Cocksure

For those of you keen to know the outcome on TLFG (Toes Like Fingers Guy) here is an update in full and fulsome detail :-

• I started the primping and preening session for date in earnest bout half hour before leaving the office. Took off slap. Re-applied slap. Added bronzer for `sun kissed' look. Extra lip gloss for earnest appeal. And `bushed up' hair for maximum impact.
• After finally being able to study reflection in the mirror without crying, or breaking down, I tottered out of the office on my 3½ heels to Bond Street tube. Was feeling rather lazy (and heels werent helping) so decided to tube it over to Oxford Circus (round the corner from which was the winebar I was meeting TLFG at).
  
• Bond Street platform supremely crowded. Platform indicators also frozen at proclaiming that the next train was only 2 minutes away -- giving those less informed an unnecessary sense of optimism, and those more experienced (i.e. me) the downright hump.
• So I humped off. Not without hissing under my breath "Eff-ing typical bollokky service" (yep I can swear). This was overhead by sniffy old woman just in front of me, clearly still taken in by the cheery 2 minute indicator. She sniffed at me. I quickly left. In true Dick Emery style (3½ heels beginning to become a burden).
• On surfacing just outside Bond Street tube, and on reacquiring mobile phone signal, I received a text from TLFG proclaiming : "Hello! Got away a bit early. Amusing myself in Maplins next door. Call me when ya get here! X"
• Panic ensues. Catch heels in pavement crack. More expertly applied swearing.
• Finally make it to allotted destination. Hair now flattened. Face not so much `sun kissed' as bright red and moist. Frantically do some last min touches in reflection of shop window. Aware of eyes on me. Turn round to find a small cluster of Japanese tourists have gathered to watch my reparation efforts. I naff off sharpish.
  
• Suddenly clap eyes on TLFG. He's tall. As I expected. Full head of hair. Hmm, Ok so far. Decent dress sense. But his face was rather wider than anticipated. And then he spoke.
• John Major.
• Feeling sense of dread as I walk downstairs in to the sub-basement wine bar. But masking this well with bright cheery greeting and then some inane ramblings about things I cant really remember now. But which made John Major - sorry TLFG - guffaw. Very loudly. And this continued throughout the evening. I took a stab at making the conversation as unfunny as possible. And yet he still carried on roaring away.
• A bit later I found myself trying to keep my eyes open as he rattled on about something him and a mate (who sounded a bit worrying too) had set up called a `Jolly Quest' which consisted of them both visiting all the pubs in London, postcode by postcode. Beaming at me in a smug way, he announced that they'd so far cleared W1 (including the gay pubs dotted near Marble Arch and in Soho - he confided in a proud fashion "I even visited the gents whilst in them and survived"), SW1 and WC2.
• Evening finally drew to a close (aided by yours truly) and we parted company. Phew.
• Cut to this morning. On the tube. I feel my phone vibrate in my handbag. In a rather excited fashion, I retrieve my mobile to find notification that TLFG has sent me a message. Drat.
  
• Maybe he'd realised (like me) that we werent suited at all (on any level) and he'd sent me a polite goodbye text? Please, please, please ...
  
• Nope.
• Was a picture of his penis.
• Fully primed and ready for action.
  
• Accompanied by text saying "Poor London-Lass. I bet u are feeling a tad hungover. (hopefully) this will cheer u up a little?..."
• Suddenly acutely aware that I am staring at a man's penis on my mobile phone. At the same time as realising that the lady to my left is taking more than a passing interest.
  
• Hurriedly deleting the recently received `sensitive material', I rattle off a `Disgusted from Durham' text back to TLFG.
• And stare out lady still peering over my shoulder.