HAC Ball

In the morning, I woke up relatively early, and thought about calling the Tall South African, just to make the point that I was up after texting him so late the night before. Yet, just when I was thinking about this, my phone buzzed with a text from him, so I took the impetus to call.

We ended up lying in bed, talking for nearly an hour, but I did find myself frustrated with the conversation a bit.  It just went round and round in circles, talking about nothing of significance, and nothing really of interest.  I almost don't really understand it, for here is a boy who texts me all the time, and stays on the phone with me for hours, and yet I can't really figure out what he wants to talk to me about.

He'd had a rough week, and so I suppose just wanted someone to talk to and gain a sympathetic ear.  Sometimes it really hits me how young the Tall South African is, because he so classically "doesn't know what he wants".  In that he doesn't want to get tied down into a relationship, and yet always wants to see me.  But of course, doesn't want to make plans to see me (that seems too committed, after all), but then when it suddenly hits him in a down moment that spending time with me would cheer him up, whines about how I'm not there, because of course he didn't make plans to see me.  I have to laugh at how many "So what are you up to?" calls I get, and then how surprised he is that I have other plans, that I can't just drop everything to go hang out with him.

So needless to say, it was good that I was going out to a ball that night with Sophie.  It was this random thing she'd invited me too, the HAC Spring Ball in aid of "Help for Heroes."  Stupidly expensive (£150 a ticket), but it was for charity and promised to be a night to get out and meet some new boys.

The dress code was "Black-tie with a hint of Downton Abbey", so I wore my white ball gown that I'd worn to the Christmas Ball, figuring I need to get some more use out of it.  I took a cab there (since I was in a white gown), but actually had some trouble getting in the cab due to the need to bend my knee, and had the driver a bit concerned at how much pain I seemed to be in just to get in a car.

Still, I got to the event, and found that there were paparazzi outside the venue, as apparently the cast of this silly reality show called "Made in Chelsea" were there.  I've never seen the show myself, but apparently it's basically a televised version of my general social scene (friends of mine are friends with various members of the cast, but I've personally always thought it a bit gauche to allow yourself to be filmed for a reality show).  Still, it has advantages, in that I was able to snag some paparazzi shots of the event, since I forgot to make use of my own camera.

I arrived and found the other girls at the champagne reception, took note of the seating plan, and was surprised to see that we weren't all seated together.  At least as we took our seats, it became clear that we'd been interspersed with the military boys, which was fine, except that all of my other friends were on these tables with the boys in uniform, and I had somehow ended up on a table where...  It sounds terrible to say, but the women on my table were wearing strapless dresses with back tattoos, fingerless lace gloves, and dresses that were trying hard to be formal but were really just showing too much cleavage.  Add that to how much make-up they were wearing, and it was a bit of a chav horror show.  As soon as I sat down, I found myself thinking, "I'm all for meeting new people, but I paid £150 to sit with this lot?"  I pretty quickly resolved that the only way I was going to survive the evening was to get very, very, very drunk.  Things didn't improve much as we talked, where they seemed surprised that I could afford to pay £150 to go to a dinner, which made it pretty clear they hadn't.  Who knows how they got their tickets, but in some ways...it sounds terribly snobby to say it, but this is why expense is sometimes the best gate-keeper there is.  This crowd simply did NOT fit in at this event, and you could tell it was making everyone uncomfortable:  Me, for having no idea what to say to these folks, and them, for so obviously being the fish out of water in this crowd.

Sophie, who had organised the dinner, seemed equally horrified (which I guess shows you how it was, that she so quickly picked up on how inappropriate this crowd was), and offered to switch places with me if she couldn't work something out.  Thankfully, a spare spot opened up at another table, and I was whisked away to be seated in-between a rather cute Royal Marine, and the guy who was the DJ for the dancing later on in the evening.  That one was really interesting, as he was this rather Jamaican-looking guy, who I could obviously believe was a club DJ, and next to him was his fiancee, who was this blonde, blue-eyed girl who looked like such a wholesome corn-fed country girl, it was almost comical.  Definitely not a pairing I ever would have imagined, but they were an absolutely lovely couple and good company at the dinner.

They had an auction after the dinner, and a speech by a guy who had been injured in Afghanistan (lost his leg), and who gave a very moving tribute to the "Band of Sisters", the wives and girlfriends who support these soldiers through these tough times.  Overall, his explanation of the work that Help for Heroes does made me glad that at least if the ticket price was a bit expensive (as it always is at charity events), at least it was going for a good cause.

Then, before the auction, they actually had some guys dressed like waiters who burst out into opera song (very entertaining), and afterwards all the food and auctions were finished, we ended up out on the dance floor with the Royal Marines.  And to my surprise, the Royal Marines turned out to be GREAT dancers.  I got spun around quite a few times by guys doing swing dancing, and even though I had to be careful with my knee, I was surprised at how adept and eager to ask a girl to dance they were.  And then even when they were just doing the classic "standing in a circle on the dance floor" dance, they really knew how to move!  I was in awe of how well they all danced, particularly for a group of stiff military white boys, who I had assumed would do much of the lame white-boy dancing of my friends.  Whatever stereotypes I might have about the Royal Marines were absolutely smashed, as these boys definitely knew how to move!

Finally, at around 2 AM, it was time for carriages, so I made my way home.  Got a great surprise once I got there, as my cousins all turned out to be in Portsmouth, and so we ended up having a 3-way video chat at 3 AM, with me, my cousins in Portsmouth, and a cousin in Perth, Australia.  Pretty amazing when everybody is awake at the same time for that to happen.  A good way to end a rather fun night!

Dinner with the Young Dutchman

Whilst I had been going through all of my papers in search of that dratted P60 form that I need for my immigration application, I had come across a gift certificate for use in the Lansdowne Club's dining room, valid for one month from when I joined.  Expiration date?  31 March 2012.  With only a few days left to use it, I called up the Young Dutchman and asked, "Want to go to dinner with me?"

After all, I couldn't think of anybody I'd rather go to dinner with, and since catching up at parties is impossible, we really needed some time for just the two of us.  We arranged through calls to meet at the club, and so I made my way there to meet him at 6.

He was running late, despite living just around the corner (what a surprise!), and so I sat and chatted with Nick, a guy from the club, for a bit, until the Young Dutchman arrived, and we attempted to go to dinner at 6:30.  I say "attempted" because we found out that they don't start serving dinner until 7, so we went back downstairs, got a bottle of wine, and chatted with our friends until it was time for dinner at 7.

It turned out to be steak night, quite a popular night at the club, and I hadn't even thought to make a reservation.  Luckily, since we'd arrived so early, they were able to squeeze us in.

Even though we had already just about polished off a bottle of white between us, we decided to order a bottle of red, and I had quite a debate with the sommelier until we settled on a nice Malbec.  I mostly think the Young Dutchman was amused at being so thoroughly taken out on a date by a girl, with me ordering the wine and most securely in charge of the bill.  Kind of a gender role reversal, but I have to admit it was fun.

The food was fantastic, and the conversation was everything I'd hoped it would be.  One of those nights where you get just a little bit drunk with a really good friend and just talk about anything and everything.  I had a good time teasing him about his many female conquests, and his stated desire to have a regular girlfriend and a settled-down relationship, coupled with an absolute inability to make that happen.

He asked me why I don't date the Tall South African, but I couldn't quite seem to explain that the Tall South African doesn't want to date.  And truth be told, although the Tall South African is cute, I don't want to get locked down into a relationship with him either.  I just know I'd be bored of him before long.

It's beyond me to really explain it, but even without professional psychoanalysis, I know what is holding us both back is each other.  I swear that our relationship is entirely platonic (he even asked me if I'd slept with his brother at New Year's, I think because he realises just as much as I do, that his brother is the one I'm more likely to sleep with, rather than him.  I'll have to admit I have a sense of sexual frission with his brother that I just don't feel with the Young Dutchman himself).  But yet, we can't find a more perfect relationship than each other, nobody we like or want to spend time with more. It may be a very fraternal relationship, but yet it's hard to imagine a stronger bond with anyone.

After dinner (with a bottle of wine each in us), we made our way back downstairs, joined friends for a bit, and then somehow ended up in a cab to Kellogg Boy's house.  Needless to say, I have absolutely no idea how that one happened, but soon we were there, climbing over the hedge and into the patio of Kellogg Boy's flat, and walking into his living room.

