How the non-date went

Oh gosh, how evenings change and how perceptions really do turn around when you're in warmer surroundings. My evening out turned out to be a lot better than I had originally anticipated. The butterflies melted away when I stood at the station waiting for him. As I saw the tall, dark figure walking towards me, I couldn't help but smile. The Cuban restaurant we were going to was closed and so we walked to the South Bank to go to a new restaurant, Iguanas.

We sat at the bar and thankfully he did most of the talking. I found him to be such an interesting and entertaining character. He had some interesting stories to tell and used such enthusiasm that made me giggle. He wasn't out to charm me, which I really liked (I'm not comfortable with open flirtation when it's one sided). He definitely made me laugh and we nearly had an embarrassing incident when I was taking a sip from my drink and he'd said something rather silly. Thankfully I've mastered the ability to hold my mouthful before the laugh comes out.

Looking at his mutton chops (thick side burns and beard, with a bridge moustache), I realised he's very good looking. He had thick, black hair in a length that I really find sexy. His eyes were a gorgeous dark brown, and although the moustache was slightly hiding his upper lip, he had such a friendly and warm smile. His 6'5 frame was very slim, with long limbs, but he never seemed awkward or gawky, but very comfortable. He'd had a long time to get used to them, and he was, he wasn't going to apologise for his frame. He had a certain confidence which I liked, a person who's happy with himself in a quiet manner. It occurred to me that the mutton chops were his way of experimenting. The man knows he's not ugly and can afford to play with his looks. He has nothing to prove.

Somewhere in the evening during our conversation it occurred to us that we both had different views of the evening. I hadn't thought of it as a date and apparently he was under the impression that it was! I was flattered, I was under the strict impression that I wasn't his type and was happy to think that I'd made a new and interesting friend. It wasn't until when place closed and we were outside standing on the steps proving how many I needed to meet his eye level, that we were both curious as to how the other kissed...

Non-Date Jitters

Ok, this is truly unusual. I'm sitting at my desk, my hair is done, my make up is finished and my nails are dry. My only worry at this point is whether I should put another coat onto my black nails. I've been sitting at home fretting, semi-waiting by the phone, wondering if I'd get that dreaded call of cancelation. Would I end up sprucing myself up for nothing? Sitting at home, all dressed up and no place to go (I'm sure I would have found myself wandering over to Guanbara later on). My mind wandering a little as to how the evening would go - would we get along? Would there be a lot of awkward silences? Would the evening be a complete let down? Would the music not be to my taste? Or the company even?

How should I dress? Should I take an extra pair of flat shoes for my walk home in? Should I wear my silky flower top with black lace trim on the bottom? Or should I go for a dress? Or should I just go for my black tank top and jeans? Either way, I'll be wearing my black satin heels with black bows... I have to if I want to be seen by a man who's 6'5. Should I have put my hair up? Maybe put a couple of rollers in? Should I tie my hair back with a black ribbon?

Should I wear my usual long gold chain? Should I wear my fan or chain earrings? How many bangles should I wear? Should I even bother with a bag? Especially if I expect to dance in a place that may not even have a cloakroom? I'll leave my lips natural, put some glistening balm, I prefer my lips nude when I have darkly made eyes. Maybe I should add a little blush... don't want to look so goth.

We're going to a Cuban restaurant I've been to for lunch before. I've never been to it at night, so it should be an interesting experience, although at this point I'd much prefer going to Guanabara...

All this does help the fact that I feel slightly jittery, I have those little butterflies - something I haven't felt for a long time, unusual. I'm looking forward to the evening and yet at the same time I'm dreading it. I'm not looking forward to the possibility that it may be a complete disaster. That we may be completely unimpressed by the other... I'd be so embaressed if I found that he didn't like me...

The worst part is, this isn't a date! It was never intended to be one! It's just two people who met randomly, got talking, swapped numbers and decided to stay in touch. I was looking for someone to come out with me for a few drinks and then we made plans to meet tonight instead. I didn't intend for it to be a date just spending the evening out with company - so why on earth am I so bloody well nervous?!

As her mind drifts...

She sits in the lab looking blankly at lists of reaction times in her testing. She knows it's meant to mean something, and that at some point she'll be able to look at it with some sort of significance. It will all mean something at some point. She knows that she'll be able to make means and stats out of it, using ANOVAS and such to compare groups and factors, to compare dominance and age of acquisition, compare geographical state and language. But for now, she is willing to stare blankly at it and not make any sense of the lists of numbers before her. For now she is willing to allow her mind to wander.

Winter has set upon London with its biting, gale-force winds, and although it is dogged by its rainy days, the spectacular sunny days more than make up for it, especially when walking over one of the many bridges that cross the Thames. The sun hitting her face in such a gentle fashion that it warms her only slightly even though she is rather toasty in her black drummer boy coat. It's days like these that make her wish she had cropped hair to feel the chilling wind through it and brush against her scalp. She recoils slightly when she remembers the terrible gales she had to endure when she walked through Regents Park one gloomy Sunday. She'd fastened her coat so high up, that all could be seen was the crown of her head. Being a tiny frame she was walking almost horizontal as she tried to make her way to the Hub, walking against the force of the wind.

Her eyes glaze over more as she remember the long walk she had along the South Bank one wonderful Sunday in the summer. It was a sunny summer's day, a rare one that year, and particularly pleasant walking along the Thames with an even more pleasant Scotsman who had such an affection for art and life. Walking through the crowds that had gathered round the Cuban festival that was taking place that day, finding the Banksy jewels that were strewn across the walls of the Tower Hamlets, as they walked to Embankment. She remembered how much she loved listening to his stories, holding his hand and watching the crowds bustle by.

Suddenly, in her mind's eye she sees a ray of light hitting a green, grassy hill, with apple and pear trees strewn around. Fruits ripening on the trees and so tempting to pick as she watches her neighbours walking their dogs or taking in the breathtaking scenery of the rest of the city from their quiet neighbouring forest. She climbs higher still on the hill and a dark cloud looms over her. She very foolishly begins to take pictures of the landscape before her, and slowly makes her way down the hill when she hears an omnimous sound behind her. She turns to see a blanket of pouring rain gradually making its way towards her and she begins to run. She is alone in the open field and makes for the forest of trees. Before she is completely drenched, she manages to turn her phone off, and take the only protection she has from the rain, her pashmina scarf, and wrap it around her head and camera. She doesn't outrun the elements and is completely soaked in her t-shirt and jeans. She wonders if she should wait under a tree until the rain subsides, and just as she tries to find shelter, lightening strikes above her head and in a spot very close to her. Her question is answered and she runs home for dear life, only to reach her front door when the rain finally stops.

Her mind then hits another image, an afternoon spring sun hitting a cherry tree in full bloom. A gentle breeze hits the tree and a spray of petals rains down onto the pavement. As she walks down the street there are rows of cherry trees and the pavements are covered in the delicate, pink petals, almost snow like without the cold. But nothing seems more magnificent than the deafening silence of a street covered in real snow. The muted life that exists when it is enveloped by this powdery magnificance. The sensation of lying in the snow and listening to nothing is truly awesome. Then being able to look up from her backgarden to find a fox jumping up and down in the field behind her, looking for prey makes her feel truly connected to nature.

She sits there with a curious smile on her face as her eyes remain glazed over. Being drawn into memories that she would never want to part with. She is finally home.