Wearing Jeans

Yet another day of trying to figure out what to do with myself on vacation... Originally I'd thought about going up to Cambridge and perhaps seeing Mr Attractive (using the excuse of a German friend's birthday), but it never came to pass, and I'd just wasted a Saturday. Quite annoyed with myself, because I'd really wanted to see Mr Attractive, but I suppose it's my own fault for not making plans earlier.

Since I knew my friend Zhan was moving today, I sent him a text with an offer to come help move boxes. Zhan is one of those friends whom I owe so many favours, I'll never be able to repay them in my lifetime, but he also owes me a ton too, so it's just keeping with our usual pattern to offer to do nice things for each other!

I made it over to Zhan's new place, where he wasn't home (out picking up some furniture or something), but his girlfriend was there to let me in, so I came in and sat with her having some cups of tea for a while. I'd never really gotten the chance to talk to her one-on-one before, and although I've always liked her, I was pleased with how much more I liked her as we chatted. Zhan has always been one of those guys who you felt deserved a nice girl, so it's a relief to see life working out as it should, as he ends up with a lovely girl who adores him.

Zhan and his new flatmate returned, I helped them heft boxes up the stairs to the new flat, and aided where I could as they sorted through all of their kitchen stuff. Before too long however, it was time for me to get going to my friend Steph's party that she was having that evening.

I really wish I'd taken a closer look at the invite, as then I might have noted both the location of the event (Grosvenor St) and the dress code (smart casual), as then I wouldn't have shown up wearing jeans! I was quite surprised that a friend of mine managed to afford a one-bedroom place all to herself right off of Grosvenor Square (quite a posh address), and the instant I walked into the building I realised I'd erred in my choice of attire. (Also an error was forgetting to stop in an off-licence to grab a bottle of wine before I showed up, as the neighbourhood where she lived was too posh to have an off-licence anywhere nearby!)

When I arrived, a number of people remarked on me wearing jeans, more in a "I didn't realise you owned jeans!" kind of way, not intending to be cruel, but it did make me embarassed about my incorrect attire. And do I always dress that formally that people think I don't own jeans?

Survived the party, chatting nicely with Super-Social Scottish Guy, who was asking me about my love life (common topic these days, it seems), and even inquired about the Wild Welshman, but I had to remark that he never seemed interested in being anything other than friends. My ego has taken such a beating recently, I'm feeling a bit down and out about the whole dating thing.

Of course, some men still take an interest, which is how I found myself absolutely trapped in conversation with a guy who probably has Asbergers, as he continually stood way too close to me, and really did a crap job of keeping the conversation going. I also have to admit, that belting his trousers right beneath his chest was also quite distracting. I wonder with boys like that, do they realise how unattractive they are to women?

Another reason to be annoyed about my decision to wear jeans, was that at the last-minute my friend Doro texted me to ask if I were going to the German guy's drinks party at the club. And I would have slipped out of Steph's party and gone (it was just down the street), but I was wearing jeans and so couldn't go to the club. A lesson learned, never wear jeans out to parties again!

Picnic and Movie Night

It's the first day of a week-long Easter vacation! And the weather was gorgeous, sunny and warm, perfect t-shirt and picnic weather.

Just to get out of the house, I went to Holland Park, and while I was there got a buzz from my friend Will Hall, encouraging me to join his crew for a picnic in the Kensington Palace Gardens. So I made my way over to where he said they would be, and joined the crowd for some strawberries, baguette and brie. Chatted to Will's friend who was an opera singer, which is among the more unusual careers I've heard of people having. We were joined after a while by Lewis, a chap who always amuses us by never seeming to have a hair out of place, and indeed he showed up impeccably turned out in a jacket and chinos, bringing with him ice creams from Fortnum and Mason. Overall, just a perfect afternoon out in the sun.


After a few hours however, we decided to pack it in, and upon discovering that the opera singer lived in my general direction, I walked with her as we made our way home. I felt my phone buzz as we walked, but chose not to interrupt the conversation while we were walking and talking. Yet as soon as we said our good-byes at Holland Park, I checked my missed calls, and saw that the Young Dutchman had called. So I called him back, whereupon he asked me if I might be free to go to a movie with him that night.