Now, the average person would be incredibly alarmed at two people climbing over their hedge and entering their flat in the middle of the night, but somehow this was completely taken in stride.  And so we were warmly greeted by Kellogg Boy and his girlfriend, glasses of wine were pressed into our hands, and we were introduced to some random older guy who was staying there.

(At least this explained a lot, as I had no idea how Kellogg Boy owned a beautiful, modern two-bedroom flat in the heart of London while being a student and having no discernible source of income.  Suddenly when it was explained that his parents actually owned the flat, and allowed Kellogg Boy to stay there, but insisted that if any friends of theirs needed a place to stay in London Kellogg Boy had to accommodate them, it made much more sense.  As per usual, I'm amazed at the amount of money that people around me have).  

The older guy was actually rather interesting, and we had a fun, late night chat with Kellogg Boy and his girlfriend about all sorts of things while we played with their dog.  I do wonder sometimes what Kellogg Boy thinks, as he always sees myself and the Young Dutchman together.  Although who really knows?  We don't even know ourselves, so perhaps he doesn't even think on it.

Finally, at around 1:30 AM, the Young Dutchman and I bid our good-nights to Kellogg Boy and his girlfriend, tumbled into a cab, I dropped him off at his flat and I headed back to mine.  Texted him my thanks for a great night out (as I always do when I get home after being out with him), and was rewarded with a text straight back.  Always the best way to end of evening out with the best of company.

Terrace Drinks with the Oxford Mafia

Since it had been a week since I'd been to see the doctor and I hadn't seen any noticeable improvement in my knee, I figured I should go back to the doctor.  I got up ridiculously early to be walking out the door at 6:30 AM, and still only managed to get an appointment to see my doctor at 7:40 AM. This time, the guy didn't even touch my knee, just looked at it, and said I needed an MRI. I'm glad to be making some progress towards getting treated, but it was a bit discouraging.

I went home again, changed, and then went into the office.  I couldn't find any desk space (I swear they are discouraging us from going into the office anymore), but I needed to be there to get my forms signed for my immigration application.  Since I was running out of time to put them in the post, and noticing that my lawyer's office was very close by in London Bridge, I decided to just walk the forms over there.

It was a beautiful day out (we've been having a weird warm spell lately), so it was nice to get out of the office for a bit of a walk.  When I got to the lawyers office, the reception people were very weird about me showing up in person to drop off my forms, and it took ages to find someone who would officially take responsibility for them.  But when I finally did manage to find someone, and then just went straight home.  At least at my house, I always have a desk to work at!

I had a few calls, and then thankfully reached the end of my work day, and so went out to the club, as it was the Last Wednesday of the Month, and so time for our Younger Member's drinks!

Right when I arrived at the club, I ran into Fletch, who I haven't seen in ages.  He was just going in to dinner, so after a quick chat, I left him and went into the bar, where I ran into Magnetic Man.  What a happy coincidence!  I was going to get a drink, but since he already had a bottle of white wine, he poured me a drink, and I went upstairs to the terrace with him.

Although I sat next to Magnetic Man, I didn't get as much time to chat with him and pay attention to him as I would have liked, as on my other side I kept getting dragged into conversation by this older guy from the club.  Nice enough guy, and out of a sense of politeness I felt the need to pay attention to him, but he really wasn't getting my telepathic messages of, "Please let me talk to Magnetic Man!"  As well, people kept arriving and since I'd told everyone what I was wearing, everybody knew how to come and find me, so I was constantly being interrupted by people coming to say hello. There was the Irish guy who was obviously hitting on me and being somewhat annoying, and then quite a few boys being a bit overly friendly....everyone except Magnetic Man!  Sadly, although he was perfectly friendly, he didn't pay any more attention to me than anybody else, and seemed much more interested in talking to his friends.

I did get to talk to the group of friends a bit however, including the wife of one of the boys, an American woman.  She was very sharp and sophisticated looking, incredibly outgoing (she was American, after all), and her one fault seemed to be her non-stop smoking habit.  But she was really quite friendly and lovely, and surprisingly said she'd heard tons about me and was thrilled to finally meet me.  (Really?)  Still, I liked her too, and was glad to be welcomed into the fold by her, as I got the sense that her approval counted for a lot with the group.  Hence when I was popping downstairs for a bit and she asked me to buy her a pack of cigarettes, although I hated supporting her habit, I was glad to do her a favour and earn a bit more goodwill with the group.

Finally, when I'd had enough of random boys talking to me and hitting on me (there was one Irish chap who was slightly alarming when he revealed he'd read my entire Facebook profile and had memorised a surprising amount about me), I convinced the group of boys including Magnetic Man and the American Wife to come with me to the Caledonian Club for their end-of-month drinks.  As I ended up with so many accidental tag-alongs, we had to take two cabs, but hopefully that was okay.

When I arrived (with such a large group in tow!) I at least did manage to make my way quickly into the bar, and made faces at the American Guy I Once Hooked Up With through the window.  So at least there were people I knew there who were eager to see me...

I got the group out into the back patio and introduced to people, and pretty quickly found myself stuck talking to the (Former) Head of Inter-Club.  {Sigh!}  He's a nice guy, but I was having an absolutely rubbish time attempting to talk to Magnetic Man!  The man himself had quickly ensconced himself with talking to Gordon, which I found encouraging that he'd immediately found one of my favourite people to talk to.  Speaks well for him that he'd find Gordon just as fascinating to talk to as I do.

Finally at least I managed to speak with Alistair, the guy with the American Wife.  And as we were chatting, it was like he suddenly put two-and-two together, realising, "Wait, you are single?  Magnetic Man is single too!  The two of you should totally date!"  I love how boys are absolutely miserable match-makers because they can only pick up on the super-obvious.

So I tried to very subtly say that I wouldn't be opposed to such an idea, but of course the challenge remains the lack of any discernible interest on the part of Magnetic Man himself.  The man suddenly seemed to realise, "Hmmm..."

People then started to head home, including the American Guy I Once Hooked Up With, who came and gave me a kiss and said that my dress had absolutely made his evening.  I laughed because it was a red dress with a relatively high neckline and not much to say for it beyond that perhaps it was a bit fitted.  But the Young Dutchman had recently complimented it and said I should wear it more, and now here was another boy saying my dress had "made his night".  I later texted the Young Dutchman to tell him that perhaps there had been something to his comment, and he later said, "Well doesn't it make sense that I know what boys like better than you do?"  He's got a point there...

Finally, the Young Scotsman came and found me, and we both admitted that although we'd seen each other across the room all evening, it was only now that we'd gotten a chance to say hello to each other.  It's funny, as we've never once headed back to romance after that one night we spent together, but I rather like how that experience has left an unspoken closeness with us since.  We talked for a while about Scottish rugby, and then he left abruptly after 11 to catch his train home.

At around 11:30, it was getting chilly out on the back patio and many people had already gone in, so along with the Wild Welshman's old flatmate, I left the club.  The flatmate insisted as we parted that I should e-mail him sometime, and I promised I would.  (Although I promptly forgot to do so the next day).

I walked home texting the Young Dutchman about his incredibly accurate fashion sense, having had no luck with any boys tonight but still having had a great evening out, regardless.

Hooray for Henley!

After I spent my entire day on Saturday looking for my missing P60 form (without any luck), I finally packed up all of my papers and passports and brought them to the Post Office. At that point, I should have come home, changed, and gone out to my friend Will's birthday party, but somehow I just couldn't summon the motivation. I was tired and just didn't really want to go. So I texted the Young Dutchman to tell him I was going to be lame, but that I would see him tomorrow in Henley. He told me to plan to be in Henley by noon, so I changed my clocks (at last British Summer Time is starting) and headed to bed knowing I had to be up early.

In the morning I texted the Young Dutchman to make sure we were still on, hoping against hope that he might be running late (as I was running a bit behind myself). Alas, he called me immediately to say that he was on the train, so I quickly threw some things in a bag, put on some clothes, and hurried my way out of the door. Got to the train station with time to buy my ticket and some breakfast, and then was on the train and off to Henley.

