CBDG's Birthday

Today was both Henley and CBDG's birthday.  I had a ticket to Henley, but had also told CBDG I would come to his birthday, so was a bit caught in the middle.  Since I see the crowd that would be at Henley all of the time, I was secretly planning on skipping.  "Secretly", because when I first mentioned the prospect of skipping Henley to the Young Dutchman, he became incredibly upset.  I mean really, quite angry with me, as though the lack of me being there was going to ruin everything.  So, not wanting to arouse his ire, I just pretended that I might be coming along later.

Indeed, in the morning, I was woken by a call from the Young Dutchman, letting me know what train platform they were at.  So I just played along, and told him I was going to this birthday party first.

I met CBDG at Liverpool Street station, where he had arrived with a crowd of his co-workers from Norwich.  It seemed a bit sad to me that the friends he was celebrating with were his co-workers, but I suppose if you travel as much as he does, it's hard to have people in place to celebrate with.

He wrapped an arm around me and introduced me to the crowds, which I thought was nice.  And then we decided to walk from Liverpool Street down to Tower Bridge.  Used my iPhone and general sense of direction to find the way, and walked the last bit along the Thames Path.

Once there, I realised that I was the only true Londoner in the crowd, who might know where things are, and so when everyone needed the bathrooms, directed them away from the 50p pay toilets to a Wetherspoons up at the top of the hill.  Everyone there got drinks, one of CBDGs male co-workers bought me a drink, and we sat there having our pints for a bit, before going to catch the next boat up to Westminster.

The boat trip, while just a trip on the commuter boat the Thames Clipper, was really good fun, and we got off at South Bank, near the London Eye, and then walked along looking for a place to have lunch.  Giraffe was totally over-crowded, but we eventually managed to find a table for six at the National Theatre Prop House, where we had IPAs, pulled pork sandwiches, and chips with garlic mayo.  Surprisingly yummy!

We then walked down to the aquarium (I hadn't known there was an aquarium right near Westminster), and the daughter of one of the co-workers came out and joined us.  We then took her along and went up to Parliament Square, right by Westminster, and lay in the grass, enjoying the sunshine for a while.  It's so lovely now that they've cleared the protesters out of there, I think it was a good move right before the Olympics!

As I lay there in the grass, talking to CBDG for a bit, I really couldn't quite figure out the whole day.  After all, he spent lots of time paying attention to me and talking to me, although I couldn't quite figure out if it was just that he wanted me to have someone to talk to (as the rest of the crowd all knew each other, while I didn't know any of them), but yet aside from putting an arm around me at the start, hadn't really made any sort of move.  Admittedly, no different from when we are at runs together, and I suppose that having the whole crowd of friends along, where he was trying to pay attention to everyone, didn't make things any easier.  But it did make me wonder:  Was I missing something here?

After we'd enjoyed the sunshine for a bit, we then got up to go walk to Soho, intending to walk across Horse Guards Parade and down the Mall.  However, with the Olympics coming, both Horse Guard and the Mall were closed, so we had to walk all of the way down to Buckingham Palace and through Green Park (although once again proving my mettle as a true Londoner, knowing the way, and also where everyone could buy water nearby.

Once in Soho (don't know why we'd gone there, but we had), it was apparent that nobody had any idea where to go, so I suggested we check out the Crown and Two Chairmen, which is my favourite pub in the area (generally because it always has places for people to sit!)

Indeed, there was a table that easily fit six right inside the door, and so we sat there, me across from CBDG, and we started talking about my upcoming trip to Norwich, which seemed to confuse everyone else as much as it did me.  You could see them mentally asking the questions in their minds:  I was travelling all of the way up to Norwich to spend time with him?  What was the nature of our relationship exactly?

I wish I could have told them, "Darned if I know!"

And of course, all this time, I was realising I had missed Henley, and was starting to wonder if perhaps I should have gone there instead.  Isn't that always the problem, that if you're at one event, you always wish you were at the other one?  Had I made a mistake and made the wrong choice for the day?

After a few drinks at the Crown and Two Chairmen, we moved onto a gay bar near Chinatown where apparently some in this group had been before, and ended up doing Baileys and whipped cream shots that were actually really delicious.  I spent quite a bit of time chatting to Neil, the other guy in the group besides CBDG, who I have to admit was really nice (and closer to my age!)  Kind of fun bar, although more crowded than the C&TCM, so we had to stand.  Therefore we didn't stay too long, but finally around 8 PM, parted company with them (so they could all go back to Liverpool Street and catch their 8:30 PM train back to Norwich), and I went home.

Once there, I realised that I still had time to make it to a party that I'd been invited to on Facebook, but was unsure if I would be able to attend due to CBDG's birthday.  It was hosted by some girl I'd met at a party a few months ago, become Facebook friends with, and then of course hadn't seen since.  But since it was such a large party, she'd thrown me on the invite list.  Maybe worthwhile showing up?

So despite still being rather tipsy (all those shots were kicking in!) I changed into a dress that could be considered "beach wear", and got myself on the Tube.  Why is it that I always feel this compulsion to go out all of the time?  I did debate for a moment just staying in for the evening, but some part of me just had this need to go out again...

I arrived at the party, which was somehow held across multiple floors and flats of a single building.  They actually had a guest list at the door, and I got myself checked in, and made my way upstairs.  Was greeted enthusiastically by my hostess (I was amazed she even remembered who I was), and ran into a few people I knew.  One couple there had even been at Henley for the day, and when I talked to the girl, she filled me in on some gossip, including the bit that the Young Dutchman had brought along two girls who were wearing VERY inappropriate dresses for Henley, which rather caught everyone's attention.  

When I asked another friend who had been there later about them, she said, "Yes, that girl and her identically dressed "wing-girl" (for whom we were all promptly dumped as soon as Q met up with them in town) wore an interesting choice of frock for a day riverside. I have no doubt the male species appreciated the bra-less, mostly front-less, completely back-less and rather see-through style slips they wore. But they were not at all to my taste."  Now I am very sorry that I missed Henley to miss seeing that!