Of course, why not? My first day of vacation and I wasn't doing anything, so I agreed that I would meet him at the Lansdowne after I'd gone home and changed.

When I arrived at the Lansdowne, the whole place was absolutely dead, and there was only the Young Dutchman and four other people at a table. Upon seeing me, the Young Dutchman greeted me with a kiss and said, "Love the dress, darling!" Gosh, just made me remember why I like him so much, as that compliment was just what I needed. (And yes, the dress is perhaps a tad low-cut, which all boys seem to like!)

When it came time for us to leave for the movie, the Young Dutchman invited everyone else to come along, but nobody was crazy enough to want to go to a movie south of the river. So it was just going to be the two of us, which was fine with me.

We got to Southwark and then walked for ages to find this theatre, while the Young Dutchman took a call from a girl, and then complained to me about some of these girls he casually "dates" who he feels take advantage of his good nature a bit. To me, the problem is incredibly simple, in that he dates young simpletons (easy to impress), but then gets bored with them because they're simpletons. That's where I come in, as the one girl who paces him (and sometimes out-paces him) intellectually.

We arrived at the movie theatre, which was actually a bar with a theatre in the back. The Young Dutchman introduced me to the director and lead actor of the film we were about to see, and we chatted to them for a bit until they called us in to be seated for the film. Such a gent too, as once we were seated, he went back out to buy us drinks, so I got to sit back with a G&T for the entire film.

The movie was surprisingly well-acted, even if I didn't totally agree with the storyline. (It required too much suspension of disbelief, if you ask me). But mostly it was fun as the two of us cuddled up for the film, sharing popcorn, and pointing out the funniest bits to each other as we laughed along. And that was one of the things I actually noticed most, was how the seats were so small that we were pretty much on top of each other to avoid being inappropriately close to our neighbours, but how nice it was just to have that physical closeness with someone.

After the movie, we went outside and had a few drinks with the director and lead actor, and I found it to be a fascinating experience, to watch this film and be totally bought into this character, and then have a few drinks with him and realise that he was actually a totally different guy. Which made me all that much more impressed with his acting ability. Seriously, I have no idea why this guy isn't more famous, because his acting was really superb.

Mostly we just had fun with the Young Dutchman and I trading thoughts on XKCD cartoons, funny web videos, and the nature of the internet. I think the actor guy was more bemused with the two of us in our rapid-fire exchanges, as we obviously are somewhat simpatico when it comes to being on the same wavelength.

As it approached midnight (and then went past it), I tried not to be nervous as it was obvious that we were going to miss the last Tube home, and we would be stuck in South London. Finally, I managed to get the Young Dutchman to leave with me, but at this hour in South London there were no cabs to be found. Nothing to do but walk towards London Bridge and hope we passed a cab along the way.

Although my feet didn't hurt, I wasn't as quick as the Young Dutchman, until he finally sighed, "Ah, girls in heels! Here, take my arm." And I had to smile at how he so instinctively knew why girls occasionally need a gentleman to proffer his arm, so I took it and we made much quicker progress towards the train station, chatting all the way about the ending of the movie. I argued that while all movies don't have to have happy endings, you still go to movies for a bit of escapism, and so a movie that leaves you feeling disconcerted doesn't really feel like a good movie. And then I made the comment, "It's not like I go to see Shindler's List thinking, 'Oh, I really hope the Holocaust doesn't happen in this film!'" to which the Young Dutchman just burst out laughing so hard he had to stop walking, and insisted on writing that phrase down in his Blackberry. I always like that, how I so seem to get the Young Dutchman's sense of humour that I can make him laugh until he pees his pants.

Finally, we caught a cab the short remaining distance to London Bridge station, and then parted with a kiss on each cheek, so delighted to have seen each other that evening. In the end, I only made it to Bond Street before having to get the rest of the way home on a night bus, but at least I wasn't stuck in South London!

Finding My New Flat

On Monday morning, after the surprise announcement by my flatmate on Friday and failing to see the flat I wanted on Saturday, I once again took to looking for a new place to live, with two appointments to see places.