I had a pretty nice trip, reading the book I'd remembered to stash in my bag at the last minute, and was amused as we traveled further out of London, how obviously Oxbridge preppy the crowd on the train became. I was joined at Slough by a group of 5 young male undergrads, all in pastel dress shirts and khaki pants, who all struck me both with how good they looked (the easy chiseled perfection of youth!) and also how young they looked. I mean, serious babies. They were attractive, but not in the way of a guy you could actually be interested in. And then although they were all obviously friends and were all sitting together, on the train they all pulled out their smartphones and started playing with them. I thought this was bizarre, as any group of girls that age would all be gossiping with each other. Is this some male thing I wasn't aware of? This would become relevant later.

We got to Twyford, where we had to change trains, and so along with the entire group, I moved over and got on the Henley train, which was just as packed as it is as the Henley Royal Regatta. Everyone was dressed in the wonderfully preppy way that one does for Henley (sundresses and flats for the girls, rowing blazers for the boys), and I stood on the train with everyone else packed in the standing-room-only space.

When we got to Shiplake (the last stop before Henley), I was completely surprised when two of the people fighting their way off the train early, trying to get past me, were the Young Dutchman and Kellogg Boy! I hadn't seen them at all thus far, but with a laugh, the Young Dutchman kissed me, and then jokingly said, "I can't stand to stay on this train for another 2 minutes!" (About the further journey time on the train to Henley). I giggled, as I knew that they were planning to walk from Shiplake, and for a fraction of a second I almost considered jumping off and joining them, but I knew my knee wouldn't handle the walk. So with a wave and a blown kiss, I wished them an enjoyable walk and told them I'd see them in Henley.

Two minutes later, I arrived in Henley, and decided to head into town to pick up some supplies before spending the day out on the river. Did that, and then made my way down to the river to watch the races. Having been to these races years before, I knew that they raced in the opposite direction than they did for the Royal Regatta, and that only way to see any action was to go to the Leander side of the river and walk down. Once I had settled myself in at a decent spot on the river, I texted the young Dutchman to tell him where I was when they felt like coming to join, at which point he called and I learned that they were having drinks at the Phyllis Court Club. I'd never even thought to tell him that the PCC, while a lovely place to spend time, would probably one of the worst places to watch the race. He felt badly, but with the races starting, it was a bad time to move spots, so I told him not to worry about it, and I would see him a bit later.

Anyway, I was having fun watching the crowds. The last time I went to Henley for the women's and lightweight races, it was because a friend of mine was rowing in the lightweight men's boat. It was a really chilly day and it was a hardcore few of us friends who bundled up in coats and stood along the riverbank to cheer on our friends.

The scene this day had at least ten times as many people, and a fancy new sponsor for the women, a company called Newton. They passed out light and dark blue flags, programmes, and those inflatable tube thingies that you can bang together to make noise, so it was really like a proper sporting event! They'd also added a race where the head-of-the-river boats (men's and women's) from Torpids and Lent Bumps compete against each other. Kind of a cool idea, to see who has the better bumps boats. (And since those who row at Henley can't compete in Torpids or Lent bumps anyway, you don't have to worry about overlap in teams). Pembroke (Oxford) women beat Emmanuel (Cambridge) women, but Caius (Cambridge) men beat Pembroke (Oxford) men. Although when it came to the women's reserve boat races (Osiris vs Blondie), Blondie caught a crab about directly right across from where I was sitting. It was heart-breaking to watch, as the boat absolutely stopped dead in the water, in what had been a close race up to that point. For several seconds they didn't go anywhere, until they got going again, but at that point Osiris had easily pulled away and were now too far ahead to catch. All of that effort, undone by one bad stroke.

At this point, the Young Dutchman and Kellogg Boy came and joined me, and the Young Dutchman seemed so delighted to see me. He dashed off to do the rounds and watch the Women's Lightweight race (Oxford won), but then came back and as we wandered further down the river, wrapped an arm around me, I put an arm around his waist, and we walked down the river perfectly in step. It's funny, because you know how with some people you try to do that, and your strides are just off or your heights don't quite match, you seem to never have that unspoken agreement of which way to go around obstacles, and as much as you try you can never seem to get it right? Well, this was the opposite of that. My arm fit snugly around his waist, he is enough taller than me to rest his arm comfortably around my shoulders, and even as we navigated through increasingly packed crowds, we just moved with ease, that unspoken communication keeping us perfectly in step.

And this was sweet and I liked it, but it still puzzled me a bit. The Young Dutchman is not normally so physically affectionate with me, as close as we are. Particularly when we are out with such large crowds and there are so many other women to be hitting on, he doesn't really like to give the wrong impression with me. But throughout the day, any time we walked anywhere, he would once again slip an arm around me, and I'd walk with him hip-to-hip, gazing up at him like any other adoring little girl.

It made me wonder what was going on, but after a little bit I figured it out: When I asked myself the hypothetical question, "How would I feel if the Young Dutchman seemed to be making a strong emotional attachment to another girl?" Given that through all of the girls that have come and gone, I know he hasn't loved any of them the way he loves me, his playboy nature has never bothered me. And then when I reversed it, I realised the Young Dutchman was a bit unnerved, seeing me arrive with the Tall South African on Friday night, and leave with him too. And, on a subconcious level that he's not even aware of, he feels a bit insecure and wants to pull me back to him.

Admittedly I can understand this, as I've felt it myself. When my brother got married, when my best friend and roommate started dating the guy she eventually married, and even when the Young Dutchman himself started hanging out with Kellogg Boy. Feeling yourself being supplanted in the affections of the one you consider your "best friend" is kind of scary. And so, I made a mental note to be more careful with the fragile male ego, and perhaps make more of an effort to reassure the Young Dutchman that, as many other boys as I like, he'll always be one of my key priorities. But goodness, seems like I'm dealing with quite a few fragile male egos these days!

Of course, he wasn't too insecure for long, and after he found some of his boys from Wolfson, I found myself with Kellogg Boy, watching the ceremony (the Cambridge openweight girls and the Cambridge lightweight men had won the last two races), and then we walked back to the Phyllis Court Club for afternoon tea.

At the desk, I was unsure how they would react to the fact that we weren't members, but I pulled out my Oxford & Cambridge Club card, and after inspecting it, they just asked me to sign in and were super welcoming. How lovely is that?

We went and got ourselves some tea out on the terrace, but weren't there long before we were joined by the Young Dutchman and a South African friend of his. (I just really seem to attract Saffas to me these days!) We had tea and ate some nibbles and I gave Kellogg Boy a half a squished ham sandwich that I had in my bag because he was starving. But after realising that we couldn't get any proper food at the club, we decided to head into town for dinner.

After some debate about where we could get the best online deal (the Young Dutchman wanted to do a 2-for-1 deal at Pizza Express), we realised we could get £12 meals at Strada, and so went there. I had a good time just joking with the boys, as I'm always accepted as one of the mates with both the Young Dutchman and Kellogg Boy, and the Saffa was learning that I was pretty fun to have around. The conversational topics were wide-ranging, from the frustrations of dating younger women (no education and nothing to talk about), and thankfully seemed to settle on the joys of older women (they're just more interesting), as the Saffa revealed he was dating a 35-year old.

Although at one point, I noticed that all three boys had their mobile phones out and were playing with them, just like the group on the train had been. At least the Saffa was self-aware enough to realise this and point it out to the others, but once again it seemed to be a definite sign that I was "hanging with the boys", as I have NEVER seen a group of girls do that. And here the boys had done it twice in one day. How strange.

We then returned to the Phyllis Court Club, as the boys wanted to sneak into the Black and Blue Ball that was being held there. I joined them for coffee (although it was just Kellogg Boy and the Saffa having coffee, as neither the Young Dutchman nor I drink it), and we ended up chatting to a group of young men in black-tie sitting near us. As the only one who wasn't currently at Oxford (and the only girl), I didn't participate as much as the others, but it was nice how they all instantly made friends. I think much like the surprised comedians observed, all those of us who might be considered "upper class" and particularly the Oxbridge types are actually super-friendly and welcoming. You'll rarely find easier people to talk to, I think.