Also of course, having missed Henley, the Young Dutchman got into a right snit with me.  On the one hand, I suppose I was in the wrong, to have so repeatedly told him I was coming, to end up backing out at the last minute.  Yet, I wouldn't have felt the need to lie if he hadn't been so mad at me for missing it!  There really was no way to win on that one, and he didn't speak to me for the next three days.  Luckily however, the beauty of our relationship is that we never fight for long, and soon enough, he came round and all was forgiven.  It's one of the few things I can count on, that the Young Dutchman will always forgive me.


Anyway, as the time neared 11:30 PM, I realised I was already tired, a little bit bored of the company, and really just wanted to head home.  So I made my good-byes, found a good opening, and slipped out.  Glad I put in an appearance (as I obviously hate missing parties!) but was very glad for the chance to go home before the last train!

Second Day at Ascot

With the dashing boys

I was up again this morning to catch the train from Waterloo for yet another day of fun with hats.  I met up with the Young Dutchman, Canadian Balliol Guy, Kellogg Boy and Kellogg Boy's girlfriend, and we went to more car park picnics.  I ended up pretty much spending the day with Canadian Balliol Guy, who between being Canadian (almost American!), from Balliol, and my age, is someone I get along really well with.  Thankfully, he never seems to protest about how much we get thrown together, and was pretty indulgent of me all day, particularly when I kept needing an arm to navigate the crowds.  May have given up the crutches a bit early, I'm afraid!

At the pre-race Car Park 1 picnic

So Canadian Balliol Guy and I kept losing everyone, but still going with the usual pattern:  Watch Queen, get drinks, watch races from the grandstands, go down to watch from the rails, then go back to the Royal Enclosure to drink more champagne.  I even placed a bet for CBDG, as he'd told me to put a tenner on the horse with the silliest name I could find for him.  Alas, "Ithoughtitwasover" definitely thought the race was over well before the finish!  I had fun just bantering back and forth with him all day though, so that was good.

With Canadian Balliol Guy - the two Balliol kids!

Then I joined a few others at the singalong, which was an absolute blast:  They projected the words to all famous British songs like, "Jerusalem", "Rule Britannia" and "Land of Hope and Glory" on big screens, and the whole crowd sang along with it.  Kind of weird as it was the first time I'd mixed with the "regular" crowd all day, and I did feel a bit funny as people spotted the "Royal Enclosure" badge.  I think I'm just so oblivious to class differences in British society, I don't even have the good sense to realise when I've stumbled into something, until all of a sudden you feel people around you tensing up.  Still, the songs were GREAT, and it was one of my favourite parts of the day.


Then back to the Royal Enclosure, totally lost the Young Dutchman and the Oxford crowd (they had to leave early anyway), more champagne, and things get really fuzzy.  I do remember trying to leave at one point, but being caught by this guy I know as I tried to exit, who pulled me back and fed me more champagne...  I remember having great fun, but how could you not when drinking all that champagne?  It was just a blast, dancing outdoors, laughing and socialising with all these guys in top hats.  Definitely the strangest but most awesome nightclub I've ever been to.

Watching the races in the stands

Got back to London after midnight, back to my flat around 1 AM, where I then reached into my handbag and had the awful sinking feeling of not finding my keys.  Here's the problem of living by yourself in a flat with a latch-lock:  You can walk right out of your flat without your keys and totally lock yourself out!

With my favourite Dutchman

So I called my property management company, and then called the emergency call-out number from the recording on my property management company's number, but the emergency call out folks said I should just call 118 118 and get the number of a locksmith.  So I did that, and he thankfully showed up fairly quickly.  Even better, when cracking the front door of the building, he was able to get it open with a piece of cardboard!  It happened so quickly, I was shocked (and blown away that I was going to pay him £85 for a little trick with some cardboard!), but at least then the lock was undamaged, and I wouldn't have to explain to everyone else in my building that I'd destroyed the front door lock.

Actually watching the races, for once?

My own flat, however, was not so easy to break into, and he ended up having to drill out the lock.  Now this lock cost £125, but at least I felt like he earned it a bit more...  And as people pointed out, "Well, it wouldn't be a good thing to find out that somebody could get into your flat with a piece of cardboard, now would it?"  Very good point.

Running into other friends in the Royal Enclosure

He got me in, and thankfully even was willing to just take payment on my debit card (I was worried about having to run out to a cash point in the middle of the night), and by the time a new lock was installed and VAT calculated, running out the door without my keys had just cost me £330.  Ouch!

With Kellogg Boy's girlfriend

Still, I was so grateful when I got inside, I figured it was worth the money.  I ended up chatting with CBDG to assure him that I'd made it inside safely, and sent a few texts to others so they knew I'd made it in unharmed.  But what an end to such an incredible day!

First Day at Ascot

Today was the first day of Ascot!  I took the day off of work, and took the train up with my friend Sophie in our fancy hats.  Given that I used to see Sophie every week to gossip over our squash games, it had been far too long since I'd gotten a chance to see her and catch up.  Turned out I was quite behind on the gossip, as apparently she had been dating a new 27-year old, but then had also been out with a 41-year old recently.  Amazing how I'd missed some entire relationships there!

At our pre-race picnic in the Car Park

At Ascot, Sophie dropped me off at a picnic in the Owners and Trainers Car Park with some folks from the Lansdowne, and after enough telephone coordinating, was able to help the Young Dutchman, Kellogg Boy and the Canadian Balliol Guy to find us.  Everyone came armed with loads of champagne, which was the essential element of this picnic, right where everybody parks their cars.  Apparently it's really the done thing, and people have to inherit their places in Car Park 1, as that's the most exclusive one.  Smoked salmon sandwiches, cucumber sandwiches, egg salad sandwiches, all with the crusts cut off, of course.  It was quite a windy day, and the girls were having some difficulty with their hats blowing off, and our canopy even blew away at one point, so the boys had to go chasing after it!

At 2 PM, we hurried off to see the Queen arrive, where we got great spots to see her in the Parade Ring. I was shocked how close we were.  (And loved that she and I were wearing the same colour hat that day!)

The Queen, wearing the same colour hat as I was

Then we went to watch some of the races from the grandstands, where we could easily get seats (the benefits of being in the Royal Enclosure section, as opposed to the packed crowds in the regular Grandstand), then out to the trackside, where we could get right up to the rail (again, perks of the Royal Enclosure badges), then down to the actual Royal Enclosure.  So much fun there, as they had giant screens to watch the races, champagne bars, and just lots of opportunities to people-watch, with all of the men in their top hats and the girls in their big fancy hats.  It seemed like everyone we knew was there, and we spent the entire day running into people and chatting to everyone.