The first place was a one-bedroom, but really much too small. The room with the bedroom was basically the size of the bed, you just had to dive into the bed from the end of the room, there was no room to actually get around it. The living room was equally small, and I felt positively claustrophobic hanging out in there.

The second place was a studio flat, which was less ideal (I like the idea of having a separate room), but other than that it was really lovely. There was a full kitchen, plenty of room within the flat (I could see using some creative use of bookshelves to make it seem like more than one room), and the price was hard to argue with (£950 per month including all bills). About the only downsides were that the shower was a bit on the small side, and it didn't have built-in storage, instead a free-standing wardrobe.

Still, I was reluctant to take only the second place I'd seen, particularly without getting a second opinion. I wanted to rush home and talk to my parents about it, although it was unfortunate that my flatmate had chosen today, of all days, to work from home! Hence, not a discussion I wanted to be having where she could overhear.

So I found myself having a conversation with my parents whilst pacing up and down the street outside my flat (thank goodness it was a warm and sunny day!) Finally decided to go for it, and so then had to get to my flat, call the estate agent, and then run over to the estate agent's office to put down my deposit, all before racing back to my flat in time for my 2 PM conference call.

As though my day wasn't busy enough, I was then out to play squash with my friend David in the evening, although I think it was a good rally for the both of us, just burning off some steam and enjoying an escape from the exhaustion of the day. Squash is such a great game, as it gets rid of all stress and just makes every day seem better.

Hoppe Exhibit

This afternoon I had made plans to join my friend Sara (who I hadn't seen in a little while) and another friend of hers to go see an exhibit of the photographs of E. O. Hoppe at the National Portrait Gallery.

Her friend had gotten the tickets for free as part of her work at JP Morgan, so we went and had a nice cultural afternoon, wandering around the museum. Nice photographs, although I have to say that his later work was much more interesting than his earlier work, where the improvements in photographic technology really became apparent.

After wandering the exhibit for an hour, we went to lunch at a place where Sara had made a reservation. Good food, but I was totally shocked at the price... The meal came to £45 each, much more than I would pay for a much better meal at my club! I like these cultural afternoons with Sara, but I'm definitely not quite in her price range yet for what she feels is normal.

I had to dash from lunch early however, as I was due to meet an estate agent at 4:30 PM to see a flat I'd been interested in online. So you can imagine my frustration after leaving lunch early, to find that the estate agent didn't even bother to show up! Ah well, so begins my exciting search for somewhere new to live...

Charles Birthday Drinks

I was working from home today, but because our cleaner unexpectedly showed up at 10:30 AM (she doesn't normally come until 2:30 PM), I didn't get a chance to shower until later in the day, and had just finished coming out of the shower and making lunch, when I was surprised to find my flatmate coming home 2 hours early at 3 PM!

So needless to say, I wasn't dressed, the kitchen was a mess, and I was totally flustered by this surprise interruption. Not the best time to have my flatmate say, "I think we need to talk". So you can imagine how caught off-guard I was when she asked me if I wanted to exercise our break clause. I was flustered, totally taken aback, and didn't know what to say, so gabbled on endlessly and desperately tried to change the topic. Why on earth do people always tackle you with difficult conversations when you're least prepared for them?

I told her no at the time, that I didn't want to break our lease, because I was so surprised by the question, but upon reflecting on it, realised it's one of those things like toothpaste: Once it's out, you can't put it back in. If my flatmate didn't want me to live with her, then I really didn't want to live with her either.

Then when my first opportunity came to finish up work and escape the flat (which had now become a very tense place), I was glad of it, and made my way to the Lansdowne for our friend Charles' birthday drinks. I don't remember too much about the evening, except to say that sometimes escaping to a welcoming place to the company of friends is just what you need after a stressful day!

Dinner with Dr T

I was surprised when only a few days after suggesting to Dr T that we should meet up for drinks, he quickly got back to me with a date and time only a few days later. Normally it takes me months to set up something with Dr T!

I arrived at the club a few minutes late, but found Dr T and took him to the bar to grab a drink. Since it was a warm evening, I suggested that we might take our drinks up to the terrace and enjoy this summer weather that is finally coming our way.

