THIS WAS THE PERFECT MOMENT TO LEAN IN FOR A PICTURESQUE AND DRAMATIC SNOG… THEN HE REMEMBERED HE HAD VOMITED IN HIS OWN MOUTH FIVE MINUTES EARLIER
it is very hard to look into someone’s eyes when you can tell the person’s eyes are struggling to focus and they have tomato sauce smeared across their forehead.
The first ten minutes of the call was a two person waterfall of word vomit, composed entirely of chunks of mundanity
He returned home, donned a pair of rubber gloves and a face mask, then proceeded to decant two bottles of prosecco into disinfected Chilly bottles
He stayed for a couple of glasses, just to be polite… I’m sure Dominic Cummings would have done the same.
I asked Tom if he had come across one of the partners called John… “Ahhhh”, he exclaimed, “John’s meat trolley!” This was not the response I had expected.
Here we were, date two and emptying our bladders in each other’s company
I didn’t see myself on a date but as a Cumbrian, female version of Louis Theroux, doing my very own research into the secrets of the world of fast food
Let me whisk you away to a land of white sandy beaches, palm trees, and hunky men.
His floppy hair and baggy, trendy-patterned-short-sleeved-button-down shirt didn’t scream serial killer
THE SMOULDERING LOOKS AND WIDE BRIMMED HATS IN HIS PICTURES… SUGGESTED THAT HE WAS GOING TO FIT EVERY STEREOTYPE I COULD MENTALLY CONCOCT OF SOMEONE FROM LA.
FRANCISCO WAS HALF BRAZILIAN AND HALF SWISS BUT HAD GONE TO UNIVERSITY, OR SCHOOL AS HE CALLED IT, IN AMERICA. THAT’S THREE OUT OF THE SEVEN CONTINENTS COVERED IN ONE SENTENCE!
ON A NATIONAL LEVEL I WAS DEVASTATED TO LEAVE THE SINGLE MARKET. ON A PERSONAL LEVEL I AM EVEN MORE DEVASTATED TO BE RE-JOINING IT.
I WOULD LIKE TO CLARIFY THAT THE GUYS ON EITHER SIDE OF ME WERE NOT MEAN OR NASTY PEOPLE, THEY WERE JUST WELL BROUGHT UP AND NICE.
JUDGING BY HIS NEWFOUND BEARD, BRIGHTLY PATTERNED SHIRT AND THE RATHER SHABBY LOOKING ANORAK HE WAS WEARING, THIS OUTING OF SELF DISCOVERY HAD PROVED SUCCESSFUL.
CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF IS THE IDEAL LOCATION FOR THE CLASSIER EXECUTION OF THE CLASSIC TEENAGE CINEMA MOVE OF THE YAWN-STRETCH-PUT-YOUR-ARM-ROUND-HER.
WHOEVER SAID THERE WAS SAFETY IN NUMBERS WAS CLEARLY EITHER EXCEEDINGLY POLY-AMOROUS OR DID NOT INTEND FOR THE PHRASE TO BE APPLIED TO DATING.
I CAN ONLY COMPARE THE FIRST HALF AN HOUR OF THE EVENING TO A TWELVE YEAR OLDS’ SCHOOL DISCO BUT WITH A SLIGHTLY CLASSIER ASSORTMENT OF CRUDITÉS AND HUMUS RATHER THAN PARTY RINGS AND SAUSAGE ROLLS.
HE DID NOT WANT HIS CULINARY MASTERPIECE OF OSTRICH STEAKS, INTENDED TO CARRY THEM BACK TO THEIR EVENINGS UNDER THE SUB-SAHARAN STARS TO BE RUDELY INTERRUPTED BY HIS BUMBLING BABOON OF A FLATMATE. HINT TAKEN.
I THEREFORE RESIGNED MYSELF TO SELFLESSLY UPHOLDING THE ‘NO SEX’ PART OF THIS BLOG’S NAME… THE ‘NO CITY’ PART OF THE TITLE HAS PROVEN HARDER TO MAINTAIN.