Home from the Hospital

After a thrilling night in the hospital where I had people waking me up every two hours to take my blood pressure (how restful!), morning arrived, I had some breakfast, and my mother arrived.

They'd originally said I was supposed to check out at 10 AM, but since I had to see the physical therapist first, that time came and went.  He finally did arrive, seemed impressed with how I could lift my leg up off the mattress, and then took me for a walk.

It was slow going, but nothing too painful, and so we took a walk down the hallway, climbed two sets of stairs, and then came back down again.  Confident that I could manage at home, I was officially cleared to be discharged.  Another nurse came to change my bandages, remove the IV line from the back of my hand (how I hated that thing!), I got dressed, and off we went.

We had the front desk call us a minicab, the guy helped me get into the front of the cab, and we made our way home.  It was a slow climb up to my flat, but I made it up there in due course.  After which, I promptly needed a nap.

My mother went out in search of ice and groceries, and when she came back, announced that she'd made a reservation for us that evening at a local pub 3 blocks away.  So I got up and made my way down the stairs to go out to this pub.

The pub was only three blocks away, but following the slow progress of 1) swing crutches out, 2) place injured leg, 3) bring good leg to join it, it took me ages to walk the mere three blocks down the street.

Once there, we had a nice dinner, and it turned out our waitress had once had ACL surgery in Sweden.  It's reassuring to see that so many people have been through this before and come back from it, but very annoying indeed to have to suffer through it in the meantime!

ACL Surgery

So this was it.  At last, the day of my ACL surgery had arrived.

I spent the morning writing e-mails, chatting with the Young Dutchman, and just generally trying to keep my mind off things, before making my way to the hospital in time for my 11:30 AM check-in.

I was starving because you weren't allowed to eat before the anaesthesia, but I was also pretty nervous so I didn't really notice that much. They had me getting changed into a hospital gown, coming and taking my blood pressure and things, and the surgeon came in to draw on my knee (to make sure they operated on the correct one!)

Then the anaesthesiologist came in to talk to me and said, "For 9 out of 10 people it feels like cold ice water working its way up your arm, and for 1 out of 10 people it really burns and is quite painful. I've done 3 so far this morning and haven't had anyone with the burning yet, so I suppose I'm due." Thanks buddy, you just HAD to say that, didn't you?

 So at 2PM, they took me down to the surgical suite, where it was really cold in there. Apparently they purposefully keep it cold. And so they had me get up on the gurney, put an IV line in the back of my hand, started a hydration drip, and then he injects the anaesthetic, and all of a sudden I'm yelling, "IT BURNS! IT BURNS! OUCH, IT BURNS!!!!!" Totally, my arm was on fire, it was really pretty painful. But before I could even really think to move or escape or just do anything about the hot acid going up my arm, I was in the recovery room. None of that "Count backwards from 10" nonsense, so far as I knew I'd been magically teleported.

 Seriously, I have never been so startled in my life, it was like truly no time had passed. The news that I had been out for hours and the surgery was finished was perhaps the most surprising news I've ever heard. Total shock. So after about a half-hour in the recovery room (where I was speaking Spanish, for some reason), I got wheeled back up to my room.

 The guy had also said he couldn't be sure how I would respond when I woke up, that I might feel weepy or hung over or foggy....I woke up pretty alert and for some reason OBSESSED with calling my brother, but about nothing important. I can't remember what I wanted to talk to him about, but it was along the lines of what brand of paper towel he preferred. And I kept asking everyone if I'd already spoken to my brother and were they sure I hadn't, but I kept asking people about every two minutes. I'm sure they were kind of bemused, because I was constantly asking, "So I haven't spoken to my brother yet. Are you sure? So I should call my brother, right? Because I haven't spoken to him. But I need to call my brother. Because I have to talk to him. But can you tell me, have I called my brother already?" Repeat in a loop for about 20 minutes...

 I can't quite explain it, but it was suddenly like talking to my brother was the most essential thing ever. Luckily, they wheeled me back to my room soon after, and so I was able to call my brother's cell phone and catch him at the grocery store. (This was after trying to call his office a few times, because I'd forgotten that it was Memorial Day, a holiday in the US). Where we probably talked about paper towels. But it somehow reassured me to talk to him, and people are pretty indulgent of you when you've just come out of surgery, particularly if your most pressing request is to talk to your brother. About paper towels.

 My mother then reminded me I should call my father, and then I called the Young Dutchman, who said "See? I told you it would be fine!" and then started moaning about girls. Good to know that even post-surgery, some things never change.