When we arrived up on the terrace, I smiled as I recognized a familiar face (although I really only saw him from the back, even from the back I knew who it was in an instant). So I gave the Wild Welshman a kiss, and asked if we could join him. He was apparently just having a drink before heading over to the Carlton Club, as James Douglas had invited him for a Younger Member's event there that evening. Apparently he'd been at the RAC drinks the night before (which the Head of Inter-Club had invited me too but I'd been too tired/lame to attend), and had been invited then. I almost wondered if I should have gone to the RAC last night, but then what was the point, really? After all, I was already busy today anyway.

So we chatted there, the three of us, for a bit, and Dr T seemed to enjoy chatting with the Wild Welshman for a bit, even as they made fun of my fondness for math jokes. The Wild Welshman commented on a video I'd posted on Facebook of twin boys talking to each other (if you haven't seen it, it's hilarious!) and I had to comment that I thought his commentary on it was hysterical, as he'd imagined them as characters from "Waiting for Godot". It's one of the things I like so much about the Wild Welshman, is that he's obviously got a brain that's engaged. Too bad I've just about given up hope that it will ever be engaged with me...

Eventually, the Wild Welshman finished his drink and headed on to the Carlton Club, and so I sat continuing to chat with Dr T for a bit, before he said, "Shall we head down to dinner?" Oh, I hadn't realised we were doing dinner (hadn't booked in or anything), but sure, why not? (Goodness knows I don't have any food in my flat anymore!)

We had a nice dinner with a half carafe of wine (Dr T will be running the Boston Marathon with his entire family in a few weeks, so we had to keep it light), and chatted about the expense of living in London, whether he'd return to Denmark, and trying to strike the right work-life balance. A good conversation on the whole, although he does have some weird tics based on the fact that English is not his native language. Lots of talking and an enjoyable dinner nonetheless.

When I'd been asking my old friend on Sunday about how to tell if a guy friend has a crush on you, we had a number of theories, but finally he said to me, "Pay attention to the conversation. What does he talk about? Other girls? Your dating life?" Indeed, those things didn't come up once. It was all just conversation about politics, news, and European identity. No casual touching or anything flirtatious either though. Hmmm... As with all boys, this one is a puzzle. But perhaps like all boys, it's simple enough: He doesn't know what he wants.

Finally it was time to go, as it was getting late and we both needed to go home to bed. So we made our way out of the club, we walked me back to the Tube, and we parted with a kiss on each cheek, with a promise that he would organize the next outing at his end of town. A lovely night with a boy I like, I think I'll take it...

Sherry Tasting

I arrived in a rush, as I'd been struggling to get off conference calls before I was due to come to the event. Hence, when I arrived, although I wasn't late, I was thrust right into the sherry tasting and there wasn't any time to socialize with people.

As I stood there, slightly bored, I scouted the room, and there really wasn't much in the way of talent. I mean, I know there are single guys out there and all, but as I looked around a room of pudgy, overweight guys with bad teeth, bad hair, and bald spots, I had to think on to Cookie's advice from last night: If you're not attracted to them at the start, will you ever be when they lose their looks?

Yet, there was one guy who seemed the best of the bunch, despite wearing a tie that obviously did not match his shirt. Still, once we were given opportunities to talk and socialize, I found a way to slowly circulate to that side of the room, managed to insert myself into the conversation, and before long we were chatting just the two of us. I completely missed his name (Mike, was it?) but it turned out we knew quite a few people in common, so that provided some topics of conversation.

The sherries were all quite bad actually, although I don't suppose I've ever really liked sherry. They did have some great canapes though, so I pretty much had dinner from eating canapes as they came around.

Circulated a bit more to make sure I spoke to my friend Doro, and then found myself in conversation with Saturday's Birthday Boy. And as we were chatting and he kept smiling and having awkward pauses, I was struck by the thought, "Oh no, you DO like me!" And so, to avoid getting stuck too much in awkward one-on-one conversation, I pulled into conversation this awkward Russian girl who I normally hate talking to. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Pretty quickly, I was reminded of why I don't like talking to her, when she started talking about how she had been holding back tears when a friend told her this evening she was engaged, and how she was always trying to avoid crying when she heard about friends getting engaged. It was only after a bit that I realised she wasn't talking about tears of joy, but genuine upset at other people's good news while she was still single. WTF? What is WRONG with you? Why not be happy for people?

