I was introduced to date number 50 in a pub called Flithy McNasty’s on St. Patricks Day. It was late in the evening and I had had a few drinks. I told her
friend that I thought she was hot. We chatted; she had a soft Australian accent, brown hair, green eyes. Shortly after being told her name I forgot it, and realised that I was making a very poor attempt at trying to impress her. The words I was desparately trying to say just wouldn’t come out. I remember thinking, ‘I am getting nowhere here’! Then waving her away, back to her friends. I left the pub shortly afterwards.
Early the next morning, I joined the same group of friends on the train to Cheltenham races. To my surprise and delight, Sophie was coming along for the day also. I quickly made a joke about forgetting her name, and apologised for my sudden departure the night before.
Cheltenham was great, the sun was shining and the racing was class. Sophie and I kept running off and placing bets. She hadn’t done it much, even though she is from Melbourne. After lots of drinks, and lots of laughts, we sat beside each other on the train on the way back. She told me how she met our mutual friend, Kate while traveling in Argentina. It was Kate who Sophie was visiting for a week here in London. She told me stories of her current studies in Salamanca. I also spent a year studying in Europe, and had a rough idea of the kind of disorganised-fun year she was having.
The next morning we went to Broadway market and played board games over coffee. I liked her carefree attitude, and found her good company. She has been travelling a lot, and is at ease meeting new people. It was another stunning day, so we took a walk by the canal and took some photos. I had told her about 52 burrito dates, and she was keen to take part. She asked could she be date number 50 though. That afternoon we watched the 6 nations in Convent Garden. Sophie didn’t really get rugby, but she was happy to sit through the match. Again, she was fun to hang out with for the day.
The actual Burrito Date lacked the spark of our previous meetings. We agreed to meet again on the Tuesday for our burrito date. A friend of mine, Damien, was taking part in a play, A Cure for a Cuckold, in the Cochrane Theatre. It was a classical English play about obsession, love and betrayal of friendship. Damien was great and easier to understand than the others as his part required a strong Irish accent. I collected the burritos in Chilango on Fleet St., and we ate them in upstairs in the Cochrane café. We didn’t have to pretend we were on a first date, but we did anyway. Sophie was going back to Spain the next day, and was exhausted from her adventures week in England that saw her in Wales, Oxford, Cheltenham and Greenwich. I was fairly shattered as well.
The play dragged on a bit, and at the end it felt like Sophie and I we’re were doing the same. It fizzled out. Not sure why. She chatted online, about probably not writing about it on the blog. However, although our actual burrito date was not the best; I’ll still remember her as one of the best dates. And for that reason I had to oblige to her original request, and make her number 50.