When I woke up in the morning (hey, that air mattress isn't half bad!), I was surprised when the Young Dutchman offered to make me breakfast. Really? The Young Dutchman doesn't cook at all to my knowledge, so I was surprised and slightly suspicious at this offer. Still, given how rubbish he is at anything domestic (doing dishes, taking out the trash, cleaning up after himself in general), that I didn't want to spurn his offer to make an effort. So I asked for scrambled eggs.
A few minutes later, highly suspicious of the lack of noise I heard in the kitchen, I went in to see what was going on. Where I found the Young Dutchman had cracked two eggs into a pan, and then just left them there to fry. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I still felt compelled to ask, "Oh, you made fried eggs, not scrambled?" He seemed utterly confused and asked, "Well, you scramble them AFTER they're cooked, don't you?"
Oh dear. The poor boy didn't even know how to make scrambled eggs!
So I showed him how to crack eggs into a bowl and scramble them with a fork, at which point he kept insisting, "I've got it, I've got it" and shooed me back out of the kitchen.
A few minutes later I poked my head back in to see that I now had...an omlette with nothing in it. But the boy was quite excited, exclaiming to me, "You're right, these do look much more like scrambled eggs!" With a sigh, I accepted my funny eggs, which broke into dry pieces when he scraped them out of the pan. Scrambled enough, I suppose! Still, he was so proud of himself, I accepted my eggs and sat down to breakfast.
The entire day was pretty slow, with the three of us just hanging out in my flat, playing on our computers, and occasionally making our way through the shower.
I was surprised at one point when a chat message popped up on Facebook from a name I didn't recognise. Now, I will admit to frequently accepting friend requests from random people I meet at parties, and then sometimes I find myself with these random chat requests from guys I've met who like me. I figured I would either ignore the chat or come up with some nice excuse to make him go away, but first I had to figure out who the heck I was talking to.
I was then quite surprised to find that it was the Tall South African, a guy I'd once met at one of my friend Lotte's parties. I'd basically had one conversation with him as part of a larger group, but had never thought we had any particular connection, other than that he was rather good-looking but a bit egotistical (the downsides of being tall, blonde, and handsome).
My curiosity piqued, I engaged him in conversation, and was surprised then when he kept chatting back-and-forth with me for several hours. Not chatting about too much of significance, but I was surprised when at every point he could have ended the conversation, he instead came up with another question to continue it. When on earth had we bonded this much that he was so keen to talk to me?
I never told him as we talked that the Young Dutchman and his brother were in the room, although of course they could hear my computer chirping with each new message, and kept asking me, "Are you two STILL chatting?" The Young Dutchman in particular could tell that some flirting was going on, but as I assured him, "You can never trust a man that good-looking." He took this as a laugh, to ask if I should ask the Tall South African if he'd ever killed anyone, but I meant it quite simply from my experience knowing the Young Dutchman. A guy like that has left a trail of women in his wake, I could be sure. Still, an amusing way to spend the afternoon.
Eventually, at the Young Dutchman's insistence, I made him go away and stop chatting with me, so that the Young Dutchman's brother and I could go out and get food. (Since I'd only arrived back from the US the day before, my flat had precious little in it). The two of us strolled the aisles, got some good stuff, and made our way back to the flat to make sandwiches for lunch. The Young Dutchman's brother, to his credit, tried to chip in for the groceries, but since they are both students and I was doing some of my own shopping as well, I figured it just easier to pay for everything myself. Good boys for trying though!
Later in the afternoon, the Young Dutchman headed out to grab coffee with another friend, leaving me and his brother to hang out and get ready for the evening. He called us with a request to meet at Kellogg Boy's flat at 8 PM, and so we headed out in time to make it there by then.
Upon arrival however, we discovered that the Young Dutchman had not yet gotten there, and when he tried to give us directions to the flat, they were absolutely rubbish. After quite some time of just wandering through the apartment complex, we managed to find the flat, but then didn't know Kellogg Boy's number to call him so he could let us in! So we had to call the Young Dutchman to get him to call Kellogg Boy...eventually we got in, but it was quite a saga!
The party was somewhat small (only about 6 people there), but we got introduced around, drinks put in our hands, and we enjoyed the company of all the people we were talking to. The Young Dutchman arrived with his friend a bit later, and I tried chatting to the friend for a while, but found him to actually be rather dull with not much to talk about. Some sort of venture capitalist working on various projects, the usual chat from people much like the Young Dutchman who constantly have "work" but never really seem to be doing anything.
Instead I had much more fun getting ensconced in conversation with this chap who had earned a PhD in Chemistry and was now working in Holland, but was planning on packing it all in within the next six months to pursue a full-time career as a professional cyclist. He was rather cute, sweet and nice, if a bit young (24) and slightly socially awkward (so typical of a PhD!) Seemed to take my attentions with good grace and enjoyed talking to me, if only because I think he found it easier to talk to me than to attempt to socialise. Whatever, he was cute and interesting, so I was happy with my "find" for the evening.
