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.