My First Sunday date

Thought maybe I would write about my 'romantic' encounters; analyse them, and unfortunately see what went wrong. Now, I like to go on a date on a Sunday; I'm usually subdued from a hangover and I think that's when I'm at my best. Sunday's are also my favourite time of the week to contact all my nearest and dearest when I'm fed up of being bed bound.

This Sunday in the summer was no exception. I found myself Snapchatting a guy I met earlier in the year, named on my phone as 'Stephen Faggot' (he was a little fem and I was convinced he was gay). We got on well on a night out when I met him in my friend's boyfriend's bar. He was really funny, smart, and finally my age. From his number, I found him on Facebook, saw he did some stand up comedy as well as singing and writing; right up my street. A nice confident lad. 

The number exchange happened on the night, and subsequently, we arranged a date but he just didn't reply when I said I was ready...

So we've managed to communicate again, he's apologising about being crap and doesn't even have an excuse, but his humour is coming through the social media correspondence so when he asks if I want to hang out in the evening, I agree to.

The Southern Comfort in my system prevented nerves from forming, and I found myself driving to his apartment in the city centre, I rang him when I got lost so it would be less awkward when we did meet. He got in the car, we went to the shop and bought food and drink and then went back to his apartment.

And it was a typical lads apartment, completely gross. Complete with toilet that didn't flush and used johnny in the bathroom bin. I drank immediately to ensure I was having a good time. It started off ok; I requested songs on YouTube and we laughed and I told stories I hadn't in a long time which made me even more animated. And then he suggested a James Corden viewing...

And this went on for at least an hour. Maybe even two. Two hours of James Corden footage, and I couldn't force the fake laughter out anymore. He didn't want to elaborate on the answers to my questions, nor did he ask for my opinions. I decided to go to the toilet to try and fart to make myself happier (you're not you if you're full of gas). So there I was, toilet roll to bum to prevent any noises being heard from the other side of the door, and to my absolute horror when I wiped, I realised I had sharted. To be clear, this is when you fart, and a little bit of shit comes out. Absolutely no warning whatsoever.

Luckily, as I discovered the flush didn't work at an earlier part of the evening, I knew not to discard the soiled paper into the toilet. So what did I do? I wrapped it and wrapped it and I then had to lodge it in a gap in the bin, almost touching the remains of my predecessor. I swiftly left the bathroom, not feeling better whatsoever, and returned to the living room. Of course he gets up immediately to go to the toilet afterwards.

When he joins me again, to what is now a Jimmy Fallon playlist, he asks what we're doing, and whether "I'd like to stay the night" I politely use an excuse about work and I make my way out of there. I had just got away with one drama, let alone having to try and explain shitting the bed.

He hasn't contacted me since. But you know what, surprisingly boring, and not my kind of attractive. Thanks for really putting me back to square zero on the dating platform.

Send my love to your new lover

So Friday evening came around quite quickly, the time for me and my boo to catch a plane to Northern Ireland and to party with her momma and to hopefully see the boy I fancied the last two times.

The day had not started well, I had been up late watching the results of the EU Referendum, I then woke up at 5am and saw the fastly approaching confirmation that, in despite telling everyone "we're going to remain in, it's gonna be fine", we didn't.

I then had to deal with my best friend of my workplace leaving. My job seriously is heartbreaking and mind numbingly dull. Just to talk to someone so sweet and so on my wavelength really gave me what I needed to get through the day. And now she's spreading her cheeriness elsewhere, good on her, massive loss for us though. So I decorated her car with a banner as I couldn't stand there and cry for long as the flight was ever nearing, got the suitcase from the car and followed Google Maps for fifteen minutes around Stockport, in the rain, to get the bus to the airport. When I get to the bus stop, I'm a bit confused as I can see the Mazda garage, and it looked familiar. Bus comes, goes round a corner, oh yeah there's my work building. A two minute fucking walk. Cheers Google.

 

So anyway, Derulo's on the iTunes and I'm heading to the airport to meet Our Ezza. We buy some snacks and head to the bar, flight's been delayed but it means we can drop another SoCo down the hatch. "Should we have a last cig before we head to the gate?"

We then hear an announcement for flight EZ1818£;&;&;'f...been cancelled. Can all passengers please make their way to Gate 20. My libido returns to where it's been for the last two months. Fuck sake.

