After having such a tedious time with The Fulham Bore, I was hardly filled with joy and excitement at the prospect of another first date the very next day. This time I was stepping out with The Grown up, who I'd met eons ago in Madisons Bar (that’s right, someone from the Real World!).
Clashes in work schedules and busy social lives had meant it had taken nearly a month for us to finally catch up. We arranged to meet at the Bleeding Heart Tavern in Farringdon, a lovely old world pub with lots of character. Within minutes, I realised that this experience would be polar opposite to the previous evening – we barely paused for breath as we chatted through the first three rounds of drinks.
We then enacted the standard charade of first dates: once he'd assured himself that I didn't appear to be a crazed bunny-boiler or professional gold digger, he casually dropped in that we should go for dinner. He decreed I flip a coin (yes, you did read that right!) to decide where we'd go – would it be the lovely mid-range Bleeding Heart Bistro or the more upmarket adjoining restaurant? With my innate, God-given talent to invariably select the expensive option, we were soon making our way downstairs to the French restaurant. To set the scene, it was a real grotto of a place, with an abundance of low-lit corners and rather nauseating heart shaped décor.
Now, when I later regaled this tale to my fellow sluts, most of them quite rightly recoiled in horror at this whole cheesy episode... I would have assumed I would have felt the same, but to my surprise I truly enjoyed my evening of being treated like a Princess. Other quite lovely, yet more than a little sickly moments of note, included pink champagne awaiting us at our table (again, I kid you not).
Then, there was the tricky issue that the waiting staff had a minimal grasp of English. Well, this was no problem at all, as The Grown up speaks fluent French! By this point, my inner girly-girl and cynic were in a tug of war as to whether I should beg him to marry me, or vomit over the heart-motif butter which was gleefully presented to me. Needless to say, my girly side won out and I had a great time. The food was amazing, not least the cheese trolley which sailed over to our table at the end of the evening.
Now I’ve realised I’ve rambled on a lot about the restaurant, but largely glossed over The Grown-up himself. He certainly ticked a lot of boxes: he was interesting, extroverted (we got talking to half the restaurant… luckily for me in English!) and a true gent. However, I wasn’t sure there was much of the elusive super-spark between us. But who knows, maybe if there’s a next time something more would develop.
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