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!