Apparently the oxygen level in my blood was a bit low, so they put me on oxygen (so I had those little tubes in my nose), and they've got these funny pressure cuffs on my legs that keep squeezing them to keep up my circulation. Kind of weird to sleep when something keeps squeezing your legs, but it actually feels rather nice. So I guess I needed that.

The surgeon came in to see me after a bit to talk about how well everything went, so that was good. He seemed happy, so I guess I am too. They used my hamstring in the end (there had been a risk that if the hamstring hadn't worked out, they would have gone for patella) and I had an 8mm graft, which is apparently longer than normal. Not sure what the significance of that is though...

The best bit was that I had no secondary injuries, no torn meniscus or any bone damage, which apparently he'd been worried about, and would have really complicated things if that had turned up. There had been no indication on the MRI that I had a torn meniscus, but apparently it's just one of those things you don't know until you get in there.

Despite not eating all day, I had no appetite for dinner, but they made me eat ice cream, which did feel good on my raspy, sore throat. (They'd warned me that might happen if they stuck a tube down my throat during surgery).  But mostly I just felt like sleeping, which I could do since they were keeping me in the hospital overnight. Apparently the surgery went so well they could have sent me home that afternoon, but decided to keep me just as a precaution.

My mother went home at around 10 PM, and then, at last with the room to myself, I called the Tall South African.  I don't know why I hadn't wanted to call him with my mother there, but I was glad to finally have some privacy.  He'd texted me that morning to wish me luck with the surgery, and I'd promised to call him once I'd woken up.  He seemed tired when I called, yet kept thanking me for calling, I got the impression that he'd actually been worried and thinking about me all day.  How sweet, eh?

At last though, I just had to sigh with relief at the best part about it all...after months of being nervous about my upcoming surgery, it was finally over...

Summer Eights

Today was Summer Eights up at Oxford, and I'd long told the Young Dutchman that I would be coming up to watch.  I was skipping a few other parties to do so, but after he'd called me nearly every day that week to talk, and had obviously been suffering under the strain of bumps, I really just wanted to go see him.  Plus, I hadn't seen him in a while.  I think we were missing each other.

I didn't get as early a start as I would have hoped, and was further crushed when right as I arrived at the bus stop, there was a bus pulling away up to Oxford.  I had to wait 20 minutes for the next one, which was rather frustrating!

The Young Dutchman greeted me outside of Christ Church with a bouquet of flowers, which were incredibly pretty, but not for me.  After the disaster of the previous day's racing (they'd bumped but sunk a boat), their cox had been charged with dangerous coxing and the bump was disallowed, which had the cox very upset, so the Young Dutchman had asked me if it would be a good idea to get her flowers.  I said yes, of course, and so he'd gotten her flowers but wanted me to hold onto them until the crew was ready to hand them over.  So I took the flowers, walked along the towpath, and off he went on his bike.

At the boathouse, I was shortly joined by Kellogg Boy and his girlfriend, who I was happy to see, as well as the Canadian Balliol Guy I'd met last fall at the Wolfson Ball.  I'd actually found myself chatting online with the Canadian Balliol Guy this past week, and he remarked on how it felt like he'd already seen me once this week.  Nice to see him too...

The Wolfson Boathouse

We walked up to the bend in the river to get a good view of bumps, and I had fun playing with the Young Dutchman's fancy camera which he'd given to me.  They bumped (as expected), and we returned to the boathouse to greet the victorious crew.  Spent some time there, and then we went over to the other side of the river to see the crowds at Balliol and the Christ Church boathouse.  I found myself hanging out a lot with the Canadian Balliol Guy, who I worried saw me as a tagalong baby duck, but always seemed to be looking out for me to make sure I was with him, so I really appreciated that.

Finally though Canadian Balliol Guy, Kellogg Boy and Kellogg Boy's girlfriend headed off to something else.  So I spent some time on the roof deck of the Christ Church boathouse with the Young Dutchman and Ollie, one of the boys in the Young Dutchman's crew, before heading back over to the Balliol boathouse to get some Pimms.

The Balliol Boys

I was showing the Young Dutchman photos of all of my friends hanging on the walls of the Balliol boathouse, when standing on the balcony, I looked down and saw all of them!  So I ran down to say hello, giving big hugs to Zhan, Andy, and some other old friends from my Balliol days.  Caught up with one couple who had gotten engaged, which was thrilling news.

The Young Duchman decided to head back over across the river to the Wolfson boathouse, but I wanted to stay at Balliol a bit and hang out with people.  Had a good time chatting with folks, although once the last race had been run and Oriel was head of the river, things emptied out rather quickly.  Glancing across the river, I could see that the Young Dutchman was still there and didn't seem to be moving quickly (he didn't have his phone, so we couldn't call each other), so I walked over and met him on the other side.

