Mr I Love You

I had heard that a past fling had recently become single again, and so I contacted him asking him whether he was attending a mutual friend's BBQ later that day. When he said he was, I felt excited to see him, but also a little nervous.
You see, we had dated briefly a few years back, and he had always wanted more from me. I was in love with someone else at the time, and after a couple of dates told him that I just wanted to be friends. In the months that followed, my behaviour was pretty unreasonable.... Getting drunk and kissing him in front of all our friends, leading him on constantly and rejecting him numerous times. He'd halted all communication with me and rightly so. Not long after, he began dating a colleague of his, and upon bumping into them earlier this year, it seemed fairly clear that they were very much in love and happy together.
You could imagine my shock when mere months later he ended the relationship after realising he wasn't in love with her and couldn't continue...She was devastated.

So there we were at the BBQ, slightly awkward and trying to sustain conversation as though nothing had happened. It was going pretty well. Mr Captain Morgan was certainly helping, and I was trying to send obvious signals to no avail. When a small group of us decided to bail and go to a house party in a lavish Canary Wharf apartment, I felt like I had the chance to let him know I was interested.
Upon arrival, I immediately felt under dressed in my grey converse skinny jeans after seeing a full room of girls dressed and made up to the nines. I saw his eyes light up and silently said "SHIT" over and over to myself in my head.

He started chatting to a pretty girl and I began to sulk, stating to my friends that I wanted to go home. One friend reassured me, and after speaking with her I decided to talk to him.

Bringing up the past, I started to apologise and he asked me to talk with him outside in the hallway. We made our way through the sea of skinny legs, and false eyelashes. Once outside, he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me. I finally felt that perhaps I had got through to him, but once we were back in the party, he started chatting with a blonde girl. All very flirty- punishing me perhaps?
I began getting more and more annoyed until I finally marched up to them, sarcastically apologised for interrupting the conversation and asked to have a word outside.
He apologised and I accepted. It it always difficult to protest when you are being passionately kissed against a wall.

We decided to leave and headed back to his place where our clothes were quickly lost and I experienced a higher dose of passion than that of the hallway earlier. As we drifted in and out of sleep, his arms were around me all night, pulling me into the concave shell of his body while dotting my back and neck with kisses.

In the morning we slept together again, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
He was above me. Staring at me, looking into my eyes. I started feeling a little self concious from the intensity of it all. When all of a sudden, he looked as though he might say something, but stopped himself at the last minute. But then, whilst our eyes were still interlocked, he uttered very softly "I love you".
I immediately wondered whether he'd really said it or whether my mind was playing tricks on me. But then for the second time, in a whisper, he said it again. I was shocked, and his admission was met with silence.
We just continued as though nothing had happened, and shortly after I left to meet a friend for brunch despite him asking me numerous times to stay a little longer.
He walked me to the tube (I was now very happy that I was wearing my converse and not heels!), and we kissed goodbye.

Another date is on the cards, but if those 3 little words are uttered again, it may be time to run...

Nice Stalking to You

I have dealt with many mentally derranged human beings in my life, and a few have factored into my love live. A a couple of weeks ago, another routine 'crazy' cropped up. It was about time. The previous crazy (who you can read about here) had been around 9 months ago, and it seemed that the world was throwing me another for good measure.

What was supposed to start out as just a quiet dinner with a friend on a Friday night, turned into a chatty dinner followed by expensive Gin and Tonics at a Chelsea bar and then onto a slightly more expensive club where the g&t's tasted like they contained quadruple shots of Gin. This would have contributed to my rather large beer goggles when I started talking to a gentleman shortly after. Having established that his friends weren't nearby (or perhaps they were never even there...), I felt quite mean to tell him to leave... So I took pity on the short, average looking man, and may have treated him with a smooch before regretting it and telling him I was off to the ladies whilst already half legging it out of the club.

Once outside, my friend and I were trying to hail a cab home to no avail. Two guys next to us were doing the same thing, so naturally we got chatting.
I started teasing them after assuming that the two girls staggering away from them were originally being taken back to theirs and had changed their minds. The two guys found this amusing, told me I had good banter (I try), and invited me to their housewarming party the following night. We shared a cab that dropped them to their residence on The Kings Road, and headed on home where I blissfully collapsed into my heavenly bed.

The following day was naturally a write off, but that evening I'd agreed to have drinks in Camden with a friend who had been away for a month and a half.
It was a easy, chilled evening and I strolled home to bed at the ripe old time of 10pm, only to be woken up by a text from Taxi Boy at 3.35am.

"Hey...how was the rest of your cab last night? Are you out tonight?"

Now I'm no grandma, but it was 3.35am! What planet was this guy on!?
I replied the following day, and we engaged in a text conversation. It became clear early on that he was wanting to arrange some sort of meet up, but there was one little problem.... I couldn't remember what he looked like. At all. Nor was I sure I wanted to see him. He asked what my Bank Holiday plans were, and I said I was heading off to a spa. He then invited me to his friend's house for a BBQ that coming Tuesday.
Strange. No drinks, no dinner, just a casual meet and greet of ALL of his friends.
I text him on the Tuesday and politely declined. At this point in time I had made the decision not to contact him again, and had structured my text so that he need not reply, but then...

