On rescuing fair maidens...

Or something like that...

We're all out drinking, a large relatively disparate group - some close friends, lots of people I don't really know.  Anyway, I'm chatting briefly to a lady from Bristol who was up for an interview/drinking sessions and whom I only knew to say hello to when she asks me to keep an eye on her - and in particular in case a drunken, unintelligible geordie tries to crack on to her...Apparently she can't stand him.  (Personally I could take him or leave him, but after 3 pints I have no idea what he's saying - just nod occasionally when he stops talking).

There I am deep in conversation when suddenly I notice that the lady is staring daggers at me - I'd not noticed that she'd been cornered by the Geordie.  Ooops.  What kind of a knight in tarnished armour am I?

Anyway, I make my excuses and walk over to stand next to her.  This doesn't seem to have much of an impact.  So I went slightly off piste, put my arm round her back, pulled her close and kissed her. We kissed for quite a little while.  Which was a surprise.  Even more so to us, than to the Geordie.  And much to the hilarity of the rest of the group.

Apparently she then missed her train. And had nowhere to stay.  What else could a knight in shining armour do but offer her a bed for the night?

A damning indictment...

of heterosexual men?

Chatting to a friend of a friend at a party - covering all sorts of topics - when she suddenly goes "Are you gay?".

Slightly taken aback I looked confused for a moment and she obviously picks up on this and she says "Oh - sorry - I'd assumed that you were - you're charming and cultured."

Oops. Must make sure that doesn't happen again.  Or stop going to art exhibitions and the ballet.

My poor liver - the dangers of dating

My poor liver needs a rest.  Good job it's a quiet weekend. 

Four drinks and dinners on the trot - Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.  Same bar, same restaurant, different ladies.  Couple of martinis and a bottle of wine - great on Monday, Great on Tuesday, starting to overwhelm me on Wednesday and perhaps not the best on Thursday.  Today I sleep. Unless I get a good offer...

On Tuesday night the maitre d' 's eyebrows were raised.  On Thursday they were lost in his hairline.  But he had the good grace to do it when the lady's back was turned.  And the sommelier gamely gave me the wine menu every day.  Same answer everytime. 

Must go to the gym this weekend.  Got to recover (and with the crisp morning this morning - winter is coming, need to get ready for skiing).

meanwhile - pass me the neurofen please. pretty please.  i need to sleep in a conference room.

Things to do (or not to do...) on arriving

On arriving in an apartment over the weekend after a rather good dinner I was left alone for five minutes.  So I thought I'd peruse the bookshelves.  Foremost amongst them were works by De Sade and von Sacher-Masoch.  Decisions decisions...stay or go, stay or go.  Obviously I stayed and at least I knew what was the order of the day.

So my hint for the day - always study the books on arrival!

On first dates

Having been set up by a friend I went on a date.  So far, so normal.

But the date consisted of a drink just off High Street Ken.  Now I'm all in favour of drinks in pubs just off High Street Ken (is the Scarsdale still there?  Great place on a summer afternoon...) but what I'm not in favour of is meeting for just a drink.

It doesn't give you a chance to get a real feel for the person - if they're shy, or you've had a bad day then you don't really get to cover much ground and find much out about them - and surely that's what it's all about.  Drinks and dinner are a good start to the evening at the very least.  Then you can both relax and chat.  And I've never had a bad first date that consisted of dinner as well - always had plenty to chat about.  But for just a pint or two?  Don't really get it.  On the other hand a follow up of a drink or five or more - well that's just dandy.

As an aside - I can't bear it when friends make sure that a friend rings them after an hour or whatever - if you're going to commit to a date - then at least commit to it properly! 

An attack of common sense...

Things not to do on a Friday of a bank holiday weekend...head down to Devon.

Love Devon though I do I can't really bear the thought of heading down after work on a Bank Holiday Friday.  Maybe if I'd been able to take the day off and head down this morning, but I don't think it matters which way I go ("Perhaps if you take the A123 by little snodsbury...?") - the Road the Hell will closely resemble the Road to Devon this weekend.

It's a shame really as when I'm there it's the perfect place to relax, and unlike London there's no neighbours nearby so you can be as noisy as you like the feeling takes you... Stops them giving you a funny look the next morning.

Having said all that there's probably more people I know in Salcombe this weekend than London - could be a quiet one!

High heels

I'd never really understood the whole high heels on ladies thing. 

Sure, they make a leg look more elegant, and if, perhaps, the wearer's legs are not the best then they can hide a multitude of sins!