However it was getting late and I wanted to catch the 9 PM train back to London (the 10 PM train would be the last one of the night), so I made my good-byes, gave the Young Dutchman an extra hug and a kiss (being reassuring, remember?) and then walked down to the train station. Although I'd allowed 25 minutes, it only took 15, and I had time to sit on the platform and text Kellogg Boy that news.

Once again, I had to change trains at Twyford, so I sat on a bench at the station to read my book while I waited, and I was thoroughly involved in my book when some guy came up to me and asked, "Spare a dollar?" I looked up, had the half-second thought of "What kind of hobo asking for change wears a suit?" and then realised it was the Young Dutchman! Thoroughly surprised and delighted, I jumped up to hug him. Apparently the boys had realised the party was going to be lame, but having missed the train from Henley to Twyford, decided to all just hop in a cab so they would make it to Twyford in time for the Oxford train. The Young Dutchman then urged me to sneak around the corner and surprise Kellogg boy, so I did, attack-tickling him. He just seemed confused when he turned around and realised who it was, asking, "What are you doing here?"

I laughed and explained that I was waiting for my London train, and since the boys had another 10 minutes after my train until their train came, they decided to wait with me. Joked around, the Young Dutchman fed me pretzels, and I once again got a round of kisses when my train pulled into the station, and I dashed off with the Young Dutchman singing after me, "So long! Farewell! Aufweidersehen! Good-bye!" I laughed and sang back to him, skipping down the platform and onto my train. Such a great day out, with such a wonderful guy.

The Lansdowne With the Tall South African

I was woken up by a text from the Tall South African, laughing at the jokes I'd recounted to him the night before.  Apparently I did at least make him laugh, and we spent much of the morning texting back-and-forth, and he promised he would call me at lunchtime to finalise our plans for the evening.

Yet it was the Young Dutchman who called me for a chat at 11 AM, which surprised me a bit but I was glad to talk to him.  Both of his parents were now in town, and he was planning to bring them to the club that evening.  I warned him that I was bringing the Tall South African, expecting a bit of a rebuke, but the Young Dutchman promised to be nice.  It's strange, as I know the Young Dutchman is not a big fan of the Tall South African, but I'm grateful he's willing to be friendly to him for my sake.

The Tall South African called at noon, and he told me that he'd be coming down, "If you still want me to."  What?  I'd been texting him all week saying that I missed him and he should come see me, and now he's asking if I still want him to come?  I was absolutely baffled by this, but at least recognised it for the insecurity it is.  After all, when you suspect somebody might be inviting you out of a sense of politeness or obligation, you always like to give them that out of "If you really want me to."  I have no idea what I'd done to give him any impression that I was just humouring him, that I didn't really want to see him, but obviously I needed to do more to stroke the fragile male ego.  Still, I just about snorted my head in disgust.  Here is a guy I talk to every day, who I've been insisting needs to visit me all week long, and he still can't figure out that I like him.  {Sigh!}

The Tall South African called me again at 5, and as we debated where to meet, he began to insist that walking from Oxford Circus Tube station would be faster than making the connection to the Victoria Line and going to Green Park.  This somehow led to a bet and an agreement to meet at the gates to the Oxford Circus station and to walk against each other.

Yet Oxford Circus is a weird station, in that when you go towards the exits, there are only escalators going up, and no way of getting back down again.  So, I was forced to exit the station and walk with him (despite my knee hurting, which like most people he'd forgotten about).

Still, it was nice to go for a walk with him.  Trusting him to know the way (such a mistake!) we got completely lost, wandered down charming-looking back alleyways, went to Grosvenor Square twice (where I realised we'd stumbled upon the American Embassy yet again), and finally got ourselves sorted out with the help of iPhones, arriving nearly an hour late at the club.  Yet, despite getting so totally lost, it was loads of fun to just walk and talk with him, my arm in his and just wandering the streets of London.

When we finally arrived at the club, the Young Dutchman spotted me from across the room, and jumped up, his face absolutely lighting up to see me.  As he approached, the Tall South African whispered in my ear, asking if I was going to get in trouble with the Young Dutchman for arriving with him.  I whispered back and assured him that I'd already told the Young Dutchman about him when the Young Dutchman had called earlier in the afternoon.  But I thought it cute that the Tall South African knew to be nervous...

Indeed, after embracing me and showering me with kisses, the Young Dutchman gave the Tall South African a hearty handshake and a warm welcome, introducing the both of us to everyone around the table.  (And the Young Dutchman said to me later, "Now wasn't I well-behaved and nice to the Tall South African?"  Yes, he was.  Perhaps only I could tell that the smile was fake and that he wasn't quite as warm to him as he is with most other people, but from an objective perspective, you could not fault the Young Dutchman's behaviour.  He was the picture of politeness with the Tall South African).

I sat with the Tall South African for a bit, trying to include him in the conversations with others, but luckily he is relatively social, and so when I saw he was doing fine in conversation by himself, got distracted by the arrival of my friend Michelle.  Then Lotte and her fiancee arrived and were shocked and thrilled to see the Tall South African, as he hadn't told anybody he was coming to London.  (This was a special visit just to see me, but why not catch up with other people as long as you are there?)

Admittedly, so many people I knew then arrived, that my attempts to keep an eye on the Tall South African were somewhat of a disaster.  I pretty much lost him for nearly the rest of the evening, as I kept getting pulled in one direction and he got pulled in another.  I got a chance to talk to the Young Dutchman's parents, and was pulled into a few conversations by the Young Dutchman himself wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close to him.  But I kept missing the one person I came with, the Tall South African.

Finally, after all of this socialising with other people, we finally got a chance to talk to each other on the couch, just the two of us. And the conversation turned to how impossible it is to separate sex from emotions. And I knew as a subtext, we were talking about why we can't sleep together. It kills me, because I know he's right, but yet I feel so frustrated by the whole situation anyway. I mean, does he think we're NOT forming an emotional connection by talking to each other every day?

{Sigh!} I guess my one hope is that the attraction will fade with time, that eventually I'll even wonder how we once saw each other naked. After all, I know I don't really connect with him on the level that I do with the Young Dutchman, although perhaps that is just a factor of having known the Young Dutchman longer.

Yet it's weird, this question of how you make your new "best friends". I love this blog, because it allows me to go back and read about the very day that I met the Young Dutchman. And there was a certain chemistry there at the time, that has persisted to this day.  I just "connected" with him instantly.  Which, to be fair, I do with the Tall South African.  But it's still a bit different somehow.

Finally the evening ended with everyone in the front hallway of the club as the staff attempted to close down the bar and scoot us out of the club.  I found myself chatting to the Young Dutchman's mother quite a bit, and then remembering my original admonishment to myself that I was going to pay more attention to the Tall South African to soothe his insecure ego.  Well I really screwed that one up, didn't I?

So I made my way away from everyone else, and just chatted to the Tall South African at the edges of the crowd.  The Young Dutchman insisted on pouring me yet another glass of champagne, and when the Tall South African insisted he would be driving in the morning and so couldn't drink any more, I made sure to get him a glass of water.

Finally, he insisted he had to get the last train, and it was late anyway, so I fetched my coat and he told everyone we were leaving.  He put a gentle hand on my back and guided me out of the club, and so we walked back to the train station.  Just a peck on the cheek as we parted for our respective trains, which was a bit disappointing, but in light of our earlier conversation and his sobriety, I suppose I should have expected that.

Although when I got home and texting him to let I know I was home safely, I was rewarded with my phone ringing.  And so I fell asleep with him talking to me on his whole train journey home, smiling and laughing, as his voice carried me off to sleep...

Comedy Night

I hadn't thought to sign up for the Lansdowne Comedy Night well enough in advance, but as it turned out, that afternoon my friend Sarah decided not to go and so offered me her ticket. It was good to see Sophie, and I was looking forward to an evening of comedy. I sat with Sophie and one of the South African posse, and after Sophie got us some wine, we took in the show.

The first comedian was really good, and I enjoyed his jokes. All of the comedians were obviously a bit in awe of being in a private member's club, as they normally play venues in pubs and other low-rent locales.  So as such, they kept constantly making jokes about how posh we all were.  This comedian asked, "Is anybody here working class?  If you're not sure if you're working class, the way to tell is the relative size of your television to your bookshelves.  If you've got a giant, massive flat-screen television, while you've got some spindly IKEA 'Billy' bookshelf that's practically falling down with only a few books on it, you're probably working class."  I laughed pretty hard at this, because it was classically one of those "funny because it's true" comments.  I guess with two bookshelves packed into my tiny flat, and no television at all, it tells you something about my social class!