"No worries. How was the spa?"


I didn't respond. A few days came and passed and I thought he had got the message, so you could imagine my amazement when I received another text 4 days later.

02:34am: "Are you on The Kings Road tonight?"

Again I didn't respond. While I thought it was strange that he'd text again ( I wouldn't do so myself), I put it down to the weekend and the fact he may have been out drinking... Until the following night when I received this...

01:49am "Hey..."

02:17am 

Yes that's right. He text me a photo of some food. With no explanation!

The following day I received a full stop as a text from him, and since then, nothing thankfully! I am praying that I wont hear from Taxi Boy The Stalker again, but I have to say I'm fairly thankful that when life gets a little serious, the powers that be will always throw in something to tickle your funny bone.

Kiss from a Stranger

It was a Friday in mid August 2011 and little did I know that evening would turn out to be the most fun I'd have that year.
My friend and I decided to start our night off at a cool Kentish Town Pub, as we did most Friday evenings during the summer of 2011.
Marlboro Lights were smoked and double gin and tonics were sunk in the bustling beer garden, and after a few drunken shapes were thrown on the small dancefloor, we set off in pursuit of more space and better music.
We made our way to a Salsa Club in Camden and having persuaded the doorman to let us queue jump, we were debuting our Salsa moves in no time.
Another cigarette break in the outdoor area and we got talking to a few guys. We spent the rest of the night hanging out with them (on a platonic level) and dancing in that free, careless wild way you do when no one is watching you.
Before we knew it, the lights were on, it was time to leave, and despite the suggestion from a guy we met (who we affectionately christened 'Miguel back to mine') of a party back at his place which would consist of just us three, we left.
As we set off to find yet more cigarettes, there was no suggestion of retiring to bed.

Walking through the warm summer night air (made warmer by the alcohol content in our blood), I stumbled upon a guy who was walking in the same direction with his friends. There was something that instantly drew us towards each other, and we were dragging along slowly behind our friends. His name was Donald, which I instantly took the piss out off (apologies to any Donalds that may be reading!), and thus he was known as Donald Duck from that moment on.

A mere three minutes later we had lost our friends so decided instinctively to cross the street. When it became clear that we had no idea where we were going, we stopped walking and he kissed me.

The world stopped for a minute and we were frozen in time. He cupped my face in his hands and as his soft lips gently brushed against mine, I melted inside.
If ever I had had a 'movie-like' moment, this was it.

We were alerted by my friend loudly calling my name from the opposite side of the street, as though she feared I was gone forever, and slowly we made our way back to our parties.
His friends were waiting for him in a taxi and I declined his invitation of continuing my night with him. After a final goodbye kiss, we looked at each other in a way that was electric and indescribable, and with that he was gone.

I have kissed a fair few frogs in my time, but this kiss still remains as the best. Even now as I write this, I have butterflies.

All that, and it was a kiss from a stranger.

(Fun fact: The photo above was taken minutes before I would meet the kisser)

Home via Pimlico

As I strolled home from dinner on a warm May evening, I was overcome with sadness. Two days had passed since I found out that the flat I was due to move into in just shy of a month's time had fallen through. I had just managed to visualize myself there, and all of a sudden I now had to start from the beginning.
I cut my budget and decided to move out of my neighbourhood.
Lovely lovely Pimlico. My part of town for the last 4 years. I found myself strolling even slower; savouring each step through the grid.

These streets reminded me of the West Village in New York. I had gone there 3 summers before with a person who was now a stranger to me. We had strolled up through Perry Street on a hot summers day, seeking shade beneath the trees that lined the edges of the pavements.
And we'd had dinner outside on 259,West 4th Street, sheltered from the sudden heavy rainfall. It was still warm, but the rain brought on a slight panic to the city, and all of a sudden everyone seemed to be running for their lives. I felt calm, safe, happy, sitting next to the man I loved as we watched a lady with a short-haired daschund trying to get her stubborn dog to walk faster through the rain.

I remember calling my mother two days into my week long trip and telling her that at some point in my life I would live here. It had exceeded all of my expectations and in a strange way it instantly felt like home.
I had since stopped missing the man sitting next to me in that restaurant, but I yearn to walk those streets again.
Pimlico had been my replacement. My little apple, and it scares me thinking that I might pine for it when I'm gone. For my flat. My home. My big marble fireplace with candles scattered all around and floor to ceiling windows. My florist around the corner, who I go to to pick up bunches of Anemones, Ranunculus and Peonies on a Sunday. Of course that all sounds silly since I can return any time I like, but this era is ending whether I like it or not, and I don't know if I'm ready.

Last night I sat on my balcony in a sleeveless shirt with a mug of peppermint tea in my hands and I decided that an outdoor space really is essential. I breathed in the musky polluted London air, and wondered why I was the only one in my street to be enjoying it.
As I looked around, I could see glaring tv screens and drawn curtains. Everyone seemed to be shutting themselves in, away from the warm evening and views of the streets. I was baffled.