Watching the races trackside

It was much fun there, although I got distracted for a bit by trying to connect with the Tall South African.  Reception there wasn't good, and so we had quite a few missed calls back-and-forth before I was able to get him on the line.  We were talking about potentially getting together in the evening, and plus, I just like talking to him. Which was good, as I was still smiling from that when I was thrown by what happened next:  I spotted an old fling from Cambridge who I had not seen in eight years.

The back story is that I met this guy at a dinner, where he had come back as an older alum.  At that point in time, he was just some guy barely out of university, working for his dad's business, and just basically figuring out what he wanted to do with his life (as we all do in our early 20's).  We hooked up and carried on a pretty passionate affair for a while, that sort of fizzled out when I graduated and he wasn't coming back to Cambridge as much anymore.  Last time I had seen him was "the morning after" the last time.

With my favourite Dutchman

In the time since however, the guy has become a multi-millionaire, and the ultimate playboy bachelor.  Famous for throwing huge parties with his oodles of money, the kind of guy who buys a new Maserati every every for fun.  I occasionally see articles about him in the Wall Street Journal, which is how I know what he's up to somewhat.  (Yeah, this guy has REALLY made it).  And there he was, standing just a few feet away, talking to the Young Dutchman.

I finally realised that if I was going to see The Millionaire Bachelor, it was now or never.  So I walked over, and plastered a huge smile on my face as I said, "Well, it's been a while!"  We kissed on each check, and he asked me how I was.  I did the quick fill-in of life for the past eight years, and pretty quickly diverged from talking directly to him to contributing to the larger group conversation and trying to be quick-witted and funny.  I just wasn't quite sure of what to say. Still, as I nattered on, I realised that he was feeling insecure too, which is perhaps the last reaction I ever could have expected.  Here was a guy who had pretty much conquered the entire business world, and yet still seemed as awkward around me as all of the shy nerdy boys from Cambridge.

What did I think of our reunion?  After eight years, I just have to say that he looked ravaged.  He was making some jokes about his drug use, and how he'd been on a two-month hiatus, but if this is what he looked like after two months of clean living, I'd hate to see how he looked after being into his drugs for a while.  And I wondered, "If I met him today, would I want to sleep with him as desperately as I did then?"  Probably not.  His teeth were just a bit too white (obviously bleached, goodness knows why he'd needed to), his skin too aged from sun and smoking, and the lines showing a bit too much.

Although goodness, there is nothing quite like running into an old lover to make one feel incredibly insecure.  I've certainly put on a few pounds since I was 24, and haven't been feeling tremendously attractive since I did in my leg and needed surgery.  So in flats (no heels to make my legs look good), and with a dress that was irritatingly low-cut (I wish I'd noticed it more before going out!), and still recovering from the previous night's drinking, I was forced to face the music.  The Young Dutchman later said that he found watching our reunion hilarious, as apparently The Millionaire Bachelor had told him about our history, and so he understood the significance of this encounter.  You know how it is...even if you have no further interest in someone, you sort of want them to still want you on some level, you know?  I only hope he wasn't too disappointed in how I've changed since my Cambridge days.

We hung out there until about 6:30 PM, when everything started to shut down, and so we went back to the Car Park, where we had a ton of champagne leftover.  (Sophie made me absolutely gasp at one point when this awkward boy we know asked where we were going, and Sophie just said, "I haven't invited you anywhere".  I would have been mortified if somebody had made that cutting remark to me, but the boy must be really clueless, as he just tagged along after us anyway!)

Back at the Car Park picnic, we ended up having fun games firing off champagne corks at the other picnics nearby, and playing fun games where the boys were running around catching the champagne corks in their top hats.  Maybe you had to be there, but it was absolutely hysterical.

At the post-race Car Park picnic

The Young Dutchman and Canadian Balliol Guy went back to Oxford, and I took the train back to London with Kellogg Boy, where we had an interesting conversation the whole way.  At one point touching on the Young Dutchman's narcissism, which I hadn't really thought about before.  As I was texting back and forth with the Tall South African the entire time, I told Kellogg Boy a bit about him, and how I try not to talk to the Young Dutchman much about him. Sadly, the Tall South African had to cancel on me for the evening, but it was because another friend of his was having a rough time, and he wanted to go cheer the guy up).

As I talked to Kellogg Boy, I realised that my failed connection with the Tall South African really illustrated something, because he was feeling so badly about it, as he really wanted to see me.  And that's the fundamental difference between the Young Dutchman and the Tall South African:  The Young Dutchman is so self-involved, always loving being the centre of attention, telling the funny stories and amusing everyone.  The Tall South African, on the other hand, is almost the complete opposite, to the point where I have to remind him to think of himself every now and then, he's always putting himself out for other people.  How strange, as when I first met the Tall South African, I thought they were so similar.

I got home, changed, went out to the RAC to see who was there (there had been an event on that night), and encountered Magnetic Man, JP, and one of the other members of the Oxford Mafia.  Hadn't seen those guys in quite a while.  

I had a good time chatting with them for a bit in the RAC Long Bar, where they mostly complained about the evening's event, which had apparently been a huge letdown.  So we collected a few other Oxford and Cambridge folks, and actually ended up back at the club, dashing there before it closed at midnight.  I was too tired and had already had too much champagne though, so after only drinking water all evening, bid them all a goodnight and left them to their drinks.  Caught the absolute LAST Tube home by mere seconds, limping on my bad knee, which is cutting it a bit fine!  But made it home in the nick of time, exhausted and excited to do it all over again tomorrow!  

Sunday in Oxford

In the morning, I got up, showered and packed, and texted the Young Dutchman to see if he was up.  I didn't call because I didn't want to wake him if he wasn't, and some part of me had an inkling that a call might rouse him from some young lady's bed, and I didn't want to disturb him.

I still hadn't heard from him by my check-out time, so I checked out and walked down to Wolfson, sat myself on a bench, and settled into my book.

