Having first met up last Wednesday, leaving the second date until a full week later seemed like the best approach to take with The Crazy Swimmer. He was again going to be a bit late getting into town as he was working at a clinic somewhere near Wimbledon (I think) and didn’t finish until sevenish, so to fill the time between work and meeting, The Co-Dependent very kindly took pity on me and saved me from a late night in the office in favour of a trip to Notes, where she tried out their fabulous coffee for the first time and I stocked up on pre-date wine whilst we had a quick catch up.
Then, whilst she headed home I made my way up to Cambridge Circus, where we were planning to meet ahead of paying a visit to one of my favourite little wine bars – the incredibly French La Beaujolais on Litchfield Street. This quiet, dark corner of the world, where everyone speaks French (almost exclusively) always feels like a bit of a treat, and when I was given free rein to make whatever selection from the wine list that I liked, I knew it was going to be a good night.
What I had anticipated would be a fairly brief night out (based on the fact that I had woken up at five that morning to walk and swim before work, and had another 8 mile walk planned in for the following morning) actually stretched out to cover a bottle of wine at the first bar, a detour to a jazz bar that sounded so offensive I refused to go in, before returning to the safety of the known and loved Bedford & Strand for another bottle. This bottle was his choice this time, and I have to admit it was much better than my initial random selection, as he assured me it would be. Turns out that buying the best bottle of red is going to become something of competition here, which is why I know there’ll be a third date. The gauntlet has been thrown down, how can I possibly walk away?!
Then, whilst she headed home I made my way up to Cambridge Circus, where we were planning to meet ahead of paying a visit to one of my favourite little wine bars – the incredibly French La Beaujolais on Litchfield Street. This quiet, dark corner of the world, where everyone speaks French (almost exclusively) always feels like a bit of a treat, and when I was given free rein to make whatever selection from the wine list that I liked, I knew it was going to be a good night.
What I had anticipated would be a fairly brief night out (based on the fact that I had woken up at five that morning to walk and swim before work, and had another 8 mile walk planned in for the following morning) actually stretched out to cover a bottle of wine at the first bar, a detour to a jazz bar that sounded so offensive I refused to go in, before returning to the safety of the known and loved Bedford & Strand for another bottle. This bottle was his choice this time, and I have to admit it was much better than my initial random selection, as he assured me it would be. Turns out that buying the best bottle of red is going to become something of competition here, which is why I know there’ll be a third date. The gauntlet has been thrown down, how can I possibly walk away?!
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