The "Date" (That was not to be)

Actually it was a blind date. It was the first one I've ever done and I sincerely think the last.

Since I am your average paranoid safety orientated London floozy I suggested we met in a bar. Where my friends work. So they could observe the fun and games. I rocked up to aforementioned pub near Charing Cross Road ten minutes early to brief the girls on the supposedly gorgeous Italian man I was about to meet. So mid gossip I receive this.

Bad start.

Then in front of an entire pub he almost gave me a hickey. a Love Bite. On me. (My friends were behind the bar howling. Utterly in tears) This man was very very handsome but had no idea whatsoever how to get a girl into bed and lets be honest. I'm easy it doesn't take much but lapping at my face like a dog is one of the ways not to.

I was wearing my new Harley Davidson tight as fuck, tits up to my chin shirt that one of my lovely guests got me and my skinny-may-as-well-be-skin jeans. Which he tried to shove his hand down. Leigh (my friend) spilled the pint she was pouring it was so hilarious. I don't know how many of you guys have tried to slip your hand down some tight jeans but it is uncomfortable and not to mention  we were sitting in the window!

It gets even better. When I suggested we might not create a Amsterdam Red Light District window in Central London he invited me to a place he knows in St James Park. Just down the road.

He meant IN the St James Park. Not an establishment in the area. In the park.

It was at this point I slunk back to soho to my usual haunt to give up forever on blind dates. I'll sit to phonecalls from you guys from now on!