I got myself through the shower, although upon realising that there was
no way I was going to make it to Bond Street by 10 AM, texted the Tall South
African to tell him as such. You can
imagine my surprise then when I was still dashing about in my underwear, to get
a call from him saying that he was five minutes away from my flat! I did a mad tidy-up to make things as
moderately presentable as I could, and threw on a shirt just in time to welcome
him in when he showed up at my door.
He flopped on my couch and gratefully accepted some water, apparently
still quite hung over from the night out before. He’d been out with the latest girl and gone
to a few parties, before crashing at hers and then walking her to work in the
morning.
Once I was ready to go out, he insisted that we needed to take
advantage of the sunshine, so we walked over to Holland Park, one of my
favourite places to spend time. We
walked around the park for a bit, and then got coffees to sit in the sunshine
and talk about life.
He told me stories about the Italian ex, who apparently is still acting
like a “current” girlfriend, which of course has him confused. I find it funny, as the girl is 25, and I so
distinctly remember being that age, and acting exactly like this girl is
now. Where you sense that things aren’t
going quite according to plan, and so you think that by making yourself the
most agreeable person possible and just acting like everything is fine,
everything will be fine. Not to say I’m
an expert on what makes relationships work, but at least in retrospect I’m
quite confident that such a technique is not the way to success.
So he’s just in a mess, currently dating a girl who is starting to
annoy him, while also “dating” the Italian ex, out of fear that if he tells her
that he’s actually been with a ton of other girls while she thought they were
together, he’ll lose her friendship in addition to the romantic
relationship. Alas, I think he might be
right, that one could be irrecoverable. I
suppose it’s true what they say, that if you date your friends, there’s no
going back, you’ve ruined the friendship.
We sat there for ages, talking about whether we thought the other would
marry, where we saw our lives going, and just those other “big picture”
issues. When we had drained our coffees
to the point that we were really just sitting there with cups in our hands, I
surprised myself by realising how much I was enjoying just spending time with
him. So although it would have been a
perfect point to call it a day, I was only too agreeable to the idea of
continuing to hang out to go get lunch.
So we walked through the park for a bit, and then walked to High Street
Kensington, where we took the Tube to Sloane Square. Once there, we went to the Saatchi Gallery
for lunch, which was a tad bit over-priced, but right out in the sun in the
perfect spot that he’d picked. I had to
admit, the boy is a good date in that he knows how to find the right
places.
After lunch we went for a walk on the Kings Road, just wandering
aimlessly, walking and talking, although I could tell you almost the exact moment
that he needed a coffee, as he gets rather quiet when he’s tired.
Sweetheart called and so I suggested he join us, so we hung out in the
neighbourhood until he joined, and then walked to Green Park to join The
Blonde, who was out babysitting for the day.
So I guess it was good that I had Sweetheart to chat to for
entertainment, as the Tall South African was definitely paying more attention
to The Blonde for a while.
At around 5 PM, The Blonde had to take the kid home, and I was supposed
to go to another party, and the Tall South African was supposed to pick up the
girl he was currently seeing at work.
Except I figured I could be late to the party, and the Tall South
African didn’t want to leave us, so we all went down to the South Bank to join
some others at a pub on the Thames. (The
Blonde alas really did have to take the kid back home, no taking her to the
pub!)
We got to the pub, where the Ginger Lawyer was hanging out with his
flatmate and a few of her friends. The
time ended up mostly being me and the Tall South African hanging out together,
either waiting around at the bar to be served (the queues were massive, so we
always went with each other “to help carry drinks”, but mostly really just to
keep each other company while waiting), or just standing and talking, often him
resting his arm on my shoulder, I think making the point that I’m so much
shorter than he is that I’m the perfect height for that.
It was strange, as during one of our sojourns at the bar, out of the
blue he suddenly commented on my age, pointing out that I really only look like
I’m in my mid-20’s, the same age as him.