His best joke had to be at the end of the night however:  "My girlfriend worries that I'll cheat on her, because being a comedian involves lots of late nights and drinking in pubs with lots of women around.  To reassure her, I try telling her the old Paul Newman quote, about, "Why would I go out for hamburger when I've got steak at home?"  The problem is, when you're pissed, a hamburger tastes pretty damn good!"

There was then a female comedian who was apparently Sophie's friend, and the reason this whole comedy night had come about in the first place.  They also had a chap who sort of served as "MC", and had gotten us to engage in some ritualised banter, including every time he yelled out, "What colour boxer shorts are you wearing?" we'd all yell back the answer "Misty Twig!", which happened to be the name of a girl sitting front and center.  The comedians absolutely loved her, as she was pretty and incredibly witty, and took everyone yelling her name all of the time with good grace.

At the intermission, we had a jokes contest, where they gave us all slips of paper as we wrote punchlines to the joke, "What is the difference between Boris Johnson and a vacuum cleaner?"  My table seemed to think I was extraordinarily witty with the few that I came up with:

"Both can suck, but only one can blow."
In the efforts of having a positive one:  "One cleans up every day, the other one will clean up in May."
And then the one that actually made it into the finals of the competition: "One used to destroy restaurants at Uni, the other one would clean up after."
However it was low-brow humour that won the day with, "Only one ever touches the c*ck of a teenage boy".

The comedians had said that they'd never read so many positive Boris Johnson jokes, I guess once again showing the kind of crowd we were in!

After the intermission dinner break, a rather funny fat guy came on, and randomly decided to try and banter with Misty Twig, and then seemed quite surprised when we all knew her name and shouted it out loudly.  I'm not sure if he really hadn't been paying attention earlier or what, but it did seem like a humorous bit of good fortune that he'd decided to chat to her.

Then there was a guy who absolutely HAD to be autistic, as he got on stage, let out an absolute stream of one-liner jokes while laughing awkwardly and staring at the floor.  Nobody laughed, except nervously to wonder, "What on earth is going on here?"  Apparently it was a guy who had really wanted to try comedy, and that was his first time on stage.  Sorry dude, but I'm not sure this is quite your thing...

The final comedian did a pretty good job (particularly as everyone was still sort of recovering from the autistic rapid-fire jokes), and everyone got a good laugh.  After the show, we all hung out in the bar for a bit, and then at midnight Sophie decided to take a whole crowd to the 151.  I insisted on going home, begging the excuse of my knee, although wondering, "Am I the only person who has to work tomorrow?"

When I got to the Underground, I checked my phone and saw that I'd missed a call from the Tall South African, which was a shame.  (I'd been texting him photos of fancy cars in Mayfair earlier).  Sent him a text that I'd see him tomorrow, and then went home to bed, glad to get off of standing around on my sore knee.  Had a good laugh and it was good to get out though!

In the Office with a Bum Leg

I had to go into the office today to deal with some immigration paperwork, but I also really properly needed to see my doctor about my knee.  When I'd called the day before requesting an appointment, the front desk staff told me they didn't have anything they could schedule for weeks, but if I showed up at 7 AM, they could give me a same-day appointment that morning.

So I got up early to dress and change for the office, and then went to my doctor's office to wait at 6:45 AM.  They got me in for an appointment at 8 AM with a random GP (not the one I normally see), but I figured I just really needed to see someone...

For the examination, she pressed all over my knee (like prodding the kneecap) and bent it in a few weird ways (inside, outside and down), but nothing hurt. I mean it was stiff, but no agonizing pain. Now, this could be due to the fact that it's so swollen that it just doesn't go that way (I've read that sometimes your muscles can try to tense up to compensate for the injury, and they DO feel tight lately), but at least initially, that I passed that test, that I could stand and put weight on it, that it didn't absolutely balloon up right away, and that I could get my heel all of the way to the floor were taken as good signs. Her initial thinking is that I might have sprained the ligaments, but not have torn them.

So she prescribed 250 mg Naproxen to be taken 3 times a day, to bring down the swelling (since I've already been taking ibuprofen without noticeable effect), and then we're going to see how I'm doing in a week.

I will admit I feel quite confident in it in a knee brace (just a glorified ace bandage, no side-supports), although when I don't have it in a brace, I can occasionally step wrong and then that hurts like hell. Not sure if that's really the knee "buckling" or just me over-extending on the swollen bits or something. But I'm definitely in a no-win circle, as I hate sitting still, but then when I move around too much and walk on the leg, it gets tired and starts hurting (and I do stupid stuff like step on it wrong).

At least I'm relieved that it doesn't seem to be as dire as first feared...how much I would love to find that it's just a sprain/strain! (i.e. No surgery!) Admittedly not out of the woods yet, but I'm at least encouraged by the results of my first exam.

Then went to the office, survived my day at my desk hobbling back and forth to the copier, and came home exhausted from a day out, but once again glad to escape sitting on my couch on my flat!

Dinner with the Young Dutchman and His Father

After trying to be sensible on Sunday and stay home and rest with my leg up on the couch, I was going absolutely stir-crazy with cabin fever. So when the Young Dutchman popped up on Facebook chat to ask how I was doing, I was eager for the distraction.

He asked what I was up to and I moaned about my knee for a bit, at which point he said, "Dad's here this evening too so was thinking of maybe getting some food somewhere and inviting you too, but now I'm not so sure! Sounds like you need to rest!"

Horrified at the thought of missing a change to get out of the house, I begged him to reconsider, promised I could walk and that I would be well-behaved.  So he gave me the directions on where and when to go, and although it was a struggle to get out (while walking I had to stop every few paces just to pause, catch my breath, and regroup to carry on), but since I'd left early enough to give myself time, I arrived at the restaurant before everyone else.

The Young Dutchman called to let me know that he would be a bit late, so I went and took a seat and waited for everyone else.  They were all about ten minutes late, but it was just such a pleasure to be out. I sat next to the Young Dutchman and across from Kellogg Boy, who also came out despite being a bit worse for wear, as he was ill.

The evening was an interesting take in the contrast between the Young Dutchman and his father.  His father was a lovely guy, tall, grey-haired with a mustache, not sharing much with my own father in appearance but a lot in personality.  Very warm, nice guy, obviously very loving and huggable like my own dad.  What did amuse me however, is since the Young Dutchman learned to speak English at the age of 4, he really has no discernible accent, but his father has quite a thick Dutch accent.  I suppose that is to be expected (anyone who learns English as a foreign language as an adult, and who lives in a country where they speak Dutch all of the time) is likely to have a Dutch accent, but for some reason this still took me by surprise.

Still, we had a good conversation, one of the better ones I've had in a while.  Although it was funny to see the differences with what the Young Dutchman looked for in conversation (good and witty banter) and what his father did ( introspective and thought-provoking discussion).  Felt therefore a bit on balance between entertaining the Young Dutchman (thank goodness I am so clever and witty) and engaging in more "serious" conversation for his father.  Kellogg Boy was much better at the "serious" discussions, talking about the current situation in Syria.  When those conversations happened, you could just see the Young Dutchman checking out, mentally.  But then when I brought it back to banter, he was all for playing with me, even as you could see his father's mild frustration with that.  Still, the constant passing of the conversational ball meant for an interesting evening.

After dinner, Kellogg Boy left us, as he was feeling so ill and tired, but the Young Dutchman, his father and I decided to go to the Lansdowne for one last drink.  The Young Dutchman and his father had cycled to the restaurant however, and with my knee in the shape it was, I really needed the Tube. so the Young Dutchman came with me while his father cycled back to the club (lacking his Oyster card).  Gosh those Dutch, they really love their bicycles!

It was funny though, as I was having quite a bit of trouble with stairs and things on the Tube due to my knee, and the Young Dutchman, ever wanting to the the gentleman and help, kept trying to drag me up them.  Kind of him, but I kept having to laughingly insist that he leave me alone, that I just needed to go a bit more slowly!