The Wolfson Crew

Once there, it turned out he was getting frustrated, trying to get the Wolfson crew to all decide where to go to dinner together.  In the end, he failed as his attempt to herd cats, so I went with him and Ollie (the chap we'd been hanging out with earlier in the day) over to a Chinese restaurant near the business school.  We spent the entire walk talking about sleeping with girls, and I had to admit the whole thing made me both puzzled and a bit self-conscious.  Should I take it as a mark of my performance if a guy doesn't sleep with me on a repeating basis?  Or on the other hand, if a guy doesn't sleep with me, that he actually likes me and sees relationship potential with me?  It was definitely a head-trip talking to two guys who were obviously the biggest man-whores on the planet, but didn't see themselves as the callous lovers who discarded girls left and right.

And maybe that's the biggest insight of all:  The guys who love you and leave you never see themselves that way, they actually see themselves as really nice guys.  And it's a bit frustrating, because having been the girl who suffered a bit in the past at the hands of boys like these, I want them to be a bit kinder with the emotions of the naive girls who don't know any better.  Yet, in the same vein, I realise that it's really up to the girls to protect themselves from guys like these.  At the end of the day, they never take advantage of anyone or promise girls things they won't deliver, but its the girls who wilfully ignore the signs that are staring them right in the face.  I was one of those girls myself, and I think I deserve a certain amount of blame for burying my head in the sand when what was going on was brutally apparent.

Lifting the coxswain at Balliol

When we were at the restaurant, the Young Dutchman kept pulling me into deep and close conversations, to the point that I think Ollie, the other guy, had to remind him that conversations needed to include all three of us.  So I think he was glad when slightly after we arrived, two other guys from the crew joined us, and at least gave him someone else to talk to!

When the guys arrived, I could tell that there was a moment of confusion, to see the Young Dutchman there with a girl, and they seemed unsure of how to act around me at first, having expected a guy's dinner.  As I quickly jumped in with the teasing the Young Dutchman about his dating life and just offering a girl's perspective on sleeping with guys, they seemed to readily pick up on the fact that I was not a girl to be nervous around, nor a romantic prospect of the Young Dutchman's.  After that, they took to me readily, but I couldn't help but think of what Scottish Guy had said on Thursday:  "You're really one of the lads.  And I mean that in a positive way.  But it does affect how men perceive you."

The conversation was fascinating, as the Young Dutchman (and the other boys) explained the fascination of sleeping with new girls, the idea of making an instantaneous connection with someone in an evening.  But also confusingly saying, "Yet if I think there's real potential with a girl, I probably won't sleep with her."

And I couldn't help but notice that something else Scottish Guy had said appeared to be true:  "Men say they like smart women, but they're still a bit intimidated by them.  You look at all the characteristics men are looking for in a woman, and intelligence doesn't really factor in."  Sadly, I had to say this seemed to be true as the boys talked.

It's strange, as the Young Dutchman so frequently was leaning in and whispering in my ear as he vented some of his frustrations about Oxford, so intense in his conversation with me, that the boys often had to remind him to join the rest of the conversation.  Later on in the evening, we were out in a nightclub and the music was so loud and the place so crowded, that he was absolutely pressed up against me, as my back was against a post, and we stood cheek-to-cheek, talking directly in each other's ears.  Anybody looking at us would probably have thought we were in a couple's embrace, and I have to admit I haven't been so close to some of the people I've slept with.

And yet.  I don't think I'm closer to anybody I know, there's nobody else who I just want to be near quite as much, whose presence I desire in quite the same way.  Yet, as we were out on the river, with all of those shirtless boys everywhere, I realise the fundamental thing is that we quite simply are not each other's type.  Looking at some boys with their shirts off, even if they were slightly tubby, they had those big strong arms, the massive presence, the little bit of chest hair that made you just want to snuggle into them.  Their bodies made me go weak in the knees.

And the Young Dutchman is objectively an attractive guy.  If I had to sleep with him to save the human race or something, it wouldn't be a trial.  But when we touch each other or lean on each other or just go for that physical closeness that we both are just drawn to each other for, there's no frission of chemistry or excitement.  It's just very comforting and reassuring, like your mother or father's hug. 

I have to admit that even I am a bit puzzled by it, as how can I be so close to someone, and always want to be in physical contact with them, but have no sexual desire for them?