Sometime around noon, the Young Dutchman called to assure me he was on his way, but he needed to catch a bus.  (So he had not made it home the night before, as I'd suspected might be the case!)  A little while later, he stumbled down the walkway towards me, without his shirt, with a different tie than he'd gone out in the night before, limping and with the exhausted look of a combination hangover and staying up all night with a very demanding young lady.  It was such a funny sight, I was laughing for nearly 10 minutes before I managed to catch a breath.  I told him I wished I could take a picture, it was such a funny sight, and he finally let me do so, although only with his own camera (so of course I don't have the photo, what's the point of that?)

The best part of the story was that in the morning, when he needed to catch a bus back to Wolfson, he had no cash on him.  So the girl even gave him £10 before he left in the morning, leading the Young Dutchman to comment, "I feel dirty."  I laughed and assured him that he is a very dirty boy, but not just because girls give him money after sex!  Ah, but he amuses me so...

So we went back to his room and I dumped my things, and made conversation while he showered and recounted tales of the night before.  Luckily nothing too graphic, although I sort of wondered how he'd ended up going home with this girl in the first place, as the entire thing must have gone down after I left. 

We then split up because he had a faculty lunch to go to, and I had the good fortune to be in town for the leaving drinks of a friend of mine from Oxford (who knew I still had friends in Oxford?), so I walked there, without my crutches!  I walked all of the way along the towpath, at least a mile or so, and took me an hour as elderly couples out for a Saturday afternoon walk blew past me. Was very proud of myself for that (although totally exhausted by it!)  Had a great time catching up with the remnants of my old Oxford crowd, and felt good that I'd gotten a chance to say goodbye to this girl one last time before she moved to Australia.

Just as I was getting really tired of making conversation, the Young Dutchman called and told me to come meet him at a cafe back at the bridge, so I slowly made way down there, to join him, Kellogg Boy and the Canadian Balliol Guy.  As soon as I arrived, the Canadian Balliol Guy made motions as though he were going to leave, but I gave him such a guilt trip about it, he agreed to stay.

I think the Young Dutchman was very glad he did, as then the three boys just kept doing imitations of each other, and just generally cracking jokes about people on their course and the work in general.  It was just good for the three guys to be together, and luckily they all seem to tolerate me as a little add-on.

The Canadian Balliol Guy finally really did have to go, but Kellogg Boy, the Young Dutchman and I all decided to grab some dinner, which was good as I was starving.  Had some dim sum, cracked a few more jokes, I got bored of the boys checking their phones, and the Kellogg Boy decided to leave early to head back to London.  The Young Dutchman and I continued to sit and chat for a while, just sitting side-by-side and talking for ages.

Finally we paid our lunch bill and went back to his room to sort a few last things and for me to pick up my bag.  The Young Dutchman offered to walk me to the bus, but he was dragging so much (he'd only gotten an hour of sleep the night before due to his night time adventures), so I told him to kiss me goodbye and just go take a nap.  Caught the bus and made my way back to London, having had a great weekend spending time with him.  Because you know, talking to each other every single day isn't nearly enough.  (I had a good time cracking on him about that, as he seriously has called to talk for over an hour every single day this past week.  And here I thought I would miss him when he went to Oxford!)

The Observer's Ball

Today was the Observer's Ball at Green-Templeton College, which the Young Dutchman had invited me to come up and attend.  Given that I'd missed the last ball he invited me to, I promised to come to this one, and even made arrangements to stay overnight.  I figured I would do my hair at home, and then head up at around 3 PM.

My plans got a bit waylaid however, when the Tall South African called me, wanting to chat.  I was a bit surprised, as he was in Canterbury, hanging out with all of his college friends.  And after staying up drinking with them until 4 AM, he'd woken up early to work, and then decided to call me.  He's always fun to talk to when he's decided to call me (as he's in the mood for it), so I had a good time laughing on the phone with him for a while.  I was surprised though when I hung up the phone and realised we'd been talking for over an hour!

I still can't quite figure out how I feel about that.  After all, it's becoming hideously frequent, where boys like the Tall South African and the Young Dutchman call me all the time, obviously enjoying my quick wit and the pleasure of my conversation, and it's somewhat flattering when you realise they can have any girl, but I'm the only one they have a lasting connection with, who they come back to time and time again.  On the other hand, I've had enough of men liking me for my mind and my wit, how about some liking me for my looks?

Anyway, I finally did get on the bus, having the good fortune for once to arrive at the bus stop right as the bus pulled up.  Made the journey, totally engrossed in the final "Hunger Games" book, and got to Oxford, got some cash, and hopped a cab to Wolfson.  Checked into my room, called the Young Dutchman, touched up my hair and make-up and walked over to his in shorts and a t-shirt.

Once at his, hung out chatting with him while he got dressed, picked his cologne (I chose the one that he described as "more grown-up"), and then changed into my own ballgown.  Called us a cab, and then went to the ball.

On the whole, it was everything balls are supposed to be, with delights around every corner.  When we arrived we were greeted with champagne and and endless supply of drinks, as well as circulating waiters with trays of canapes.  Inside there was a bar with a bartender who poured generous G&Ts, and there were trays with mountains of cheese everywhere.  In another room, there was a chocolate fountain, where I had fun sticking in doughnuts, strawberries, marshmallows, profiteroles, and many other delights.  Onto another tent, where there were tables piled high with brownies, custard tarts, ice cream, and other goodies.  There were grilled sausages, although I'm glad I didn't have too many, as later on out came the hog roast, complete with stuffing, applesauce and crackling.  There was another tent with burritos, and a van that made fresh crepes with nutella.  Elsewhere they were serving endless cocktails, from cosmos to elderflower mixes to lychee martinis.  They had bands playing in a few locations, which were fun to listen to, although I was more in awe of the students who obviously studied dance, and bopped along with extraordinary rhythm.

Watching the Fireworks

They set off a fireworks display at midnight which was amazing, as I truly love fireworks.  Even though it was over far too quickly, they also had entertainments (live bands, burlesque dancers, belly dancers, back massages, fortune tellers, karaoke, a casino, a games tent) all evening long.  I still think not quite on the level of Cambridge balls (Oxford balls never are), but still an incredibly good time.


