Lots of Fun in Week One [Part 2]

Week of 22 November 2014

May 23, 2025

Given that I finally had my room and job sorted out, I felt like I could relax a little. There was space to breathe within the parameters of my newfound stability. So, I texted the Pilot and asked if he wanted to grab a beer.

Skating on Thin Ice

It took four days of tick-tacking back and forth, before the Pilot and I finally managed to lock in a time to catch up for a beer. As well as a beer, he had tickets to an ‘ice-skating event’ that he wanted to take me to.

Despite my hatred for ice-skating born from a childhood injury, I agreed. It would be nice to do something different and possibly work-through some outdated fears simultaneously. It’s what a Viking would do! I was also hoping that an activity would stave off any awkwardness, given our previous conversation had resulted in my free ticket back to London.

So, off I went!

As I travelled on the Tube to meet the Pilot, it occurred to me that perhaps we weren’t ice-skating ourselves, but rather going to see an ice-skating show. I panicked. Why hadn’t I clarified what ‘ice-skating event’ meant? I was severely under-dressed for a show. Like, black leggings, jumper and sneakers, under-dressed.

We were meeting near the Convent Garden area, close to all the theatres and fine-dining establishments.

Too late to run home and change, I was convinced I had misunderstood the evening’s program. I ruminated on the embarrassment of fronting up to a formal evening dressed for the gym. My anxiety was starting to escalate. SHIT!

INHALE.

It was too late to do anything about it. I had to proceed and just pray my assumption was wrong. This was London, after all. A fashion mecca of sorts. Perhaps I could pass off my cinema attire as ‘workout chic’!

I got off at Charing Cross station and waited out front. About thirty seconds later the Pilot came bumbling around the corner with a smile.

FUCK!

I was hit with the Prince of Persia panic all over again. I remembered that he was short, but I didn’t remember him being THAT short and THAT skinny. What had happened? Had he shrunk?

The attraction I thought I had, wasn’t there anymore.

GREAT, I had to spend an entire evening feeling like a giant next to Mr. Peabody!

I knew the issue was mine, not his. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the man standing in front of me. I was the problem! I have preconceived notions born from fucked up ideologies about what constitutes acceptable physical dynamics between a man and a woman. His stature made me feel large, which in turn made me insecure about my femininity.

I had spent the last two years fighting oppressive gender norms. I had insisted that a woman does not need to stand in the shadow of a man’s embrace to be feminine. Yet, here I was, standing in front of a man who could fit in my lap, and for that very reason, I wasn’t attracted to him. Did that constitute hypocrisy?

I needed alcohol!

.............

We went to a lovely establishment and ordered beers. He was a great conversationalist but I couldn’t get over his stature. My fixation on feeling giant made me forget about our ice-skating. I still had no idea what ‘ice-skating event’ meant, and I no longer cared. My concern now was that he would try and make a pass at me. I did not want to kiss this person.

After I downed two pints of liquid courage to his one, we made our way down to Somerset House Ice Skating. The Pilot confirmed that we would be ice-skating ourselves. No show. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Skates on and jacket zipped up tight, I spent the following sixty minutes in winter-weirdness. My attempt to look graceful or, at the very least able, was trumped by the sudden onset of clumsiness. It didn’t help that I was pouring myself all over a man who was half my size as I tried to keep my balance. The same man I had no romantic interest in.

Switching between clinging to the side rail and grappling at the Pilot’s body, I managed to gracelessly complete three laps of the rink before our time on the ice was up. I was cold and traumatized. When the bell rang, I practically ran to the exit gate, displaying more precision and skill in my desperation, than what I had the preceding hour.

I just wanted to go home. I felt disappointed and depressed.

I knew the Pilot wasn’t the person for me. Having effectively ‘saved me’ from Belfast, it was evident that I had developed a hero complex, which in turn exaggerated my perceived attraction to him. I was anticipating meeting some knight in shining armor that night, not the person I actually met at speed dating.

Not ready to throw in the towel, the Pilot insisted we go to a wine bar called Gordon’s near Charing Cross station. I was doing my best to pretend like everything was fine because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I agreed to go. When we arrived, the place was so busy that we changed venues to a quieter bar.

We sat down and the Pilot went to the bar and ordered. I was starting to panic. What if he tried to kiss me? What if he wanted to see me again? How was I going to get out of this?

When he returned, he placed the glasses on the table and stared me straight in the eye, ‘I have to tell you something. I really like you, I think you’re fantastic and I have had so much fun tonight. You are really wonderful and great fun to be around. Tonight… I think I have met… a really good FRIEND!’

RELIEF!

I wanted to cry with relief. I exhaled and smiled at him, ‘Thank God you said that, I was starting to panic that you were going to try it on me.’

