at her all night – go and dance with her” I look at the dancing girl, and she looks at me and she smiles and then we are dancing together and it feels so easy, and then two minutes later I hear the lead singer of the band over the speakers “Ok, this is the last song of the night”. “Oh what!!?” I’m not sure if I’ve said it aloud or in my head. I look at the older woman. “I told you” she says.
The girl and I continue to dance until the music stops and I tell her my name and ask her where she’s from. She offers me her hand. “I’m Priscilla” she says “I’m from Brazil but I’ve only been here 3 days” It turns out that she’s in town for only one more day before going to Liverpool for a few days and then going on to the Czech Republic, before heading back to Brazil. “Are you here with friends?” I ask. “No, I’m travelling alone. I love it that way and I’m having such a wonderful time. Every day I’m thinking of 5 things to do and then I discover 5 more things. It’s a wonderful city” She is full of optimism and wide eyed enthusiasm, in a way which is so unbelievably attractive. A moments silence ensues as the place starts to empty “Well, I’d better go – I need to try and call home. It was lovely to meet you though” she says, as my friends walk over. “Bye then” I say, unable to think of a way to detain her, and I watch as she turns and walks off with a wave of her hand.
“There you go mate, do you feel better for talking to her?” “No” I say, “Oh fucking hell..” I dejectedly curse under my breath. I’m annoyed at myself for faffing around and not speaking to her earlier and I tell my friend as much on our way to the exit. As I get to the bottom of the stairs though, I see her again, picking up leaflets of things to do in London. “Hello again” I say. “Oh hello” she says with a smile. We climb the stairs to the exit together and she talks more in detail about her trip and how she enjoys travelling alone to see new places, as she gets to do a lot more things and meet a lot more people. My friends walk over to say goodbye to me, and she takes this as her cue to leave, for good this time. “Oh well, it was really lovely to meet you” she says. She hugs me goodbye and we kiss on both cheeks and I watch as she joins the crowds of tourists heading towards Trafalgar Square.
“Sorry mate, we didn’t mean to interrupt. We only came over to say see you later.” I sigh and let out a deep breath before wearing a manufactured smile. “Don’t worry about it mate, my fault.” I turn back and watch, feeling impotent to the moment, as she gradually gets crowded out by the tourists before finally disappearing from view. And already the self recrimination has set in, as I torture myself with the haunting memory of yet another road not taken.
Still, I guess there’s always next time...
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