Have you
ever been in the situation where you said you would meet up with a friend, and
their mates but you’re not quite sure who exactly is on the guest list? When
the four of us sat down at the table and the chitchat began, I looked up to
realise my mate and his mate are looking at me with all the expectant loving
pride of a parent at the school nativity. They are both very excited about
their matchmaking, and every expression in their faces is willing me forward!
All their hopes rest upon the fairy tale in which I get to play a star role.
Lucky me, I’m the Princess.
I am not so excited about this matchmaking,
and now I’m going to spending the evening navigating the moments when our
friends tactically disappear in order to give us space so that romance might
bloom. I had met this fellow before at the Nottinghill Carnival in the summer.
It was the weekend before the inevitable long-term relationship breakup
happened, so I wasn’t really open minded about romance at the time. He had
walked my coconut and rum saturated body to the tube station, so I knew he was
a gentleman. Even completely blotto, I hadn’t recalled him being a temptation,
and nothing this evening had changed. Despite his fairly high yet purring
voice, his firm hands, caring and diplomatic nature, this Bruneian Salesman
wasn’t winning my heart.
Was it
because he’s shorter than me? That’s not necessarily a deal breaker. My ex was
shorter, and I found him pretty sexy. Was it that there was nothing about our
faces or physicality that matched? Maybe, but opposites attract.
He once again
accompanied me to a tube station at the end of the evening, and we shared a
kiss. It wasn’t a bad kiss. His hands had a touch that was strong and soft all
in one. He’s the shampoo and conditioner of the touching world, but
unfortunately this kiss had not transported me to a place where I was eating a
Cadbury’s flake in a bathtub, circa 1992. I didn’t know much about sex at age
11, but what I did know was that every woman, and I thought I might turn into
one of those, needs to feel that good, and I wasn’t feeling it.
On another
evening we met up for dinner. He’s been very attentive about calling and I felt
that unless I give ‘it’ a real chance, he wouldn’t accept that I wasn’t
interested. Writing that sentence, I’m questioning my logic. It was a lovely
evening, but I was talking to a friend not a lover. He was just too sweet and
straight laced. Maybe I’m harsh but by 30, the homely guys have a nest egg with
collection of tools and consider adventure to be when new draught ale comes on
tap at the local, and the adventurous ones have backpacked the world. ‘No name’
had travelled, but mostly to Borneo where his family lived. Lots of useful
travel information to be extrapolated, as I would like to go for the
whalesharks and he knows Borneo. The problem was that his tales were not of
overnight buses, of blagging food and shelter on a three day walk that was
supposed to take one day, or the time it rained so hard the visa stamp on the
passport ran away and you wondered whether you would get stopped by the border
police trying to leave. I was searching for something more, like tales of the
right of passage events which are the metaphorical opposite of spending New
Years Day in Basingstoke. I did that once. That was the moment I knew my longest-term
relationship was over. If you want to subtly start to end a relationship, do
that. They won’t be able to put their “finger on why the magic has gone” or
even why they are so bored.
I think the
draw to someone who has spent the last 10 years DJing underground clubs and
illegal raves, and who has recently decided to Zen up their life, is stronger. It
shows passion, creativity, rebellion and flair. In conclusion, I’d like to find
a man like my porridge. I mean oats are healthy, but they tastes better with a
bit of honey, cinnamon, nutmeg and cardamoms thrown in. But you have to keep
the porridge. You need the porridge. After all, a kid did once die doing the
cinnamon challenge. The dating quest must continue. No kiss for No Name this
time. He didn’t call again, so my weird logic was right. He knew.
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