Archives for category: Holiday Romance

I am so sorry readers, this post is long overdue. Why? Perhaps because I have been very busy. Or perhaps because I have been avoiding having to think about it all. I still don’t know what to think about it all. I am not sure why relationships have to be so complicated. I have no idea where this post will lead, or where to begin. So I suppose I’ll begin with the weekend to the seaside…

This time two weeks ago, my man came into London for physio, and I met him afterwards so that we could travel back to his home together. We had dinner by the river in London, then popped on a late train at Waterloo where I slept whilst listening to his terrible music with his amazing headphones. Two and a half hours later and we’re stepping into his house … and his parents are already in bed. Phew! Off the hook for another day, and I was way too tired to be polite.

The next morning as I got out of the shower, my man told me he would meet me downstairs and left his room. Don’t panic. You are perfectly capable to walk downstairs and walk into a kitchen with him and his parents in. Oh God. What if they don’t like me? I take extra care to make sure I look natural and radiant as possible and walk… very… slowly… down… the… stars… take a deep breath … and step into the kitchen and SMILE. “Morning!” “Mum by the way, she’s vegetarian!” says my man. I had asked him not to tell his parents I was vegetarian in case they had prepared any meat for the weekend (which it turns out they had… his mum was going to cook lasagne). His parents were lovely, and it actually wasn’t very scary at all. Phew! His mum even went shopping secretly and filled the fridge with vegetarian food, but packed it into the back of the fridge to make it seem like it was always there!

Over the weekend, my man and I went to the beach, walked for hours, pub lunched, went out for curry (he paid), met some of his friends, chilled out, had brunch with his friends (again, he paid) and it was nice. Nice – it’s not the most passionate word in the dictionary. I wasn’t floating, and I no longer felt like Liesl from The Sound of Music. But it was nice. Was it bad that I had stopped dreaming? I like that floating, girly, giggly feeling? What had changed? Perhaps the illusion of it all. I was in his house, with his lovely parents, and he was just a normal guy. He’d had it hair cut. Is that shallow? It probably is. But I just hate short hair. And all of a sudden he went from manly athlete to almost little boy (well he is younger than me). But he was nice, and I fancied him.

However, throughout the weekend I noticed him going onto twitter and facebook in front of me and clicking onto the TV presenter’s posts, and his ex-girlfriend’s posts, and all the messages from girls on facebook. Was he trying to provoke me? It was quite obvious he liked me, so why was he doing this in front of me? I suppose because he wanted the power? Wanted me to react (again)? Wanted assuarance of my affection? I really don’t know why. But I am aloof. And I won’t play into his games. And it made me feel like he was untrustworthy. Made me feel like I needed to play a game and be wary of him. My guard is up. Can’t men take Rhianna more literally and realise that girls need to feel like they really are the only girl in the world. Not one of many. And if you play the game with me, I will play it harder. And I like feeling like Liesl, and if I have my guard up, then I am not floating. So your games might mean you just lose me in the process…

the seaside :-)

I am already nervous. This weekend I will be going to the seaside for the whole weekend to see my man. Why am I nervous? He lives with his parents. That means from Friday night through to Sunday I am staying at his. With his parents. Shudder.

I feel sick.

Having now read the Complete Book of Rules, I have decided to be more aloof. More unattainable. (See my Blog em>;Call Me Maybe). And the reality is that I am quite chilled and aloof about the whole situation. I just need to stop pretending to be more into it than I really am, and start to make him sweat a little.

Surely going to his parent’s house is totally and utterly against all the rules I vowed to follow? It goes against keeping things light-hearted. Acting like I don’t care. Letting him make the effort to come to me…

And I really don’t know how comfortable I am with the situation. I am changing my mind on a hourly, no, minutely basis. I don’t really like him enough at this stage to meet the parents. But I am not meeting the parents because it’s a stage we are at. I am meeting his parents because of purely practical reasons… because he lives at home. And it is a little nice to think he sees me as the kind of girl he can introduce to his parents…

Part of me is excited. I haven’t seen him since our fun day in the rain two Sundays ago. I’ve already began my beauty regime so I look and feel amazing one Friday (I know, I know, it’s sad). And it will be exciting to jump on a train straight after work on Friday…

Part of me is doubtful. Do I still like him? Do I like him enough to tolerate a weekend surrounded by his family?

