So my weekend didn't turn out to be as brutal as it could have. The workmen came, took one look, cancelled the job and told me they'd reschedule. Apparently, I needed to have my washing machine disconnected and they weren't allowed to touch it. Now, if this were the only reason the job was cancelled, I'd have been hopping mad. However, they noticed that the quality of the flooring job done before I even moved to the UK was ridiculously atrocious to the point that the previous jobsman should have called home to his parents to confess just how utterly s**** he was right after completing the job, and stayed long enough to determine exactly what it is they needed to bring in order to get the job done. I don't know if that's going to add an extra cost. To be honest, this is England, so I wouldn't be surprised, but I really hope it doesn't add a crapload more.
But, I digress. This is supposed to be about the Singles Night. To be more specific, it was a singles night at a supperclub. I rocked up to the venue a few minutes before eight with wine (Malbec 2008) and cheese (Ossau Irraty) in hand, said a quick prayer, and entered. I was introduced to a couple of people who'd arrived just before I had, and quickly got talking - to the girls. It's just easier to start talking to fellow females at such events. Thankfully, the host came and ushered us to seats quickly after where we sat boy-girl-boy-girl and got to chatting with our neighbours.
About twenty minutes in, food was served. The men were asked to change tables between courses, and, as far as I could figure, our table pretty much met about half of the men present. I was a little disappointed as someone I thought who was quite good-looking had come in after I had and he never got to my table. You'd think it'd be easy to go up to him after dinner, but, the thing is, if you haven't been introduced in some way or other, and you're all by yourself, going up to someone to chat is about the same as going up to a random stranger to chat them up. It's still scary.
I met an eclectic bunch of people: a nice lady who ran her own supperclub, an older gentleman who commuted between the UK and Africa for work and who was only due to be in London for three months (boo, I say, boo, that's cheating), an American with a very strange accent and who came across as socially awkward at best, I'm sorry to say, and a nice English boy whom I spent quite a long time talking to and whom, like I, had come all by himself, but who left without saying "bye" or getting my number.
In short, no success on the purpose of the singles night, though I did have a fun time chatting to people. Not that I expected anything much, to be perfectly frank. I never really do when I go to such things. The best that I hope for is that I emerge with a not-too-crushed ego and some nice stories.
The fabulous hostess caught up with me later to ask how I was doing. I had fun, I told her (and I did, despite my great exhaustion and stress about the day after), but I was a little disappointed that that guy had left and I didn't get an opportunity to ask for his details. The host told me she felt that that guy in particular was "extra extra shy" and that she could pass me his contacts if I'd like.
Tempting, but not my style. I just kind of feel that if the opportunity for getting it naturally has passed, having someone else give it to me, or ask on my behalf, just feels like it's a bit full-on, no?
I don't know, if I'm being an idiot, just tell me. I have weird, antiquated notions about dating, sometimes.
The day after, the friend who'd set me up on that called me to find out how it went. The food was awesome. We had great Vietnamese food: summer rolls, soup, noodles, frogs' legs with wasabi mayonnaise and fantastic fries, a great poached pear dessert and, of course, a cheese board. I'd love to go back there again on a normal night.
But, in terms of the men, I told her, no luck. Nice people, but... no luck. Seems to just about sum up this weekend so far, to be honest! When I started writing this, Manchester United was one goal up at Old Trafford, but, just as I got to the penultimate paragraph, City got one goal back, via a terrible deflection off Silva's backside, of all people and body parts! But, I have faith in my team, and myself. I'm a tough girl, as are my beloved Red Devils!
Edited: And what a win! Fantastic goal by Rooney. Told ya!
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