Where we met: Tinder
Date: “I had all my haircut off when I moved up to London”.
We both lived in the South West so decided to meet locally: “There’s a nice bar called “The Grove” which is near both of us” – “Awesome, I’ll see you there” (and didn’t look up the location but decided to guess).
I headed out the house and decided, as it was such a Chritmasy winters evening I would walk up to Clapham Common (a two mile trek from my home in Balham). I was feeling really good about myself for walking and messaged my date to let him know I was arriving:
“Hey, I’m here at Clapham Common?”
“What you doing there? The bar is in Balham”
(And went immediately back to hating myself ).
I met my date and we walked to the bar: “It’s crazy, we must of passed eachother and not even noticed” – “yeah mental” (the physical attraction must really be there) and ordered our drinks (I was exhausted and stank, so couldn’t be bothered to impress) “I’ll have a pint of the cheapest lager” but my date seemed impressed, “I’ll have the same” and we smiled at each other adoringly.
We took our seats and discussed his recent move to London. He asked me about myself, interest, hobbies and aspirations (and didn’t ask me to pay for the drinks, stick his penis in my fart box or have sex with my housemate).
And then (I put a stop to it) I asked about his tinder experiences: “You’re my first, you?” – “I’ve had a couple (a million) I’m a good marker, it can only get better”.
(I don’t know how to communicate with nice boys) and got the third round of pints in.
Usually after one pint I’m pretty drunk (but after three pints I might as well have taken ketamine). The night was drawing to a close and I was beginning to loosen up (“I do smoke, make me a rolly. I was talking bollocks earlier”).
“Where do you want to go now?” – “It’s quite late, probably home?”
“Shall I come too?”
We got back to his (and didn’t fornicate but instead) decided to watch something, it was quite late so went for an easy film (“I want to watch Titanic”) “It’s 2am. I’ve got a big presentation tomorrow, can we just watch Family guy?” (and the 27 year old child before him had a mammoth tantrum).
So he popped on my film (“Christ fine. I’ll put it on”) and he fell into a deep slumber by my side, as I swayed to the sounds of the ocean (“Can you please stop kicking?!!”).