Date 2 - The One with the Signal

One of the very first folks to recommend a date was an old university friend,'The Alleycat'. We raced with all the Cambridge ski team, and were equally in the college drinking and athletic societies... one of which was called the Alleycatz, hence her nickname.

The Alleycat is presently doing a Phd, and had met'The One with all the Signal' when he drifted up to Durham to go to his cousin, The Alleycat's Phd manager. She had gone for drinks with'Towts' (as I will start calling him) , and if she approached me to say he was eager to help with benaughty review, she told me she'd found him quite interesting and believed he'd be an enjoyable blind date.

I'm not gont lie, after Date Number 1, I was somewhat worried about my next date. The challenge was beginning to feel as though I was forcing myself to go on a string of dates with men I knew I would not be at all attracted to, and the truth of the next three months appeared to be nearly the complete opposite of what I had hoped to achieve. I didn't want to invest thirty dates comparing each moment to my dates with Henley Boy and wondering exactly what went wrong.

Knowing the Alleycat's taste in men, I instantly jumped to conclusions regarding the truth that she had only referred to Towts as interesting, and not appealing. The Alleycat and I've always had comparatively similar taste in guys, and that I assumed, if she hadn't hooked up with him if he had been seeing Durham (and was passing him on to me), she could not have found him attractive. Straightaway, I began imagining the worst. As I proposed my date ensemble, I picked for apartments instead of heels, assuming he would be brief.

Unlike Date 1, where I'd seen Normal Fish's profile photo Plenty of Fish, this time all I understood about Towts was his first name, and the fact that when we arranged to meet up, he'd suggested he could make a sign proclaiming he had been my Date Number 2, so that I could recognise him!

Nearly every time I've pushed in London before, someone has pushed to me!) It was over thirty degrees over the M4, and from the time I arose from my car, I had been quite delightfully dripping with sweat from every pore, my hair spun into a beehive from in which the convertible roof had been down on the motorway.

Towts had suggested we meet in the second-hand book stalls under the bridge beyond the British Film Institute. He had chosen among the busiest sections of the South Bank to walk around using a random sign, and there was no clear place that he could stand to easily wait for me.

If I had thought more about it, I probably should have watched him squirm for a bit more, or sent a granny over to pretend to be me, but the moment I saw the signal, I responded and moved to introduce myself.

He was short, not awful, so my initial worries were happily unfounded! The smart notion of this sign was sufficient of an icebreaker, and we got talking easily. I had noticed a pop up food marketplace on my way to the riverside from my vehicle, and it turned out Towts had had a similar idea for supper, so we must know eachother as we wove through the food-stalls, surfing the global offerings.