Wrong booty call

So I posted Monday night thinking I was about to crawl peacefully into bed with only a missing bag to worry about. How wrong I was. The royal crap of bad luck that had been thrown my way was about to get much worse

Catherine calls to say Calum was coming over and she wasn’t far behind him. While on the phone the door buzzes and I let him in – and quickly put some trousers on so I wasn’t greeting him in my undies. Calum is the guy she has been secretly seeing. She met him through her ex (who has moved to Australia), infact her ex and Calum are best friends. Catherine wants it to be a serious relationships, but Calum has been busy shagging many other women.

So booty call man is suitably drunk when he arrives. I let him in and get him a drink from our very well stocked bar. And almost immediately it starts. “I owe you an apology for the way I acted at Dan’s party”. (see Neanderthal night post for background) I said: "I didn’t remember anything, I was pretty drunk (lie)". “I was too,” he said. “I said a few things”.  Again I tried to shut down the direction of the conversation. Catherine was going to be home anytime and I just wanted to go to bed. But he isn't haven't any of it and continues: “I find you really attractive and I would really like to take you out some time.” He then gets up to come and sit next to me!  I get up and move away. Just to highlight, in case, it isn’t clear. Calum, at 2am, has come over to my house for a booty call with my housemate and then cracks onto me!


“What about Catherine,” I say. “Catherine and I are never going to happen, she is keen on Sam anyway.” I immediately correct him and say there is nothing between them. They are just friends that hang out, end of story. “She is into you”. (Sam by the way, is another of her ex's friends, well built, good looking and the record holder for the number of drinks he can down in a drinking session before being sick - another class act).  Then Calum goes on about me being his type and then tries to invade my space again. I am backed into a corner, drunk and really quite annoyed that this is happening.


So I launch into a barage of insults: “You are not my type, I would never be attracted to someone like you. Ben is my type” (this was a complete lie, Ben could not be further from being “my type”). He scoffs and says “Ben”. The purpose of inserting Ben’s name was to squarely stomp on Calum’s over inflated ego - instead I may have come across as overly keen on his mate. “We know, Catherine knows about all your girls, the girl you picked up on the bus less than 10 hours after leaving Catherine's bed, the shag buddy in your building. She knows and yet she is still interested in you. You are definitely not my type, but this isn’t fair to Catherine. If you aren’t interested in her you need to lay that out.” 


At this point he says he was leaving. I panic a bit, and think that Catherine is going to want to know why he has gone. How do I explain this? But as he tries to make his great escape – ego crushed, stomped, shattered – he runs straight into Catherine. I turned around and go to bed somewhat bewildered by what had just unfolded.

How exactly did he think I would react to that? “Ok cool, let’s jump into bed with Catherine" or "OK cool let’s start dating”. Catherine is my housemate and friend! So after losing my bag, drinking way too much and being hit on by my housemate's booty call, I very grumpily fall asleep. Five hours later I, very grumpily, wake up with a thumping head ache feeling a great need for a greesy breakfast, and drag myself to work.

Ego Crushin'

Tonight five girls were on a mission, to meet the man of our dreams. Location: Firefly at the Old Bailey. Activity: speed dating. Ok. So we knew it wasn’t going to be great, but Catherine  and I have done speed dating before and found it quite fun. This time the geek factor was a little higher. I was armed with a couple of great questions to separate the men from the boys: What would you do with a million pounds? And, what would be your ideal holiday? From these questions I figured I could find the men with generous and adventurous spirits. The problem was there were few men that I actually wanted to ask the questions to. 

Exhibit A, was quite nice to look at, but a bit too body builder looking to me. A trader – good job – but the conversation started off poor and went south. I asked most the questions and received very short answers. There were long periods of silence. I was relieved for the bell to go. A big "no" against him, but later in the night I was rather amused to discover the other four girls had all put a very big yes next to him.

Guy number two was friend to exhibit A. With a name of Colin, he had a big cross next to him before we even started, but I enjoyed a nice chat and with dark features and a very cute German accent I was inclined to give him a yes. It was a good start... But then went downhill rapidly. 

There were the standard geeks and a few “interesting” guys that seemed to be putting on an entertaining performance to see if they could get through three minutes without revealing anything. As a former reporter – who knows how to elicit answers - I became rather frustrated and pointed out to one, that maybe he was creating this persona because he feels the real person isn’t interesting enough. He agreed. Harsh I know.

Afterwards the cute guys from the beginning of the night joined us at the table. As we teased about what we had written on the cards, I delivered an ego crush, highlighting to body builder boy that he had a no. Of course his next response was he had only put a yes against me. Yeah, right.

