Music: Shoot the Runner - Kasabian
Work has sent me away on a course for this week and I am staying at the exhilarating location that is London Heathrow airport. Yes, that’s right - I’m stuck in a hotel full of sweaty businessmen and Air Asia flight attendants: a lecherous mix of sexually frustrated testosterone and high pitched girlie giggles. Lord, get me out of here.
With the course finishing late in the evening and with only the meagre delights of the shops in Terminal 1 to amuse me, I am bored. So very, very, bored. The hotel doesn’t even have a gym, so last night I decided to go for a run around the airport perimeter instead. Never again, as despite the whacking great landmark of landing planes and twinkling runway lights, I still managed to get myself lost and nearly ended up getting bummed in a dodgy looking housing estate. Still, it was great exercise as I’ve never run so fast before in my life.
The only thing that is keeping me entertained is the daily textathon between me and Craig. During our daily text marathons I’ve found a few other interesting things out about him:
• He goes to the gym at least three times a week. This is good, as hopefully he’ll have a fit bod under his overalls.
• He drives a white van. This amuses me no end, especially as he had a crash in it yesterday morning. He wasn’t hurt (and fortunately nobody else was either) as he reversed into a wall and destroyed his wing mirror. He’s now desperately trying to get it fixed before his Dad gets back from his holiday...
• He has one younger brother who also works for the family business.
• He isn’t on Facebook as he claims not to know how to switch a computer on.
(Damn, so no potential stalking/vetting opportunities there).
• His favourite sort of music is pop/R’n’B. Hmm...
• He’s really looking forward to seeing me again. :-)
As well as finding more out about each other, our texts have been getting much flirtier over the past couple of days.
Oh, and whilst I was bored in my crappy hotel room last night I sent him a picture of me in one of my sexy lacy bras.
I know, I know, it’s unashamedly slutty, but in the past couple of days I’ve realised that I was starting to get ahead of myself in what I hope might happen with Craig. One of my friends recently described me as a serial monogamist, and as much as I don’t like the label it’s true. I’m terrible at being single and I always look for something more.
Therefore, I’m trying my best to ignore all the thoughts I’m having about Craig potentially being a good boyfriend, and instead I’m embracing my inner Samantha Jones and remembering what I wanted to achieve from my first spell of singledom: to have fun and to get laid.
Slutty? Moi? Yeah, maybe...