Cancel the weekend. Wait for him to come to me.

Don’t go Friday night. Just see him Saturday – Sunday.

Stop over-thinking it. It will be fun. Have a fun weekend, keep it light-hearted, then play it cool after the weekend.

And, according to the Complete Book of Rules, it’s never too late to start the rules!

Either way, at least I’ll have an interesting story to tell you on Sunday night..!

Have you seen the Sound of Music? You know the scene when the eldest daughter, Liesl, sneaks out into the night to meet Rolf and is so overcome with happiness she spins round and round laughing in the pouring rain? Well, right now I am Liesl von Trapp, apart from I’m not 16 going on 17 (and luckily my man is not a Nazi).

Did I actually spin around in the pouring rain? Of course not. I think I would have scared him away. The one great thing about age and experience, is that it makes you cool and collected… on the outside at least. I suppose girls never truly age when it comes to matters of the heart!

So let me tell you about my day at the seaside in the pouring rain… Wake up naturally at 7:56am. Check train times (9:12am), check weather (wet and cold). Get out of bed at exactly 8:36am feeling calm, and excited, and slightly apprehensive that I only have about half an hour to get my train. What do I wear for our date out of London? I’m thinking warm, comfortable, slightly rural, but cute. Abercrombie & Fitch skinny jeans, Ralph Lauren beige top, Nine West black leather flat biker boots, Abercrombie & Fitch burgundy lamb wool fleece, Barbour beige quilted jacket and green checked scarf. Make up? Natural. A bit of Mac Solar Riche bronzing powder, Mac shimmer blush (nice pink cheeks), some Benefit the’re Real! Mascara, and Vaseline aloe vera lip balm. Hair? Long, down, and a bit messy (well it’s going to be windy). And I’m out of the house by 8:56am and walking at a slightly rushed pace to the station.
Oh sh*t! I forgot my Young Person’s Railcard but there’s no time to go back. So my journey is £19:50 more expensive, but I don’t care.

10 minutes to spare in my changeover station, so I pop to Caffe Nero and grab a skinny chai latte and some porridge with soy milk and berry compote, and I’m off out of London on a 2 hour train ride!

During the journey I think again about how nice it is that I am not worrying about his opinion of me or what he thinks. I do momentarily worry that he will stand me up, and then I remind myself that I’m being silly. I suppose I am slightly apprehensive though… Because what if I don’t like him? And then I smile at the change in my perspective.
Then comes the first big decision to make… Where do we meet? He’s just had a serious operation so is unable to drive and living at home (his parents’ home) whilst recovering. He can pick me up from the station, but his mum would have to drive us (*is he cool with me meeting his mum? or does he feel obliged to offer?* … Stop over thinking things!). Or I walk 20 minutes into the city centre… In the rain. I worry that meeting parents goes against our agreement to take it easy and not be intense. So I… Take a taxi. You can take a girl out of London, but you can’t take London out of the girl! :)

What do you do in a seaside town when there are strong winds and heavy rain (obviously going back to his home is an option I quickly rule out)? You apparently get dressed head to toe in water proof clothing and embrace it. He brought a whole bag of waterproofs and warm clothes in case I wasn’t prepared for the weather (aww). I have fun trying on his waterproof trousers, but they don’t fit… so I settle for a wooly hat, and an oversized waterproof coat… well there goes my attempt to look cute, thank god I didn’t spend long planning my outfit! And I like being dressed a little bit dorky, it makes me all giggly.
And we go out onto the pier. And we laugh. And we walk along the beach. And he catches me when I nearly get blown away in the wind (Damzel in distress!). And we kiss but our faces our so wet that our faces slide off each other. And we giggle. And we clash teeth. And we laugh. And we go for food. And he pays (which means more when your man is poor and unemployed). And we take turns drying our jeans in the bathroom with the hand dryers. And we walk through the town. And we drink hot chocolate. And he gets whipped cream on his nose. And I giggle. And he wipes it over my face. And we laugh. And we go into the woods and have a woodland walk. And we sit on a waterproof (he picks a spot with a nice view). And we kiss. And I stop myself from singing love songs in my head. And we kiss. And we get wet. And we don’t care. And we kiss (*man, I wish we had a bedroom!*). And a squirrel comes right up to us, and I compare myself to Snow White, and then I remind myself to get a grip and stop turning my life into a Disney love story! And then finally, when we are so cold and wet we can’t kiss anymore, he decides that I can’t get the train back to London damp. So his mum comes to pick us up. And we go to his house. And we meet his brother. But I don’t care. Because I’m not freaking out, and I’m not over thinking anything, and it feels nice. And I have a cup of tea, and put my boots by the fire, and see his room. And I get in his shower. And… Oh hello, you’ve joined me in the shower ;) (a lady never tells remember) … And about an hour later and I’m back on the train to London.