We soon made an exit with a couple of the geekier guys in toe. But our cab trip to a nearby bar, the very funky Abacus bar, ended in disaster. With umbrella in hand and purse in the other, I lean forward to pay the cab, hop out and promptly realise my bag isn’t under my arm. But it is too late – the cab has driven off. Lost – two pairs of prescription glasses including sunglasses (£500), ipod (£100), passport (can’t get back into the UK without it) and work phone.

What a shit night. But Catherine, keen not to have her night soured, pulled me into line. "This is shit, but we gain nothing from ending the night and going home to mope around". She was right. I had my purse and my personal mobile was at home. It could be worse. 

So we continued drinking. Unfortunately I have to work tomorrow. Catherine on the other hand, does not. I thought yaga bombs would be a good idea. Fortunately Catherine was switched on enough to steel them away from me. When one of the girls declared she was taking the last train home, I joined her. At home, I did the necessary chasing of lost items and cancelled phone numbers, stripped my make-up and jumped into my brightly coloured PJs. Ahh bed.

What the duck?

Tonight I went to a premiere in Leicester Square. Sounds very glamorous? Well, I thought so too, so I glammed up wearing a cute cocktail dress and makeup to be all ready for the red carpet. Well as it turned out, this movie was so premiere it was pre-premiere and I am sad to say it was so bad it should not have been pre-premiere, but pre-production and pre-funding. 

I am a great supporter of Australian and New Zealand television and film but this production left me hanging my head in shame and shocked that such a script could ever attract funding or the two high quality actors that I adore, respect and love to watch on screen: Brian Brown and Rhys Darby.

There are so many amazing scripts, with amazing producers and top quality actors lining up to produce top quality Australian and New Zealand film, if only they had the funding, that I am just in shock that this movie, called Love Birds, should attract any money except from animal rights charities. What person could possibility, in their right mind, read this script and think: this will make a great movie?

Ok. So with my rant finished – actually it is not - what is this film about? A duck – yes a duck??? and other than that, it follows the traditional romantic story line. But pretty much all I can say, it is a story about a duck??? And, as a great fan of Peter Rabbit and many things fury that I am - I still find myself questioning; a duck?  

I am a huge fan of Rhys Darby - fabulous in Yes Man (opposite Jim Carrey) and, of course, Flight of the Concords – and a highlight in this otherwise – what the duck? film.  I hope it is just a product of the recession that Rhys and Brian Brown should associate themselves with this film – you are so much better than this. Rant, or should I say, duck over.

There is always a catch

I returned home Saturday very tired, still struggling to recover from the lack of sleep the night before. I was looking forward to cooking a nice dinner and having a quiet night in watching a chick flick. I turned down the offer from Catherine to join her in Mayfair and settle down to my suitably girly DVD for night, Leap Year.  

It was quite funny and part way through Harry - who I had just left - sent an text gushing in excitement: he had just taken a toilet break at the Cinema and found himself at the urinal next to Bill Nighy of the Boat That Rocked and Love Actually fame. I asked him what he said to him, and funny enough he didn't quite feel that "how's it hanging?" was the best way to strike up a conversation.

I was about to head off for bed at the ridiculously early time of 1130 when I receive a text message from Ben. He is at a party at a mutual friend's house and wants me to come over. I am very satisfied with the warmth of my bed and flirtatiously decline. What follows is a series of text messages, with the final saying, “I am coming over, meet me outside”.

I decide I will just ignore them and go to sleep. But as I am playing with my phone I accidently answer his call before the phone even rings. Shit!

So I let him in. He is pissed and can barely string two words together. I am stone cold sober and not finding him at all attractive. Funny that! I make him a cup of tea and decide to get changed and take him back to the party. Bad move, he pretty much passes out on the couch and was not moving. So I put a sheet and blanket over him. Given him a pillow and water and go to bed.

He crawls into bed in the morning. He is actually quite good company when he is sober. When he is not shagging his way around Europe – oops, I mean, very responsibly leading tours - he is working in marketing.

His last tour starts in just a few days and after that he is moving to London and of course wants to live in South London near his mates and brother. He loves the ocean, diving, surfing and adventure. So on the face of it, he is perfect. But of course there is a catch – or several. He is 25 (yes 25!). He thinks I am 28 (no idea where he got that idea from!?). He likes to drink excessive amounts of alcohol as demonstrated in our short encounters, and while he is clearly intelligent, I am not sure how turned-on he is by discussions of politics and world events. He is very chilled. So he is good for some casual fun for this weekend. A nice surprise.