Back at the Lansdowne, I sat with the Young Dutchman for a bit, just enjoying catching up about various things while we waited for his father.  And then when his father arrived, and I found myself listening to stories about the Young Dutchman's childhood and how he'd torn his ACL when he was younger.  I never would have known, as the Young Dutchman seems to be in such perfect shape now.  It somehow encouraged me, to know that one of my best friends had been through this, so perhaps I would come through it okay too.

Finally, it was late and only a Monday night, so the Young Dutchman and his father went back to their flat (just around the corner!) while I went home, much cheered for the first time since my accident.  There's something about the good company of your best friends that will do that for you...

St. Patrick's Day Disaster

How a fraction of a second can change your life...

When I woke up in the morning, thankfully my head wasn't too badly off despite all of the wine from the night before. Particularly as Sophie and I weren't playing squash until noon, I took the opportunity to sleep in for a bit. Apparently Sophie forgot and showed up an hour early, but I was right on time, and we went downstairs to play.

To my surprise, I lost the first two games, as my game just wasn't on form. Yet, in the next two, I was able to stage a comeback, and pretty effectively shut Sophie down. So at the final game, the score was 2-2, and we were playing for glory.

What happened next happened so quickly, it still shocks me. I was crossing the court from left to right, reaching for the ball, when all of a sudden my left knee went out from under me. I felt a "pop", and suddenly I was on the floor, absolutely screaming in agony.

The pain was so intense, I could barely even think to yell for Sophie to call an ambulance. I thought I knew what pain was after recently surviving my tooth infection, but this put even that intense pain to shame. I found myself terrified to even open my eyes and look at my knee, because I swear I thought I was going to look down and see my knee popped out of its socket, or my leg twisted at some grotesque angle.

The pain was absolutely blinding for about 30-60 seconds, I was seeing stars and thought I might pass out from the pain. But then all of a sudden, it started to ease up, until slowly, over the course of 5 minutes, I was able to roll over, sit up and flex my knee. Within 10 minutes, I could stand and walk. So this was surprising. Was I badly injured?

My knee definitely still felt "funny" though. I tried running a bit, and was fine as long as I was in a straight line but I couldn't do corners. Sophie suggested we might still hit the ball around for a bit, which we did for the next 10 minutes, and then went back to the ladies changing room to sit and chat and keep my knee up for a bit. Had a fun gossip session where she moaned about Witty Windsor Boy and I googled "ACL injuries". I was hen able to walk home, but was definitely limping. Although I was free from shooting pains while just sitting still, I found it wasn't a good idea to move around too much. My knee didn't swell up too much, but it did not like bending and felt rather stiff.

Being sensible, I decided to skip going to watch the rugby in Highbury & Islington (such a shame, as it was England vs Ireland, on St. Patrick's Day), although I did end up getting a play-by-play of the game from the Tall South African. Funny that finally he was watching a game whilst I was missing it!

However it's not like I ever do very well sitting still, and so in the evening since I was due to go out to a "girlie dinner" organised my the wife of my friend Ali, it seemed like a good quiet activity to go to. So I wrapped my leg in a compression bandage and hobbled out the door (taking forever on the stairs with my leg that wouldn't bend!)

I had been unsure about the dinner, after the dull disaster that was the last "girlie dinner" I went to, although this turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Both because my friend Ali came home unexpectedly a day early from his skiing trip and joined us for dinner, and because the conversation turned out to be more stimulating than I'd feared.

Ali's wife graciously allowed the two of us to sit together so that we could catch up (as he really is my dearest friend), and we had a good time talking about our college's new master, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Which then led on to a discussion about the problems he's had as the head of the Church of England, including the thorny issues of gay marriage and women bishops. Which then led to a discussion about gay families and adoption, and whether "traditional families" were really best for children. It was a really lively and interesting debate, and we all didn't leave until after 11 PM, we were all having such a good time.

The walk home was painful (I almost considered calling a cab), but luckily I made it home and to bed, and with my leg propped up for a while!

Drinks with Joel and Doro

In the morning, I saw a notice on quite a few friends' Facebook pages that Rowan Williams was set to become the next Master of Magdalene College, our dear college in Cambridge. And I thought to myself, "It can't be THAT Rowan Williams, can it?" A quick Google search turned up the truth however, that it was indeed the one and same Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Holy cow, and he was going to be stepping down as the Archbishop of Canterbury to become the Master of OUR little college? Wow.

So we e-mailed back and forth about this exciting news, and our whole little band, Tristan, Doro, and Joel were all excited that we were due to meet for drinks for the evening anyway, and now we had this good news to celebrate. I even started e-mailing with JG throughout the day and encouraged him to come along, although alas he had dressed for casual Friday at work and was unable to join us in the end.

When I arrived at the club, Doro and Tristan were already there and drinking champagne to celebrate Doro's achievement of becoming a published scientist, with a recent paper she'd authored having been accepted for publication. I joined them, and even bought a second bottle when the first was gone.

We were then joined by Joel and enjoyed a good catch-up, although as usual it was more Joel interviewing others rather than us getting any news about him. We were then joined by Tristan's latest girlfriend (who I'd met recently at the wine tasting event at the Carlton Club), and the two of them had to move on to the next birthday party they were due at.

As it was then past 8PM and happy hour was over at the club but still going at the Lansdowne, I suggested we decamp to an alternate location. So we walked up to the Lansdowne, and although Doro was thinking about going home, we persuaded her to join us for one more drink.

"One more drink" turned into three bottles of wine, and a merry time was had by all. Of course, as a result, the details of the evening now escape me, except to say that Joel desperately fancies Doro, but of course she has a boyfriend (and he's still stupidly involved with the girl he works with). So I basically sat back with amusement while he mooned over Doro, Doro completely ignored him, and I socialised with other people I recognised. We finally left at 1 AM, which I think is a sign of a good night! And Joel drunkenly texted me, "I really fancy your friend..." Well yes Joel, we know that, but as you're too much of an idiot to get your act together with girls, do you really think I'm going to let you break up the happy relationship she's in? Plus, I think she's too clever for that anyway.

Still, an excellent night out with good company and good friends. Definitely wish I had more of those!

Commonwealth Lecture

I was in the office today, because I had to get a bunch of papers together for my upcoming immigration application. Payslips, photocopies of bank statements, and just mountains upon mountains of paper. But at least it worked out well, for in the evening I was due to go to Guildhall, which is right near my office.

I was going to the 2012 Commonwealth Lecture, because my well-connected doctor friend had invited me. It was kind of random (and seemed suspiciously like a date, which I hoped it wasn't), but still I figured, "Why not?" Hence, here I was, making my way into this grand building for the lecture.

We listened to an author, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, speak about "Connecting Cultures". There had to be about 200-300 people there, with a high percentage of Africans. My friend informed me that Africans often like to come out to "support one of their own", which I suppose made sense. She turned out to be a surprisingly good speaker, and I enjoyed one of the anecdotes of her speech:

When I was growing up in Nsukka, the university town in southeastern Nigeria, books were the center of my world. One day, I read an American novel in which a character ate something called a bagel for breakfast. I had no idea what a bagel was, but I thought it sounded very elegant, very exotic – I pronounced it “bah-gel.” I desperately wanted to have a bah-gel. My family visited the United States for the first time when I was nine. At the airport in New York, I told my mother that, as a matter of the gravest urgency, we had to buy a bah-gel. And she went to a café and bought one. Finally I would have a bah-gel. You can imagine my disappointed surprise when I discovered that this bah-gel, this glorious bah-gel from the novel, was only just a dense doughnut."

After the speech was over, we then went in to the cocktail reception, where circulating waiters brought us canapés from various commonwealth countries, so they included Indian paneer, Jamaican jerk chicken, and various other things with a Afro-Carribean flair that I didn't even recognise. Although I did get a good laugh when my friend asked the waiter where the champagne was from, and the waiter replied with surprise, "France, of course!" Not exactly a commonwealth country...

We then circulated a bit, and I was surprised at how hard it was to socialise in an entire room full of people I didn't know. But I got the feeling that was more due to their shortcomings than mine. For instance, I was chatting to one girl who was apparently the assistant of some bigwig. And then finally the bigwig herself took notice of me and introduced herself, and then asked what my association with the Commonwealth was. When I revealled that I was just the guest of a Commonwealth representative, she then actually walked away, having instantly decided I wasn't worth taking the time to talk to. I mean seriously, without a good-bye or anything. I was shocked.

