It was a cold winter morning and my auntie and I had made the crazy decision to go to London at the crack of dawn this Saturday just gone. I know, the Saturday before Christmas – nuts right? My friend actually said they I must be ‘mental’ and should go home and order everything on the internet.
Well, mental I must have been. Up at 6.30am and on the train by 8am, in London by 9am.
At Paddington station I went to get a drink and my auntie went to post letters. We agreed to reconvene by the top of the escalators leading to the tube in ten minutes.
As it was early, I didn’t have time to do my make-up, and my eyes were so tired they couldn’t bear lenses so I had the geeky secretary look going on a la my glasses. I probably looked rough.
I had my hands in my pockets and stood people-watching. A cute guy walked past me. I clocked him straight away (albeit subtly). He was tall with dark brown hair and also wearing glasses. Charcoal slate coat and smart trousers. He wafted past me and I carried on daydreaming.
Moments later I heard a voice next to me; ‘excuse me, can you help me?’
I turned to see said cute guy standing next to me.
‘Do you know where the Hammersmith and city line is? I looked down there but I can’t see it?’
There were plenty of people around but he must have assumed I looked like I knew what I was doing. Did I look like a Londoner? He had lovely eyes.
At this point I was genuinely trying to think. I let out a big ‘ummm’
while I thought outloud. I then realised I probably sounded either thick or foreign (not that foreigners are thick, but he might have thought I didn’t understand the question.)
I opened my mouth to articulate something more than a grunt;
‘Let’s see..’
I’ll be honest; I’m crap at directions and I don’t know London, but I remember being lost in the past and finding clues on the floor.
‘Have you tried looking at the floor? Let’s see….oh look there – H & C – that must be it.’ A long strip of pink paint lined the floor and had the initials boldly printed over it repeatedly as it lead up to a platform in the opposite direction.
‘Oh yes, I didn’t realise that – I didn’t see that.’ He looked as if he was mildly embarrassed about how obvious it had been. But when you are lost nothing is obvious.
‘Is that Ok?’ I said to him and I gave him a big smile.
‘Thanks!’ He broadly smiled back and I felt my smile get bigger. He then turned around and walked off.
As soon as he had walked off I thought ‘crap.’
But what do you do? You can’t ask a randomer for their number can you? That’s just weird, right?
Besides, I looked like hell and he probably had a girlfriend and…it’s just weird RIGHT?
But at the end of the day, what’s the worst that could happen? I could ask for his number, he could say ‘thanks but no thanks.’ I might be a bit embarrassed for five minutes but….ok so that is a tad mortifying but let’s think about this. He *might* just have given me his number. We might have met up for a coffee. It might have been fun. But we’ll never know because I was too chicken shit to ask.
So…if you were that tall dark haired chap looking for hammersmith and city at 9am on Saturday at Paddington – I’m the chick in the glasses who actually scrubs up really well….
Fancy a coffee….?
I’ve already told you, he was a murderer.