The Young Dutchman always invites me to these sorts of events because he knows I can take care of myself, and I like to think that I did a good job of being sociable and making new friends, talking to lots of random strangers and being friendly to his entire crowd.  The boys were all good and put up no complaints when I would just grab an arm as I needed it, and I generally had a good time just wandering around the crowds.  And the Young Dutchman himself was actually rather good for once about looking out for me, always checking back in every so often to make sure my knee was fine and that I was doing okay. 

At around 2:30 AM, I was so tired, and Kellogg Boy had gone home (who I normally talk to when the Young Dutchman is off running around talking to girls), so I figured it was time for me to go as well.  No survivor's photo for me!  I went and found the Young Dutchman to say goodnight, and was surprised when he insisted on walking me out.  We of course got held up by running into quite a few people, and the Young Dutchman grabbed a pizza as a delivery girl walked by.  Now who could resist tucking into pizza right before bed?

He walked me out, they took my bracelet at the door, and he stayed with me until he could manage to hail a cab.  Put me in it, told the driver to take me home, and kissed me goodnight.  I was laughing as he left to go back into the party, thinking that at least he pays attention to me when he needs to!  

AGM

This evening was the AGM at the club, which I'd never been to before, but figured I should go to as a newly elected member of the General Committee.  I ducked out of dinner afterwards however, as I just wasn't up for it.  Getting around on crutches is hard enough, getting around on crutches in the rain is even worse.

The meeting was sparsely attended, and if I hadn't been on the General Committee, there really was no reason to be there.  Still, they did ask the General Committee to take their first vote afterwards, so it was good that I attended.  I slipped out afterwards, although was surprised then when the Chairman called me whilst I was on the bus home.  I explained that I slipped out and gave my knee as an excuse, which he was very understanding of.  Not true, but the knee sure does come in handy as an all-purpose excuse these days.

When I got home, I was online when CBDG popped up.  He started telling me about plans for his upcoming birthday celebration, which do sound fun.  (I'm going to have to miss Henley to go, but after checking who was on the list for Henley this year, I'm not too worried about that.  CBDG is a much bigger attraction than a bunch of big hats and rowboats). 

And then I'm not even sure how it happened, but suddenly he said, "Hey, I have an idea..." and before I knew it, I'd somehow agreed to take a day off of work to come up to Norfolk to spend two days with him.  Staying at his place.  And he said I'd have to sleep in his bed and he'd take the couch.  Ummm...

There's a part of me that kind of thinks, "Why now?"  I mean, when he's finally leaving London and there's really no hope of anything, now he suggests a weekend getaway (which, unless I'm REALLY misinterpreting things, indicates at least some degree of interest in sleeping with me).  After all this endless back-and-forth without things going anywhere.

Then again, he is such a hopeless boy...  He warned me at one point that he's not very good with women, and perhaps he has picked up on my ambivalence about his intelligence (I always react with such surprise whenever a conversation with him proves to be interesting or thought-provoking).  As well, while I think he's cute, between the intelligence and the location-challenges, I'm certainly not up for anything serious, and he strikes me as so desperately earnest at times, I'm not sure if he'd actually be okay with anything that was NOT serious.  But c'mon, how on earth can you not have picked up on the fact that a girl who is willing to travel all of the way up to Norwich to see you likes you?  Goodness knows, if I go all of the way to Norwich and nothing happens, I'm actually going to feel like a right idiot.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to his birthday party and meeting his friends who are coming down.  Maybe after getting him drunk on his birthday, things will have a way of sorting themselves out!

Andrei and Cornelia's Wedding

This weekend was my friends Andrei and Cornelia's wedding.  I'd gone to Magdalene with Cornelia, although at the time she'd always struck me as a very severe German.  (I later was to learn that she's just German, they're simply all like that!)  Never would have imagined that years later I would be going to her wedding, but she met her husband, Andrei, a really nice and mellow guy, and over the years I'd become friends with them both.  Now it was time to go celebrate!  


The bride was German, the groom was Russian, and they lived in London, so for the wedding?  I needed to trek over to France.  Why France for the wedding?  I actually asked the bride about that, and she said, "Well, we thought about London, but it seemed like the instant you mentioned anything with the word 'wedding', they just tripled the price.  So then we thought about Moscow (where the groom is from), but we realised that visas were going to be tricky for a lot of the guests, and it would be hard for a lot of people to travel that far.  So then we thought about Bonn, at the church where I was baptized.  But they were really unhelpful, and said that we couldn't have an English-speaking priest, and were just throwing up a lot of obstacles.  And then a co-worker of Andrei's had gotten married here, and we came down for a weekend and looked at a bunch of castles, and they were just so nice and helpful here, and the local church was so great about finding us an English-speaking priest, and everything was just so easy, that it seemed like the most logical choice."  Gosh those Germans, always doing the most logical thing!  

We were laughing, as in France you need to have a civil wedding before a religious one, and they'd had their civil wedding 1.5 years ago.  (You might recall, I went to their unexpected wedding reception).  The reason being, they had planned this wedding for this time last year, and then got pregnant, with the kid being due RIGHT at the time of the wedding.  So that had to be scrapped, they went ahead and did a quick civil wedding in the UK, and now we were finally getting to have the party (with the 11-month old).  

The moat at Chenonceau

 So it was quite the trek to get there.  First on the Tube to St. Pancras, getting my ticket, hobbling through the x-ray machines and metal detectors and then the train to Paris.  Once in Paris, out to get Euros from the cashpoint, and then trying to figure out where to get a cab.  Finally found the taxi rank, and was quite surprised by this official who came and pulled me out of the line (what had I done wrong?) and of course I couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me in French.  Luckily it became clear when he marched me to the front of the line, as apparently due to my crutches I didn't have to wait in line and could get the next cab.  How nice of him!

Then on to Montparnasse, where I tried to print my reserved ticket out from one of the machines, but without success.  So I stood on line at a ticket counter (train was leaving in 15 min) and then once I got to the front, realised that I had no idea how to say, "I can't print out my ticket, can you help me?"  Luckily, the guy spoke some limited English and was able to infer from me pointing at my reservation record on my phone what on earth I wanted!  Seriously, I need to learn a few more key French phrases...