And I’m not stressing. And I’m not worried that it’s intense. And I love that we laughed and had fun despite the miserable weather. And I have butterflies. And I’m smiling. And I giggled like a little girl all day. And I’m trying to snap myself back into reality… but I’m comparing myself to Liesl in the Sound of Music. Well I did warn you I was a hopeless romantic!

How do I feel? I just feel… And. Because and is a word that needs something to follow it. And who knows, maybe something will. Or maybe it won’t. But that’s also fine, because everything happens for a reason, and at least I don’t have Sunday blues. :)

For those of you not familiar with cockney (people from London) rhyming slang, ‘telling porkies’ means telling lies. And my dearest readers, this is an apology to you, because I have lied to you. It’s something I would like to call a white lie, but it’s a lie nontheless.

What did I lie to you about? I hear you ask. All will be revealed, I promise. How could I lie to you? I know, I know. I am new to the whole blogging-about-my-private-emotions thing, and I felt guarded, but going forward I solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me God.
In my last post, ‘Hello! is it me you’re looking for?’, I wrote about some of the men that have been in my life since breaking up with Jules. I wrote about their V’s, their N’s and the reasons our romance came to an end. Well… it has not exactly ended with the man I named the extremely personal Number 4. Why did I say it had? Well that gets me onto a discussion surrounding the complication and confusion of new relationships. To do that, and to make it up to you for my dishonesty, I suppose I must tell you the story of this man, and how he made it into my life. As I have previously mentioned, I do respect his privacy, but I do need to give him a name so that he becomes a slightly more personal character than just 4. So I name him my man. Obviously, he is not literally MINE (and maybe he never will be), but he’s the only one I’m interested in right now…

So let me tell you the story of my man and I so far…

We met about one month ago whilst on a yachting holiday in the Adriatic sea. Josh was with a big group of his friends, and I with a big group of mine. I was attracted to him from the moment I laid eyes on him, and luckily for me, the feeling was mutual. I don’t know if you’ve ever been on a yacht, but there is not much privacy. On top of that, I’m a classy girl, and I did not want to give him the satisfaction of being his holiday romance. This meant that during our week’s holiday, we developed a rather lovely emotional relationship. It also felt a bit like a teen romance, because there were no mobile phones and we had no mutual friends, so were excited to bump into each other and slightly nervous to be around each other. And, wow, did we kiss like teenagers! We kissed because there was a crazy attraction, and because, well… that’s all I would allow, despite his many attempts on yachts, pavements, deck chairs (ok, so it may have happened once on the deck chair!) , club car parks, et cetera et cetera. But my rule was clear, I was not the type of girl he could mess around on holiday (and he was kissing other girls, and I knew because he told me as he didn’t want to betray me, which I suppose you have to respect). By the end of the holiday, I couldn’t wait to spend time alone with him, so I did something incredibly bold and invited him straight back to mine from the airport.

I landed the day before, and well, it seemed a logical thing to do given that we developed a nice bond and he was flying back into London. And it was fun. And intense. But fun. And he told me that he was ‘into me’, and I told him that ‘I liked him’, and he came back to London a few days later, and then a few days later. And he took me on our first date (it’s a weird order I agree): we went to the theatre in London, and then for Mexican Street Food, and I thought things were great. Intense, but great.

