The Brixton Charm(er)

Last Sunday afternoon I pretty much gave up on the chap I’ve been flirting with at work. I declared to I & J as we sunbathed in London Fields that I “honestly didn’t fancy him anymore” and promptly arranged a date with the Irish Producer I’d met on K’s hen do.

One week later and things couldn’t be anymore different.

Two dates. Two different men. One very confused G.

Meeting the Irish Producer was fine. He was sweet but ever so slightly dull. I found myself instigating a lot of the conversation and gesticulating wildly in a vain attempt to wake him up. I’m not sure I’ll see him again, he didn’t make me laugh.

As for work boy, let’s call him The Brixton Charmer – TBC from here on in, he’d been pretty quiet all week apart from a few lame emails and a mid-week work quiz night at which we studiously avoided each other. I’d pretty much given up all hope of anything ever happening again and was preparing to settle for dating the boring Irish Producer.

Which is why it was with great surprise that I found myself having lunch with him on Friday followed by a quick drink after work and a ridiculous text conversation that lasted well into the night and resulted in him asking me to Brixton on Saturday night. Talk about last minute. Luckily for him I only had lunch plans on Saturday.

We arranged to meet, TBC upholding his promise of taking me to dinner as an apology for doing a disappearing act the night we kissed. He met me at the tube station and accompanied by his rather snazzy single-speed bike we walked up Brixton Hill to a gorgeous little Caribbean restaurant, Negril.

We talked and talked. He made me laugh hysterically. He was interesting, charming and lovely. The chemistry was great and I felt a spark linger between us. I don't know what this means. I don't know what this is. All I know is that I'm not ready to jump into anything so I'm looking forward to getting to know him slowly.