Jammy Taylor

now that’s what I call a first date

“Where’s Graham, with the quick reminder?”

It started off I guess like just any other old night out. Me and a couple of my friends were at this “trendy” club out in London’s West End.

All that means is they make you queue outside in the cold all night and then occasionally let a couple of people in at a time unless you’re a girl and then you just swan straight past and then when (if) they finally do let you in, they make you wish they hadn’t as you need to take out an extra mortgage to pay the drinks bill.

But at least normally there is not always a guaranteed punch up when you leave the club like there is in Southend so maybe that’s worth the extra expense. It makes the after club scramble to the kebab shop so much easier when you’re not being chased.

Anyway on this one particular night we did actually make it in ok, my friend Tom was on the door and he always looks out for me.

So we were inside, I was holding my £50 bottle of water, doing a little lap when I was quick to spot these two beauties standing by the bar, as quick as a flash I was over there.  The one I liked, I’ve named Duck. I’ve actually forgotten why now, but it’s stuck.

She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a lovely body. A real stunner!  Had a lovely Brummie accent too. But that didn’t put me off too much. (I’m kidding.)

I spent the rest of the night chatting away, then me and the boys would wander off and have a little dance and gander round as one of them fancied a girl on the other side of the bar, but I’d always look over back at Duck and see what she was doing; of course it drove me mad when other guys were all over her and I had to watch on from afar and play wingman talking rubbish to this girl who I had absolutely no interest in so my mate could score.

But just as the club was closing, I went back over and was brave enough to ask for her number, which she duly obliged.

We texted each other in the week a few times and after a bit of persuading, on the following Sunday we ended up at an Indian Restaurant somewhere in London, which is a bit of a strange choice really looking back as she is a pre-menstrual veggie; meaning when it suits, and me being me a typical hypochondriac, strictly forbidding anyone from eating nuts within 100 miles of me if I can help it.

Anyway I obviously didn’t do that bad a job though as I awoke in her bed the next morning, soon realising where I was, as I found her draped across me wearing the smallest underwear I’ve ever seen. Not that I minded.

I must have been only about 9am when she suddenly woke up and gave me a look to say, ‘oh, I took you home did I’, before sharply announcing that she had to run to work and that I had to leave, and quickly.

It was at that moment that I decided that it would be a much better idea for her to call in sick. She was not so convinced and went on to tell me that she had just done exactly that the previous Friday and I should be getting ready, hinting that I was in the way.

So, I needed a plan a hook. It was then that it hit me, ‘Let’s go away somewhere. Paris.’

Three hours later after a few logistical problems like me having to run home to Essex to collect my passport and her not being able to find the terminal even though it has signs everywhere, we were on the train. I don’t think either of us could quite believe we were actually going through with it, but it was too late by this point, we were already heading  at high speed toward the tunnel on la Eurostar.

We arrived in Paris later that afternoon, it was like we had just run away together to get married, although I had no intention of that, but it really did feel quite strange as we had only really just got know each other a matter of hours earlier.

Hotels in Paris for me are like sandwiches from petrol stations; there is always a little too much going on, now by that I don’t mean their fantastic in-house entertainment; no, but just that the rooms are still a bit over done and a little tacky, when all you want really is a nice clean, plain room, for example: like a ham and mustard sandwich, with no salad. Nice and simple.

I don’t think we really took full advantage of the situation we were in as we did spend a lot of time in the hotel, which at the time suited me, quite enjoyable, although we did make an effort to go to the Eiffel Tower.

The first thing that struck me was its colour, I always imagined it to be this fantastic gold, or maybe even bronze, but no: it was a really nasty shade of brown but that didn’t deter us, the next thing I know we were in this little cable car going vertically up it. The view from the top was spectacular and well worth the fifteen euros paid, although after ten minutes once you have completed a lap of the top, it was enough and time to go.

We also ate out at a very traditional French restaurant, although looking back I think I may have dressed a bit to authentically with my long overcoat and scarf, as we fooled everyone into thinking we too were French, it wasn’t until they heard me try and order from a French menu that they changed our menus over into the English version, which as you can imagine went down like a lead balloon with our surly Parisian waiter.

I always thought the Parisians were well known for their patience and friendliness? We didn’t let that spoil the night though.

I decided, at great disgust from Duck who was adamant that I wouldn’t like them, that I should eat the escargots (snails), as it felt only right; after all we were in France!

She was right, I didn’t like them much, but I put a brave face on it; I couldn’t tell her of course or I would never have heard the end of it!!

The next morning we had to check out, and then it was back off to the station, then back on to London. I think her work started to think she was up to something as she had been off for a number of days by now.

I think it’s safe to say we both had a lovely time, but by the end of the few days we both knew that we weren’t madly in love with each other.

As much as we tried to act like a couple, and pretend to really care for each other, you just can’t rush those feelings. (I knew I should have picked contestant number 2.)

Having said that, we are still friends, and it was a great, very funny few days. Although it made me realises that, to run away to Paris with a random girl is fun, but I’m sure, to do it with a girl you truly care about would be on a different level.

I just hope one day I can tick that one off my list!

Jtx