And then I came across the Louboutin Pigalle.

Ohgodyes...

Flatmate's not coming home tonight...

Apparently.

She was meant to be heading off to points warmer with the chap, but he got a phonecall from the pilot of his plane as they were heading down to the airfield.  Police wanted to have a chat with him, so they're now in the Dorchester for the night.

What a lack of imagination when it comes to hotels...

Schoolboy error

“Erm, would you mind hailing me a taxi?”

“Huh?  What?”

“It’s just that I’ve taken my lenses out and…”

“Ah, okay, let me get dressed and I’ll walk you to the main road and get you a cab.”

Up until that moment it had been a cracking weekend.  Lazy start to Saturday with breakfast out and the papers.  American style pancakes and an omelette. Lots of orange juice and a frankly unsafe amount of caffeine.   Thankfully there weren’t any birthday parties in that morning (there seems to be a craze for young teenage boys to have their birthdays start with a breakfast out somewhere…it’s a cruel and unusual punishment for those of us who don’t really get going first thing at the weekends).

After a little bit of pottering head on up to town – for some self indulgence – Hatchards, Fortnums and the Royal Academy.  I manage, for the first time ever, to resist buying any books despite their sales pitch being honed to perfection.  They seem to manage to chose just the books that will attract me and place them such that I can’t possibly miss them or fail to be enticed into a new and diverting work by an unknown author.    Before I’d set out I’d told myself in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t even going to think about heading further down into St James.  There are far too many shops down there where I can’t really be trusted not to come out with three shirts I really don’t need or a couple of cases of claret.

Carrying on my abstemious trip I avoid buying 25 kilos of green tea in Fortnums and head into the Royal Academy for the Sargent exhibition.  Having not done enough sailing this year so far I needed a reminder of the sea!  Thoroughly enjoyed it and picked up the show guide as well (Sargent and the Sea) – as ever for the RA, beautifully presented.  Atlantic Storm was the highlight for me, there’s nothing more disappointing than a sea picture where the sea looks static and lifeless, but he caught the moment of staring aft over the stern at a following sea just perfectly.  Reminded me of many a downwind run in wintry weather.

Anyway....after a good day, I meet up with a charming young Irish lady - who's moved over from Dublin to take up a marketing job with a drinks company.  Even better looking than I remembered - classic Irish looks with dark hair and flashing eyes. All the chat and a cheeky grin which rather suggested that the evening was going to be a good one. Our previous encounter had ended early as it was a school night and we were keen to meet up a second time...

Vodka martinis again...(spot a theme developing) followed by a rather good dinner.  I'm a bit blurry as to what we ate but I'm pretty sure that there were two bottles of wine and a bottle of champagne involved. Before we went out for a few more drinks in a late night haunt just off Piccadilly.  Being in the trade she knew the owner so we jumped the queue and had a few cocktails.  We eventually staggered out into the fresh air and into a cab - back to hers.  By this stage we had rather made a fool of ourselves as several cocktails had ended up over the bar and we'd snogged. Very publicly.  Kissing would be much too sophisticated a word for it.  With the chemistry that had been there from the start of the evening we were making a real mess of each other.  

This was all well and good but she'd only just moved to her new place. And she couldn't remember the exact address.  So I vaguely remember cruising up and down a street in North London trying to work out where she lived.  Eventually we get lucky and crash through her front door.  After the traditional offer of "coffee?" we end up in her kitchen.  And promptly remove all of each other's clothes.  Her underwear had clearly been chosen with some care but it didn't stay on longer enough for me to admire it very much.  And I have to say she'd clearly planned to end up in bed (or on the kitchen floor!)...

Round 1 complete we slowly work our way upstairs and end up in bed.  and fall fast asleep.  At some point we wake up, realise the curtains are open and the lights are on so I'm pushed out of bed to sort this out and return to bed for round 2.  Better than the first time - which had been great fun...this was all rather throwing each other round the room rather tender embraces and sweet nothings...

This time I think it'd be a good idea to remove my lenses...and that's where it all started to go wrong.

Next morning, after a rather quieter wake up / fall asleep / wake up I suggest that I ought to be getting home.  When she goes bright red and points out that our clothes are downstairs.  And that her flatmate, her younger sister, might be about...Oh dear.  Sister it turns out has got up, had breakfast, tidied our clothes up and put them on the back of a kitchen chair and gone out...Leaving me to ask for a taxi...

If I meet the sister it's going to be tough to look her in the face!

in honour of the a level results

Don't know much about...