(For the record, when I heard Cookie's news last night I was nothing but utterly thrilled).

Finally, the One Decent-Looking Chap came over to say that he was leaving but that it had been great meeting me, so I took the excuse to escape the bizarre conversation and leave with him. Had a nice time talking going to the Tube, and I gave him my card, although was a bit put off my the fact that I had to offer it to him without him asking. I made an "American Psycho" joke, he picked up on the Bret Eaton Ellis bit, and then I screwed up by getting the main character's name wrong. Given that it's about ever guy's favourite book, perhaps I should actually read it. Still, I was impressed that he reads.

And then as we parted on the train, he just waved good-bye without giving me a kiss or anything, which reminded me that we'd really only been talking because he was the most decent-looking guy in the room, and all things considered I'd probably been the most attractive girl there. It wasn't a deep connection, it was really just a way to pass the time.

I checked my phone and saw that there was a message from the Head of Inter-Club inviting me over to the RAC for drinks, and I considered going, but at the critical moment when I needed to change trains, I decided to pass. I'd already had enough of making polite and awkward conversation this evening with a guy who had a crush on me, no need to put myself into the situation of having to do it again.

But as I walked home, I did think, "How nice would it be just to have a boyfriend? Then I could just be friends with all of these guys without worrying about all of the weird unrequited crushes!" Of course, other good reasons to have a boyfriend, but the advantages there would be many...

P.S. Bonus note from the next day... Much to my shock, the next morning the One Decent-Looking Chap added me on FB. (Okay, this doesn't actually count as getting in touch, but it's some sort of action to maintain contact, so I have to give him credit for it). And now I know his name!

Cookie is Engaged!

When I arrived at the hash to run this evening, I raced into the bathroom for one last pit stop before we went out on the run, where I ran into Cookie. She actually almost didn't say anything, except held up her left hand. I shrieked with delight when I saw the ring there, and gave her a super-excited hug. What wonderful news!

After the run, I was able to get more of the story, which was that he'd asked her two weeks ago while she had been out in Germany visiting him (he's in the Army and stationed out there). It was actually quite a funny story, as she said the proposal didn't come as a total surprise (they've been together for five years and own a house together), but she didn't realise that he had planned on proposing that weekend. And so, he'd had this brilliant plan to propose to her whilst they were out on a run (I would think that a horrible idea, to be hot and sweaty in the midst of a proposal, but I know the both of them are athletic, so perhaps it made sense for them). Except that after an afternoon of sight-seeing in Germany, she was tired and decided to skip the run.

The poor chap, thinking on the fly, then suggested they go downtown for a drink, and he figured he would propose in a beautiful spot in town. Except when they got there, a whole group of loud adolescents were there, so that killed that idea too!

So they went for a drink, with the boy hoping that the loud teenagers would be gone when they came back, but no dice. So they went for dinner, and at last it was very late (about 1 AM), when finally the beautiful spot was free and clear, and he was able to at last get down on one knee and ask her. She said yes, and they were all happy and now thinking they needed to toast their engagement with champagne. Except it was 1 AM, and everything was shut!

They ran back to the hotel, remembering that the hotel bar was open until 1:45 AM. Except despite that they made it back at 1:40 AM, the hotel bar was already shut. Looking around for somewhere else to go, they found a place that was still open, except as they sat their, drinking their champagne, they realised that the "bar" was filled with old men and very tarty-looking women who were all over them, and who then occasionally disappeared through a door in the back. At which point it dawned on Cookie: They were toasting their engagement in a brothel!!

All of which made for a very funny story, one that I think will make for good telling to their grandkids some years hence. Yet, it was hilarious to me how Cookie glossed over the details as she was telling it to other people (I guess she'd had enough of telling the story numerous times), so finally I just took over the telling of the story (embellishing it slightly, of course!) I just love telling stories (even when they are other people's), and at least as I had everyone cracking up in hysterics at the story, one of the people laughing her head off at the tale was Cookie herself!