Oh well, I suppose I should be glad at least that we don't seem to burn with unrequited lust for each other.  My life would be very frustrating if that were the case.  I'm just lucky to have somebody who I'm very close to, and who is equally close to me in return.  It's nice when it's just so simple and easy like that...

So after dinner, the boys all went their separate ways, and the Young Dutchman biked back up to Wolfson while I followed on a bit later by bus, and met him at his room.  It was a nice little place, although so obviously a student dorm room, complete with the single bed.  We hung out there for a bit, before deciding to skip the bop going on at college and go a nightclub called "Camera", which was apparently the place to go, although hadn't existed when I'd been at Oxford.

I teased the Young Dutchman about not giving me enough warning about where we were going, as I was forced to attend in shorts and trainers, while all the other girls there were in tiny little skirts and super high heels.  Would have been fun to go out to a nightclub in real nightclub gear if I'd been prepared, but another time, perhaps.

We waited online for ages to get in, chatting to some Dutch girl he'd gone to secondary school with the whole time.  Then in the club, he had to borrow cash off of me, as they were only taking cash that night.  £12 cover, and then £5 a drink, it was nuts.  This is why I don't like nightclubs, people!

We made a few rounds of the place, and I mostly just took it easy, as I didn't want people crashing into my knee.  He noted how most people seemed bored, and wondered why they were there.  I realised that at one point in my life, this is exactly the sort of situation that would have made me uncomfortable, and doing what many people do, drinking until they relaxed.  Now?  I just didn't care.  So I let him do his thing, I just danced and chilled out, and frequently he came back to me as always I was the only girl he really wanted to talk to.  Occasionally he'd get hung up with a girl here or there, explaining to me that he thought they all wanted to sleep with him and he wasn't sure if he wanted to go there.  I just shrugged, and he brought me more drinks and returned to snuggle in with me up against the column in the middle of the club.

Finally, I told him I needed to love him and leave him, and go catch my 1:30 AM bus, or I would be stuck in Oxford for another hour.  He kissed me and told me to call him once I was on the bus, and returned into the swirling mass of people that was the party.

I went out to catch the bus on Queen's Lane, and as I approached the stop, I recognised from the back the dear friend of Oxford Boy who I know from the running club.  What a surprise to see him there!  So I made some comment about you can never know what sort of dodgy characters will be out on the street at this hour, and upon recognising me, the guy wrapped me up into a huge hug, stood back, and then hugged me again.  He was obviously quite tipsy and surprised, and it was really funny.

So Oxford Boy's Friend and I got on the bus together and chatted the whole way home (yes, we were those annoying people on the bus who didn't let anybody else get any sleep), which made for a very entertaining and amusing journey.  What a random fun bit of luck on the streets of Oxford at 1:30 AM!

Frisbee in Holland Park

As is now our pattern every three weeks, I was scheduled to meet Zhan and Andy for lunch today.

I'd promised Andy that I'd let him check out my torn ACL, as he's a medical student and wants the practice, particularly on somebody who is really injured. So after I filled out my forms for Ascot (finally!), I made my way over towards Notting Hill.

I was running late, so I grabbed a bus, but that didn't help much at all when there was a bike accident on Holland Park Road, right near the station. I got out and walked, and was horrified to walk past and see a bike absolutely crushed under a taxi cab. Thankfully however, there did not seem to be any bodies, just a guy sitting next to the cab looking somewhat dazed.

Unfortunately, it was to be a day of bad news involving bikes. After my conversation with the Tall South African the night before, I heard from Lotte in the afternoon:

"Many thanks for your sympathies and support.. things have been a bit tough, last week Sunday my fiancee's father was cycling and got hit by a car.

He flew into the windscreen, over the car bonnet, and onto the road. He has fractured his spine in three places, fractured his neck, and fractured his skull in eight places. He has broken quite a few bones and ribs, and shattered his right eye socket. The most important injury is of course to the brain, as it had obviously bashed about a bit, and the brain is very sensitive and can swell and bruise. At first seeing his father in his condition came as a real shock, but then we started preparing for when he wakes up – he would be brain damaged, possibly paralysed, and blind in one eye.

However, every day we received good news – that there are no other injuries, and with the good news came the bad news – that the doctors don’t have any other explanation as to why my fiancee’s father is not waking from his coma.. Yesterday the doctors informed us that his father will never wake up."

That just had to be the worst news I've ever read. I realise that at this point in our lives, people's parents are passing on, but you never expect it to be so sudden, so without warning. The Young Dutchman called me later in the day, and we both just kept shaking our heads, talking about how awful it was, and how we shuddered to think of anything like that happening to our own parents.

