What a Week! Part 1...

I almost don’t want to go into too much detail on this to be honest, for fear I will come across as somewhat slutty…

I realised something on Sunday morning: I have two sides to my single personality.

On the one hand I have the relatively sensible, mildly tipsy, dating Twenty-Single persona – that part of me can chatter away with strangers on dates picked up from dating websites and tends not to kiss on dates, on the basis that it is odd to kiss someone you barely know.

On the other side of the coin is my non-dating Twenty-Single persona – the one that lets loose a little bit too easily when out with friends for drinkies and needs no convincing to merrily kiss anything relatively attractive and male that comes my way, on the basis that most of them are somehow connected to a friend, or friend of a friend and have therefore passed some sort of verification test.

So, the week that just was saw the latter persona really rage to the surface. Clearly after the horrors of the Canoe Boy date, and my recovery from my cough, I needed a bit of a boost in my life so I morphed the week into a mass of enthusiasm!

So, Thursday evening.

I went to a most delightful army officers bash, having been invited by an old University friend of mine. It was tremendous - army officers dressed up all over the place, and lashings and lashings of free flowing booze, of which I chose to get fully stuck into the Moscow Mules.

Whilst circulating and admiring all elements of the surrounds, I bumped into another friend I knew from Uni who was there with one of his old Uni chaps now in the army as well. I instantly registered his friend as a bit of a hottie (though possibly only about 5 foot 10) and pursued him - in a relatively subtle fashion - for the rest of the evening, getting gradually more lured in by his soft Irish accent.

Suffice to say that being Moscow Mule-fuelled with confidence I lunged sometime after midnight on the dance-floor, and woke up the next morning with an Irish army officer in my bed (no naughty behaviour mind). It transpired that I actually couldn't understand much of what he said (really softly spoken accent - and I struggle with any accent at the best of times) – our conversation can’t have consisted of much in depth chat. I had to leave him languishing in my bed whilst I trotted off to work feeling utterly awful and no doubt reeking of stale booze.

Throughout my Friday at work I was inwardly groaning at the prospect of having to go home and entertain at a dinner party for lots of my girlie friends, but thankfully I fought through the hangover and was back on form by 7pm and my girls' arrival time. My recovery was no doubt aided by the fact that upon trotting home I found a sweet little note from the Irish boy on my bed, leaving me his mobile number. Fabulous.

So – Friday evening and I enjoyed a glorious girlie supper at mine – following which we all merrily trotted off to a cheesy-music-playing-South-West London nightclub (not my usual favourite one though – we branched out) where I continued to consume at a rate of knots many many whiskey and cokes and jager bombs in order to fully embrace the flashing dance-floor fun.

Afterwards, I somehow ended up going back home with a friend of mine from law school I had bumped into in said cheesy venue and slept in his bed (he lived much closer to the venue than me, it made infinite sense at the time). Again, no naughty behaviour but a little bit of a kiss and a cuddle took place. Unusual – he is NOT my normal type. I awoke feeling fairly sleepy having had just under 5 hours sleep over the last 2 days. Oof.

Saturday stretched out ahead of me as I did a bus route of shame (without much shame I must admit) – the agenda looming involved BBQ and pimms action. I proudly reflected on my two kisses from two nights, and wondered if I would be able to pull off three out of three. Which I did. But in pure comedy circumstances – to be updated to you imminently!