Post Six: Emily

So, what a juncture to leave this blog for a while, eh? I was feeling a bit under the weather, and I neglected to update this because of all the soup, water and penicillin I was feasting on.

Many apologies, but I’m back now, loyal reader, so let us hence forth!

Emily.

My first steps into the world of online dating had brought her to my attention, all cute and lovely. We agreed to go for a drink somewhere in the West End to break the ice and get to know one another.

But before I could concentrate on being really nervous for my date, I had to find somewhere cool in the West End for us to meet.

I decided to get in touch with a mate from work who knows the West End scene better than me, and who is totally called Noah.

I got my mobile and called him.

‘Hello?’ he said, his voice buried under a lot of chanting and shouting.

‘Alright man, it’s Rob, how are you doing?’

‘Aye, fine mate. I’m at a football match, what's up?’

‘Oh, sorry. Eh, it’s nothing too important, just I have a date next week.’

‘Brilliant!’

‘Yep!’

‘That’s definitely worth phoning me for...’

‘Actually, I was wondering if you knew anywhere in the West End that’d be a good place for a first date?’

‘Go to Ashton Lane, maybe try The Loft, that’s quite cool. And it’ll be quiet mid-week as well.’

‘The Loft, brilliant. Cheers mate.’

‘No worries, let me know how it goes.’

I hung up and sent Emily an e-mail suggesting The Loft. She said yes, and I almost said yes out loud before deciding that it was becoming a bad habit.

A few days passed, and thus came the night of the date. I went all out and bought a new pair of shoes and everything. They made my toes hurt.

I got to the bar a couple of minutes early and waited outside. I was nervous and excited.

Then I remembered that I wasn’t wearing the same clothes as my profile photo, so I sent a text to Emily to let her know. Otherwise, we’d have been standing outside all night looking for each other, walking past without realising we were right next to each other.

 Which, actually, would be a funny story to tell people years from now about how we first met.

I checked my watch. Then I forgot what time it was, so I checked it again. This happened about two or three more times.

And then she arrived. And she looked gorgeous. She wore a leather jacket and a black dress, her hair was long and brown and, well, I think I summed her up when I said ‘gorgeous’.

‘Hello,’ she said with a nervous smile.

God, she’s gorgeous.

‘Hello,’ I said with an even more nervous smile. ‘Uh… Shall we?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

Gorgeous.

We found a table chatted. The bar was only moderately busy; enough people so there was some kind of atmosphere but quiet enough to talk. And, more importantly, to listen. I have done extensive research and my findings have proven that women like men who listen.

‘It’s nice to meet you in person,’ I said. ‘I was pretty nervous outside, I kept looking at my watch.’

I do not know why I said this.

‘You were?’ said Emily. ‘I was a bit nervous on my way here.’

God, we had loads in common, and we’d only been talking for five minutes!

 ‘It’s been ages since I’ve been to the West End,’ I said.

‘Really? I come here all the time. It’s handy. Where do you usually go?’

‘Um, wherever everyone else wants to go, really. I guess it’s the company that makes the night, not the venue,’ I said, because I thought it made me sound clever.

‘Oh yeah, definitely.’

‘Saying that, I was in a bar the other night that was mobbed; took about a fortnight to get served. Good pizza though.’

‘Oh, I love Italian food, it’s my favourite!’ she said.

‘Same here,’ I said, which, by the way, is true. Don’t think I’m saying it just to impress her; if I was like that, I’d have to agree that Britney Spears is a guilty pleasure and Transformers is a good film.

Really, I thought you knew me better than that.

Anyway, talking about Italian food was also an opportunity for me to talk about my favourite holiday…

‘Have you ever been?’ I asked.

‘No, but I’d love to go.’

‘It’s wonderful, I’m sure you’d love it.’

‘Oh, when did you go?’

‘About four or five years ago. I went backpacking with some friends, we went to a lot of smaller places as well as big cities like Rome and Florence. It was stunning.’

‘I’d love to visit Rome!’

‘Yeah, it’s cool. But some of it was ruined because the Coliseum was being restored or something, there was all this scaffolding and construction gear. It took some of the magic away. And Russell Crowe wasn’t about either.’

She laughed and said, ‘That’s so sad.’

‘But Florence was cool. Except for one morning when the police rushed into our hostel and demanded to see everyone’s passports. At first, I thought it was some sort of raid on a mafia front but it turned out to be a licence issue or something. Which is nowhere near as exciting.’

 ‘Can’t believe they woke you up for something like that. The cheek!’

‘I know!’

She told me her favourite holiday destination was Greece and how she volunteered in Morocco helping animals. We talked some more and laughed. I was so at ease with her from the get-go it was unreal. (Although for some reason she’s not keen on ice cream, which is, frankly, bizarre.)

The conversation flowed all night, and there wasn’t a single awkward silence, although there were several moments of quiet laughter and just looking at one another.

We were in the bar for three or four hours before it closed, although I’d swear we were only there for an hour.

As we waited for a taxi outside, I said: ‘Would you be up for meeting again?’

‘Definitely,’ she said.

 ‘Awesome,’ I replied, which is a word that’s overused to the point of being insincere. But in that moment, it was full of meaning.