Let The Dating Game Commence!

Evening everyone, 

Slowly drifting I peeked through my eyelashes into the bright sunshine. Mmm, the heat was wonderful and I had forgotten how I had missed snuggling up after a long, tiring day at work. With a low hum in the background I closed my eyes again as we swayed together, the heat between us making me evermore happier. And whilst it was a comforting bus journey home this evening, cuddled up at the back of the bus, being driven home by the warmth of the engine and hugging onto the inner wheel arches, it was another thing I had tried in order to replace a man in my life. Note to self: Buses whilst are able to get me to work and back are unreliable, unappreciative and most of all I can't hug them without looking like a lunatic. Nevertheless this week has been a success after the feminist movement of last week the 'Vagina Crusade' is still on and the hunt for a mate continues. 

After talking with several gentlemen on a little known dating application called Tinder I was asked out on a date. After speaking for a few days and swapping all social media platforms we agreed to meet for a drink in a local bar. Something casual with not much behind it will be perfect for a first date, nothing to hard or effort educing. A few days later I was on my journey home from work and messaged him about meeting. Cancelled! Apparently work had called him in to do a shift early the next day somewhere in Hertfordshire and so date night was postponed until the following evening. Friday rolled around and not making much effort with the outfit to work I had a funny feeling something would go Pete Tong tonight too. And what an intuition I have. After trying to message my potential date all evening he replied with the lame excuse that his friend had been moved to Singlesville too and needed cheering up. Suggesting a later time to meet was met with no response at all and with twenty minutes to go until we were due to meet I called it off assuming that nothing was going to come to fruition. As it turns out I got blow off for a lads night in drinking and popping moves like they think they're Jason Derulo. Sorry boys but your not. Your just not!

Feeling deflated after being stood-up I needed some comfort and a confidence boost. Since there was no chocolate to be had in my flat other than on a digestive I decided to look elsewhere. Knowing in my heart I shouldn't seek comfort in the shallowness of swiping left or right I ignored all that and did it anyway, continuing to Tinder for the rest of the night, humming and harrahing as to whether or not a first date round a guys 'free house' is such a good idea. I have always said to myself that I will never venture into dangerous waters such as that until at least the third or fourth date. Some of the lads I have spoken to have been dicks and some have seemed quite genuine. I just hope that maybe I can get my head around not looking at everyone of them in comparison to Mr. Cheese. On which note, I had a message from him the other day. Quite unexpected. 

After hearing the sad news on Thursday that an elderly family friend whom I haven't seen in year had passed away I was shocked. Stunned into my office chair. At first I got ready to breath a sigh of relief thinking it was something much less morbid in nature, but as it turned out I was really affected. I had to steal a moment to myself in the kitchen under the pretence of making tea just to let my brain process the fact that not only had someone close to me passed away, but that within the next fortnight perhaps I shall be forced to share the same personal space as the very women I despise - My Mother. Sounds awful but I honestly don't know which one is worse. The family friend was what I referred to as an Auntie in my younger years and whilst part of the family she was a strong women whom held her ground and stood up and by what she believed in, including me. I was only seventeen but she knew that I was telling her the truth when I told her the tale of being thrown out by my mother. Shocked and appalled like most she offered me sympathy and a ear when I needed it most and for that I am grateful. A few days later I received a personal message from Mr. Cheese offering support and a shoulder to cry on. It was sweet what he had said and nice to know that he was thinking about me, but all I really wanted wasn't just a shoulder to cry on. 

I wasn't to be sad for too long as midday on Saturday soon arrived and as the warm summer called my Nan and I outside we sat in a quaint little cafe sipping on tea and coffee chatting about all life's problems although mainly boys and how I should deal with life now as a bachelorette. Much advice was given and it was needed for I had already lined myself up another date with a new man for Sunday afternoon. But before all of that could happen I had an even more important date to keep to. Reading Festival Run-Thru - Mark Two!

Discussions took place between myself and the Tweedles via email about the pro's and con's of having a camp out in Miss Tweedle-Dumb's garden when there was due to be a torrential down pour that evening. My case was a valid one and that no matter what the weather come the Bank Holiday Weekend at the end of August we would have to put up and sleep in a tent for several nights. I feel that whilst my friends would much rather snuggle with the dogs on the sofa, they couldn't deny that as normal, I was right! And setting up this time was not nearly half as bad or strenuous as first thought. The tent was up within half hour and by the time we had pumped up our air-beds and secured the guide-ropes Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I were being egged on by a mischievous Miss Tweedle-Dee to have a dance off on the patio. Suffice to say that after several cocktails and a cider I was very much a drunken mess. Attempts to play swing-ball was next on our list of fun things to do whilst drunk. Between pants and gasps I felt as if I was either in the finals of Wimbledon or doing the voice over for a OTT porno, although by that point in the evening it was most likely to be the latter one. And so the night was rounded off once and for all with being chased by imaginary scary noises whilst trying to Alfresco Pee and having potatoes thrown at our tent by Miss Tweedle-Dumb's sister. 