We both laughed, and then he continued, ‘I want to be honest with you because I really do like you. I recently broke up someone. I’m not in a good headspace about it and I just need to talk.

Can I talk to you about it?

I actually only broke up with her a week before I met you at speed dating. If I’m to be super honest, I need to tell you that I originally bought the ice-skating tickets for her and I. I was hoping tonight she would turn up to see if I had gone. I was hoping she would see me with you and be consumed by jealousy. I wanted her to see me with you so badly. I have spent the entire night looking-out for her in the crowds, praying that she was somewhere…

Are you angry?

Kind of makes me a douche, I know.’.

It was a fantastic turn of events! Like energy attracts like! I wasn’t offended. I was flattered!

I started laughing, ‘Are you serious? You mean to tell me that you subjected me to sixty minutes of hell on ice and angst over ‘us’, when you could have been honest from the start and we could have actually had fun! I like you to, but not THAT way. I wish you had just been honest and we could have had a really good night, instead of me spending the entire evening thinking about how I was going to give you the shirk. Damn it!’

Together we laughed at how ridiculous the evening had been before the Pilot proceeded to tell me the fated tale of, he and his ex.

Diary entry:

Long story short, while the guy is nice and I want to see him again (platonically), he is absolutely crazy. Basically, he thinks his ex is the most beautiful woman in the Universe. Sadly, he is insecure about his looks. His insecurities led him to break into the woman’s Facebook and read all her messages.

The Pilot snooped and the Pilot found things that the Pilot didn’t want to see.

Apparently, the minx was getting it on with a roid-munching gym junkie and various other plastic fantastic females. Mind you, all this happened ten months prior to them meeting. He knows he doesn’t have a reason to be upset because these events occurred before she met him, but his insecurities have festered.

In addition to her penchant for sexual sandwiches, the woman also has an eating disorder and a raft of financial issues. The Pilot said he tried to ignore what he had discovered but that the secrets became too heavy.

One weekend he took the woman to Bathe to meet his mother. While she was in the shower, he did it AGAIN! This time breaking into her phone and reading ALL her text messages. In one message to a friend, she had written that the Pilot was not supportive. Apparently, this tore his heart out!

So, with his heart torn out (metaphorically speaking), he ran downstairs crying to his mother. He also took her phone downstairs and presented it to his mother for inspection. Mother looked at the phone and was apparently OUTRAGED at the woman’s lack of appreciation for her precious son.

When the poor bitch got out of the shower, she was greeted in the kitchen by the sobbing Pilot and his angry mummy.

Then, just like that, she was bundled back into her car and told to drive home and never come back!

When the pilot finished telling me his heartbreak story, I didn’t know how to respond.

The entire story was ridiculous.

The Pilot asked me several times if he should text her. I advised against it. The bloke had violated this woman’s privacy TWICE and overreacted to the most inoffensive message.

I told him that I thought he had overreacted. For comparative context, I further detailed that the only reference I made to my ex began with a C and ended with a T.

It was pointless though! He was comfortable playing the victim.

After talking about his personal life for the rest of the evening, we called it a night at about half past midnight. I gave him a hug and we agreed to do it all again.

I had to run to make the last train.

I made it!

The last train home was filled with all types of intoxicated and undesirable people. There were no seats, so I took to standing and holding onto a rail. A tall and imposing Arab man who looked very similar to the Pharoah stood in front of me. He looked down at me and caught my eye. He was clearly intoxicated. I tried to avoid further eye contact, which proved very difficult.

The man kept trying to press himself into me. At one point, I was scared he would fall on top of me. While jutting his crotch forward, he made lewd facial expressions.

I felt scared.

The train was crowded, and I couldn’t move away. The man had an aggressive look in his eyes that I was all too familiar with. I tried hard not to pay attention but he was persistent. His erect dick continued to brush against me. I was terrified he would follow me off the train.

I had to change trains at the upcoming Bank station in order to jump on a suburban train home. I was on a city line. The DLR line back to Westferry Station would not be crowded. My safety in numbers net was about to disappear. What would I do if he followed me?

I tried to move but he followed.

I was sweating with stress.

When the doors opened at Bank, I RAN!

I ran as fast as I could down the underground passageway and up to the DLR platform, not stopping to check if the weirdo had followed me. By the time I got to the platform the last train was just about to leave. I heard the beep.

Thank fuck, I had made it.

I was busting for a pee and anxious about turning around to see if he was there. When I sat down, the doors closed. I scanned my surroundings, and he was nowhere to be seen.

Safe!

The Indian

After making a new ‘friend’ in the Pilot, I got an email for half-price speed dating tickets. I thought, fuck it, why not? I’ll give it another go!