Surprises

Every now and then little surprises pop up that always keeps things interesting. Tonight mine came in a very nice little 5’10 package with shaggy hair. I saw him as I approached the bar where I was meeting my housemate and thought “wow he is gorgeous”. He was staring at me and as he was standing right in front of my housemate Catherline, I threw a brilliant smile to Catherine and, of course, he thought I was smiling at him – which of course I was!. But I walked straight passed him and embraced Catherine. Where did this confidence come from? A glass of wine and comfort in my decision to wear a stylish business skirt instead of my Friday casual jeans.

Shaggy haired boy is Ben. We chat – I don’t remember what about. Travels – he is a tour company guide – which led to me talking about how tour guides have a deserving reputation for picking up a girl. I certainly had no doubt that he didn’t experience the advances of a girl (or two) on his tours. It is a sad indication of the direction of the night when you don’t remember a first kiss. And sadly I don’t but I do remember later ones and they were very nice.

We caught the last train home to Clapham and lost Catherine and our friend James along the way. The Clapham North Pub is the logical next stop and I make my way to the toilet and as I descend the stairs a gorgeous guy catches my eye. He looks familiar, but I can’t place where I have seen him before. I turn around for a second look and he looks back at the same time. We exchange a smile.

As I make my way back to my friends after the ladies break, I am suddenly grabbed from nowhere. I am expecting to see Ben, but instead it is this mysterious man on the stairs. He introduces himself. We exchange pleasantries and I am acutely aware that it is very uncool to be chatting up another guy when I have just been kissing another.. My new admirer is gorgeous with a brilliant smile – probably about 28. He tells me he saves penguins for a living. It sounds like a line – but surely too ridiculous to actually be one. And I ask if he is a marine biologist. Which he isn’t. I was almost convinced he was feeding me a very bad pick up line, but then I do have a friend that keeps a stock of KY jelly and latex gloves in the boot of his car in case he is called out for a marine rescue. So we exchange numbers, he says he is away for a few weeks and will give me a call when he gets back. The following morning I have a message from him.

So. Ben, Colin (Catherine’s very posh work colleague) and I are reunited with Catherine and James and the next stop is Sol Bar on the high street. We dance the night away – Colin is surprisingly good on the dance floor. I am noticing that my young acquaintance is looking increasingly intoxicated. But so too am I.

We are the last to leave the bar and with Catherine and James on good form, they are keen to move to Infernos – a bar you only go to if you a completely trashed. We manage to lose them in about five seconds, to which I call it a night. I was happy to leave my friend at James' house, but of course he had other things in mind. I warned him in advance that he would not be adding a run to his very long tally. But I had a feeling the attraction of a comfy bed over a stinky couch was his main driver for “I really don’t care”. So for the first time ever I invited a guy that I have just met to my bedroom.

Of course when it is the early hours of the morning and you are suitably very drunk you forget one minor issue in the whole equation: the sports bra underwear that is a requirement of my recent operation. It is only two months since my surgery. My scars are there, the operation wasn’t a perfect success with my C cup breasts looking quite odd and nothing like the perfect DD natural originals - however I haven't regretted for a moment my decision to have the operation. 

Even drunk, the self consciousness is dawning on me. My solution was to find a sexy bra, make haste for the bathroom and change. I would simply tell him he couldn’t take it off. Sounds easy enough.

So, as the moment of truth arrives, I assert my desire for the bra to stay on. He wasn’t having any of it. “Trust me,” I say. “This is a bit of fun and if you take the bra off I have to have a serious conversation with you – which I really don’t want to do.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer. So I told him I had had a mastectomy, that I hadn’t had cancer, it was just precautionary because my mum had had cancer. He insisted on taking my bra off. And proceeded to tell me how beautiful I looked. So, all really quite sweet. But things all went very emotional. His father died only two years ago from cancer and I told him of my mum. So a fun one night fling suddenly became very deep and serious.

It is funny. The thought of showing someone my breasts – that first time – is something that had worried me quite a bit over the past few months. I didn’t know what to say or what to expert. I certainly did not think it would be like this. But I, in some way, felt that everything was meant to be just as it was.

This morning I had a headache. It has been a long time since I have woken up like this. I was running late and keen to get out of the house. Harry and I planned on having lunch together before seeing a matinee session of La Boheme in Soho.

The modern adaptation of the classic opera was brilliant. We took our seats for Act 1 in a sold out theatre. Act 2 was set in a bar. So the entire audience moved to the real life bar and the opera was performed amongst us. We were sitting next to some of the performers. Brilliant. It was a great day.