Flirting with an ex

Who's just moved into your spare room is probably a really bad idea.  That's the problem with going out to dinner with them to dicuss emotional matters and drinking way too much white wine. and then sharing a taxi home with them.  Thankfully ( I think ) we didn't do anything too awful. 

Having retreated somewhat dazed and confused (even more so than usual) to the safety (!) of my bedroom at the end of the evening I finished reading the new biography of Hugh Trevor-Roper by Adam Sisman.  Having previously read some of HT-R's essays and his (posthumous) Letters From Oxford (Letters from Oxford: Hugh Trevor-Roper to Bernard Berenson) I've been avidly reading his biography.

The Letters were fantastic holiday reading a summer or two ago - perfect for reading in a pooside bar with a gentle breeze and a drink or two and a salad at lunch.  Written with a defteness of touch and a wicked sense of humour - enough to make you smile and relax back into reading them.

The biography is naturally more in depth and takes a little more effort to read but it is certainly well put together.  His style is strangely reminiscent of HTR himself and is interesting on many subjects.  In particular, for me, a passage which was particuarly good was the discussion of post war Oxford and the impact of students having spent 6/7 years at war before studying.

At a time of the annual anguish over University clearing it's a reminder to anybody that your life is not determined at 18 and the choices you make then - you can study later and indeed study better if you make a choice when you've seen more of life (in their case a whole lot more).  Coincidently I'd recently been reading a privately printed memoir of a family friend's time in the Army in WW2 which had made me consider these issues afresh.  It's never too late to think about what you're really doing and what really matters to you.

But putting that all aside - it's Friday and it's almost time to go for a drink or three...

Well - no more on the ex front today.  She's safely ensconced in her room and he's emailed me a few times - just to check she's okay, fishing for information as subtly as a brick (note to everybody - when you're probing for information - asking is she okay, how's she been, are you seeing much of her over and over isn't going to make it subtle - I know what you're asking!).  I'm stonewalling - and I'm sure he thinks we've got a thing going on...not sure what to do.  I'm pretty sure that things couldn't be more tricky if we tried...at least if we were seeing each other we could deal with that!

Drinks and dinner last night with a charming lady - I can thoroughly recommend the vodka martinis at the May Fair Bar...although when you watch them make it and realise you're essentially drinking a quintuple vodka with a slice of lemon rind it does explain why you can't down the first one that quickly, and why the second really should be your last if you've got plans for the evening!

Moved on to Greens on Duke Street.  Their scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on toast is always done to perfection (almost as good as mine...maybe, in my dreams!) and their fish and chips are always good.  Very nice white burgundy to go with it - crisp and bone dry.  My date for the evening seemed to have a good time - although she was rather horrified by the ex in the spare room.  Maybe that's why I ended up hopping in a  cab alone!

Having said that I always enjoy the ride home in the back of the cab - watching the city pass by outside, relaxing as you head west and thinking about the day just gone and the day to come. Thankfully the cabbie didn't really want to chat too much so I sat and contemplated the situation...what to do!?

 - I can't let her down
 - I can't let my mate down
 - I rather suspect the gossips are chattering overtime to each other - I dread to think what the emails are saying!

I think it's time to date a lot.  That should at least allay the rumours that I could be involved with the ex.  And as an added benefit, being a chap, I mostly get to choose where to go - at least I'll enjoy the food and drink, even if the evenings a write off!  Dinner out with the ex tonight though to chat some more.  Must make it to the gym first otherwise I'll be as fat as a barrel!  Thankfully we're meeting up not far from the club so I should be okay...

How do we manage to get ourselves into these situations...?

Where to begin?  Probably the way we did last night - a large gin and tonic or two.  Nothing like a homemade gin and tonic to get things going* and to put people into a confessionary mood.  Not sure I'd make a very good father confessor figure though...

Turns out she's been seeing a client for a little while.  Which isn't the best given she's a divorce lawyer!  Pretty sure that's a no no (although if I'd ever had a good looking client then maybe I wouldn't be so sure!).  On the other hand I guess it means that she knows exactly what she's getting herself into - knows all about divorcing and all about her new man - no secrets!  And I guess if you're going to go for a new man and risk your career, choosing the chap with the private jet is probably a fun idea if nothing else.

I suspect therefore that she won't be around much at mine - more going wherever he has jetted off to next.  Which is probably a good thing as the walls don't appear to be that thick and having an ex in the next door bedroom could be a bit of a passion killer.   Time will tell. As it always does.  Who knows - tomorrow's date could go well!  Fingers (and toes) crossed.