On the night before my first full shift at Tequila and Salt, I hauled-arse out to Clapham Junction for another night in the circus.

It wasn’t as exciting as the first event I attended. It was borderline boring, to be honest. The men were dull and I fancied no one.

I did however, meet a nice woman. I got her number and we decided to catch up for a drink sometime. Given my travel induced social isolation of recent weeks, the sound of a vino and chat was enticing. Sure, the Pilot was fun, but there was a limit to how much emotional support I could doll out under the guise of a friendship. I needed a two-way street with another female.

While I didn’t fancy anyone, there was one man who was somewhat interesting. While not instantly magnetized by him, I had paid ten pounds for the ticket, so figured I may as well capitalise on it.

The man in question was half Singaporean-Indian and half Bangladeshi. Despite being a different race, he looked similar to the Pharaoh. I am certain it was solely based on this coincidence that I decided to tick yes.

I left the speed dating feeling lacklustre, but mildly hopeful that I was, at least, giving someone a chance.

I wasn’t surprised when we matched on the post-dating system. He texted me straight away. I liked that he was efficient.

It took me a couple of days to respond, but when I did, we organised to meet that evening.

We met at London Bridge Station for a drink, followed by some Indian food.

The drink was fine because he was nice, but ultimately too bland for my liking. He was a Crown Prosecutor. Incredibly intelligent, but lacking in personality. I spent the first part of the evening working over-time to generate conversational flow. So much so, that I suspected he thought I was a nutter!

My desperation to generate conversation led me to detail my Viking Venture to date. He couldn’t get his head around the fact that I had left a great paying job, with great career prospects to pack it in and move to Europe, all while writing a book. He detailed at length that he would never be that ‘bold’, although I suspected his intended term was ‘stupid’!

He was a safe-surfer. I was a wild woman. I knew it wasn’t a match.

Nonetheless, we carried on to dinner. As we left the pub it started to rain. The light drizzle quickly turned into a downpour. Following his lead because he had chosen the restaurant, the bloke walked me around in circles for a solid twenty-five minutes. Lost.

I had picked up on this theme since arriving in London. You ask a local for directions and they look at you baffled. Like you’re asking to locate the Pyramids of Giza in Trafalgar Square. Many Londoners have no idea where anything is. It was odd.

Finally, after passing a chocolate factory and walking up an alley way lined with dumpsters, we found the Blue Mango!

We sat down, ordered food and wine and continued with our tepid conversation.

At the end of the meal, I insisted on paying for half of the bill. I had no intention of ever contacting this man again and did not want to feel like I owed him anything.

To my horror, half the bill was thirty pounds. For me, at this point in my financial journey, that is a lot of money. A lot of money for food that was decent at best.

Doing the sums in my head, I calculated that the meal was the equivalent approximately five hours work. I would have much preferred going to Brick Lane and having some authentic Indian food.

I really wanted to go home but the bloke insisted on walking me to my train and waiting with me. I should have been flattered but this made me feel rage. I was tired from trying. The majority of the evening had been like peddling a bike up a hill. My brain needed to decompress. I was also nervous that he would try it on me. My mouth was tired from all the talking and I was decidedly not attracted enough to fork out any kisses.

Thank goodness the train came within sixty seconds of arriving on the platform. I practically ran through the closed doors, forcing them to open faster as I squeezed my curry filled body through the gap. I took a seat facing away from the platform, lifting a hand as a gesture of adieu.

Poor bastard! It wasn’t him, it was me: I just didn’t like him THAT way!

So, now I can say I am done with speed-dating.

I tried it. It was a bit of fun, but I don’t think I will do it again. In fact, I don’t think a relationship is what I even want right now. I just want to have fun! I want to enjoy this experience for what it is. I spent the last two years trapped in an unhealthy relationship, which in turn fucked me up in the head. I need to take this time to re-discover who I am as a person… who I am without the pressure of someone else!

If I do go down the relationship path, it needs to be with someone who excites me. Someone who doesn’t trigger my ridiculous gender-based ideologies, making me feel like a giant. Someone who has a beard. Someone who is financially independent and comfortable with me being the same. Oh, and someone who is not Egyptian!

Viking Ventures and Nordic Nonsense

This entry is part of the title, Viking Ventures and Nordic Nonsense. If you missed the earlier entries, you can find them here.

Books

You can find my other works on Amazon via my website.

I currently have Gumtree Gargoyles, an urban fantasy adventure series set in Canberra, Australia and Her War, a historical fiction piece set in Australia and the Pacific Theatre circa WWII. Both these series are screenplays, affording the reader an immersive reading experience. If you haven’t given a screenplay a go, now is your chance. Try something different!