Bleary eyed we awoke the next morning, my tent pals had slept better than I had but only for fear of being rained on. Nevertheless a morning brew and ashtray were brought to our makeshift bedsides by an attentive Miss Tweedle-Dumb and thus commenced our Sunday. Packing the tent away was not hard either, and within the space of fifteen minutes out pop-up home had been wiped down from the rain drops and packaged away inside its little bag until the next time we need him. Changing and having a quick wash we all headed back to our own homes, but for me it was home to prepare for my first date of the year. And so, strolling down the street I definitely had my swag on. I felt amazing and with my new found favourite band (5SOS) playing in my ears I knew I was shit hot. Or at least I would have liked to think so anyway. As I turned into the street and saw the signed swinging in the cool afternoon air I told myself that I could still turn around and go home if I didn't want too. Grappling with nerves I approached the coffee house. I knew it well. It was the last stop on mine and Mr. Cheese's journey before heading to Darlington over Christmas and more recently the place I had purchased ground coffee for Pappa Cheese's birthday present, much to his delight. Indeed this little coffee shop on the High Street held very fond but bitter memories for me. I wished they could be different but they are not, and that is why I am here. Walking into Caffe Crema to meet a man I barely know. Strutting to the back of the establishment in no less than a pair of heels, pleated PVC skirt and sweatshirt I felt the nerves subside as I greeted my date; The ironically named - Mr. Moustache. 

Mr. Moustache was a tall and stocky blonde with blue eyes, not quite what I expected but then can you ever trust Internet dating? As soon as I walked in I stole his attention from his phone, a luxury Mr. Cheese rarely paid me. As I approached the little table I glanced to where ghosts of days gone by had excitedly chattered amongst wrapped up presents and about the coming days of yule-tide festivities that were to come. Shaking them off I was greeted and then seated. Parched I offered to buy Mr. Moustache another drink, despite seeing that he had only just arrived himself. Declining, I went to the counter to order a coffee frappachino. Starbucks it was not but better than something hot. Seating myself once more, Mr. Moustache commented on how surreal it all was. Was I that fabulous? Is it now an honour to be in my company? Apparently so! Quick someone call the Queen I need to be knighted!

Conversation flowing we questioned each others lives and hobbies. I found out that he works in health care and lives alone too which was a relief as you tend to go a bit nuts when you live alone as a Singleton! We posed questions about our favourite biscuits and what we like to watch on TV. He seemed to be on same shelf as me but I'm not so sure about the same book or page however. Desperately trying not to judge or compare, Mr. Moustache had the long run-your-fingers-through hair I always want. Teeth were fairly good too and his eyes were wide and full of wonder at our conversions. Noticing the sandals I was immediately turned off anything romantic, although oddly in a way the slogan Tee and bright Hawaiian shirt may have made up in part for one of the Big Four being let down. Mr. Moustache was funny and made me laugh with hilarious stories from his travels around the world. He had ventured to Asia on a gap year from life and whilst there had experienced nude bathing with friends and lots of Chinese Mafia, being asked to have his photo taken just because he was a tall white male from the West and even accidentally marrying a Japanese prostitute. And to think that I would never meet my match in terms of being a raconteur! I too pulled out all my best stories - That time Miss Tweedle-Dumb made a Aloe Vera butter angel on the floor of our holiday apartment whilst very drunk from an evening at a Scottish bar in Fuerteventura, Miss Tweedle-Dee and her blister bags as a result of getting badly sun burnt, also in Fuerteventura; And who can forget that ever-lasting tale of Mr. Workaholic and his 'bearded' experience.  

As the afternoon turned into early evening I decided to call it a day and head home - Alone! The exit was odd as we ended up walking the same way and when we did come to the departure I felt an uneasy as Mr. Moustache leaned in for a hug goodbye and maybe something more. Unfortunately it was a first date and I didn't really fancy him that much. I mean he was attractive don't get me wrong, but I was still airing on the side of caution. I wasn't sure about this one yet and didn't want to jump before I knew what into. Mr. Moustache was lovely though and despite us not talking since I feel that as far as first dates go, it went well. With a few more lined up for the coming weeks I am sure we I will have plenty more tales to tell you all, I just need to be sure that I don't fall as hard as I did last time ... 

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx