Polishing the gnome and the Great Scot

A week after our first date, the Scotsman and I had our second date. This was pleasingly straightforward to arrange – I haven’t had a second date that hasn’t been rescheduled… ever? At least since I got together with Matthew in 2013.

These are the guys I’ve had second dates (with in reverse chronological order):

  • Chilean Lecturer – second date got rescheduled at least 4 times because of his bronchitis (and one time I also had a hangover)
  • CAPS LOCK GUY – second date got rescheduled because he had friends to stay and he stepped on a nail
  • Joe-Kay Cupid – second date got rescheduled because he had a ‘family emergency’
  • Whippersnapper – don’t even get me started
  • Young Jaguar – actually no major dramas, except I was pushing for it to be an actual date, whereas he just wanted me to come around and ‘chill’ (ie have sex)
  • Daniel – second date got rescheduled by me

They’re probably coincidences, but when the Scot texted me saying “do you want to meet up before Christmas?” and I said “I could do Friday” and he said “OK let’s meet on Friday” and then we MET ON FRIDAY I couldn’t believe it.

On Friday it was my first day of annual leave for Christmas. I went into central London in the day and had lunch with my friend, who is 9 months pregnant. It was lovely.

I got a text from the Scotsman while I was with my friend, about where to meet later. He’d said “would somewhere near the Northern line be OK?”

I said to my friend “I think the Scot might not know how to use the Underground correctly.”

When I originally asked him where he lives, he said “on the Northern line” which isn’t really a place. The Northern line goes all the way from the top of London to the bottom, with loads of spidery forks running off in all different directions, so a hell of a lot of London is ‘on the Northern line’.

Then, he had suggested our first date was in Camden as it’s on the Northern line, and now this.

He hasn’t lived in London for very long. I wondered if he hadn’t realised that, even once you commit to one line on the tube map by renting a home nearby, you are still allowed to use the other tube lines as well.

I suggested Marylebone and sent a message detailing exactly how to get there from the Northern line (“you just need to change at Charing Cross and get the Bakerloo line – it’s only 4 stops!”). He seemed happy enough with this.

After lunch with my friend, when we said goodbye to each other at King’s Cross, there was a busker playing Silent Night on an electric guitar as we hugged, and she said “I feel a bit emotional!”. We knew it was the last time we’d see each other without either of us being a parent.

Then I went and did some Christmas shopping, then went to get my hair cut.

After that, I realised I had quite a bit of time to kill before my date, so I walked part of the way, before getting the tube to Marylebone.

I got to Marylebone a bit early, and found a table for us at my favourite pub, the John Balcombe.

He texted saying he was going to be about 20 minutes late.

Fuck sake. 

I sat and messed around on my phone while I waited.

He sent a message saying “OK, I’m 2 minutes away.”

I did some last minute preening before getting another text from him, saying “Wait I’ve made an error. I’ll be 20 sorry.”

Fuck sake! 

After a while I went into toilets. When I came out, a jacket had appeared on one of the chairs next to mine.

Oh no, someone’s trying to take this table! I’ll have to have an awkward conversation about how I was here first! 

Then, the Scotsman came out of the toilet. He was the jacket owner! He had recognised my jacket while I was in the toilets.

He apologised for being so late and we hugged.

I asked what had made him so late, and he said he’d accidentally gone to Waterloo instead of Marylebone.

I tried to make him feel better by saying that I still get confused on the Northern line even after 5 years in London. But I did take the piss out of him quite a bit as well, possibly too much.

Anyway, just like our first date, it felt really easy and comfortable from the first moment. We talked about what we’d been doing since our last date last week (I omitted the fact this was my 3rd date since then) and we talked about our Christmas plans.

I felt like we got on to deep and meaningful topics quite quickly, but I can’t remember what they were now.

“What’s that written on your hand?” I asked, as I noticed he had something written in biro.

He couldn’t remember, and it was too smudged to read. He spent quite a while peering at it to try and remember.

“Is it ‘don’t go to Waterloo by mistake?'” I asked.

Probably too much. I thought as he joylessly laughed.

“My life is like a shit version of Memento with all these notes I’ve written to myself that I don’t remember writing.” He said, still frowning at the ink on his hand.

God I really want to touch his hand. 

Annoyingly, even though I’d found a table with a sofa that we could sit on together, he had chosen a seat next to the sofa instead, so there was limited opportunity for physical contact.

I got some more drinks for us. I was really having a really good time.

We talked about music for quite a long time, as we did on our first date. He had a lovely balance of asking me lots of questions, and telling interesting things as well.

I got onto something about Psychology. He seemed really interested, but then I thought about the one-dimensional policeman I went out with a few weeks ago, and I thought am I talking about work too much?

He said “that’s the longest lull we’ve had in conversation.”

I said “I was just wondering if I talk about work too much.”

He said no in a way that was quite believable and emphatic, which made me feel nice.

We decided to order some food, and he paid for my caesar salad.

At one point, I was halfway through telling him a story about how I nearly punched an ex-boyfriend when I was coming down after taking too much MDMA, when I suddenly panicked.

I’m not sure these stories are portraying me in the best light!

I had already told him a few stories about things I’d done while hungover or drunk.

I backtracked a bit “I mean… I didn’t actually punch him, I mean he was really fine actually….” and then changed the subject.

(It was about 10 years ago and I definitely don’t condone any sort of violence in a relationship.)

It was the first time I hadn’t felt comfortable around him and I realised I really cared what he thinks of me. Later on, he was saying something self-deprecating about himself and I said “yeah, and earlier I realised all my stories are about me being drunk and or punching someone on MDMA, but honestly, it’s not very representative. I have loads of stories where I just do really boring things as well!”

He gave me quite a reassuring answer where he said something like “no, I don’t just think of you like that.”

The pub we were in was closing early, so we went to another one, round the corner. It was pretty busy but we found the only free table in the place, which was a coffee table with a sofa on either side.

This time we both sat on the same sofa next to each other, but he felt the need to explain that the other sofa seemed too far away.

On our first date, he had given me the Neighbours stickers. Since then, he had watched the last episode and had a lot of questions. I talked him through the recent storyline with a murder mystery. Someone was hit over the head with a garden gnome, and someone else cleaned the fingerprints off it.

I said it kept making me laugh, because everyone kept saying things like “did he polish the gnome?” and it sounded like a euphemism.

We talked about new year’s resolutions. I told him about the thing I did a couple of years ago, when every month I either gave something up for the month (swearing, chocolate, alcohol, reading the comments at the bottom of news stories, snoozing) or I tried something I’ve never done before (snooker, hula-hooping, jewellery-making).

He seemed quite impressed. He said that his resolution for 2017 was to get healthier, but he hadn’t achieved it. He said he has problems sleeping because he has asthma, especially at night.

I felt myself going into work mode as I asked if he was using his inhalers correctly. Sometimes asthma and sleep come up at work, even though they’re obviously physical health issues, rather than mental health.

Obviously sleep is very connected to mood, and sometimes people with asthma get so anxious about their breathing and it develops into anxiety or even panic disorder.

“I’m not really keeping it light, am I?” He said, after telling me a bit more about his asthma.

Rather than telling him the thing about inhalers which I wanted to say, I decided not to go into therapist mode. Instead, I told him an anecdote about myself failing to ‘keep it light’ at our work Christmas party.

“So, how do you think it’s gone tonight?” He asked, when we’d realised I needed to get my train soon.

“I think it’s gone well!” I said. “But I’m sure you know that. Just like I’m sure you know the first date went really well.”

“I thought the first date went well too, but then you told me how hungover you were. I didn’t think you were that drunk! Now I don’t know if you would’ve kissed me if you hadn’t been that drunk.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I was that drunk either. But yeah, it went well, and I was quite drunk, but those two things are separate.”

I said “I was worried it was emasculating that I’d said ‘shall we do some kissing?’ but I was just trying to be efficient!”

He said “no, I found it refreshing!” Then joked “It’s always good to analyse these things afterwards.”

He said he had been a bit spaced out this evening because he went to bed really late the night before, so he apologised for that, even though I thought he’d been fine.

“One time we’ll go out and I won’t be spaced out or hungover, and it’ll be different!” he said.

“Not too different, I hope.” I said, putting my hand tentatively on his leg.

“Thank you, for saying that.” He said, putting his hand on top of my hand.

Then we got up to go.

When we got to Marylebone, he asked when I’m back after Christmas, and then tentatively leaned in.

We kissed for quite a long time. At first there was a slight knocking of teeth but then we easily fell into a nice kissing rhythm. It felt really fucking good.

“I don’t normally like PDAs…” He said

“Yeah!” I agreed. “…but I was enjoying that!”

Let’s ignore the fact that literally 48 hours earlier I was passionately kissing the Chilean here. 

Then he more enthusiastically restarted the kiss.

“We should continue this in the new year.” He said.

“Yes, that’s definitely one of my resolutions.” I replied.

We walked into the station, holding hands.

“I’ll show you where the Underground is.” I said.

Then we kissed again, in between the Underground entrance and the national rail ticket barriers.

It was the kind of kiss where you keep shifting and moving to get closer to each other, but your bodies are already absolutely pressed together and you couldn’t be any closer, and yet it still feels like you’re not close enough.

I gently bit his lip and he did the same. A couple of times I involuntarily made a noise.

I felt his massive erection being pressed against me. There was nothing self-deprecating or tentative about that.

When we finally broke away, he said “I’m outrageously horny!”

Then he added “but yes, we should continue this in the new year.”

It was only after I’d run for my train that I realised I should’ve invited him back to mine.

I don’t know why I didn’t. Something about how I invited him back on the first date and he said no, and he had told me he was working early the next day. And I wasn’t quite mentally prepared.

I texted him saying “that kiss was incredible.”

13 thoughts on “Polishing the gnome and the Great Scot

  1. Ah I like the Scott!
    You have also made me want to catch up on neighbors! I haven’t seen that show in years!
    You comment about your MDMA story made me laugh, sometimes I hear myself saying things and a little voice in my head says “really, of all the stories your telling that one?!”

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: I couldn’t give a fuck. | Dater Analysis

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