I am starting where I left off, at Sunday evening.
After a lovely day, spent eating drinking and making merry I was hoping for a nice relaxing evening.
While I love entertaining, I am definitely not the hostess with the mostest this does not stop me from thoroughly enjoying having company though. I talk too much and relax way too much to be able to contemplate cooking anything remotely complicated and so I generally stick to BBQ style food.
It is hit and miss, perhaps a little more miss, as to whether anything is cooked well or indeed ready at the same time as anything else but overall, who cares. Have another drink, you wont notice the pink bits.
So once peace and tranquillity had returned I decided very lazy plans were the thing for the evening, a large V&T in the garden while reading my book and picking at the leftovers. That will do nicely.
That was until the neighbours decided they were having a bonfire.
It took me a few minutes to realise it was snowing. My confused brain unable to make the connection between the temperature and beautiful blue evening sky and the sudden arrival of snowflakes that suddenly seemed to be falling around me.
I have cooked burgers today. I managed to cook mine without setting fire to the neighbourhood and I’m no bloody chef. Any chance you could do the same?
Then it hit me, along with a steady stream of thick black stinking smoke. A bonfire, it was 6.30 pm FFS!!!
It was like something out of a movie, ash falling everywhere and smoke billowing across the gardens and there was a God awful smell. What were they cooking, bodies? On closer inspection from the landing window it seems they were not cooking anything but burning anything and everything that could be flammable on a massive bonfire at the bottom of their garden.
Perfect, Let’s close up all the windows, shut the doors and go inside on this lovely warm sunny Sunday evening shall we? Inconsiderate tuckers!
Moving on to Monday before I get in to a proper rant, there isn’t much to report. Monday’s come around so quickly and seem to disappear just as quickly. The thing with Monday is that no one looks forward to it and everyone is just glad when it’s done and as long as you get through it without anything too disastrous happening we are more than happy to glide on to Tuesday.
Monday was largely uneventful with the exception of two unexpected text messages.
The first from a mystery number asking me how life was treating me. A mystery number is not really a mystery number it is just a number for someone you have since deleted. In my phonebook these are usually guys I have swapped numbers with, I say usually, I mean always. They have been deleted because in most cases we have met and decided not to go anywhere with it or he was getting on my nerves.
Usually I block and delete as then there is no going back but sometimes it seems, I forget.
At first I couldn’t work out who it was, obviously, I have swapped numbers with a lot of people, that’s the thing with all this online dating, my phone looks like it belongs to an escort agency. However, it was also obvious that curiosity was clearly getting the upper hand, so I engaged for a while until I could work out who it was.
It dawned on me quite quickly and then I remembered why I deleted him in the first place. I didn’t like him. There is usually a reason and it is usually one you stick to. However…
Here lies the next conundrum.
My next message later that afternoon came from Mr Ivy and it was a complete turn around.
Mr Ivy and I had cocktails at The Ivy one evening around a month ago now. It was a very pleasant evening I had a lovely time and I liked him, despite thinking that I wouldn’t. However, he decided we were looking for different things and that was that. Or so I thought.
He lunched at The Ivy today (he tells me) and while he was there, he thought of me, so he decided to message me and ask if I had found what I was looking for? Simple as that. Is it?
Is he for real?
Firstly; doesn’t he remember I have been online dating for what seems like an eternity and the pain increases with every first date and random message or dick pic that comes my way. It is inevitable I will end up in a loony bin somewhere on a very remote and very bleak moor, sooner rather than later.
Secondly; Is that acceptable? You have since discovered, like me, that not everyone is all they are cracked up to be and without further ado are thinking that actually maybe I wasn’t such a bad option after all. You were a bit hasty, maybe?
Thirdly; I liked you! One of very few people who I have actually liked and wanted to see again, there were things that both of us were maybe not so sure about, i.e you have a very small child and I have Tourette’s but over all we could have given each other a bit more of a chance there and then and then you wouldn’t have to message me now and I wouldn’t have to worry about your bloody motifs.
What are your bloody motifs?
Did I engage? Of course I bloody did. *sigh
I am none the wiser but he wants to meet again, I am being cool, I can’t help it. Yes, part of me wants to meet again, I am a firm believer in you only live once and never say never and all of that but I wonder if the moment has passed. I also don’t know if I can get passed the whole, actually I’m not your type thing? Am I or aren’t I?
We messaged for a while and in principle I agreed to meet. He said to let him know when I was free so I am thinking about that one.
Right now I am heavily in to The World Cup and we, England, are still in it!
Us Brits were an expectant nation yesterday as we entered the knock out stages of the World Cup, for the first time in umpteen years, I don’t actually know how many, 12 or 16? Something like that. It’s been an age since we have even felt the slightest, tiniest, slimmest possibility that we might actually do ok.
The World Cup has been full of surprises this time around and there are none more surprised than us that we have gotten this far.
The games throughout the tournament have been exhilarating so far and it really is the talk of the town. We are running a sweepstake at work in which I have Belgium, I am hopeful that the £32 jackpot could be mine. Not that I ever win anything, ever. Obviously if it comes down to us and Belgium (which I doubt), I will be rooting wholeheartedly for England but I will be able to console myself on a few Vodkas with my winnings if we do lose.
All this is providing anyone gets past France and Brazil.
The nation is excited. Do we dare to dream?
The outwardly cool, calm and very British exterior is out the window in favour of shouting loudly ‘come on England’ from the rooftops. In a nail-biting match last night I think we all died at least twice before being revived right at the last bloody minute, in usual England style. Why make things easy on ourselves when we can have a penalty shoot out, after all we enjoy them so much!
The buddies and I are all still in it to win it as between us we have Belgium, France and England. Either way, if we can lose the Brazilians, we could get a night out on this. Well a pizza to share at least.
In yet more breaking news. At work today it was announced that Charlie is coming back. #mostgorgeouswindowcleanerontheplanet the sequel. I am very much looking forward to watching Charlie through wet soapy windows again. It is the stuff dreams are made off.
This is of course if I am still working at the surgery as I heard on the radio today that there is massive recruitment drive at MI5.
Now that is something I do fancy. I am quite sure the reality does not live up to the fantasy but I am more than prepared to try it. I can just imagine the buddies and I, undercover. Operation Flybynight. Would I be allowed a gun? Designer trench coat? Surely those are the basics.
I imagine us a little like Charlie’s Angels, glamour wise and a bit like The Three Stooges in respect of actual competence. Well you are only supposed to look the part aren’t you?
Where did I put my application form?