Chenonceau

Then got to St. Pierre des Corps, where more people kept jabbering at me in French until I realised they were trying to tell me not to go down the steps at the platform, but to take a lift.  How nice, although I was quite alarmed by all of the people who kept insistently dragging me away from the stairs!  Once outside, I was met by the bride and a friend of hers.  We went straight to Chenonceau, where we wandered around the old castle for a while, which was really pretty, and very neat how it was built right out over the river.  

Looking out the balcony at Chenonceau over the gardens

I got back to the hotel, where I was pleasantly surprised when my phone rang with a call from the Tall South African!  He'd been gone in Italy all week, and I have to say, I hadn't realised how much I enjoyed talking to him each day until I didn't, as I really missed him.  So I was a little bit disappointed when after complaining about how hard he'd been working lately (ever since returning from Italy), and he said, "Screw it, what are you doing tonight?  I'll come down to London and have a drink with you." Alas, I had to tell him I was in France, there would be no doing that!  Next week, perhaps...

We then went out in the evening and had dinner that evening at a little rustic French restaurant, where we all got mixed in with the bride's family, but it turns out that everyone in the Cambridge crowd speaks at least some German, so we generally held our own.

The next day was the wedding, so we just generally hung out at the castle until it was time to walk over in the afternoon.  As I noted in the photos, we just walked from the castle to the church, only about a 10 minute walk, and very cool as it was a little trek through the woods.  The service was lovely, even as the priest struggled a bit in halting English, and then of course we had the tradition of sawing the log afterwards.  It took them quite a bit to saw all of the way through it, but they managed it!

Then back to the castle for a champagne and canapé reception in the courtyard, followed by dinner upstairs in this glass covered room that we think was originally a Ladies Garden.  Good food, plenty of wine, and since the groom is Russian, they put a bottle of vodka on each table.  Which may have explained why some people decided to go swimming in the hotel pool at 3 AM, even though it was an outdoor pool and only about 55 degrees out!  (In a departure from my usual party style, I only lasted until about 1:30 AM, before I just had to pack it in and head to bed).  

Then on Sunday, all there was to do was have breakfast and head home.  We got a taxi from the castle to St Pierre des Corps, and since I spent the last of my Euros on the taxi, I got another 40€ out of the wall, but then never ended up spending it!  Ooops!  

Then once at Montparnasse, I realised that I was short on time, as I only had an hour and 15 minutes to change trains, but the Eurostar requires check-in by 30 minutes in advance of your train departing at a minimum.  So I really only had 45 minutes.  Since the taxi had gotten stuck in traffic and taken nearly 30 minutes when I took it the time before, I decided to try to see if one of the old Paris Metro tickets (from a leftover carne) I had in my possession still worked.  Amazingly it did!  So I rode the No. 4 line straight up to Gare du Nord, making it in a flat 20 minutes.  And then any further concerns I had about checking in on time were assuaged I got to the Eurostar terminal at Gare du Nord, I was quite surprised when this official lady, upon realising I didn't understand her, just took my bags and walked off with them!  I rushed to follow along, and eventually realised that she was taking me to the front of every line so I didn't have to stand and wait for people, and she even carried my bags all of the way to a chair in the waiting room afterwards.  How nice, eh?  The entire trip was like that...me not understanding all of the people trying to be super-nice to me!  

Gare du Nord

Also great was that I'd booked First Class on the Eurostar, to make sure I had room for my leg, and I think the extra £10-20 was ENTIRELY worth it.  Particularly as each time I got to the train, I hadn't had time to eat beforehand, but they served both breakfast and dinner on each of my trips.  You have no idea how wonderful it is when you're absolutely starving, to have some very nice staff people feed you!  (Although very funny on the Eurostar, as I'd FINALLY gotten into saying "sil vous plait" and "merci" to people, so when I said that to this woman and she asked me another question in French, I had to ask if she spoke English. To which it turned out that SHE was actually English, but pointed out, "You spoke to me in French first!")

My First Class meal on the Eurostar

Got back to London, where it was pouring rain, and made my way back to my flat, where this girl, the daughter of someone my mother knows from through her investment club, was there.  She's coming to London for a two-week English course as part of her PhD, but she couldn't get into the dorms until tomorrow, and being a broke PhD student, didn't really have the money for a hotel.  She came in on a red-eye flight Sunday morning, but since I wouldn't be there, I'd mailed some keys to her.  She was so grateful and repeatedly thanking me, it was almost embarrassing, but I was glad it had all worked out for her.  She was very nice, and we only stayed up long enough for me to have some dinner and then crash into bed. She left the following morning, so it was really a very quick visit (and therefore easy to host!)


I had promised the Tall South African on Friday that I would call him once I was home, but missed him, and we had a few back-and-forth calls before he caught me.  Although he was distracted by something else, making me wonder once again, "Why on earth do you call sometimes?"  Really I should just give up on calling him, and let him always call me instead, as he's much more fun to talk to then....

Overall, a great weekend away, although boy was I glad to be home!  

Club Crawling with the Young Dutchman

In the morning, the Young Dutchman called, as we were finalising plans to have our entire group go to a drinks reception this evening at the Oxford and Cambridge Club.  I e-mailed in a few names, he had done the same, and we were coordinating our plans.

I was dissapointed then to learn that the Canadian Balliol Guy was flaking out on us, and wouldn't be able to join.  I then e-mailed the Canadian Balliol Guy a tongue-in-cheek e-mail about why he needed to come, which seemed to make him laugh and got a good laugh out of the Young Dutchman when I cc'd him on it.

I made it out to the club on my crutches, and then ditched them in a corner (I was feeling self-conscious enough about them already), to do the chatting-with-random-people thing that is my usual song and dance at these things.  Kellogg Boy showed up pretty early (since he only had to come from London), but the Young Dutchman joined not too long after with another chap in tow, who I vaguely remembered meeting, a nice Danish Guy.  I continued to do my delicate balance of socialising and talking with everyone, while also doing the chat to people thing.

At one point I noticed a particularly handsome young man trapped in conversation with an older member, so I thought I might go over and rescue him.  When we got to chatting, it turned out that he was actually a friend of the Young Dutchman and had come down from Oxford with him.  I felt like a bit of an idiot as we talked, as it turned out he knew exactly who I was and all about me, while I was learning all about him for the first time.  It turned out that he was a former Blues rower, who had rowed for the Isis boat for two years running.  I was a bit surprised because he wasn't overly tall, but in such incredible shape that I'm sure when he really worked at it, he made quite the contribution.  He didn't row for the Blues anymore, but instead was focused now on finishing his DPhil.

