INT. A SITTING ROOM, TWO CHILDREN ARE SAT ON THE SOFA LOOKING INCREDIBLY BORED AND RUEING THE DAY THEY WERE BORN. (Much like you are right about now)
I will not continue this in script format mainly because I don’t know how to. I am, however, attending a script writing course tomorrow so you have that to look forward to next week.
All you need to know is that this is a continuation of Episode 1. I have been reading a lot of autobiographies recently (see pictures – links here). They all start with the same few chapters where the comedian/author/Nobel Peace Prize winner is living in some kind of loft struggling to make ends meet. No matter how tough the journey, the reader is safe in the knowledge that it all ends well and the person does achieve something otherwise they wouldn’t have written the book in the first place.
With the confidence and stupidity possessed only by myself and Katie Price, I have decided to write my autobiography before I actually achieve anything in the desperate hope that by the time I write the ending something fabulous will have happened. I only hope it doesn’t involve Celebrity Big Brother, plastic surgery or a bright pink horse trailer but you never know.
Anyway – back to the story.
Tarquin – are you listening?!
Where was I?
Oh yes – it was Halloween 2014 and I was heading to a party dressed as a banana.
It was a hoot. Much fun was had and, whilst, lethal rum punch was on the menu, romance definitely was not.
Undeterred your mother, being the cool calm and collected person I am, soldiered on. Autumn turned into winter, turned into Christmas. I was shortlisted for Most Innovative at the UK Blog Awards, which was to be the first of many awards I would go on to win in my long career as a writer, producer, actress, ice-skating champion and all round nice person.
To think at that time I didn’t even contemplate that I would get more Oscar nominations than Meryl Streep! It just goes to show you really can’t predict the future.
New Year’s Eve passed and before I knew it was the middle of January. It was Auntie Sarah’s birthday and we all drove to her house one very chilly Friday night. Sarah was an excellent hostess as per usual and on the Saturday night we were joined by even more people for a night out in Leeds.
Tarquin, you have to remember that at this time, before I met your father, I had been single for quite a long (long long) time. In fact I have just realised that the last time I was in a relationship the IPad hadn’t even been invented!
Oh good Lord – I cant believe I just realised this.
Your Uncle Peter used to take it upon himself to try and set me up with every single man he came into contact with. This sounds delightful but not when you consider most of the time it was the taxi driver or the man in the kebab shop. I was basically pimped out for free chips.
Anyway this night I decided to set him a challenge. I asked Pete to stop setting me up with the people that work in the cloakroom (no offence) and challenged him to find me someone in the bar that he actually thought I might go on a date with. He accepted and promptly ran off. I figured that was it for the night and carried on drinking cocktails.
Fifteen minutes later I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Pete.
“Sophie This is Number 1, Number 1 this is Sophie”
Turns out when you give Pete an idea he really does run with it. He had set up my very own spontaneous Blind Date. In a bar in Leeds with three slightly terrified looking men. I’d like to say I didn’t look desperate but there was really no hiding it.
I then had 30 seconds to speak to Number 1, who seemed a nice guy, before Pete dragged him away.
Number 2 was very tall, and rather unsurprisingly, was wearing the same shocked expression that Number 1 had on.
30 seconds later I met Number 3.
Number 3 was clearly inebriated and didn’t really care that he was talking part in the world’s weirdest game show.
After spending 30 seconds chatting to each person Pete aka Cilla came back and demanded that I decide 1, 2 or 3. By this stage the audience/the rest of my friends had really got involved and were shouting out numbers like this was the TV programme. I swear I heard one of them shout “She’s gonna gamble!!!”.
In the end I plumped for Number 1. We chatted, he seemed pleased about the idea and we swapped numbers.
The rest of the night passed calmly and quietly with absolutely no hilarious behaviour from any of my friends (*cough* or not *cough*) and I didn’t think any more of it.
Then, Sunday night, as I was in my PJs at 7.30pm like the old lady I am. I was surprised to get a text from Number 1! I will continue to refer to him as Number 1 to protect his identity and not at all because I have forgotten his actual name.
I asked Number 1 what Pete had said to him to make him come over (clearly it wasn’t the fact that I am often mistaken for Heidi Klum). He replied:
” he just said we looked like we were good lads and proposed the idea and it sounded like fun.”
Could have been worse I suppose!
I told the girls at work about Pete’s romantic endeavours – I seriously believe should he ever wish to leave the adrenalin filled excitement that is corporate banking, he could carve himself a niche as a matchmaker.
Although knowing Pete he will probably wear something like this:
And that, as they say, is where it all began.
TO BE CONTINUED…
At time of going to press yours truly has exchanged 3 text messages with Number 1, the latest of which was at 9.30pm on Sunday night followed by complete radio silence.
Still it is the longest relationship I’ve had in a while.