And then it happened. The moment that the fantasy and the unsustainable intensity came crashing to reality. I got into my bed after the date … and I lay on his shoulder… and looked up… and he was … texting a relatively famous TV Presenter. I didn’t even mean to look. I just looked up and I saw the name. And, oh God. Why is he texting her? He already told me he kissed her before we met, and said he was flattered she paid him attention, but he made it out like that was it. She took someone else home that night (she must be a slut!). Why did he tell me a half truth? Why oh why oh why oh why is he texting another girl. Sure, guys had asked me on dates. But I liked my man and I wanted to see how things went without any risk of ruining the present.
So I got angry and I did was any other irrational girl would do and… let my rage fester and not say anything. And have him pester me to tell him what’s wrong. And fester. And pester. And fester. And pester… and WHY ARE YOU TEXTING A GIRL IN MY BED! Ok, there we go. Playing it cool.

One thing I would recommend, is not allowing yourself to have ‘the chat’ with someone when you are not sure the outcome you want yourself. Because then you end up in a conversation like this: “I like you but I don’t know how much… I don’t know what I want from you, I don’t care… but I do care… oh this is really intense, we don’t even live in the same city…” I’ll let you put it all together.

So he went home, confused at what he had done wrong, because it was just ‘innocent flirting’ (again, too much information but I love his honesty). Confused at what he wanted from me. Worried that things were too intense, and worried that we had told each other too much. And I was left at home and I felt… well, what did I feel? Hurt. Hurt because I liked him, surely… or because, as I have told you I am proud, and he should respect me, and like me, and not want to message other girls. Why does he not like me? Why are all guys cheating a**holes like Jules? Why am I comparing him to Jules? We aren’t even officially together, I don’t even know how much I like him… But I want him to like me. Oh no, what if he doesn’t like me anymore because he thinks I am a crazy jealous person. Am I a crazy jealous person?

And that is exactly what ran through my mind over the following days, and that’s exactly what I felt. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Worried about what he thought of me. Worried that he didn’t like me anymore.

And then I met the psychic, Katie Winterbourne (see my earlier post), and I got my pre-Jules-days confidence back. And through this confidence my attitude and anxiety shifted. I stopped thinking about the ‘What if he doesn’t like me?’, and ‘what if he thinks I am too…’, and I thought what do I think, and what do I want, and how does he fit into that? And that is an empowering feeling. And I realised there is really no need for the anxiety, no need to worry about ‘what if’, and no justified reason to be angry, so I swallowed my pride. And I messaged him. And I was just honest. Honest about liking him. Honest about feeling hurt and WHY I felt hurt. And honest about feeling it was too intense. And I realised that the beginning of relationships are always confusing, and awkward, and uncertain. But that should be part of the excitement and not the reason for anxiety. And I am the one in the driving seat. I act because I feel, I will no longer act because of how he might feel if I don’t. I am myself. And if he doesn’t like it, then it is his loss. And this feeling is really empowering, because men will no longer be able to project their own vision of me onto me, and I will no longer bend and stretch myself because I am concerned about them liking me. And I think (hope) men will like that confidence.

So I decided that it’s ok if it doesn’t work out. And it’s ok to try it, because it doesn’t have to be about pride. Pride is just a barrier for fear. Fear that someone might betray me like Jules did. But pride might prevent me from moving forward. Is my man a bad guy for messaging other girls? Well maybe for doing it from my bed, but maybe that proves the innocence of it all. And I suppose he really didn’t do anything wrong because we aren’t in a relationship, and by messaging girls it doesn’t mean he doesn’t respect me. He respects me because he is honest with me when I need him to be, and that is enough. And that is already more than Jules offered.

Today I text him, and I said I wanted to get out of London (well I’m not going to be too keen and tell him it’s cause I want to see him ;-) ). And in 7 hours I will be on a train to spend my Sunday with him by the seaside (I really need my beauty sleep).

So, yes, I did lie to you. But I also lied to myself. Because it’s easier to walk away, than to risk getting hurt. But if you don’t take a risk, then you will never know. So until tomorrow night, dear readers, I already can’t wait to tell you about it. Let the adventure begin! :-)