We had quite a bit of champagne and I really enjoyed chatting with people, I signed a few forms, and then once the drinks reception seemed to be winding down, I took everyone on tours of the club.  They really enjoyed the library terrace, and we managed to make it all of the way through everything, including the Billiards Room, before it was time to hop in a cab to head to the Lansdowne, for our dinner reservation there.

At dinner, without even saying anything, the Old Isis Blue took the chair next to me, and we had a great time laughing and chatting all of the way through dinner.  Conversational topics included how I met the Young Dutchman (I had a good time relating the tale about how I first laid eyes on him in an orange polo shirt in a Starbucks, and how it was...not love at first sight, but blistering laughter ever since!) and the two of us put on our usual song-and-dance show of banter with each other.  We had been joking earlier on the phone about how we can just read each other's minds, but as we did our merry little dance of wordplay, I realised how much that is true.  The Old Isis Blue seemed most curious about our relationship, as most of the Young Dutchman's friends from Oxford are.  Just like when I went out with his rowing friends, I think it startles people that one of the Young Dutchman's best friends in the world is a girl.  Particularly a girl he's never been romantically involved with.  Which, sensing the Old Isis Blue's obvious interest about the nature of our relationship, I did my best to reassure him about, teasing the Young Dutchman in good measure about his many pursuits of other girls.  I definitely did not want the Old Isis Blue getting the wrong impression on that one, given how much I was enjoying his company (and how insanely attractive he was). 

Particularly given how much I've been feeling lately like too many boys like me for my mind, and not enough for my body.  I had been moaning to the Young Dutchman about this earlier, how often I feel like he treats me a bit too much like "one of the boys", and I do wish he would remember a bit more that I'm still a girl. 

On the one hand, it's fascinating, as I get a real insight into how boys think when I'm with the Young Dutchman.  But on the other hand, it's depressing.  Particularly when they were all talking about girls they liked because of their attractiveness.  Back to the "mind vs. body" argument above, I wish more boys would talk about how they liked a girl because she was clever or intelligent or witty, but throughout the entire conversation it was just because she was "hot".  Incredibly depressing, as it makes you think about your own "value" on the market if you're not a supermodel or Megan Fox.  And so I know that the Young Dutchman loves me for my mind (particularly as I can read his mind), but this is back to the "one of the boys" argument.  I wish he (and his friends) had at least a little appreciation for my more feminine qualities, you know? 


After dinner (and two bottles of wine) we decided to skip dessert and head to the Carlton for some after-dinner port.  Once in the drawing room, we ran into the American and Mr Douglas, who were having a few drinks with a large crowd of men.  (It should be noted that, in typical Carlton fashion, I was the only girl in the entire place).  We invited the American and Mr Douglas to join us, and I was quite pleased with myself for recognising their drinks, and after only a little bit of prompting, remembering that it was kümmel, a popular drink among golfers. 

With all of the champagne at the cocktail and canape reception, the wine at dinner, and now the port, it shouldn't surprise anyone that I was quite tipsy at this point.  I also continued to flirt madly with the Old Isis Blue, who also seemed to be enjoying my company.  So much so, to the point that when we decided to exit the Carlton to head on to a nightclub (an idea that I strongly tried to veto, but was out-voted on), the Young Dutchman whispered to me that if I didn't want to go clubbing, I might suggest to the Old Isis Blue that he simply retire to SheBu with me.  Plus, as he noted with a wink, that would eliminate the need for two cabs to get to the club!

So, as we flagged down cabs outside, I did as the Young Dutchman suggested, and whispered to the Old Isis Blue that if he wanted to skip the clubbing, he was always welcome to come back to SheBu with me.  It was then a bit of a sucker-punch when he said, "Nah, let's go clubbing!"  Wow.  Rejection.  Not nice.  Did he just not realise what I was offering?  Think I was too drunk?  Or just plain wasn't interested?  The last possibility, seeming most likely, troubles me most. 

Still smarting a bit from that, I got in the cabs with everyone else, and headed to the nightclub the Young Dutchman had in mind for all of us.  When we got there, there was some confusion about getting in, and the bouncers didn't seem to like my crutches, and I was just feeling a bit rejected and not in the mood to go clubbing anyway.  So when the American suggested that we just go back to his place for a drink, I was only too happy to go.  The Young Dutchman had dissappeared into the depths of the club, but I figured I'd sort out with him later.

Somehow Mr Douglas ended up in the cab with us back to the American's place, although it was pretty clear to me that the American and I were on the same wavelength, and Mr Douglas wasn't quite picking up on it, not realising that he was a third wheel.  Still, at some point he seemed to get the hint, like it slowly dawned on him, as we weren't actually getting any drinks, that the American and I had something else in mind entirely, and it was a two-person event.  So he made his excuses, and almost the instant he was out the door, the American and I were all over each other.  

I'm unsure quite what to say about what happened next, but I've never felt so much catharsis, relief and satisfaction from something in my life.  It was like this incredible tangle of frustration and thwarted urges just all burst out, unable to be denied any longer.  Perhaps it was the incredibly long build-up (as this had been simmering beneath the surface, on some level, since October 2009).  Perhaps it was my frustration, as I'd mentioned to the Young Dutchman, of being too much "one of the guys".  I'm sick of boys loving for me for my mind, and here was one at last lusting after me for my body.  Perhaps it was feeling unattractive, between the weight I've gained since I injured myself, and being stuck on crutches with these stupid, hideous compression socks.  Perhaps it was just too long going without, for all my endless talking with the Old Isis Blue, the Tall South African and the various boys in my life, without any action.  There is some part of my repressed American upbringing that insists I should feel guilty about it all, but I've been unable to summon even the slightest little bit of regret.  The whole thing was just hot, in the way that movie scenes are, an absolute blur where we were tearing each other's clothes off, flinging them into the furthest corners of the room, and it just seemed like we couldn't get enough of each other quickly enough.  All I can say was that as we lay there panting at the end, all I could think was, "God, I needed that."

