- Date: 06.01.2016
- Venue: Merchants Tavern
- Participant: Polish Girl (round 2)
And so we found ourselves at the next time. She wanted to meet in the Shoreditch area, so we met outside Shoreditch High Street station; she was late again. Not being one of my areas of expertise, and knowing that she wouldn’t have anywhere in mind – she would call it being spontaneous; I would call it a lack of planning – I’d sourced my friends and housemates for venue ideas. I had opted for the Merchants (not Merchant’s, or indeed Merchants’… perhaps it was just a place multiple merchants gathered but weren’t entitled to call their own) Tavern – a place I had never been, but that sounded like it closely fitted with my date venue requirements.
I followed the blue dot from the station to the tavern, which she, of course, found odd. Well, you’re not going to simply stumble upon a venue with the requisite ambience, lighting, and seating for conducting a good date interspersed with sufficient, but not excessive, levels of necking.
I was pleased with the venue, so I soon messaged my housemate, ratifying his recommendation. He ‘corrected’ me on my omission of an apostrophe in Merchants, assuming my message was written in the haste of a date situation. I informed him I was simply following the loose grammar of the pub itself. I thought about having this conversation with the pole, but refrained owing to the questionable grammar of her messages. Unfortunately, you can’t date your housemates.
She went with cocktails from the off, I stuck with white wine, noting the name of the house, the cheapest Sauvignon being ten pounds a unit. It wasn’t great, but, with each of her cocktails contributing at least ten to the bill, and with the knowledge said Bill would be landing on me, I resiliently stuck with it.
I’ll skip over most of the body of the date. There wasn’t much of interest, it mainly involved re-covering previous content, like a refresher course, she seemingly having forgotten large portions of round one: she spoke a lot, again; was over enthusiastic, again; endlessly reiterating how she loved being busy, again. I couldn’t help thinking she had been too busy all her life to form a personality with more than one dimension.
I initiated necking earlier this time, with the intention of swiftly re-establishing the familiarity achieved towards the end of last time. It was my intention for this to be sufficient, but not excessive, but she was like a can of Pringles. Being rather British in my public conduct, I found the length and intensity of these sessions rather awkward, and tried to keep them brief. But she was incessant. Nevertheless, this, coupled with her ‘save something for next time’ philosophy, boded well, I thought.
So when it was approaching time to leave I suggested we get a taxi back to Brixton. But, again, she was reluctant: “What’s the rush? We should save something…”. For next time? “… For next time.” Here we go. So we walked towards the tube – I was heading to Liverpool Street, she to London Bridge. En route she frequently stopped me – this can had been well and truly popped. She even began to unbutton my shirt and place her hands in inappropriate places. “Are you sure you don’t want to get a taxi?” But she persisted in her resistance. However, her language was encouraging, she said our next date should be on a Friday, and that she would come back to Brixton. The implication was good, and more explicit than last time.
When we eventually made it to Liverpool Street, after the constant stopping, we stood at the traffic lights where we would part ways. But each time the man turned green she would begin necking again. I was beyond bored of this now, but didn’t want to be rude and abrupt and ruin the chances of a ‘next time’. I kept gently trying to usher her off home, but she wasn’t going easily. Either go or come back to mine. I eventually had to force her to cross. She’d probably miss her last tube, but I didn’t care anymore.
I guess there’d have to be a next next time: The 3rd Date with the ‘Next Time’ Girl