Back on dry land, and some years after Chlorine Andy, I was delighted when I was contacted by a very attractive man, who I'd been playing Internet tag with for some time...a wink here, a view there and, finally, several views of each others profile later, an email finally dropped into my inbox.
He was gorgeous, in a wild haired, bohemian sort of way - all chaotic curls, faded Levis and bandanna around neck. A man who worked with his hands building dry stone walls after taking a degree in Russian - practical and creative. Better and better. After a few emails we arranged to meet for lunch in a country pub; on first impression, reality certainly matched his photos. Photos were something he was clearly keen on as, to my surprise, he arrived complete with three cameras and spent most of our first date talking about them, in between talking about his other passions - Russia and Roman forts.
Ok, ok I accept full responsibility for agreeing to a second date but, to his credit, he was attractive and at least he had a passion about something even if it didn't correlate with my own.
On the second date, he left his cameras at home (phew) and impressed me by his artwork when he scribbled a picture of a historic landmark, overlooked by my favourite cafe, as we sat drinking cappuccinos. Although our date wasn't perfect, especially when we bumped into a couple of my friends who joined us for an impromptu coffee and I noted their eyes (and mine) glaze over when he started regaling us with his detailed views on the history of the Soviet Union....before moving on to the minutiae Roman forts (again) ... I thought he deserved another chance.
So, stupidly, when he suggested a spontaneous trip to Cornwall the following weekend not only did I agree but also organised a cottage for us. Why ever did I do that? Maybe because I'd decided I judged dates to quickly and should give him more of a chance, maybe because I thought he might grow on me or maybe, and most likely, because I'd been single for a while and fancied a weekend of rampant sex with a sexy dry stonewaller. After all, if he was as passionate in the bedroom as he was about cameras, it might be a lot of fun...
On a wet Friday night with thunder rolling overhead, we arrived at our cottage in St Ives. As the waves crashed against the sea walls he unpacked the car...one bag, two cameras and his coat, and another, and another, and another, and another and another. Yes - really. He'd brought six coats, with him on a two day break! Gore-tex, leather, cashmere, fleece, waxed and another Gore-tex - this didn't bode well for a weekend of gratuitous coupling if he was planning on being out and about enough to wear all these outer garments, but I said nothing.
A pizza and a bottle of wine later, after he'd spent an hour getting ready to go out - so much for the rugged, thrown together look - I knew that I shouldn't have ignored my instincts in the first place. As he went of to investigate some, allegedly, fascinating fort the following day, I made my excuses and, after pottering around all of the wonderful galleries this part of Cornwall has to offer, I got my notebook out - I knew that this episode might, one day, appear in print - I just didn't know when.
When he dropped me at my car on the Sunday (we'd met half way), I was relieved and thankful that I had not consummated this particular union and, whilst I had no desire to see him again, it would have been nice to see half the cost of the weekend that he promised he'd put in the post! Next...!
He was gorgeous, in a wild haired, bohemian sort of way - all chaotic curls, faded Levis and bandanna around neck. A man who worked with his hands building dry stone walls after taking a degree in Russian - practical and creative. Better and better. After a few emails we arranged to meet for lunch in a country pub; on first impression, reality certainly matched his photos. Photos were something he was clearly keen on as, to my surprise, he arrived complete with three cameras and spent most of our first date talking about them, in between talking about his other passions - Russia and Roman forts.Ok, ok I accept full responsibility for agreeing to a second date but, to his credit, he was attractive and at least he had a passion about something even if it didn't correlate with my own.
On the second date, he left his cameras at home (phew) and impressed me by his artwork when he scribbled a picture of a historic landmark, overlooked by my favourite cafe, as we sat drinking cappuccinos. Although our date wasn't perfect, especially when we bumped into a couple of my friends who joined us for an impromptu coffee and I noted their eyes (and mine) glaze over when he started regaling us with his detailed views on the history of the Soviet Union....before moving on to the minutiae Roman forts (again) ... I thought he deserved another chance.
So, stupidly, when he suggested a spontaneous trip to Cornwall the following weekend not only did I agree but also organised a cottage for us. Why ever did I do that? Maybe because I'd decided I judged dates to quickly and should give him more of a chance, maybe because I thought he might grow on me or maybe, and most likely, because I'd been single for a while and fancied a weekend of rampant sex with a sexy dry stonewaller. After all, if he was as passionate in the bedroom as he was about cameras, it might be a lot of fun...
On a wet Friday night with thunder rolling overhead, we arrived at our cottage in St Ives. As the waves crashed against the sea walls he unpacked the car...one bag, two cameras and his coat, and another, and another, and another, and another and another. Yes - really. He'd brought six coats, with him on a two day break! Gore-tex, leather, cashmere, fleece, waxed and another Gore-tex - this didn't bode well for a weekend of gratuitous coupling if he was planning on being out and about enough to wear all these outer garments, but I said nothing.
A pizza and a bottle of wine later, after he'd spent an hour getting ready to go out - so much for the rugged, thrown together look - I knew that I shouldn't have ignored my instincts in the first place. As he went of to investigate some, allegedly, fascinating fort the following day, I made my excuses and, after pottering around all of the wonderful galleries this part of Cornwall has to offer, I got my notebook out - I knew that this episode might, one day, appear in print - I just didn't know when.
When he dropped me at my car on the Sunday (we'd met half way), I was relieved and thankful that I had not consummated this particular union and, whilst I had no desire to see him again, it would have been nice to see half the cost of the weekend that he promised he'd put in the post! Next...!
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