After correcting him when he tried to add a few years to my age, I at
least got him on my correct age and realising that I am eight years older than
he is. As he mulled over that one (I
swear we have covered our age difference before), I couldn’t tell if he was
thinking that I was a lot older than he is or that it’s not nearly as much as
he’d thought. It was just the most
random thing to start talking about, although sweet of him to keep noting that
I look young for my age. I know this is
true, that I’ve aged well, although it was sweet to have him comment on it out
loud at a point where I do start looking for wrinkles in the mirror. I guess I was looking nice today and he
wanted to tell me.
We eventually just parted from the group and sat on some steps in the
sunshine, with me just leaning up against him and the two of us talking about
just how much we like spending time together.
I have to admit, I am lucky to have him.
Perhaps I take him for granted at times, but I really must remember how
nice it is that there is this boy out there who likes to spend entire days with
me, and I still find at the end of the day that he’s still the one I want to
talk to. We’re lucky to have each
other.
We were then joined by a friend of Sweetheart’s who I’d met at the “America
Day” we had a few weeks back. When she
arrived, she kissed him right on the lips, same as he often does with me, which
made me weirdly uncomfortable, and I couldn’t figure out why. After all, it’s not like I would ever be
interested in Sweetheart romantically, but I guess I’d just always thought that
was “our” thing. It was kind of an
interesting thing to puzzle over, really, why it made me uncomfortable, when by
all rights it shouldn’t. Doing
psychoanalysis on yourself is fun.
The girl the Tall South African has been seeing arrived, and I got the
sense that he wanted me to get to know her a bit, but to be honest I didn’t
notice her much. I already know she’s
not long for him (as soon as I figured out that she’d messaged him 15 times
without one response, I knew she’d already killed her chances), as she’s just a
bit too desperate and has given him too much power. Even he admits that she’s starting to annoy
him. I think I probably didn’t help
matters either after a day spent with me, I think he was suddenly realising how
dull she was to talk to. Sweet, but
dull.
As it was getting cold, we decided to head for an Italian restaurant that Sweetheart knew about and loves, although at this point I really felt the need to go to this party I was due to attend, as it was now 9 PM and the party had been going since 5. Plus, I don’t know. Something about the crowd, and Sweetheart being so affectionate with his friend who had just arrived, made me want to go. The Tall South African still desperately wanted to spend time with me (he protested my leaving more than anyone), but I noticed at this point the numbers were odd, and I didn’t want to be the 9th one out. So I walked with the Ginger Lawyer to the restaurant (good to catch up with him, even for a little bit), and then firmly insisted on leaving them, even though the Tall South African was nearly throwing a tantrum by this point.
I’d never imagined when I left my flat at 10AM in the morning that I’d need to be dressed to go out in the evening, but given that I was already four hours late for this party (and would be 5 hours late by the time I got there) there was no time to go home and change, I would just have to go out in jeans and trainers.
As it turned out, that was fine, and I fit in reasonably well at the party when I arrived. Thankfully I was greeted enthusiastically by the host when I got there, which was nice because all of a sudden I was reminded that he was the only one I knew there. He introduced me to a few people, and I gamely tried to make conversation with a random French guy and some other random dudes, before managing to do okay for a while with a short guy who worked for the company that did London Duck Tours.
I managed to keep that conversation going for a while and even learned a few interesting facts about London, but after a while I realised I’d just had it. I talked to The Blonde about this the next day, and she completely sympathised, the dilemma of going out for an evening with friends you already know (so guaranteed good time, but also guaranteed that you won’t meet anyone with romantic potential), versus taking a risk on an unknown party (chance you might meet your future husband, but you also might not meet anyone you like at all and the party will be a total dud). So given that my lenses were feeling a bit dry and I was blinking a lot, I just slipped out without saying good-bye (the host was well on his way to being so drunk as not to notice), and just went home although it was only just after 11 PM. An early night, perhaps, but sometimes you need those.
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