And the Young Dutchman is so typically Dutch, he cycles everywhere, so I left him with a parting word to be careful as well. The thought of something like that happening to him is quite simply too awful to contemplate.

After I passed the accident, I made it to Andy's flat, where we had some fun looking at my MRI scans, and him checking out what my knee felt like. He seemed to think that he could feel it, although he did admit it was helpful to have the definitive diagnosis to help him out...

Zhan and Brianna then arrived, and we debated where to go for lunch. As it was such a nice day out, we wanted to go somewhere with outdoor seating, and we decided to hit up the Windsor Castle, one of my favourite pubs. Great lunch (if a bit small on the portion sizes), and then afterwards, we went to Holland Park, where we threw Andy's frisbee around a bit. I really need to practice throwing my frisbee more, I really wish I were better at it!

Finally, Andy needed to go back and do some work, and since I was already close to home, I parted from the crowd and went the opposite way through the park. What a fun day, playing in the sun, I just wish that we'd been able to play for longer!  

Ali's Birthday

My phone buzzed at 1 AM, with the shocker surprise of a message from Joel. "What are you doing tomorrow night?" Realised that he meant tonight, which unfortunately I had already committed to attending my friend Ali's birthday dinner. Paid for and everything. So I couldn't skip out, but after months with no contact, this was an opportunity not to be missed. So I texted back, "Dinner isn't until 8. Drinks early?"  And so we were on.

I then was pleasantly surprised to get a text and then a call from the Tall South African at around 3 PM, as I hadn't spoken to him in a while.  I did my best to be cheerful, funny and amusing, and actually managed to get him engaged in the conversation, which hasn't happened in a while.  For once I got the impression that he was glad he'd called, as he kept chatting to me for quite a while and kept the conversation going.  And to be fair, I was actually enjoying talking to him too.  All things considered, he still does amuse me.

Funny though, as one of the topics that came up was how he's trying to change, to not be the guy who sleeps with all and sundry all the time.  As he put it, "I'm actually doing what the Young Dutchman wishes he could do."  And I had to laugh, because the Young Dutchman just the other day had moaned to me about how he'd slept with every attractive girl in his college except for the lesbian one.  I just raised an eyebrow and couldn't help but note that despite sleeping with all of these girls, I'm still the only girl he calls every day.  But let's not get into that psychological can of worms right now...

Of course, the Tall South African was as per usual wondering what I was up to (oh the boy who never makes plans!), because he was at loose ends.  Yet after being already double-booked, there was no way I was going to be triple-booked!  So just relayed my evening plans, assuring him I was already quite busy, and promised to call him later.

I finally managed to confirm with Joel that we were on for the evening, so perfectly dressed for dinner that evening, I went out to the club, wondering if this would be the occasion where Joel was on time, or if he would be late as usual.

I suppose I should have figured that it would be that he was late, and so I spent a little while just sitting by myself in the bar.  So when I spotted Kerty, and older guy I know through Doro, I was pleased for the company.  He got me a drink just as Joel arrived, and so then got Joel a drink as well, and we all retired up to the roof terrace.  (Thank goodness at the last minute I'd decided to bring a wrap, as it was rather chilly up there!)

I suppose on some level this was a miscalculation, as now Joel and I were stuck in company with somebody else, and with not as much of an opportunity to catch up, just the two of us.  Plus, perhaps I was teasing him a bit much, although some days I can't help it.

Still I learned that Joel is still dating the girl who I'm not sure he wants to be in a relationship with (he'd apparently been out with her parents last night when he'd texted me at 1 AM), and the job continues to go from strength to strength, even as it keeps him busier than ever.

I then got another surprise of familiar faces when Oxford Boy showed up!  He had a friend with him, who was very handsome in a rather boyish way.  He was wearing a bow-tie, which looked a bit dorky, but nonetheless I liked it.  I chatted with them for a bit, and when I realised I was completely ignoring Joel (I'm such a bad hostess!), as much as I wanted to keep chatting to the Oxford Boy's cute friend, I had to leave them and return to Joel.  Rather amazing Joel was still talking to me, really...

I stayed for as long as I could, but when Big Ben tolled 8 PM, I had to go downstairs for the dinner party I was due to go to.  Joel seemed heavily in conversation with Kerty and the friend of Kerty's that had joined us, so I figured they could keep chatting about the Greek debt crisis for a while.  (I'd forgotten that Joel had lived in Greece for so long and speaks fluent Greek...funny the hidden talents my friends have!)

When I went downstairs for dinner, I wished I hadn't left so early, as we didn't sit down for another half-hour!  Oh well, how was I to know?

