The Eight Hour First Date

Do you recognise this man?

Apparently it's Elvis. It's a Madame Tussauds waxwork. I find waxworks creepy. I don't know how the subject came up, but Andy and I discussed waxworks when we were internet flirting. He had been to the Country and Western Waxworks Museum and had sent me photographs. I had to guess who the waxworks were supposed to be. Their Elvis looked like Alan Partridge.

Andy and I had arranged our first date. We were going to Madame Tussauds. It seemed like a good idea at the time. As I stood on a packed train, trying to hold my breath for the entire journey to avoid breathing in the beer fumes of the men on their way to Highbury, I got a text.

Andy: "I'm leaning nonchalantly outside the Upper Crust". I smiled. The first of many that day. He was waiting at the station, he hadn't stood me up.

We had been chatting online and on the telephone for a little while before we arranged to meet. We knew we shared a sense of humour, but we didn't know that we would feel instantly comfortable in each other's company. After a short tube ride we were already friends.

There was an enormous queue for the freaky waxworks so we decided to grab a coffee instead. We then walked along random streets. We paused to browse in the memorabilia shop Elvisly Yours. If you believed in fate you would have taken this as a pretty huge sign that we were meant to be together. The first question Andy asked me online was 'Have you ever been to Graceland?'.

It was a beautiful Spring day. We walked around Regent's Park for most of the afternoon. We talked, non-stop. We told jokes, we discussed our families, we told each other some secrets, we discussed how ducks could hear as they appeared to have no ears. We had tea with lemon and lavender cake in the tearoom. We discussed my Eurovision Song Contest home scoring system. We photographed the crocuses. We smiled and we laughed.

As we walked around the lake Andy briefly and gently touched the small of my back. I went weak at the knees. I'd heard this expression before but had never experienced the sensation. Something was happening.

We sat in a hut and had our first kiss. It was soft and surprising. It made us grin. We walked away. My arm around Andy's waist and his around my shoulders. Did we look like lovers? We felt like we had a secret.

The temperature had cooled, we looked for a restaurant. We found a Pizza Express. We ordered the same pizza (another sign?), but different juices (maybe not). Still talking, talking, talking.

Eventually, reluctantly, we headed back to King's Cross. There was a train waiting for me. We kissed, like teenagers. I don't remember making any arrangements to call or meet again. By this point it went without saying. As my train pulled away from the station, eight hours after I arrived in London, I was beaming.



Photo credit

This post was written for the Sleep is for the Weak Writing Workshop. This week I chose prompt no.5 Recount the story of a meeting or a parting.

The Eight Hour First Date