Friday morning Dimitri is explaining how to make low fat Ragu from scratch on our bus. I get a text from Scottish man saying ‘are you in London this evening?’
I have no plans to be in London at all that weekend. ‘Yes will be in London why?’ I text back.’ What’s up? ’.
‘Thought we might have a drink’ he said. Frick, I think, have not even told him I live in Oxford. I look like shit. I am wearing brown tartan trousers with scuffed bottoms, a red shirt which is too small round my arms and pushes out arm flesh, and a pale turquoise wool scarf which goes down to knees. But must see Scottish man who I love and want to marry. He texts ‘I’ll be in the city around 7 - lets say Liverpool St’. ‘Ok will try’ I text back to appear breezy and not desperate. Outfit I have on will not do at all.
I eat no lunch in order to try to get skinny to see him that evening. I tell boss I have appointment and leave at 3pm to get into London it takes about half an hour to get to reading from my work and half an hour from there. In London, I go to Selfridges and get eyebrows done and moustache removed with ancient Indian art of threading. I go upstairs to the outfits sections after this and buy entire new outfit and sexy boots, short black dress and officy shirt for under this so looks like I have come from work and am naturally starchy and white and clean. I dispose of the trousers, red top, and scarf in a nearby dumpster. I buy deodorant and toothbrush. I change into new outfit and redo hair in changing room at Selfridges. Dress makes boobs appear to hang round stomach so I buy new bra and run in and change this also. Rush to Liverpool street and use station toilet to brush teeth and preen slow down walk to a saunter looking as if just came in from work looking for quiet drink. Scottish man is sitting with pint and watching me. He still has black curls and clothes are trendy and he is already making amusing wisecracks when I arrive. He comments that I am looking hot. I roll eyes as if ‘of course’. When he turns back to get me a drink I high five myself in excitement that he thinks I’m hot and not big fatty in gross unmatching clothes which I would have been if it were not for lovely Selfridges.
I tell Scottish man all my stories about Christian and how I hated him. Scottish man offers to violently dispose of him for me. I tell him about my friend whos husband went off with her best friend and he listens most interestedly and asks lots of questions. He pays for every round of drinks. We find another quieter bar. We talk about music and movies and how he is Scottish and loves poetry and did a masters in American literature. We do quotes and I laugh hysterically. ‘If we get married’ he says, ‘what will happen when you stop finding me funny?’
‘I will never stop finding you funny’ I say. We get kicked out of bar and head back on C2C train to his place. In morning wake up and he has enormous apartment with lots of Kitchen things for his amazing cooking. We read some of his books in bed. He gets up to make me breakfast.
I come downstairs and he is making eggs Benedict and the hollandaise from scratch. He adds asparagus on the side and a dash of truffle oil to the eggs. He comes out of kitchen to serve me and as he walks back I mouth I LOVE YOU to his back. Then I text Sally: ‘he made hollandaise from scratch I think I might accidently tell him I love him which is too much for second date’
She texts back: ‘is not a date - you live with your ex boyfriend in a house of hatred. Move out of house and then go on date with Scottish man. You are whore’.
She can call me what she likes while I am eating beautiful breakfast in lovely apartment with Byronish Scottish man with black curls and dancing eyes. After breakfast we take a walk around random Essex lake and feed the ducks. He laughs at me being scared of swans as am city girl. Have not mentioned I actually live in Oxfordshire now and work in Oxfords arsehole.
How to frantically lose weight while obsessed with hot chips.