When we did sit for dinner, I found myself with a dear friend of Joel's, a former soldier and veteran of Afghanistan.  Unfortunately, something happened to him in Afghanistan, and now he's blind (or very close to).  One more reason among millions that I was upset when Joel floated the idea of joining the army, and why I was so glad when he didn't (apparently somewhat influenced by what happened to Alex).  And why I refuse to date anyone in the military.

Still, his lack of sight didn't seem to slow him down much, and I thought it rather charming how although we had some fun with his blindness (asking him to figure out what the menu description was of what we were eating, since he obviously couldn't read it), it was really almost not noticeable at all.  He was charming, sarcastic, and really hilarious, and I don't think will ever have any problems charming girls, despite the fact that he can't see them.

We had a good time bantering back-and-forth quite a bit, although at one point he just outright asked me why Joel and I don't date.  Apparently I'd been talking quite a bit about Joel, and so he just made that leap which really startled me.  I mean, how about for starters the fact that Joel already has a girlfriend?  (Ah, but we all think this one is going to last, don't we?)  Anyway, I was so startled by this, and slightly tispy at this point as well, that I then did perhaps the one thing I never should have done, and texted this to Joel.  Ooops.  Still, Joel drunk texts me all the time, and I do the same to him, so I'm sure it was fine...

After dinner was finished, I slipped down to the loo, and was surprised to see I had quite a few texts on my phone and a missed call from the Tall South African, imploring me to call him.  I couldn't get decent reception in the club, so I grabbed my coat and went outside to the street for a bit.

I probably stood out on the street for a good half-hour, where the Tall South African updated me on the tragic news of Lotte and her fiancee.  Her fiancee's father was hit by a car this past week, and unfortunately has been in a coma ever since.  And so I just paced back and forth, talking to him as we fretted over how there was nothing really that we could do, but how bad we felt about it.  Once again though, one of the better conversations we've had in a while, reminding me that on some level, we really do connect.

Finally though, he realised he'd dragged me out of the party for far too long, and so insisted I go back in.  To be fair, I was getting chilly.

When I got back inside, I was delighted to quite by accident run into Oxford Boy and his friend again.  And then got the shock of my life when it was revealed that this guy wasn't just a friend, it was Oxford Boy's brother!  Now I'd already thought this guy was incredibly cute, and suddenly he had an instant character recommendation, being the brother of a guy I already like a lot and count as a good friend.  Now can I just desperately hope that he might be Oxford Boy's older brother?

Because then something great happened.  Oxford Boy decided he was beat and wanted to head home, but his brother then turned to me and said, "Maybe I'll stay and stick around for a bit..."  Too much to hope for that perhaps I might have had some influence on that decision?  Admittedly they had run into some other friends there as well, so I do wonder if it was more to hang out with them, but when we sat down, he sat with me and talked only to me for the rest of the evening.

So we stayed, sitting in the bar in front of the fireplace, chatting until well past midnight.  He seemed cute and funny and charming and I HATED myself for wearing such tall heels, as although I suspect he was taller than I am in flats, of course the extra inches were making me into a giant.  Didn't help that when we sat down, I still somehow ended up in a higher chair than he did.

But oh my, this boy was perfect, in that he even rode horses and was able to tell me some silly stories about riding reliable eventing horses.  I mean, how amazing is that?  So we chatted about that for quite a while, and I found myself swooning over how stupidly good-looking he was, while trying to keep a handle on myself and reminding myself that I was more than a bit drunk.

Suddenly he and the assembled company realised that the last Tube was about to go, so after leaving me with his business card (and he taking mine), he dashed off.  I decided to stay because I thought it was too close to the deadline, and so I could spend some time actually chatting to the birthday boy.

Finally at 1:30 AM we decided to head on, and the others wanted to go to a night club.  I found myself walking along with a rather nice guy who seemed somewhat into me, although after meeting Oxford Boy's brother, he just couldn't quite compare.  So when the others stopped at a club to go in, I begged off, made kisses all around, and caught the night bus home, getting home at 2 AM, for the second time this week!

Madame Butterfly

This evening, a friend of mine had invited me to come see a performance of "Madame Butterfly" at the English National Opera, in conjunction with the ENO Young Patrons.  With the tickets priced at only £15 a piece, along with a drinks reception, who wouldn't be up for a little bit of opera?

When I arrived, it was very hot in the room where the drinks reception was being held, and most people were sweating buckets.  I chatted to a few people I knew, a few I didn't, and the girl who had invited me introduced me to one of the singers who would be on stage that evening.  Very interesting chatting to her, although I mostly noticed her incredibly elegant dictation, which I guess is almost a job requirement for being an opera singer.