Finally, we kept chatting late into the evening, until it was only myself, Cookie and Sweedy left, along with a few of the guys. And then Pork Pie pointed out that it was almost his birthday, which I realised was right. (I'm one of the people who knows his true birthday, although he puts a fake one up on Facebook to confuse people). He's turning 28, and we heard the story of how his ex-girlfriend got knocked up, how he got quite upset when he heard the news, and went around to his current girlfriend's house to moan about it (and how she didn't take kindly to hearing how upset he was about an ex-girlfriend). Kind of an amusing conversation overall, just about how boys are shallow but yet have emotions too...

At 11 PM, I finally decided I was tired and ready to go home, so I gave Luke (guy I've always known and liked, I think we have mild crushes on each other) a kiss on the forehead, to which he protested and insisted I take it back. Kind of hilarious scene, where I had to "take back" the kiss on the forehead and put it somewhere else. And then since it was Pork Pie's birthday, gave him a nice, sloppy kiss on the lips. It made me laugh.

The other two girls remaining decided to come with me, and so we all walked to the Tube together. And then as we were standing at the Tube, Cookie said, "You know, I could really go for one last drink." And then, in a fit of inspiration, we decided to make a mad dash to the Zetland Arms (another pub we know of), and I bought a round for the three of us, and we just had a hilarious time, the three girls enjoying one more drink, having a girly chat.

We talked about boys and attraction and what we were looking for, and I was surprised to hear how long it had been since Sweedy had been on a date. She's beautiful, sweet and funny, I have no idea why boys aren't all over that. Although as we related some of our hilarious dating stories, I suppose occasionally the boys are all over it, but they're not the kind of boys you want!

And I was relieved to hear that Cookie's fiancee is four years younger than she is, reinforcing to me what I was told on Sunday, that I'm too hung up on the age thing. I'm probably going to marry a guy younger than I am, so I should just accept it and be open to the idea, and not put false barriers in their way.

It was funny as well as Cookie revealed that when they first met, it had been all about sexual attraction, that she'd thought it was just going to be a fling with a younger guy. And now here they are, getting married. But it was a good point about how that initial attraction can carry you a long way in a relationship.

Finally, we realised that it was already 12:15 AM, and so we needed to rush to the Tube if we were going to make the last train! Luckily we made it and headed home, giggling all the way! What a great idea to have one last drink with just the girls!

Old Friends in Oxford

On Sunday I went up to Oxford for the day to catch up with one of my best male friends, who now lives in Australia but was back in Oxford to do some research. Good times catching up, and reminded me of why he's one of my favourite people, as we talked about how our genes influence our behaviour, whether or not Ghandi was gay, and of course my romantic life. Had a big debate about whether I'm really doing the right things to meet the kind of guys I'm interested in, as the one thing all of my favourite people have in common is that they're well-read. Which I think he had a fair point, not all of the guys I meet in Clubland really are also library rats. So where to find those types?

We also ended up talking about romantic dilemmas and the question so many men have been asking me recently, "How to ask out a girl you're already friends with?", and he reminded me of the two ladders theory: Namely, that men have only one ladder when it comes to how they see the women in their lives, whereas women have two ladders: A "friends" ladder and a "romantic potential" ladder. And a guy can be at the very top of the "friends" ladder, but can't make the leap over to the "romantic potential" ladder, because women just see it totally differently. A guy will potentially sleep with all of his female friends, but a girl can genuinely be friends with guys she will never sleep with. So the mistake these guys are making (trying to ask out their friends), is to assume that girls are on the "one ladder" theory like they are, without realising that they need to jump ladders. So the key is that you've got to get back DOWN the friendship ladder to start climbing the "romantic potential" ladder. This requires a seminal event, like one party breaking up with someone, or losing touch for a while, so when you reconnect it's like you're starting from zero again. Overall, this seems to make sense...

Mostly, a great afternoon with STELLAR food at this pub we went to, and the sort of endless conversation that you can only have with one of your absolute best friends, where you talk for hours and never run out of things to talk about. How I wish I had those more often...