As I sleepily retreated to bed, I lay and looked around the room. All it was was bricks and a lick of paint. A door here, a window there. A few paintings on the walls. A pigeon grey jug of light pink peonies on the side. Two books on my bedside table next to two gold rings and Geranium and Orange Neals Yard hand cream.
All replaceable things. Suddenly I wasn't so worried, and as I drifted off I realised that my home would always be wherever I was.

Cupid in Disguise

It was last spring and I was dating a guy (read about him HERE) who lived with a very attractive flatmate. I used to jokingly say that I found his flatmate more attractive, except I wasn't joking. Throughout our short 3month 'relationship', we discussed setting up the flatmate with my pretty friend, but unfortunately we went our separate ways before that could ever materialize.

Around a year later, the girl in question and I decided to spend a sunny Saturday drinking Coronas in Hackney, and whilst discussing the men who had previously been a part of our love lives, the flatmate came up in conversation.
After a bit of persuasion from me, she said that she'd be interested in possibly going on a date, and I decided to send a rather random email to a virtual stranger asking him to date my friend.

Surprisingly, he said yes! A blind date is set for Friday evening, and if this should become the start of something very special, I think I may have to change my career...

Goodbye Old Friend

In less than 2 months I will have to leave the place I've called home for the last two years.

It is a place that became my sanctuary after a sad break up with a man I had spent 6 years of my life with. 3 months after I had moved in to my beautiful Georgian townhouse flat, I got a teeny tiny little black and white kitten who would emit high pitched miaows and crawl on to my stomach to have a little sleep.

The kitten is now a cat who no longer crawls onto my stomach for a sleep, and I am no longer the person I was 2 years ago.

When I look at how my life has changed in that relatively short space of time, I wonder who I will be in another 2 years time...
New and old friends have come into my life, and new and old friends have left it. My oldest and best friend of 20 years is no longer a part of my life, nor I hers. 2 years ago, we had conversations about having children at the same time so they too could grow up together being best friends. These days, I don't miss her any longer, but I do wish her well.
I met someone over a year ago, who I didn't realise at the time would become a very good friend of mine today. She is an incredibly strong, funny and kind-hearted soul who will become a mother very soon.

As I lay in my big bed typing these words, I realise that this flat has become somewhat of a friend. It has always been here for me, and never judged. It has provided me with warmth and comfort and has been somewhere I have made many treasured memories.
I am sure that my next home will become that in time, but until then...

Goodbye Old Friend... I hope you find someone who will love you just as much.

Happy Birthday to Me

A few weeks ago it was my birthday. I turned something on either side of my mid twenties, and decided that I wanted to have a big celebration, and so it was all planned.
An early dinner with good friends who lived out of London, drinks at mine for 20+ guests before jumping into cabs that would take us to a nightclub where we could shake our tail feathers for the rest of the night.

Arriving at the restaurant at 6.30pm, I felt somewhat overdressed in my cleavage exposed, fitted red dress and a face full of 'evening' make up. A few glasses of wine later, I had opened my first (and best) presents of the night, and as we left the restaurant and headed back to mine, I was pleasantly tipsy.

At my flat, guests started steadily arriving, and while trying to be 'the hostess with the mostess' I was finding it hard to relax. I was trying to divide my time between everyone, and therefore felt as though I hadn't spent much time with anyone.
As the clock struck 11pm, the first taxi arrived, and as I bundled groups of people out, I realised that the friends I'd had dinner with had opted to take the long journey back to Oxford despite my protests. At least our mutual good looking friend, A, was staying...

Arriving at the club, I remember feeling really happy and as the barman handed me a free shot, the night began to get pretty hazy.
I got talking to a cute guy (although the conversation is pretty patchy in my mind, it started off well), and when we established that he worked in finance, I asked him whether he thought it was boring (fun fact: I happen to think that working in finance is incredibly boring). When he told me he found it interesting, I decided it was time to leave, and was intent on finding A. Mr Finance told me he'd be there waiting for me, but I knew I wouldn't go back. As I turned around, my friends were nowhere to be seen, and so I wobbled towards the dance floor to find them.

After two drunken circles around the club, my efforts were in vain, and as I stumbled into the toilets, luckily my friend came out of the cubicle. I asked her where A was. She said that she thought he'd been getting on rather famously with her friend, and I decided to find them and see for myself.
They didn't look too close to me, so I decided to step in (it was my birthday after all). Within the next half an hour, my two friends left, and I decided I'd had enough, and wanted to go home.

The intention was never really for anything to happen with A, but back at home, one thing led to another...twice. In the morning, we got up and went to go get some coffee in an attempt to stop the world from spinning. Over a strong cappuccino, we decided that nothing more would happen, and it got me thinking... A was very handsome, very smart, had a great job and would no doubt make a very good boyfriend (in the bedroom department at least), but he lacked in charisma, wasn't charming and wasn't funny.

I realised then, that actually none of it matters.... All I really want is for a guy to make me laugh, and if he looks like Johnny Depp...Well then that's a bonus.