He cuddled with me afterwards (making me laugh as I thought of the Young Dutchman's words of advice to me:  "All men should cuddle, if only out of gratitude.")  And he talked about how he was actually single at the moment, for one of the first times in his life.  Which made me start a bit, as I hadn't expected that. (We'll save the lecture about going home with a guy I had thought was attached for a bit later.  Sometimes you just accept a man-whore for what he is).  And he talked about how if he managed to get back together with his original ex-girlfriend, he wanted to try to be faithful to her this time.  It reminded me so much of the Young Dutchman, and his vacillating desire to be the "good guy" who is faithful to a girlfriend, and his constant behaviour instead with one girl after another.  I took his little speech for what he was trying to tell me, but in truth, I didn't care.  As we laughed a bit and he teased me about not being a "real" American since I'm from New York, it reminded me of why I like him, but know we'd never work.  This was definitely a one-off, and I think we were absolutely on the same page about that.

I thought about slipping away in the middle of the night (I was terrified of running into his flatmates, both of which are good friends), but without my crutches I realised I couldn't go anywhere.  So I curled up next to him for the night, and had to wait for him to wake up in the morning to help me down the stairs, after his flatmates had left.

He walked me to the bus stop when we both left (him for work, me to go home), and talked a bit about how he was uncomfortable being single, how in the past 12 years he'd only been single for about eight months.  When he's single, apparently he tries to keep himself busy every night, if only to keep the depression about being single at bay.  He asked me if I were going to be out again this evening, but I told him I had no plans to be.  I was so exhausted, I was looking forward to going home and taking a nap!  It was a weird question though, as he was obviously feeling a bit awkward, yet in some way I think wanting to see me again, because I was obviously such an easy entertainment and distraction.  Still, I wasn't about to change my plans for him.  

On the bus on my way home, I discovered I had a million missed calls and texts from the Young Dutchman, who was quite worried about me after not hearing from me, since I always text him when I'm home safely at the end of an evening.  He'd been hoping I was with the Old Isis Blue, on which point I sadly had to disappoint him.  He called me when I got home and truth quickly came out, although he seemed so unobservant about how things had played out (it took him ages to guess who I'd actually gone home with, actually thinking I'd somehow ended up with the Tall South African), I'm sure he'll forget it all quickly too.

And then the Old Isis Blue friend-requested me on Facebook, and started a little chat with me.  What on earth was this?  Still smarting from last-night's rejection, I was a bit puzzled.  Perhaps on some level he just wanted to follow-up on the idea of having a Blue's dinner, so I didn't think too much of it.  But still, just one more way in which boys are confusing (as I told the Young Dutchman).  He still seems to think that there's something there for me with the Old Isis Blue, but I have my doubts.  That rejection was a bit too much.

Thank goodness for the American, who reminded me that I'm still desired, right when I needed it most.

Boring Days of Recovery

So you wonder, "What is it like, in the days immediately after ACL surgery?"

Answer:  It is very, very, VERY boring.

Now I realise that modern medicine is utterly amazing.  Only three days ago, surgeons cut into my knee, removed one of my hamstrings, fashioned it into an ACL, drilled through my bones, threaded it through and stapled it into place.  Pretty amazing surgery, and I'm up, walking around, climbing stairs and just doing pretty well with life overall.  Additionally, I was extraordinarily lucky, in that it turned out I had no secondary injuries, no meniscal tears or anything like that, so when I destroyed my ACL, I did a nice and clean whack job of it.  The surgery went incredibly smoothly, and the surgeon couldn't have hoped for things to go better.  I'm almost entirely pain-free, and need only the occasional paracetemol, I'm in such good shape.

And yet.

Here's how my days generally go:  Wake up, grab crutches, hobble into bathroom, get into shower (with crutches), attempt to lean crutches against wall outside of shower, crutches fall on floor, curse, get out of shower, pick up crutches, use crutches to get back into shower, successfully place crutches within easy grabbing distance outside of shower, turn on water, forget that it comes on "Ice Cold Blast" setting when first turned on and now you're standing right under it (because you don't normally need crutches to get into the shower).  Shriek with freezing surprise (but at least you're awake now!), manage to complete shower while spending entire time standing on one leg.  Note that after three days, you still haven't managed to scrub off where they wrote on your leg, "This knee.  Not that one."  At least you know they weren't taking any chances.

Finish shower, turn off water, grab towel, get dry enough so that your hands won't slip on crutches, use them to get out of shower.  Check that waterproof bandages are all still in place, dry off, get dressed and put on hideous "compression knee socks" which the surgeon is making you wear because giant bandages all over your knee don't make you look weird enough.  Bright white knee socks are obviously also necessary to complete the look.

Sit down, have breakfast (thanks Mom!) and note that it's 11 AM.  WHAT???  Yes, it takes this long to get showered and dressed now, because everything takes ages now that you're hobbling everywhere on crutches.

Decide you want to get out of your flat and go for a walk.  Put on trainers (over hideous compression socks), grab crutches, start down stairs.  Follow pattern of: 1) Crutches, 2) Bad leg, 3) Good leg.  One step at a time.  Three-step-process.  Three flights of stairs.  Damn this takes forever.

Get down to the street 30 minutes later.  Hurrah!  Now time to walk down the street:  First crutches, then bad leg, then good leg.  Can't take large strides due to hamstring injury (they took one to make the new ACL), so generally moving one foot at a time in tedious 3-step process.  Note that a little old lady is heading for the same intersection that you are in her zimmerframe.  She's about 4-feet tall and completely hunched over, moving at a snail's pace as she slowly creaks along.  Become determined to beat her to the intersection.  Fail.  Suffer further embarrassment when she totally laps you by changing her mind on which direction she wants to go, comes up behind you and completely blows past you.  Humiliation is complete when she looks behind her to see why somebody is huffing and puffing behind her, to see you struggling to keep up behind her.

After taking 2 hours to complete what is normally a 30-minute journey to Tesco and back, return home to take a nap with ice on your knee.  Because yes, you're so exhausted from your little excursion, you need a nap.  Write e-mails.  Watch some TV (catching up on Mad Men!) go to bed, realising the list of accomplishments for the day is woefully short.  But tomorrow is another one!