Charity Ball

Although I had a ball to go out to in the evening, when Doro suggested that a group of us meet for lunch at the club, I figured, "Why not?" So did myself up to a reasonable degree, and then dashed over to the club, where I met Doro and her squash partner in the bar.

We were shortly joined by the Wild Welshman and G, and I had to give the guy credit for being brave enough to face down lunch with three girls. Yet we had a really nice lunch with a bottle of wine, and good conversation throughout the afternoon. I will say this about the Wild Welshman, is that I always enjoy talking to him. We always seem to make each other laugh.

Since the weather was nice, after lunch we all went up to the terrace, where we continued to just chat and enjoy the sunshine. Doro left somewhat early as she was feeling poorly, being that she's still recovering from a cold and had pulled her back whilst playing squash.

After she left, this guy I recognized showed up with a friend to sit out on the terrace. As he came out I gave him a smile and nod, because I totally recognized him, but just absolutely BLANKED on his name. And it was one of those situations where I was saying to myself, "C'mon brain, you KNOW this! It's not Gobby, it's not Southworth, it's.....jeezus brain, what is wrong with you?" I mean, I had all of the correct details (why I knew him, who I knew him with), but just not the actual name.

When I needed to leave myself to go get ready for the ball in the evening, and the Wild Welshman had enough of telling G he was going to the gym, and not to the park to feed squirrels with her (?), we all got up and of course I had to go over and say hello, still desperately hoping that somewhere along the way, my brain would kick in and come up with the correct name. Alas, it didn't, so I looked like a total dork as he greeted me with an enthusiastic, "Hi {my name}!" and I had to reply with the overly enthusiastic, "Hey....YOU!" And then of course was unable to introduce either G or the Wild Welshman, so had to leave them to do it themselves. I am such a dork.

I do like this chap, I really do though, so when he suggested we get drinks sometime I agreed and have actually followed up. And hopefully his name will stick in my brain this time!

After the lunch, I made my way home, and upon passing a flowering bush with some really beautiful flowers that smelled amazing, I grabbed a few and put them into my hairstyle for the evening. I thought they looked quite nice and relieved me of the need for perfume (the flowers did it for me), I was kind of surprised when not a single person commented on them all evening. How weird. Anyway, I was late getting going to meet everyone at this hotel bar, so I grabbed a taxi there, another £17 that I've got to realise it was a bit of a stupid expense.

Joined the others, which included the Head of Inter-Club (who I think has a slight crush on me), Piers (who also probably has a mild crush on me), a guy whose birthday it was, a few girls I'm friends with, and the American Guy I Once Hooked-Up With. After we'd all gathered at the hotel, we walked over to the ball, which was held in the Westminster Cathedral Hall. During the champagne reception at the start of the evening, the fire alarm went off, and so we all had to go out to the parking lot to continue the reception, but they brought out the champagne to the parking lot as we watched the firemen go in, and just had a great time taking photos of ourselves having a champagne reception in the street.

The event itself was truthfully a bit on the boring side, with one of the key entertainments being playing a game called "Heads or Tails" where you had to either put your hands on your head or your "tail" while they flipped a coin, and you just had to guess right through successive rounds until only two people were left and there was one winner.

Things did liven up a bit when The American Guy I Once Hooked-Up With mis-took a hot pepper for a green bean, chewed down on it whole, and then drank a whole pitcher of water before the Head of Inter-Club had the presence of mind to get one of the waiters to fetch a glass of milk. Absolutely created quite a bit of hilarity for our group!

At the end of the evening there was dancing, and when the Head of Inter-Club invited me out onto the dance floor, I discovered something about him: He is a HORRIBLE dancer. No really, I've danced with some guys who weren't that great before (have been to quite a few "beginners ballroom" classes and got paired with guys who constantly have to count their steps), but the Head of Inter-Club made them look like fleet-footed cha-cha superstars. Seriously, seriously bad.

