Please Wipe Your Feet

Last Saturday afternoon I got a text from P (he of the Piccadilly frolicking) asking what I was up to. I thought it was just a general chit chat thing so replied saying I was out that evening and just running errands that afternoon. His reply unnerved me. He said that his friend had been due to come to London for the weekend but had cancelled, leaving a paid-for hotel room that he'd given to P, in which P was now asking me to join him or in his words 'do you fancy coming and making use of it with me?' Affronted and not a little concerned about this kind of question coming just after a first date, I replied trying to be upbeat as I said I couldn't change my plans and added that he shouldn't be so cheeky. His response was that he thought he'd try his luck and ask anyway. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt and not immediately think 'player' (I know, I know) and we arranged to get together on the Sunday.

I spent Saturday night in Soho with my new friend F, which only served to reiterate how depressing being 'on the pull' is in London. How is it remotely fulfilling to spend the night drinking as much as you can, then grabbing the nearest person, indulging in some mutual molestation before staggering home to pass out in your own smokey stench? I'd rather be online.

To that end, when P called me on Sunday to say that he was in the pub with a couple of friends, did I want to join them, rather than be a) resentful that our pre-planned date had been gatecrashed or b) terrified at meeting friends on a SECOND DATE I gritted my teeth, told myself it was a good sign that he wanted me to meet his friends and agreed to meet them all that afternoon. Unfortunately by the time I arrived they had already been drinking for a few hours and, not to put too fine a point on it, they were all hammered. He was with his best friend and best friend's girlfriend who were actually lovely people. Just very drunk. I forced a smile onto my face and squeezed into the bench next to P who utterly failed to offer me a drink, leaving the girlfriend to finally offer to buy me one. I made an effort to be funny and lively and drank beer despite a killer tequila hangover.

I had been chatting with the girlfriend when it dawned on me that P and his best friend had been hunched over a mobile phone having a heated discussion about the contents of a text. As I tuned in, it dawned on me that P was advising the best friend about buying a quantity of drugs to sell at a forthcoming event. I couldn't believe it! Right in front of me! Do I look like the sort of girl that's 'ok' with that sort of thing? Admittedly I've hardly been snowy white in the past but it doesn't mean I want to fraternise with drug dealers for crying out loud. Alarm bells were ringing all over the place.

After the friends left, P and I remained but rather than try and sober up a little to get to know me, he engaged two local nutters in conversation and invited them to join us. One Albanian guy who regaled us with stories of his (clearly untrue) sexual conquests and a Scottish bloke in his fifties who lived in a bedsit and ran a stall off the Portabello Road. After an hour or so of lunacy I'd had enough so I announced I was going home. When P offered to come with me I was pleasantly surprised that he didn't want me doing the long walk to the tube alone. Shameful and inexplicable though it is, I kissed him outside the pub because despite all this I still fancied him. It was going fine until we got to the tube and he started pressuring me to let him come home with me. I refused, saying I didn't think it was fair on my flatmate to bring home a strange bloke whilst she's there as it's a small flat and she could feasibly have been up watching TV. Then there's the whole issue of getting ready for work in the morning - it just seemed too complicated. Plus frankly, it was way too soon for me and I wasn't exactly burning with lust after the afternoon's performance. At that point he completely changed. He said it was the biggest load of bullshit he'd ever heard, he was too old for girls who cared what their friends thought and if I didn't want to sleep with him I should just be honest, then he stormed off and left me standing alone. When I got home after a very dazed tube journey I'd received a text which said 'I'm not going to ruin an apology with an excuse. Really sorry for my actions tonight.' I replied an hour later to say 'No worries' and that was the last contact we had.

The shameful thing is that I kept thinking about him. All week long. Every time my phone beeps I lunge for it wondering if it's him. This is worrying. What's more worrying is that despite hearing nothing from him all week, I emailed him yesterday. I don't understand why when a guy acts like the biggest arsehole ever to grace the planet, I'm hooked. He hasn't replied to my email which is a clear brush off. That, I can deal with. What I am having trouble with is the fact that I clearly have a massive problem with men. I am so starved of affection that when any old tosser shows me some I practically hurl myself at their feet in gratitude like the doormat I am. It's possibly not the best state of mind to be in while trying to date people.

Fortunately this weekend, A is away and I have no plans. I will be holed up in the flat, ignoring the world at large, drinking Merlot and trying to work out what the fuck is wrong with me.