The day I went to France and it was closed

In the opening post of this blog, I promised stories relating to dating disasters and experiences.  The one I’ll share with you now made me laugh at the time.  Ok, it’s not side-splittingly funny and many of you will probably find it downright obvious, but the issue just didn’t occur to either me or my date when it happened.

This particular lady I had seen on the dating sites and liked both her picture and the way she wrote, which was articulate and funny (when I told her that she looked lovely, she corrected me and said that “stunning” was the correct description, obviously).  A big turn on is that, well, for me, anyway.  Obviously there has to be a little physical attraction too otherwise it’s a complete non-starter.  I used to frequently get messages from people whose profile I used to look at and think “Is that really the best picture you’ve got?  Really?”  Anyhow, I digress.

After a few funny and occasionally flirty emails, I established that she was a smoker, which was a no-no as far as I’m concerned.  But the emails and messages continued as we both made each other laugh, and we decided that maybe we should just have a date as it was sure to be a fun evening. 

So, we actually arranged for me to go to her flat and between us, we’d cook a Thai meal.  I would do the starter; she would do the main course.  She was 4 years older than me and had arranged a chaperone to also be in attendance who turned out to be a 30 year old single female from the same block.  Now don’t get too far ahead here… it didn’t turn out to be one of THOSE type of nights… but she did dismiss her chaperone after dessert and I seem to recall that she pulled a muscle in her neck as she moved in for some serious lip action.  It also transpired that she had apparently been pleasantly surprised when I turned up as she’d been looking at my profile on the dating site and thinking “Is that really the best picture you’ve got?  Really?” I’m apparently not that photogenic.  It’s funny how we see ourselves so differently from how others see us and after all, beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder.

Anyway, she actually gave up smoking (Result! – Snogging an ash tray was never my thing) and we saw each other several times on and off for a few weeks.  She kept referring to me as her “toy-boy” (funny the first time but gets a bit tiresome with every introduction) and really had not much in common with my circle of friends, all who seem to be younger than me but nowhere near the declaration she made when she met some of them at a pub quiz night (“Look at your friends! They’re all about 12!”).  But the main trouble was that she’d never been married or had kids herself and therefore probably didn’t fully appreciate the demands on your time when you have three of them.  As any parent will know, a child isn’t just for Christmas and when you don’t live at home with them you tend to want to make the most of the little time you do get.  She also was incredibly impulsive… she asked me if I’d like to go to see her friends in Majorca as they had a spare apartment we could stay in and no sooner had I said “Yes, that’d be nice” it was booked!  No checking whether I was available or anything like that!  Bang.  Two flights from Stansted. Be there or else.  The relationship didn’t last until departure date so that was a wasted exercise.

But onto the point of the story; she also had two free tickets for Eurotunnel. This trip did need a little co-ordination and we agreed to go on a Sunday (some of you may already see the flaw in the plan) as around that time neither of us were able to take any time off during the week and Saturdays were really busy.  Her flat was kind of on the way so it was arranged that I’d go to hers, stay over and then we’d go to Folkestone from there on Sunday morning. 

We had to take her car for some reason that escapes me, but it was a Fiesta and therefore the opportunity to really stock up on the booze was a non-starter.  No matter, it would be a nice day out and we figured on some shopping, a nice lunch in a fancy restaurant, maybe some people watching as we supped coffee at a pavement café whilst basking in the sun (it was summer and in the mid-20’s) before heading home at about 9 o’clock.

The trip across was fun, laughing loads as we listened to Kevin “Bloody” Wilson CD’s and then recounted the best sketches from The Catherine Tate Show (Boy, I know how to live).  When we arrived in France, I thought it seemed unusually quiet and we drove off round the surprisingly deserted streets and villages, heading for the Hypermarkets which, as many of you have probably guessed by now, were shut.  In England, we are so indoctrinated with 24 hour shopping, 24 hour TV and practically 24 hour drinking and eating so it just didn’t occur that just 24 miles across a bit of water, a Sunday would be so different.

We did find a steak house chain that was open, so we stopped for something to eat and then desperately tried to find any sort of establishment selling cheap beer, wine or cheese (no ciggies – she’d given up) before joining a queue of English cars all doing the same and coming across a “Sainsbury’s Wine Outlet” that sold… wait for it… wine.  No beer or cheese.  Just wine.

At least I had a chance to top up on the vino.  As for the pavement café, forget it, nothing was open AT ALL and to make things worse the sky clouded over and it started to rain.  Knowing when beaten, we headed to the Eurotunnel terminal to make our way home again and I seem to remember being back by 4 o’clock, which was not bad considering we’d only left at 10. 

We didn’t see each other too much after that (nothing to do with the trip) although we kept in touch by email for a bit.  She eventually found happiness and I understand is now engaged to someone who has some grown up, self-sufficient children, so I’m pleased that it all worked out well for her.  By her own admission, she really didn’t like kids (I actually witnessed her having a panic attack in a supermarket when a young child started screaming in an adjacent aisle) and so she probably learnt not to date someone who still has major parental responsibilities.

I learnt not to book day trips to the continent on a Sunday.

Something for the weekend, sir?

All of us lads have been there I guess. Late teens, on a promise, straight into the chemist with the intention of purchasing a packet of 3, only to bottle it when confronted by the assistant who reminds you of either your Mother or your girlfriend. God, the amount of throat pastilles I got through as a teenager was unbelievable...