Though I did get to have a fun time when my friend said to me, "Do you want to meet the Ambassador? Just remember to address him as 'Your Excellency' when I introduce you." And so he did, properly introducing me to the Ambassador, not the other way around (I always get the order of such things wrong), and I remembered to say, "A pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency." How cool is that?

Finally though, I hadn't been drinking (those damn meds!) and I was getting a bit tired, so I begged off and we made our way home. Luckily after all those canapés there was no need for dinner, and I was grateful just to get to go home after a most interesting evening out...

Pi Day

Not much happened today, except that today was the 14th of March. Sometimes known as the Ides of March (although that's generally the 15th), sometimes "Steak and BJ Day" (as a response to the romantic cheese of Valentine's Day the previous month), but my favourite is Pi Day. Because in the US dating system, by placing the month first before the date, instead of it being 14/3, it's 3.14, or Pi.

I hadn't heard from the Tall South African in a few days, and so used this totally pointless reason as an excuse to get in touch, to inform him of the holiday, and muse if it was only an American holiday due to the US dating system.

I wondered if it perhaps was stupid, but was rewarded after work with a call from him, laughing that it had taken him ages to figure out what I was on about, but once he had he thought it quite clever and hilarious. So that was my amusing little pick-me-up for the day!

CBDG Gets Me Running Again

Being ill and unable to drink, I really had no intentions to go running this evening. After all, who would want to go out in the cold and dark to go run when feeling like this?

However, at around 3 PM, I was surprised when an e-mail popped up to my work account from CBDG. "Are you going tonight? It is a lovely day so you have no excuse for coming out (although it will be dark but that isn't the point!)"

Now what kind of girl can say no to a personal appeal like that? So I agreed that I would see him later. Which seemed to make him quite delighted, particularly as he noted in his response "I'll be there about 7, probably having a pint before the run as I've had a rubbish day at work. In fact it has been dreadful full stop! Blinking Olympics." Made me giggle.

So at 6 PM, I got off my arse and went out to the run. Was greeted by quite a few people who noted it had been some time since they'd seen me, and felt quite thoroughly welcomed back. Even took my time to find CBDG, as I was enjoying talking to others so much. By the time I finally did make it over to greet CBDG in fact, it was just about time to set out on the run.

Which, when we started running, I was suddenly noting how tight my lungs seemed (perhaps the effect of my lingering cough?) and how queasy I felt (the effects of taking my meds on an empty stomach, not with food like recommended?) I kept up with the group reasonably for a while, and then suddenly after about 20 minutes decided I'd had it. So instead I went to the local Sainsbury's, got some sandwiches (that did make me feel better), and then slowly made my way back to the pub, arriving just as the rest of the group was beginning to return. Good timing.

I had a ginger ale (in a continued attempt to settle my stomach) and talked to Kitty for a while. Finally went out and joined CBDG in the circle, and enjoyed chatting to him, until he decided he wanted to scoot off early. So he gave me a card to give to haberdash, and then gave me a kiss on each cheek and promised me that he'd be in touch about the two of us going to dinner soon. That last bit surprised me a bit, but I always do enjoy dinner with him, so smiled and told him I looked forward to it.

I stayed for a bit longer, before heading out around 9:30. I checked my iPhone and saw a message from my mother saying that they were planning on going out to dinner for my father's birthday at what would be 10 PM my time, so I quickly paused to call and wish him a happy birthday. A good chat with my dad, although humorous in that he spent half the time with me on the phone going over his menu options for what he would have for dinner that evening. Definitely know what's important to my dad!

When I hung up, I was pleased to see that the Sainsbury's near Holborn was still open, so I picked up a few groceries, went home, made myself some dinner, and then looked forward to turning in at a reasonable hour for once!

Lunch with Zhan and Andy

My phone buzzed at 11 AM, waking me up. It was my friend Zhan, asking me if I wanted to join him and our friend Andy (a mutual friend from Balliol) for lunch at noon. Not wanting to trek all of the way across town to London Bridge, I asked first, "In Notting Hill?" When he replied in the affirmative, I immediately wrote back, "I'd love to!"

(I will admit to a half moment's hesitation about doing something today in case the Tall South African wanted to get together, but after skipping Ultimate Frisbee last weekend, I was determined not to do anything so idiotic again this weekend. So if the Tall South African hadn't called me by now, that was his loss).

I always joke that Zhan is the ultimate "guy's guy", in that he just has absolutely no feminine side. Which is fine, it makes him the guy that he is, but it also meant that he had no concept of how long it would take a girl who has just gotten out of bed to get ready. "See you at Andy's in a half-hour?" he wrote. Given that I'd have to walk out the door in 10 minutes for that to happen, I begged for 45 minutes and then launched myself into the shower. (In the end, I arrived at Andy's an hour and ten minutes later. Sometimes, a girl just really needs a shower).

Still, I made it to Andy's, where we all had some tea and found ourselves discussing the book the two of them had been talking about when I arrived, "The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less" by Barry Schwartz. Apparently Andy has been reading it, but as we talked we realised that Zhan is the true "optimizer", or basically the person who spends so long looking for the best option that he can become paralysed by indecision. I'd always known that Zhan is somewhat of a perfectionist, but it was interesting to have the whole thing distilled down to a clear academic diagnosis.

After our tea, we debated what to do for lunch, and so decided to go for a walk, seeing if we could find a place to eat outside. Andy knew of a pub a bit off the beaten track, so we went there, and had just the good fortune to find one table free, right out in the sunshine. Perfect!

What followed then was an excellent lunch over pizzas (alas, this place didn't do traditional pub food), where we talked about everything from Zhan's plans to buy a house and his satisfaction with his job, to Andy's experiences working in paediatrics and his upcoming internship in South Africa. And somehow we even ended up discussing the Coriolis Effect and using salt shakers and tea pots to illustrate the vernal equinox.

Lately I find I've had the Eleanor Roosevelt quote stuck in my head, "Great minds discuss ideas; Average minds discuss events; Small minds discuss people." And compared to the house party the previous night, I realised how much more I was enjoying myself to the previous night, where the level of discussion was often to be found lacking. Not that I don't enjoy catching up on people's news and what they're up to, but such conversation can only sustain you for so long. At some point, you find yourself desperate for more interesting conversation, something that really has substance. So if you're lucky you move onto events (the Republican primaries always make for good conversational fodder), and at best you find yourself onto the really random stuff (like the value of the monarchy or at what age we think children can consent to their own medical care). Now perhaps some of those conversations can only be the by-product of a long-term friendship, as you have to be really comfortable with people to get into these sorts of debates with them. Yet I'll still argue, what I love most about our friends, is that they are the people who have the minds that "go there." Call it nerdiness or intelligence, what I like about most of our really great friends, is that they just have the sorts of minds where I find myself truly interested to learn what they think. Because their thoughts are just more fascinating than those of the average individual.

After lingering over lunch, we then walked back to Andy's flat to watch the rugby game. I texted the Tall South African at halftime to ask him if he was watching, to then get a call from him. I was sort of embarrassed to leave the guys and talk to the Tall South African for a bit, where I learned that he was already at the train station getting ready to go home. Glad now that I'd gone for lunch with Zhan and Andy, particularly as I'd had such a good time.

Finally, although I could tell the Tall South African wanted to talk to me more for entertainment (he was just standing around at the train station), the game was getting interesting so I hung up on him and went back to watch it with the boys. Plus, I was feeling embarrassed to have taken the call from the Tall South African, as it indicates far too much of an interest in him. I do wonder at times if there's ever anything there with Andy (he's such a nice guy, smart and easy on the eyes), but I certainly won't convince him to think of me as anything other than a friend if I'm answering calls from other guys whilst in his company.

At last the game was over (England won!), and so Andy decided to head off to the hospital for a few hours, and Zhan and I walked back to Notting Hill Gate. I have to admit, I was itching to call the Tall South African back now that the game was over, but I made myself be patient and pay attention to my conversation with Zhan. Finally when we parted however, I was able to get my phone out and give the boy a call, a reward for my restraint!