Still, I didn't feel like I could enjoy it too much, as I was incredibly aware of our obligations to get to Lotte's party as well this evening. I had promised the Tall South African that I would see him, after all...
At around 11 PM, after some herding of cats, we managed to get people outside and to flag a cab to head to Lotte's. I ended up in a cab with the Young Dutchman, his brother, and the Young Dutchman's friend. The Young Dutchman's brother and I had been noting that the Young Dutchman's accent gets more posh when he's with company he's trying to impress, and suddenly it was out in force, leaving the two of us collapsing in a fit of giggles in the cab.
Which did absolutely nothing to endear us to the Young Dutchman or his friend, who I still hadn't figured out why the Young Dutchman was spending so much time with him. I was about to discover however, upon our arrival at the next party, that this entire evening I'd been in the company of the star of an incredibly popular reality television show here in the UK, called "Made in Chelsea". Even though I had not recognized this chap at all (logical enough, since I don't own a television), he was quickly recongized by others at the party, including one girl who I shall refer to as "Drunk Girl", who annoyed the crap out of him by constantly taking pictures of him and just remarking on how star-struck she was to meet him. Which eventually irritated him so much that he left the party.
Funny enough, she wrote her own blog entry about it, which I think just tells you all you need to know, and describes the scene better than I ever could:
Last night I went to my friend's NYE house party in Chelsea. We got far too drunk (mandatory on NYE of course), and then it happened. F**** B**** turned up, and I made a complete arse of myself. A friend of mine is friend's with F**** (he's on the Television programme 'Made in Chelsea'), and my friend brought him the the party with him. Oh.My.God. There was pandemonium...all of us girlies were acting like schoolgirls; shrieking, clinging onto the poor guy and taking photos. I was so drunk I didn't even recognize him at first, I was standing next to him saying to him 'I recognize you from somewhere...where do I know you from!?' poor guy looked terrified! My friend Amy finally mouthed to me 'Made in Chelsea'...and that was it...I screamed in the poor guy's face before running off to tell everyone that F**** B**** was at our NYE party! *hangs head in shame*
Unfortunately we only have phone photos :'( sad times! And they are terrible quality and the person taking them clearly can't use a camera because they cut his bloody head out so you can only see his chin! But you can see it's his chin because it's quite a distinguishable chin. Anyway, I also got a midnight kiss on the cheek from him (maybe he didn't fancy kissing my lips because they were covered in bright pink lipstick? Well I like to think that's the only reason...)
Oh dear. So perhaps you get the picture. I try to make allowances for this girl because she's young, and still has much to learn in life, but I like to think that I was never that bad. As a result of this incident (and a few others), the next day there was a formal agreement among those of us who control social life around here that after this incident, it's time to black-list this girl. Which trust me, is not a decision we make lightly, but is astonishingly effective when we do. I can think of two others who managed to get themselves black-listed, and I wonder if they've yet understood how they were completely dropped by polite society. But seriously, one needs to learn how to behave.
Anyway, that all happened later in the evening, but at the start of the evening I found myself enthusiastically embraced by Drunk Girl, whose first order of business was to completely spill my entirely full glass of white wine all over the floor. {Sigh!} Luckily one of the young men who always see to surround me and are ready to jump to attention at any time fetched me another, so I was able to make my way around the room just kissing and greeting lots of people, who remarked on our fashionably late arrival.
After navigating the crush of people for a bit, I found the Tall South African outside in conversation with others. Tried to chat to him for a bit, but I kept getting pulled away by others who wanted to talk to me. Eventually I gave up the fight and let myself be carried off by the crowds.
Eventually at midnight, the crowds all rushed to head outside to count down until midnight. We weren't really sure quite what the proper countdown was, but somebody started a count based on their watch, and we all went with it. At the stroke of midnight, champagne was popped, somebody handed me a flaring sparkler (one of which eventually made a hole in the marquee we were standing under), and people just went around madly kissing everyone else and wishing them a "Happy New Year!"
The Tall South African found me and gave me a kiss, and then we made our way back inside, sure that it would be quieter there now that everyone was outside. Yet as soon as we made it back inside, the (Former) Head of Inter-Club and Will arrived in black-tie, apparently having just come from some other New Year's party, and they came bringing a giant bottle of champagne. The boys are so good at taking care of me, that pretty quickly I found myself with a champagne glass in hand, and I found myself curled up on the couch chatting to the Head of Inter-Club about this and that, including a little bit of chat about his new flatmate, the Young Scotsman. Trying to keep it casual, and not belie my incredible interest in that topic, as I find lately I care far too much. Must be cool.
I did have fun chatting with him and another chap of our acquaintance, Justin, who ended up meeting a girl and leaving with her, which I had far too much fun teasing him about. I had fun chatting back and forth with the Head of Inter-Club for a bit, getting him to send ridiculous text messages to Justin, before he eventually left as well.
