I ended up settling on a documentary about the life of giant anteaters on an obscure channel. Not exactly my bag, but it was preferable to a snoretastic programme about cowboy builders or John Nettles solving yet another grisly murder in the sleepy village of Midsomer. I was starting to consider a spot of bean flicking to pass the time, when my phone skipped along the bedside table as it vibrated to life.
It was a message from Craig.
So did u get lost runnin again 2nite? Haha! Do u fancy meetin 4 a drink on Sat if ur not doin anythin? X
See what I mean about his grammar?
But that aside, he has just asked me out ON A DATE! Eek!
As it happens I’ve not got anything planned this weekend apart from visiting my poorly Grandma again, so I sent him the following reply:
I’m visiting my family on Sunday but other than that have no plans. I’d love to go out for a few drinks ;-) x
Then, about half a minute after sending that message my phone rings. I look at the caller display and my heart leaps into my mouth.
It is Craig.
Gulp.
I answer my phone.
“Hello,” I say cautiously.
“Hi,” says the male voice at the other end of the line. “I just thought I’d give you a quick call to see how you’re doing.”
His voice is warm, with the thick Lancastrian accent that I love.
“Oh I’m good thanks. Just a bit bored in this hotel room all on my own!” I reply.
Believe it or not, this is me flirting. Craig had already expressed his wish to ‘keep me amused’ in my lonely hotel room after I sent him a saucy photo of me just wearing a bra the other night. He’s not so brazen on the phone though.
“Oh well, you’ll be out of there soon,” he replies.
Oh well, I tried.
We make small talk for about ten minutes, and I manage to hold myself together to have a semi-normal, semi-giggly-with-nerves conversation with him. I think it took some guts on his part to call me, as so far teenage text messages have been the only method of communication. The conversation flows easily enough and he actually sounds really, really nice.
I can sense that the conversation is coming to an end, but before it does, the real reason for his call becomes apparent.
“So, this Saturday night...” Craig ventures, “are you OK to come over to Preston again? I know it’s a pain, but my parents are away and I’ve got to work on Sunday morning and check up on all the sites.”
“Oh that’s fine,” I reply. “I was coming over on Sunday anyway so I’ll just come over on Saturday instead.”
“Oh great!” Craig replies. “I really want to see you but I was worried that coming over here again would be a pain.”
Bless him, but does he not read his text messages? I’d already told him about my trip back home. One black mark for lack of attentiveness.
“Yeah, it will be good to see you too,” I reply.
I don’t have the heart to mention the fact that I have no idea what he looks like.
“So, where shall we meet then?” he asks. “It might be best if you pick,” he continues, “as I don’t really go into Preston that much.”
Ah, that old chestnut: the bloke ‘thoughtfully’ letting the woman pick the venue.
“Oh, er. I don’t know.” I say.
I haven’t lived in Preston for years, so how am I supposed to know where’s cool and where’s crap? The only places I know are all the dodgy places I used to go about ten years ago.
“Er, how about Revolution bar?” I suggest.
It’s a safe bet I think, as it is tucked away on a side street but is still busy enough without being too packed.
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Craig replies. “Shall we meet there at 8?”
“Yes, 8 o’clock is fine,” I reply. “So I’ll see you then!”
“Yep, see you then!” he replies.
“Right then.” I say.
I want to say something suggestive or flirty, but somehow I just can’t manage it.
“See you Saturday.” Craig replies. “Goodnight.”
“Yeah, goodnight.” I reply, before I end the call.
Phew.
That was surprisingly easy.
I’m pleased that Craig and I have spoken to each other before we meet up, as it has put some of my fears to rest. He sounds really down to earth on the phone. A little bit shy and nervous maybe, but in a direct contrast to his text messages he is eloquent and well spoken, and sounds very, very sexy.
I just hope that I recognise him when I see him. I’m sure that some part of my subconscious mind will remember him and be able to pick him out in a crowded bar. I hope so, as otherwise this might well be the shortest date of my life.
Oh shit. It's Valentine's weekend.
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