So I feel it’s time to wrestle back my blog from Mr W who seems to have had more than his fair share of air time recently. Plus I’m sure you are all champing at the bit to hear about our second official date in London.
Knowing Mr W was putting a bit of effort into it, well, apparently he felt a bit of beard trimming and sporting the new tops I’d bought him for his birthday was all the work required for a second date. That said he looked pretty sexy and, to me, significantly smoulderier than David Gandy – though I really must take all the credit here.
Being the Londoner I decided to take charge of this date. Having spent the last 10 years or so living in relatively rural Portugal I felt he needed to see the best this great city could offer and blow any previous second dates he’d been on completely out of the water (should there be any lingering whiffs of female competition). With this in mind, through a very generous PR contact I wangled us an impossible-to-get-table on the balcony at the Oxo Tower Brasserie on almost the hottest day of the year. It was somewhere neither of us had ever been before.
Transport For London’s tube drivers contrived to make the date all the more romantic by staging a tube strike that very evening, so I suggested we got the Thames Clipper in style down to Blackfriars quay (a somewhat inspired decision of mine I thought).
I wore a new dress (short, tight, shimmering green Shanghai Tang since you ask) and my highest heels. His sly glance up and down told me I chosen well and the less well concealed jaw drop from my French neighbour (male) who we encountered leaving my flat, told me it was a definitely a good choice.
As we waited at the quayside for our boat in Chelsea, I felt quite excited and for once didn’t have any second date nerves. That was until he got a notebook out and started jotting down notes. He asked questions about my outfit and commented that I hadn’t painted my nails. He was taking this all very seriously. I’m not sure what point system I was being evaluated on since I asked him if it was already the best start to a second date he’d been on and he said yes it was, since he had never made it to a third date before.
On arrival, we were greeted by the reception as Mrs and Mr X which amused him (I’m a modern girl) and escorted through the restaurant like a couple of dazed film stars on the red carpet. We were placed in luxurious leather seats on the balcony. The City in the far distance shone with gold and we watched sunset as we sipped our drinks (Sipsmith G&T for me, Negroni cocktail for him). We were then led to an even more incredible table with a view of the whole of London. Seamless service and course after wonderful course followed, each matched expertly with wines by my companion who knows a fair bit about this subject. No possible thought or detail was spared, to the point when late into the evening, our attentive waiter thoughtfully gave me a cashmere throw to snuggle under as we finished our desert.
As dates go, it was pretty flawless and obviously we can skip over my internal debate about sleeping with someone on a second date as you’ll know by now that that ship had well and truly sailed on date number one! Annoyingly of course, after a few paranoia-inducing drinks, I started to wonder where was the catch? Should it be this easy, this much fun where I keep finding my self smiling all the time or feeling constantly desperate to touch him, kiss him. When would we have our first almighty row? Will he suddenly change and become a control freak like my ex (see slightly worrying tendencies re: notebook and pointed remarks on nails)? Maybe, I rationalised we’d both had so many years and highs and lows of emotional drama in our lives before, it was simply an entirely new experience. It was a constant surprise to me being with someone and not living in fear of saying or wearing the wrong thing. Nights no longer ended with an argument but instead with crazy passion of a different kind. I decided just to embrace it and you know what, he might be lucky enough to make it to his first ever third date.
PS: Single in the City is a new column by Miss X about being suddenly single.