Uh Oh

I seem to have developed a dilemma that I'm kind of forced by circumstances to write out here. See, I made the mistake of doing Friday night drinks after work. Normally, not a problem there. In fact, quite the reverse. It's always a giggle to stand around in a pub and take my time over pints while the guys entertain me with whatever comes into their heads to talk about.



It seemed to be heading that way tonight. The guys were in rare form, discussing far ranging subjects that touched on a whole load of my interests. And then it happened. The friend of one of the guys turned up and I found myself tumbling headlong into the biggest crush I've had in a long time. The timing is a little odd, given that L woke me up during the week to tell me that she'd seen the last of my enormous crushes at the tennis in Melbourne. Maybe that set the scene. But whatever the cause, I spent most of the time trying to subtly engage him in conversation - he came in when I was about a pint down after a lunch of healthy, but definitely not stomach lining soup, so I was up for the chatty approach - but at the same time hoping that none of the guys caught onto the fact that I was head over heels with the Irishman in the white t-shirt.



I was thinking for a bit there that I didn't know much about him and, in some respects, I still don't. But at the same time, it doesn't matter. I know that he likes plays, and movies, that he's from Belfast and close to his family. He's tall and good looking and has an accent that means he says things like "fill-um" when he means film. He lives not too far from me, loves a good pub, and has been to Australia some time in the not too distant past. He ventures to Camden and doesn't like the "Primrose Hill set". He doesn't know the meaning of the word insipid, but he likes the sound of it. He didn't seem to be against engaging me in conversation, but at the same time spoke to pretty much everyone there. And he had something about him that made me look as soon as he walked in the door.



So now I will spend days thinking about him, wondering if I should say something to the guy from work whose mate he is. Thinking I should have taken the detour to walk with them to the Northern line tube instead of going with the much closer and generally more practical Victoria line and the less interesting conversational stylings of the one who was going that way. And I'll spend tonight longing for someone to be close enough for me to sit down and analyse the night, to tell me that of course he likes me - regardless of their real opinion. But instead, I'm here all but alone tonight, still slightly tipsy from beer, with a flatmate locked away in her room skyping her boyfriend on the other side of the world, and another flatmate home in Australia and incommunicado for the moment, completely unaware of my revery. So I'm blogging, and hoping that somewhere, someway, I'll get to know more about him, get to talk to him again. But figuring that it's never going to happen, because that's the way my crushes run.