He was just wasting time on the train, and so was happy to listen to me and tell me stories. Apparently he'd ended up staying up until 6 AM (after returning to the party at 4 AM and being disappointed that I'd left), and then this morning the whole group at the house had gone out for brunch whilst Lotte's fiancee had paid for a cleaner (no wonder she likes that boy!) to return the flat to it's pre-party state. He told me about some interesting people he'd met at the party, and I had to say that overall he'd done better than I had.

Finally his stop was coming up, so he rang off, leaving me to make the rest of the walk home on my own. Such a pity I didn't get to spend more time with him, but so it goes. Admittedly, he remarked on this as well, complaining about how he'd been looking forward to seeing me, but had barely gotten to spend any time with me. Oh well, I know this with the Young Dutchman by now, that parties are terrible places to catch up. Maybe he'll eventually learn too. (As it keeps occurring to me every so often, I must remember how incredibly young he is!)

Still, I returned home having had a lovely afternoon, and glad I didn't waste it hoping that he'd call. Looking forward to our next afternoon lunch get-together!

Lotte's Spring Party

This evening was Lotte's spring party, which I'd been looking forward to for a while. The theme was a "Mad Hatter's Party", although in the end I just wore a hairband instead of a hat, as I didn't want to have to keep track of a hat all evening. The evening started at 7, but despite trying to take some time to get ready, I was nowhere near ready by that time, and so at 8 I called a cab to get there at a reasonable hour.

When I arrived, I realised I need not have worried about arriving so late, although a lot of people did have hats. Perhaps I should have gone for one after all.

The Tall South African was not in evidence at all, so I spent a lot of time talking to Jesse, a guy I knew through the Young Dutchman, who had also grown up in Texas. He was therefore wearing a cowboy hat, and introduced me to his sister, who had come up from university for the party. Good to talk to someone I knew, and I learned that he'd been working for the past few months with Lotte's fiancee, which explained his familiarity with this crowd.

More people arrived and I ended up chatting to tons of random folks, got trapped in the kitchen for a little bit, and around 11 PM got a text from the Tall South African. So apparently he was planning on showing up eventually... I assured him that booze and hats were not needed (as I'd brought a bottle of wine despite only being able to drink water, and obviously was doing without the hat!), and hoped I'd see him soon. I have to admit, the lack of drinking at least made getting refills easy, as all I had to do was return to the tap in the kitchen sink.

Finally the Tall South African did arrive, and so I tried to talk to him for a bit, but we both continually seemed to be dragged off into opposite directions by people wanting to say hello to us. I got trapped outside for a while, and it was only when I was absolutely frozen that I managed to return indoors and catch the Tall South African. Very sweet, when I complained of being cold, he wrapped me up in his arms, and just held on to me for a while, strong and reassuring. And kind of the only way we could have any sort of a conversation, without other people dragging us off away from each other!

Yet too quickly we did get dragged off again (oh well!) and I lost track of him while I talked with some rather cute guys indoors. One guy was talking to me about being an American and moving to London, and he said at one point, "If you've fallen in with this lot, you've really landed on your feet." It struck me as such an odd thing to say. But I suppose I sometimes don't realise how strange it is that all of my friends are generally those from the "upper classes" of London society, but they are my dear friends who I get along with well and whose company I enjoy. I have no idea why people always assume that "posh" people will be unfriendly, but this guy just seemed startled that he was at this party in the first place. Kind of a shame therefore, as he was cute, but also laying his insecurities out first thing.

The Tall South African came and found me, and we did manage to chat for a little bit, before then the old man who owns Lotte's house came down and sat on the couch (I'm always amused at how these parties are such a mix of age ranges), and so then the Tall South African introduced me and got me chatting to him. Nice to make the introductions, and good to actually get some time to chat with the Tall South African (who I like, always treats me as the other person he's with in conversations), but then it was difficult to get out of talking to the older chap and once again, the Tall South African and I got split up again.

I then found myself back outside for a while, where I was surprised to be greeted by the Scottish brother of a friend of mine. Really nice guy (and rather cute too!) although I didn't recognise him at all at first, as he had this Moroccan head dress on. But then we got to chatting, and he introduced me to his friends, one of whom was a rather cute, nice, interesting doctor. Admittedly, a guy who sounded a bit stressed about having to move into the doctor's quarters at the hospital, but still it's always nice to meet a doctor who therefore is obviously somewhat intelligent.

I liked that guy and really had a lot of fun talking to him, but then I got dragged inside by Sophie wanting to dance. So got dragged into the dance party for a while, but now I was really starting to feel the effects of being sober, and I hadn't seen the Tall South African in a bit. Went out to go find him, but there was no sign of him at the party. What on earth? I'd figured he would tell me if he'd left, but there was no sign of him, so it being 2:30 AM, I just decided to catch a cab and head home.

I texted him from in the cab, and got an answer as to where he was: Maggie's, the 80's nightclub. Apparently he'd gotten dragged there with the Blonde Dutchman and Duncan, and then abandoned. He tried to convince me to come back to the party, with promises that he would see me back there shortly, but I'm no fool to run around, catering to a boy's whims when he snaps his fingers. So told him that he could come crash at mine if he wanted to, but I was heading home.

Got home and had just fallen into bed, when my phone rang. It was the Tall South African, now moaning that he was back at the party and I wasn't there. {Sigh!} Yes, but if you hadn't run off without telling me where you were going, we wouldn't be in this situation, now would we? He mentioned that he could jump in a cab and come to my place, and have some more fun with me there, which surprised me a bit as he normally stays away from mentioning any funny business with me when we chat anymore. But then again, he'd been drinking... I told him he was free to do whatever he wanted, and I would absolutely let him in if he decided to come stay with me, but I was going to bed. So hung up on him and went to sleep, pretty sure that I'd probably heard the last of my indecisive boy, at least for this evening. I adore him, but I can only indulge him so much. Time for me to get some sleep!

No Drinking with the Young Dutchman

My phone buzzed at 8 AM this morning, waking me up. It was a text from the Young Dutchman: "Are you awake?"

I laughingly replied, "Well I am now!" and was rewarded with my phone ringing with a call from him. He had me giggling in no time flat as he then whispered into the phone, "Are you up yet? Am I bothering you? You awake yet?" in the over-eager manner of a little brother who knows darn well he's being annoying, but makes you laugh all the same.

He was calling as he wanted me to proof-read an essay he'd written and was about to submit for an exam. Because I'm an exceptionally good friend, at this point I climbed out of bed, booted up my computer, and went through a six-page essay line-by-line. It was a reasonably good essay, nothing brilliant, but with a few minor grammatical mistakes that I caught and was able to send back to him. I apologised for being anal, but as he said to me, it was exactly the sort of criticism that he'd been looking for.

I then made my way through the work day, until the Young Dutchman called again to say he was going to dinner with Lotte, but then would love to see me out at the Lansdowne. I had trouble getting out of my flat on time (why do I never shower earlier in the day?), but even with unwashed hair, made it out to the club.

I spotted him standing at the bar with his back to me when I arrived, so I ran right up to him and wrapped my arms around him in a big hug. As I snuggled into him, he turned around, and as I looked up at him I said, "This would be incredibly mortifying if it had turned out not to be you."

That gave him a bit laugh, as he then tried to mock-pretend that he didn't know me. It made me giggle, as I got a glass of water to join him with his ginger ale, and we made our way out to the terrace to say hello to people.

We spent a while chatting to our friend Georgie who had brought her new boyfriend along (who was an obvious introvert and seemed very unhappy about having to be social), and then other people came and found us as they passed on through. At one point, there was a very drink girl who came over and kept hanging off the Young Dutchman...he engaged her reasonably well but I was rather surprised at how drunk this girl was so early in the evening. I wondered if it was the impact of my own not drinking, or if people really were this obnoxious when they're drunk and you're not.

Still, at least I had the company of the Young Dutchman, and I even found a few others who had given up alcohol for Lent, so there was some good company in the sober crowd. Which then surprised me, because I had been sure that being so sober, I would head home early, but instead found myself still at the club at 11:30 PM! Yet when the Young Dutchman finally decided to make a move, I figured I would do the same, and so off we went home, with clear heads for the night.