Anyway, something almost equally embarrassing happened to me several years ago, but it’s certainly worthy of a blog entry to give you a laugh.  I know it's a departure from the promise of dating experiences etc. since my marriage broke down,  but in my mind it's funny enough to include here, so here goes.

It was back when I was married and the ex-wife was about 6 months pregnant, which dates the story at early 1999.  Are you sitting comfortably?  Then I'll begin.

Everyone snores, don't they? Well, most do, and some louder than others. I was lucky enough to have escaped the flu bug doing the rounds at that time, but I did get quite congested, and had trouble breathing at night. Consequently the result, especially after a couple of relaxing beers, was a cross between an underground train and a Howitzer Artillery gun (or so I'm told, because as everyone knows, you can’t hear yourself snore. At all.) This woke my wife, bless her, who tolerated it for a few minutes before lashing out with fists, feet or anything handy in an attempt to shut me up. This (eventually) woke me up (I slept so deeply it was like being under a General Anaesthetic) and the end result was that neither of us got much sleep, so we were shattered the following day. The cumulative effect was devastating and after a week or so usually ended with me sleeping on the couch so that she could get some sleep ready for the whole process to start again.

As a caring hubby and a "new man" and all that, I decided to pay a visit to my local chemist on the way home from work. The intention was to see if they had any of these anti-snoring herbal type remedies; they've got to work for someone, surely.  In my ex-wife's best interests, I would also get her a pair of ear plugs, just to see if they blocked out the racket enough so that she could sleep through it.

All the assistants were busy, so I started scouring the shelves. There were no herbal remedies for anything on view; perhaps they were behind the counter. Never mind, look for the earplugs. Toothpaste, mouthwash, nappies, plasters, they must be here somewhere...

"Can I help you, sir?"

I looked around, and there was the assistant who reminded you of your Mum. I was just about to explain the situation when just behind her, waiting for a prescription, I saw a very good client of my firm. Oh my God, how embarrassing!  I now had to publicly admit in front of one of my wealthiest and best clients that my snoring is so loud that it wakes my wife and drives me to purchase earplugs and herbal snoring remedies. What would this client think? (With hindsight, probably nothing, but that thought didn't even enter my head at the time.)

"Er... yes... earplugs please."

The assistant acknowledged the request, raised one finger skywards, adopted this "you-won't-find-them-out-there" posture and headed off behind the counter. I smiled sweetly and meanwhile made polite conversation with my client, who asked was I well, were we busy, how was my wife coping with her pregnancy? Fine on all three counts, thanks...

"Are they for you, sir?"

"No, they're for my wife"

"What for, may I ask?"

Horror number two. The one who would have reminded you of your girlfriend appeared out of a room at the back. Except that she was actually my wife's best friend's daughter. She smiled and acknowledged my presence and looked at me in that "Have-you-come-in-for-anything-juicy?" type way. I now had the complete and undivided attention of both assistants and the other customer, all looking at me as if to say, "Well?"

"Er... flying. Yes, that's it, she has trouble with her ears when flying."

Got round that pretty well, I thought. All seemed satisfied and the motherly one showed me the range of earplugs, some wax, some foam, and some on special offer. I was just about to get the special offer ones when she said "Or there's these..." and then produced this box from the back of a drawer with what I'll swear had Masonry Rawlplugs in it. I wouldn't put them in my garage wall, let alone anyone's ear.

"These are specially formulated for air travel. These will do the job nicely. They're called Ear-planes."

These Ear-planes looked downright brutal… more like Ear-PAINS. I just wanted something to help keep the noise out, as I was fairly certain that our bedroom wasn't pressurised and my wife wouldn't be coming in for any rapid descents (Well, she was pregnant, come on…) and they were 3 times as expensive!

"Can I see the special offer ones again, please."

"But sir, these are formulated particularly for air travel, and if your wife has trouble when flying, then surely it makes sense to use the product specifically designed to relieve the problem, does it not?"

The motherly one had hooked me in with the "Don't-be-a-cheapskate-your-wife-is-worth-it" ploy. Top call. I had no option but to go for the Ear-planes now. OK, I know when I'm beaten.

However, it wasn't over. My wife's friend's daughter, knowing our family situation extremely well, went for the jugular.

"I didn’t know you were planning a trip.  Where are you flying to?"

Well, I couldn't have dug a bigger hole with a JCB than the one I was just about to finish off right now.

"Errr... I... don't... know..."

It was one of those bizarre Simpson-esque moments. All three characters - the client, the motherly one and the best friend's daughter - stood stock still for a couple of seconds looking at each other alternately out the corners of their eyes. God knows what was going through their minds. The motherly one then laughed and said,

"All I can say is that most people start with the travel brochures."

Ha-ha-ha. Say nothing, just let it ride, smile politely, take your change and go. Just go. Say nothing. Brain to mouth, are you receiving me? Over? Over?

"Well, you know how it is. I was just passing and thought I'd pick up the earplugs.... "

I could hear my voice trail off into nothing. What an absolutely pathetic comment. Can you imagine any sort of conversation between husband and wife like this:

"Where shall we go on holiday, darling?"

"I don't know, but I'll get some brochures on the way home."

"Good idea - don't forget the earplugs."

At the very best, they were going to think I had lost the plot. The client probably thought I had been working too hard and obviously needed whatever holiday was being planned. In a worst case scenario, they were probably trying to mentally find some really kinky use for earplugs, and my wife's friend's daughter probably thought I was having an affair and jetting off to sunnier climes with my secretary.

Maybe I should have taken that holiday...