First of all, he kept insisting on holding me in the wrong dance hold, so I was continually in the "man's" position (right hand on the other person's back, left-hand clasped with theirs, instead of the way girls are supposed to stand, with your left hand on the guy's back, and right-hand clasped with theirs). So that was totally throwing me off, along with his complete lack of rhythm, where he wasn't just off the beat, but there was absolutely no beat or consistency to anything he did, except to try to throw me out for spins at totally unexpected moments.

And I know that you shouldn't judge a guy too much based on the fact that he's a bad dancer, but seriously? How on earth do you progress so far in life without learning a few dance steps? I thought everyone had at least one dance class or some musical training somewhere in their lives... I know he's brilliant at a lot of things, but I would seriously recommend that he should take some dance classes at some point!

I have never been so glad for a dance to be over. And it's so sad, because any slight attraction I might have had for this guy has definitely gone. If he's lacking rhythm in one area, you start to wonder if he might be lacking rhythm in others... ;-)

Also, I was surprised to have the Birthday Boy asking me the EXACT SAME question that Piers had been asking me last week, namely, "How do you ask out a girl you are friends with and make it clear that this is a date, not just two friends getting together?" What is up with these guys who are trying to ask their friends out? The worst part is, I sort of suspect that he was asking me as a way of gauging how to ask ME out. And he's a really nice guy, relatively successful, 33-years old, and there's nothing really wrong with him, but I can't imagine carrying on a conversation with him that lasted more than 20 minutes...we'd totally just run out of things to talk about. Alas, I've got no advice anyway for these guys as to how to ask out their female friends. All I can really say is, "Be a man, and if you're attracted to them just ask them out at the start, and don't let the whole thing morph into this nebulous 'friends' territory..."

Finally, at around 11:30, I'd just had enough of doing this merry dance avoiding the boys who had crushes on me that I didn't reciprocate, and the one guy I would have been interested in, the American Guy I Once Hooked-Up With was obviously out to have a bad night. In addition to downing a hot pepper, he'd also just broken up with his long-term girlfriend, and was too openly keen for just a fling to console himself with. Not me, thanks. So I gave him a kiss and said good-bye to everyone, and then took myself home to bed.

First Drinks at the Lansdowne

This evening was my first day as an official Lansdowne Club member (no April Fools, I really did join!) and so I went to join the crowds at the bar for my first time joining the club.

While I was chatting to the crowds, I met a guy, a really cute South African. At first things seemed to be going swimmingly, as it was one of those classic, "I like you and you like me" moments. We chatted, I made him laugh, and we were having a great time telling stories about South Africa, studying in the US (he went to Emory in Atlanta for undergrad), and teasing our siblings. He insisted on buying me a drink. It's all good. Then a friend greeted me, and mentioned that she hadn't seen me since her birthday party. Which prompted the South African to ask her how old she was. She exclaimed in horror what bad form it was to ask a woman how old she is (the equivalent question for guys has got to me, "How much money do you make?" or "How big exactly is your penis?"), but finally the girl relented and told him she had just turned 26. Well duh, of course you can tell someone you're 26, because that's really no big deal. And the guy reveals he's 27. And turns to me and asks me how old I am!! Jeepers people, have we learned nothing here??? So I kind of make a fuss about not telling him, which later I realised was probably the wrong move, as now the guy probably thinks I am 40 years old. And as a (male) friend told me later, "You are too hung up on the age thing. Boys care much less about it than you would think". Needless to say, although we chatted for another half-hour, he got a call which he had to step outside to take, and I never saw him after that.

At least, while feeling a disconcerted about that interaction with the South African, I spotted the American Guy I Once Hooked Up With. Never went anywhere and nothing has happened since, we mostly pretend it never happened. But he's cute and decent company, so while I was sitting with one group of friends, I caught his eye across the room and gave him a little half-smile. He then immediately got up, made his apologies to the group he was with, and came over to sit with me. Yay, thank you for that little ego boost!

I suppose I needed it though, for at the same party, a guy I know (who is never exactly known for his social graces), told me that I was looking "slim", like I'd lost weight. I know he meant it as a compliment, but don't people realise that such a comment only implies that you were looking fat before? Plus, doesn't help that I weigh myself every morning and I know darn well that I haven't lost any weight. But that's another issue...