We head down and follow an angry Northern Irish crowd. One girl's crisps from a vending machine failed to drop, she was going beserk at it with her feet. A guy came over and pushed it 20 degrees and there was chocolate for all. Some pissed up ladies got hold of the tannoy, telling us not to get on the shuttle bus which was to take us to arrivals, but to stand our ground. It was all fun and games until we heard them screaming in poor Ryan's face. Ryan was a young lad who worked for EasyJet, really pulled the short straw with having to deal with our rowdy bunch. He was doing alright though. On the bus he told us we can go to EasyJet's helpdesk and try to reschedule a flight, failing that get a refund.

We get back to the biggest queue in history, we pop out for a cig and return to the very back of the queue. Of course. Got talking to this couple who were nicely light hearted to begin with, then when informed they wouldn't be flying tonight broke down in tears. I felt bad as we were just going for some weekend fun, I think they were going back for a funeral, the people in front of us, from what we understood by earwigging 🙊🙊, were going for a wedding dress fitting at a really sought after place. A woman was crying about getting back to her son, and then it was getting back to her disabled son, and then it was getting back to her son who was on a ventilator.

We were happy to let the other's claim the soonest flights, we felt no point flying out on a Saturday afternoon to return Sunday evening, but as Ryan had expressed hotels would be made available, we decided we would make the best out of a shituation and still have our weekend fun. Just in a Manchester hotel instead. So I arranged it on the app as we were at the back. By the time we got to Ryan at the front, he told us the next taxi would be in two hours, so "there's no point, you should just walk to the hotel, it's three minutes away". Alright mate, I've sorted the accommodation out and we've waited all this time for you to say that. Cheers. But I just wanted to go, so we went.

Walked the length of the airport around four times to try to find it, a guy by the Metro even took us upstairs and smiled after dialling a number into a telephone, passed it to us and it didn't work. Absolutely raging. We went out to an informatin desk where the guy told us it was an hour and a half walk away/a ten minute drive. I was tempted to walk back in and choke that Ryan asshole. But I didn't, we got the taxi ordered and headed to the hotel. Erin kept asking the driver about when the bar closed, I kept thinking in my head how I'll push myself to have that drink. I was exhausted, but we may as well have a good time wherever we do end up.

We had ten minutes to spare before the bar closed, so we got a bottle of wine each. Just sat there in hysterics about our shit day. I had shaved everything for that weekend, which I was gonna spend in a twin bed with my mate. 

 

We have around a glass of wine each left, and then I see a bus load of people rock up. We have the couple and her friends for the wedding dress fitting, the couple heading to the funeral and then a couple of stragglers. Erin and I moved to the largest seating area and met them with open arms, the boys went out to the off license to buy us the alcoholic treats we'd need to get through the night.

There was Jennifer who was Clare's mate, and Ryan was her fiance, Panda was Leon's brother and I don't know the name of Leon's girlfriend. There was Terence who was alone, and also Micky who was alone too. They told us how those pissed up women had actually used the emergency tannoy so their jokes were being aired around the entire airport. They also got banned from EasyJet for five whole years due to their aggressive behaviour. You reap what you sow you animals.

We talked about our flight stories, Erin and I just sat there, knowing my car was a ten minute drive away. We looked at all our mutual friends on Facebook (Erin loves that shit she does). We turned the tv in the lobby up as loud as we could before the guys at reception shooed us upstairs at 3am. Party at Panda's in 303. Erin and I decided to go to our room to assess it; looked great. Made some cups of tea and bunged the free soap in my bag. Had a little dance before we went to find the others. 

Walking through the corridor, we can hear the loudness of the Irish accents, we knock on the door and whilst Erin continues to drink the beers, I sort out a cup of tea for myself. Clare and Ryan leave first, Terence then leaves around 4am to catch his 7am flight to get back for his father's 50th.

Panda, Micky, Erin and myself to go to the top floor for the sunset view, and then we head back downstairs to finally go to bed. I start watching Love Island at 5am whilst Erin goes downstairs for the last cig of the night. After 20 minutes I was concerned, she rang and asked why I hadn't opened the door "Where are you Erin? We're in 415" of course she was on the floor below. I open the door to her disconnected eyes and she explains they told her she got the wrong door...

We headed to bed and I put the alarm on for 9am to catch the breakfast before it finished at 10am. We had a full English and we really maxed out on the meat. We saw all the crew to wave them on their way, but not Panda. Guess drinking the bottle of Southern Comfort in about an hour had got to him. We then got picked up and took our tired asses home. Nice work though, we still had a quality time with the Northern Irish, even if it was in the Britannia Airport Hotel, following a four mile walk in the airport.