Well firstly, apologies to those of you I confused by reposting an old blog post this morning…it was from October last year which is why TTB suddenly re-emerged!
Tonight’s blog though is about another date – the one I was leaving for when I wrote on Friday. And as some of you already know, it was a terrible, terrible evening. Almost on a par with the one where the bloke I went out with listed all the Eastern European countries in which he’d slept with prostitutes…
It was quite hard work from the start:
Him: I’ve been waiting for you in the pub, reading.
Me: Oh, what are you reading?
Him: I can’t remember the title or author. It’s on my Kindle.
So that was the end of that conversation.
In no particular order, he then managed a monologue on the ‘awful’ people who live in council houses. I didn’t tell him I have several good friends doing just that. Then it was the ‘awfulness’ of those who chose to have tattoos. I didn’t let on that my newly acquired brother-in-law is a tattoo artist and both sisters are into double figures when it comes to body art.
Music seemed like a safer topic and I mentioned a few concerts I’d been to. I was informed that he doesn’t ‘do popular culture’ and had never heard of them.
Me: But your profile says you like 80’s music?
Him: God no. I don’t know where that came from. I hope it doesn’t make people think I like something terrible like Sapandau Ballet or something like that!’
The irony here is that the night before when I’d been in a bar Gold, by Spandau Ballet had come on and I’d started dancing like a bit of a loon. Another thing best kept quiet…
He started telling me about Cambridge University.
Me: Why did you choose to go there? (I meant as opposed to any other city)
Him: Because I am that clever
He went on and on and on (modules covered, internships taken, the differences between Cambridge and ‘the sort of university you went to’) so I reminded him that he left over 15 years ago and asked what class degree he got.
Me: Oh, so did I. So maybe ‘my sort of university’ wasn’t so bad after all. (That went over his head)
His next conversations starter was ‘I bet you can’t guess where I buy my flour from?’ Seriously? I was getting bored by this stage and started trying open sarcasm just to entertain myself.
Me: Oh, do tell me.
Me: (not even a little impressed) How exciting. And how much do you buy?
Him: 16 kilos of normal flour, 6 kilos of wholemeal. That lasts 6 months with the amount of bread I make.
I then found out, step my step how it takes him up to a week to get his sour dough perfect. By this stage I realised that the night was so bad it was almost funny and started taking mental notes to write this, but then, after 2 hours, it happened… (I should point out that one thing that I did keep from the TTB days was that I started smoking again. I know – it’s disgusting, I’m an idiot etc etc. I asked for the Introduction lady to add it to my profile so I was completely open about it, so he knew I did from the start.)
Him: Would you like another drink?
Me: OK. I’ll just go outside for a cigarette while you go to the bar.
Him: You will not go for a cigarette.
Me: If we’re having another drink I will.
<pause while he turns a shade of purple and I feel lightly stunned that someone I just met feels it’s ok to try to control me >
Him: So I’ll get the drinks
Me: If you are happy for me to have a cigarette, ok.
Him: I said ….<insert little rant here> and if I’d known you would smoke at any point while I was with you I would never have come
Me: In that case I think it’s probably best we both go home now.
So we did. I thought bigoted idiots that far up their own backsides had died out years back. Sadly it seems not. Hopefully the story has raised a few smiles from you though (say it was worth the torture, please?!), and at least I never had to worry about Bradley. If he couldn’t cope with smoking, I’m pretty sure that the idea I was a skin head would have brought on palpitations! Part of me wishes I’d removed Bradley just before we left now. That would have been funny :o)