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.