After an hour at the drinks reception, we were ushered to our seats for the performance.  At the first intermission, we went back to the hot room for more drinks, although by the second intermission, people had enough of the hot box, and instead stayed up in the Sky Bar to have some water before going back in for the third act.  I found myself chatting to a rather good-looking guy who was obviously into the opera, but I was struck how there was just absolutely no chemistry there, as nice and good-looking as he was.  I just got the sense he was talking to me out of politeness, with no interest whatsoever.  Kind of a shame, but really tells you how much chemistry plays a part in this whole game...

I hadn't read the story in advance (sometimes I just like to be surprised), but it did make for a few laughs among my compatriots when I was saying, "Maybe in the third act he'll come back and say it was all a big mistake!" Alas, perhaps this is why one should prefer comic over tragic operas, as I was to be sadly disappointed...  I was kind of angry at the female lead by the end of the performance, that after her husband abandoned her, instead of getting angry at him or getting revenge on him, she just killed herself.  How lame.  

I also thought it interesting that instead of keeping a young child up past his bedtime, they instead used a life-sized puppet, moved around the stage by shadowy helpers, a la the recent stage production of "War Horse", with life-sized horse puppets. Quite the impressive feat of staging!


At the end of the performance, quite a few others were heading on to an after-party, but after having so many nights recently where I got dragged into staying out when I didn't really want to, I slipped out (without saying good-bye to people), and headed home.

I texted the Young Dutchman before I got on the Underground, and unfortunately missed a call from him whilst I was down there.  (No reception in those tunnels!)  When I got above ground, he had texted to thank me for my kind words in an e-mail earlier.  I came back with a witty quip that made him laugh, reminding him once more of why he is always talking to me, the clever girl with the quick wit, so much more than any other girl.  Now if only I could find a boy who wants to sleep with me for my witty brain!

David's Birthday

The Tall South African called me in the afternoon, as I had originally been supposed to go to a party at Lotte's and see him for the first time in ages.  However, due to a family emergency, Lotte cancelled the party, so now I suppose I would be going a bit longer without seeing the Tall South African...


At around 5:30, my phone rang, and it was David, a guy I know through the Young Dutchman.  His birthday was today (thank goodness I'd remembered seeing this on Facebook and was able to greet him with a "Happy Birthday!" when he called).  He then asked, "So what are you up to tonight?"  His girlfriend was out of town and he was all on his own, so why not go out with me?  


He suggested we hit up the HAC Open Evening that nearly our entire social crowd had been invited to, so we agreed to meet out at the Honourable Artillery Company at 6:30 PM.  I dashed through the shower (why do I never learn to shower earlier in the day?) and made my way out there.


We had a good time looking at guns, watching explosions, and admiring a parachute squad that dropped down in on the crowds.  David himself is particularly into guns (he often goes out to his father's farm to go shooting at the weekends), and so was quite in heaven at this event, particularly when I kept taking my turn at buying rounds and pints of Guinness.  


Once the parachute people had dropped in and the the sky was growing dark at 8:30, I suggested we walk to where my running club was meeting, as they were going to be at a pub that I really like.  We got there, got drinks, and sat in the side room away from where the runners were, but got plenty of attention as people kept coming by to say hello.  We mostly just focused on each other however, having one of those long, rambling conversations about life, our childhoods, and everything else, and those slightly salacious topics like whether all women in relationships eventually stop being into sex.  I like to imagine I'd never be like that, but I have to admit there is a disturbing trend out there among my female friends in relationships, and the implication was that his long-term girlfriend is no different.  

We then remembered an evening last year where we'd gone for dinner at 3 AM, and finding ourselves hungry (and with the pub no longer serving food), we decided to jump in a cab and head to that same restaurant where we'd feasted on excellent burgers in the middle of the night.  

Once there, we got some fabulous cocktails with a champagne chaser (perfect for the birthday boy), along with some divine calamari with garlic mayo, as well as some insanely delicious burgers.  But mostly we continued our rambling conversation about everything from our childhoods to our hopes for the future.  Just one of those epic nights where you have so much fun, because you're with the best company.  

We finally caught a cab home at 2 AM (I got the better deal, where he paid for dinner and I covered the cab), and he kept exclaiming about what a randomly good birthday it had turned out to be.  A great night for me too, making me think I might have a future career as a last-minute birthday planner.... 

Canada Day at Guards

I had another one of those "just can't seem to get out of bed" mornings, which was kind of annoying as all I'd done the day before was go to the gym and to yoga class.