It was at this point that I have a vague recollection of the Young Dutchman coming up to me and asking me to look after his brother. This is important for the record, because I don't really remember it, but I do remember having this urgent sense all evening of needing to look after the Young Dutchman's brother. To be fair, I always remember the promises I make to my friends. (This was of course, because the Young Dutchman was leaving the party to go home with some girl and sleep with her. Exactly one day after he'd sworn he was in love with another girl, was going to turn over a new leaf, and stop sleeping around. Obviously that was a resolution that lasted...)
At this point however, the mad flirtation with the Tall South African was really heating up, and I ended up kissing him under the mistletoe. (Hey, the stuff was hanging there and we were under it). And then, in an example of exceptionally poor judgment, I started playing a "game" with the Tall South African where he would drop little bits of red wine on my chest and lick them off. I was giggling so much at the time, but dear God I hope everyone was so drunk at that point that nobody remembers that bit!
At least some tiny bit of rationality prevailed, because remembering what the Young Dutchman is always telling me about the importance of discretion, I realised that if I were ever going to properly kiss the Tall South African, I couldn't do it with an audience. So when others weren't paying attention, I just slipped out and walked out the front door. (The others weren't paying attention. I knew at this point that the Tall South African was never taking his eyes off of me).
Indeed, the Tall South African followed me outside and down the street, where we walked along, playing this fun "game" where we would stop, he would lean in as though to kiss me (what I wanted) and then at the absolute last moment before our lips touched, pull away, scolding me for being so presumptuous as to think I could have him if I wanted him. Okay, kind of too late to play coy at this point, as I know what I look like, and I know that he wanted me. Yet the game was so much fun (do you know quite how hot it is to *almost* kiss somebody and yet not quite, to just be stuck in that moment of breathless anticipation?) He admonished me for playing games, but it was hard to resist when the game was this hot and this much fun!
Finally at one point, I had dashed off again as part of our little game, when he ordered me to stop and come back to him. But coming to him felt like admitting defeat, so I came only halfway. At which point, he reached out, grabbed my hand, and then pulled me in close to him and then up against a wall to kiss me. Very forceful, very dominating, and totally hot. I might have been enjoying the game, but he was obviously losing patience, and he just wanted me. Now.
Yet, back to the promise. I had promised the Young Dutchman that I would look after his younger brother. What on earth was I supposed to do, take them both home to my little studio flat? And I told the Tall South African as much, even as he kept insisting that he was sure the Young Dutchman's brother could look after himself and find somewhere to stay. He threatened me that this was a one-time offer, that if I turned him down now, I wouldn't get another chance.
But a promise is a promise. So I told him that's how it was, that I needed to look after the Young Dutchman's brother. (Although the irony wasn't lost on me, that for the Young Dutchman to have sex this evening, I had to give up all hope of getting any myself. Life is tremendously unfair that way, particularly in favour of men). Although in the end, it probably was for the best. It's not like I need to have a one-night stand with a guy (as cute as he is), and become just another notch on someone's bedpost. Because the problem with one-night stands is that if they're good, you find yourself frustrated that there's no more to be had, and if it's bad, what on earth were you doing there in the first place? There's really no good outcome there.
So we walked back to the house, at which point we discovered that we had been locked out. So somebody had to come to let us in. Panicked about being seen with him (the whole point is discretion, remember?), I stood in the shadows pressed up against the wall next to the door, dissappearing into the hedges and greenery as much as I could. After all, this always seems to work in the movies, as a person who opens a door only looks straight ahead at whatever is in the doorway, never to one side or another. So indeed, Drunk Girl came to open the door, and only saw him standing in the doorway. He at least had the good sense not to close the door behind him, so I was able to slip in a few minutes later, not with him and hopefully largely unnoticed.
I came back in and chatted a bit more with a few people, and the Tall South African caught me a few more times to make a plea for me to ditch the Young Dutchman's brother and go home with him instead. I happened to be wearing thigh-high stockings that evening, and the Tall Dutchman could just manage to catch a glimpse of them as my skirt fell back, and he was just groaning about it. It's amazing what subtle little things will have an effect on men.
I have to admit, there was a tiny part of me that was tempted (he WAS cute), but I had to do the right thing. So at around 5:30 AM, I gathered up the Young Dutchman's brother (neither of us had any clue what had happened to the Young Dutchman) found our coats and things, and then found ourselves a cab.
When we got home, the Young Dutchman's brother absolutely dove into bed, tearing his clothes off as he went. (He'd been drinking quite a bit of whiskey earlier in the evening, and so was in quite a state). I looked at the air mattress, and just in my current state couldn't quite see getting it all set up. It was a double bed, so I asked the Young Dutchman's brother, "I can't be bothered to set up the other bed. Do you mind if we share?" After all dammit, it IS my own bed... He was barely even conscious as he said, "Sure", and so after changing into pajamas (I was determined not to embarrass the Young Dutchman's brother, even if the boy himself wasn't into wearing clothes to bed), I crawled in with him, too drunk and too tired to care much further.
So in the end, I started 2012 with a cute younger guy in my bed, although perhaps not quite the one I would have liked!
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