Life is what you make it. I recently moved from a quiet town in the country to chase my big city dreams. Nothing ever goes smoothly, nothing is ever what it seems, but everyday I am getting closer. I am yet another slightly less-than-average girl trying to find her way in London, and in life.

Tuesday, 1 July 2014

Bye bye Bruno

So as I alluded to in my hungover haze on Friday morning, my date with Bruno was indeed an actual date and he is indeed an actual straight man.

We went to an Indian in Covent Garden which I cannot for the life for me remember the name of, and as soon as we go there I knew fit was going to be a long night. After my drunkenness from the previous weekend had worn off, he wasn't actually that funny, and I found myself getting bored. Obviously, as I do, I started necking the wine until we were two bottles down and in my stupor I started thinking 'eh, actually, he's not that bad, I might get with him'. No, M, no! I really should learn not to drink so much that I lose my inhibitions, but that slightly defeats the point as it is indeed the reason that I drink so much in the first place. 

All week I'd been contemplating how to go about this, how to manage and deflect any potential romantic situation that came about. So I casually mentioned all of the creepy men I was prone to attracting and brought up Mr Fisk from last weekend, but to no avail. I could sense him leering closer as the night went on. Throughout the week I'd been thinking about how to keep the date on my terms and so that I was in control, and I decided that one way to go about that was to pay my way, as he hinted he wanted to pay in his message. Now generally that's not odd for me, I hate people paying for me, it feels like they're trying to buy me. Ever since I was young and mums boyfriend creepy Nick used to buy me presents to make me like him. Bleurgh, still makes me shudder. 

Anyway, I went into bathe night fully intending to fund my own alcoholism, but the night ended and I saw the bill heading towards £200, I let him pay. I knew from that moment I was screwed (not literally, you dirty minded people). But he had the power. He was in control. He had me. 

We left the Indian about 11 and as we made our way outside, we were presented with cheap entry tickets to a place over the road so I decided it would be an absolutely fantastic idea to go clubbing. On a Thursday night. With a gay guy who wasn't gay and was becoming increasingly touchy feely. 

So after chatting to a tramp for 10 minutes and learning to play guitar (as you do) we headed across Covent Garden to the Roadhouse, which is actually a fairly decent club. It was rammed even on a Thursday with preppy cocktail sippers and the place is filled with kitsch neon signs that say 'Drugs' and the like. Roadhouse actually looked vaguely familiar and I'm sure I'd manage to stumble across that place before somehow, but I have of course no recollection. 

I decided, being the lovely human being that I am, that after getting him to shell out for the meal, I'd buy a few £10 cocktails (which were bloody fabulous by the way, I love a good raspberry/vodka mush). After he popped to the toilet fairly early on, I set about mingling and casually came across a group of about 10 guys who I managed to get a few more free drinks out of, all the while complaining about the guy that I was trying to get rid of. I know, don't you just love me?

Bruno returned and inevitably decided to leave, to which I put up no protest at all and settled into my new position with the group of guys, none of which I can remember the names/faces/purposes of. Then, feeling bad apparently, Bruno came back and dragged me from my happy place. So following some really awkward dancing, with his hands all over my bum and a few more cocktails later, we obviously ended the night snogging, with the new group of perplexed guys looking on wondering what on earth was happening. Though to be fair to Bruno, he is a really great kisser, I could have carried on all night, if he wasn't so blatantly gay in denial, was more masculine and like a foot taller. 

I eventually ended the night and ran to catch the last tube back to Hammersmith, after somehow being able to resist his drunken slurs of 'come back to my place'. I ended up back at home feeling guilty, dirty and like a gigantic slut. Which is debatable as I don't think I am technically a slut, I just don't like saying no and having those awkward conversations. I would much rather have awkward snogging instead. 

The next day is woke up with a pounding headache and a text from Bruno that said "Although you are weird and bizarre (great start), as strange as it sounds I had a great night. When can I see you again?"

Why do I always get this from the ones I don't want?! If this had come from Mr Essex, I'd be all over it like a rash. Of course I replied saying thank you for a fun night, he suggested meeting tonight. 

Needless to say, I have not replied and I feel awful. I definitely cannot go back to LSI ever again :(

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