I'm pleased to report that I survived my 1.5 hour class yesterday quite well. In fact, the only things I really couldn't do were Child's Pose (ironic, as it's normally the easiest one) and Bow Pose (unsurprising, as I just couldn't bend my left knee enough to grab my foot from behind).  Even more interesting to learn was that my yoga instructor had once torn her ACL!  Okay, so if she's a yoga instructor and has managed to come back from a torn ACL, that makes me feel pretty positive.  (Although she warned me, that she couldn't do Child's Pose for a year after her surgery).  

Finally I did get my act together, and got on the train down to Sunningdale.  A friend of the Young Dutchman's, the Super-Shy Guy, had suggested that everyone go to Guard's Polo Club for the day for a "Canada Day" polo event.  Super-Shy Guy is one who drives me batty at times, as the Young Dutchman really likes him for some reason, but I've never really clicked with the chap myself.  Still, the Young Dutchman likes him, so I have been working really hard at being nice to Super-Shy Guy.  Particularly after a shy friend explained to me that the guy wasn't snobby and aloof, as I'd first suspected, but actually shy.  So I've been trying to work harder at getting him to relax and open up around me (although I still secretly suspect that he might be a snob who just doesn't like me.  It's a hard impression to shake).  Still, I wanted to go to the polo anyway, and I figured today might be another day to get Super-Shy Guy to warm up to me a bit.  

Very funny, as when checking on who was coming and what the plans were, Super-Shy Guy knew well enough to have me co-ordinate with the Young Dutchman...everybody seems to know we're a pair.  So I got talking to him the night before and it was good to have a catch-up for a bit, as we talked about when we'll see each other next.  

For about the first time in my life, I remembered that trains leaving from Waterloo generally go past Clapham Junction, and so instead of trekking all of the way to Waterloo, I just went to Clapham Junction.  Timed it perfectly really (almost too close!), getting to the first station just in time for the train to Clapham Junction, and then with just 10 minutes to dash and buy my ticket before the next train.  

Had a surprisingly quick trip to Sunningdale, where I got out, called a cab, and it turned out somebody was already there.  He drove me up to the clubhouse, I looked around and couldn't find the others, but eventually found them out in the grandstand.  

We then sat through two games of low-goal polo.  The others didn't really watch, but of course I was tremendously into the game.  The first game had one guy on the team who was perhaps a worse player than I am, and really was obviously out-classed by the game.  I felt bad for his team, as they were really playing 3 on 4, and therefore got their arses kicked.  

During the second game, when I was explaining one of the penalty shots, it finally occurred to one of the girls to ask, "How do you know so much about polo?"  I was pleasantly surprised when it was Super-Shy Guy who responded, "Well she plays, of course."  

One of the girls then decided to sit with me through the remainder of the next game while I explained what was happening, and assured me that she'd want to sit with me at the next polo match.  

Once the last game was over, we then went back to the clubhouse, which I've been to quite a few times before, but always enjoy every time I get to go back.  It's exactly what you'd hope a polo clubhouse would be, fancy enough to seem like a private member's club, but relaxed enough that you're always hearing merengue music and guys in dirty white jeans speaking Spanish with all of the Argentines.  

We sat on big leather chairs for a bit, drinking tea and water, enjoying the people watching (fascinating!) and just chatting for a bit.  I will admit though, I mostly enjoyed watching the crowds, and realising how much I missed being part of a polo club.  Maybe at some point I'll get back to it a bit more, as it's so much fun just to see all of the super-casual folks, living these hearty outdoor lives, and yet in a much different way than the average farm existence.  I miss it, I really do.  Surgery first though!

Finally, we decided it was time to head back to London, and one of the girls graciously gave me a ride back to town, which was nice as it gave me a chance to talk and bond with the others a bit, and avoid the train.  

 When I got home, the Tall South African texted me, noting that he hadn't talked to me all weekend {gasp!}  I do like that boy...  Chatted for a while about nothing of importance, although noted with disappointment that the party I'd been planning to see him at was cancelled as we were talking.  So when am I going to see him next?  Oh well, maybe we'll just have to arrange something of our own...

And then the evening finished off perfectly, with a video call from the Young Dutchman.  He was flossing his teeth, and we talked about all sorts of random stuff, from data analysis to "Blood Over Water" (I was pleased to tell him I'd run into the author twice this past week!) to the gossip of friends.  (He slipped and revealed the name of the girl who had made him leave the party at New Year's a few months back...one of the girls I'd been hanging out with today!)  And he made me laugh when he told me the last attractive girl in his college who he hadn't slept with was actively a lesbian.  Cracked me up.  Gosh, I miss that guy...