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All at sea
Part 1
Written just before midnight last night.
I email to arrange our seaside rendezvous.
"Right then Donna, about tomorrow. There's a train which gets me there at 1145, so I could be lurking in the dunes at midday if that suits?"
She replies suggesting that "as it's been very windy here lately" we scrap the beach idea and go round Preston instead.
"Oh fucking hell, don't let a bit of wind put us off!"
At that moment she texts her number through. I ring it. "Donna? Hiya, it's Looby. So you're not keen on the statues idea then?"
"I'm just thinking of you, if you're coming by train, we could meet in Preston..."
"Oh right, you mean meet in Preston then you drive to Crosby?"
"Well no, I'm just thinking it might be easier to meet in Preston, half way for you, half way for me."
"I don't want to go round Preston."
"Why not?"
"It's a shithole. It's boring."
"It won't be, with me there."
This goes on for a while. We're meeting in Preston.
What the fuck are we going to do in Preston, surely England's least romantic city? Intervene to stop a man beating up a woman before being told to piss off by the woman "'cos I love him"? See the 70s brutalist bus station before it's demolished? We could be frolicking in the dunes, sinking our toes in mud, putting the sand back into sandwiches.
I think sadly about the cheese and onion rolls I've made up for us. And I've got a cold bottle of Prosecco in the fridge which was intended to be popped open as we relaxed in the shadow of the disused chemical works, but it can stay there now.
This hasn't started well. If she makes even the faintest allusion to shopping, I'm coming home.
Part 2
Written 10am today.
She's just texted, to cancel. "Family stuff, sorry x"
"OK," I reply. "Hope you get it sorted out."
I might go there anyway and have a pint in the appropriately named Bitter Suite. Donna will now be erased from my phone book and my life.
13 comments
So if she contacts you you’re going to excuse yourself and say, “Thanks but no thanks?” Well, that did seem like a bizarre bit of jerking around. Who wouldn’t want to see those statues?! That’s just crazy. Maybe you dodged a bullet.
Next.
I have to say that’s the first time in my life, that, being from Crosby, I’ve ever heard it described as the better option!
Though Preston? You have a valid point! :-)
(Did you invent the chemical works bit though?)
It could be worse; she could have suggested Blackburn.
Oh come on. Preston has a great market, the Harris Museum is endlessly fascinating, and there’s Winckley Square, and a Heathcote’s!
Oh I miss Preston shopping. And the Harris.
UB: She’s heard my last word. Any message from her will be deleted. I put a lot of effort into this dating malarkey, in time, money, travel, rearranging things, and I can’t be arsed with women who don’t reciprocate. I was wondering whether she might show me round secret Preston, in that way that some very knowledgeable people can open a city to you, but I doubt that was her idea.
Dave: I’m afraid it’s less Crosby’s intrinsic attractions than the statues. “Chemical works” was a literary device, but I’m sure I remember something which looks like a disused steel works, right at the edge of the beach.
SB: True, but I suppose we could at least have gone ice skating there.
Rb: I don’t want to go out with a woman to buy a Danielle Steele novel and a set of spanners. The Harris Museum is great but I’ve been there dozens of times. The restaurant, yes, that might have been an idea. I just wanted to go on the dunes though!
Is there all that much difference between Corby and Preston?
From what I remember, they’re both shitholes.
Actually the only place worse is probably Hartlepool, or possibly Kelty in Fife.
Shame about Donna, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, except being slapped down by an uncaring bitch.
Isn’t life fun?
Hello Twisted, nice to see you.
Corby? Hang on, that’s a depressed ex steelworking town in Northamptonshire. I think it won some sort of award for the least desirable town in the UK to live in, at some point.
Never mind, it doesn’t matter - basically she’s saying “The prospect of meeting you isn’t important enough for me".
Oops, is Crosby that much different from Corby?
To be fair, “Family Stuff” could be anything between
“You’re a sad wanker and this is an excuse”
to
“Uncle Ronald has just blown up the Post Office and half the town because he thought they were all Aliens, and he has my Mum with a shotgun jammed up her arse as a hostage”
Find out.
You’ll feel guilty if you don’t
This may be a wasted oportunity.
It only costs a phone call.
She elucidated a bit yesterday afternoon. She had to take her mum to Anchor, whatever Anchor is. I thought it was butter but that wouldn’t make sense. Or maybe her mum lives in the artificial lake in Southport and has a tendency to drift about a bit.
Anyway, you’ve got to have serious doubts about a woman who would choose, of her own volition, to go to Preston.
It doesn’t matter, I’ve got my eye on someone else now. I’ve told her I’ll buy her a pie. I know how to make a woman feel special.
If you’re going to the Bitter Suite you’d better go on a Tuesday for the pies with peas and gravy
Shit - even North End have an away fixture so a cup of Bovil and a crappy League One fixture can’t be the highlight of the day either
A lucky escape I reckon and dunes and sea and statues any day over a grim town center especially in this cold drizzly weather. There’s something lovely about the sea when it’s coming autumn I think.
( Oh, and thanks for reminding me of the Le Spank song ! )
Nursey - I never knew you were familiar with the Bitter Suite! Great lingerie, great taste in pubs. Shame you’re on the other side of the world :)
Furtheron - now that would have been a great idea for a first date.
Isabelle - Isn’t it great? It samples a Barry White song (Ecstasy… I think) quite heavily in the chords but it’s still genius. And yes, a beach in the Autumn drizzle is great (although “drizzle” is a four season feature of life here in Lancashire). But a shopping centre is just miserable.
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