A whole three days after
I left my Kindred Spirits voice mails, I received a called. He was clearly working on man time, not girl time! I was in the pub with a friend when my mobile beeped. On retrieving my phone, from amidst the tangle of poo-bags, Tampax and legal aid forms populating my handbag, I realised it was my answer service:
'You have 1
new message and fifteen saved messages.
Crackle crackle … Hi – it’s…crackle…from the Daily Telegraph. Just returning your call. Off to rehearsal now; will try you again tomorrow, or you can call me if you like on....crackle.’
First problem - a phone line that crackled more than a bowl of rice crispies. I listened at
least five times and still couldn’t make out the name of the caller. This was
going to be tricky. Had I in fact left my number for the West Country Womble
and this was him or was it the, ex-RAF, amateur dramatics loving flyer from
Hampshire with a very similar name. Goodness only knew. As the contact details left
were a mobile number, the only other clue I had was the fact that he was off to
rehearsal.
It could be either. Maybe
the Spielberg part had come off - although if Tim from Bristol really
had made the big time and was working with Hollywood royalty would he
really have time to call dippy Daisy, the UK- based owner of three cuddly
wombles?
There was nothing for it, but to wait and hope he called back. I didn't have to wait long and after some initial awkward stumbling conversation, so as not to give away the fact that I had hedged my bets and left messages for two guys, I worked out that this was the ex-RAF flyer. Twenty minutes later, despite him complaining bitterly of suffering from a cold and sounding a little fierce (maybe he was nervous) we did also laugh, so agreed to meet for supper a few days later...my first experience ever of this sort of contrived date...carrying on the cereal theme - would this snappy date with the crackly phone be the man to make my ovaries pop...?
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