Which rather leaves the question - how do we mess ourselves up this much and what on EARTH am I going to say when I speak to my mate.  I think the best route is to try to stay friends with both of them and to say nothing to him about her and nothing about her to him.  Whether that's possible is another matter...nothing like being put in the middle of a tricky situation.

As an aside Beefeater 24 - much to be recommended - I didn't even have that much of a hangover this morning.  On the other hand the amount we consumed last night probably wasn't a good idea.  Not when she's an ex and she's staying with you and everybody's emotions are turbocharged.

*It reminds me of a new year's eve when, after consuming quite a few gin and tonics we all went to the pub and complained that the G&Ts tasted funny.  Turned out we could taste the tonic and that's why it tasted odd!

A lot of gin is going to be required...

I rather suspect a lot of gin is going to be required tonight.  Emails would rather suggest that she might have been a little naughty.

Wish me luck...

What a mess!

Well. That was weird.  There I am, minding my own business  at work when I get a phone call from the ex I’d been living with (along with my mate, her husband).  She’s decided she’s leaving him and could she possibly use my new spare room.  Given that they let me stay in their spare room I can’t really say no – but on the other hand…people might just think it’s a bit odd.

I divorce – and move in with ex, then when I move out the ex moves out and in with me.  I’m not quite sure how to explain this to our mutual friends – of which there are a lot, we’ve all known each other since Uni.  I suspect that the gossip mill is already running over time. 

So she turns up last night – with possibly the largest suitcase I’ve ever seen.  I think she’s got half of her flat in it!  I suspect she’s planning on staying for a little while  - she’s certainly got enough clothes to keep her going!

Anyway she’s very upset – but we didn’t chat for long last night as we both went to bed early.  We’re going to catch up tonight to discuss what’s going on.

What a mess!  (And how come I only got to enjoy my own space for so little time?)

How to rent a flat...

Having had the second flat in a row fall through I'd got bored of traipsing round wasting time looking at flat after flat.  After all, the tenancy would only be for 6 months at the worst - how bad could it be?  And I really did need somewhere to put my things and to collapse into bed.

Found somewhere halfway decent looking on the internet - couple of bedrooms, own parking spot and a garage - what more does a chap need?  Rang the agent "Is it still available?", "Yes - would you like to look round it?", "No I'd like to take it", "Oh My God - are you sure?  I'll drive round to it and take some more pictures to email them over." "No really - no need - I'll just take it - I assume it's a six month break?" "Yes but...."

Anyway the agent goes off - takes pictures, emails them over, crashes our email system (nothing like a large selection of 5mb files in quick succession to make the interweb break).  I call and confirm that I'd like to move in.  This was on a Wednesday.  Signed the lease on the Saturday. Arrived on Sunday - saw place for first time and moved in.  So far so good...

A start. Here's to Barnes

Living with friends is all well and good - after all they've got a spare room and you need a bed and it's free but sooner or later you need somewhere of your own.  Apart from anything else whilst he's a mate, she's an ex and you can't live with an ex forever.  Not when she's married to your mate.  And you're in your 30s. And they're friends with your ex wife.  You need a little independence - or what's the point in living in London again?


I spent the first few weeks after the move back to town living in the Club and a hotel in New York with work.  At least that dealt with the perennial shirt problem - no need to find an ironing board (and nothing quite matches the finish of a New York shirt!).  But somehow it's not that homely and you really haven't got anywhere to put things for more than 5 minutes, so a friends' flat was better than that.  But.  You've got to at least try to sort yourself out.


Make an offer to rent a flat - Green Street in Mayfair. On the upside you can park in the West End on a residents' permit, walk to work. On the downside it's a funny old part of town to live if you're not spending your weekends in Saint Tropez and it's was a pretty ugly apartment building.  Anyway it falls through so I have to look again.  Offer on a place on Beaufort Street - this time in Chelsea - handy as it's the last street inside the congestion zone and very near an extremely charming girl I've known for a while!  Falls through again...I'm doomed to stay a lodger with a mate and an ex forever!


Final push to find somewhere I throw caution to the winds.  Or at least Google.  Here's to living in Barnes, that's what I say.  Village pond, River, Common all come as part of the package and it's got a fine selection of coffee places to sit in the weekend sun and admire the yummy mummies' passegiata.  Even got a book shop...could be an expensive habit to form!


Slightly surreal process to renting the place but I'll save that for next time..