Well, here I am: sitting in a bus stop, looking out across the North Sea and digesting a tasty chip butty (late of Crusoe’s take-away counter). For twelve weeks now, I’ve been going out with a beautiful young lady called Ros – this is still my major news and I can’t believe I’ve not written about it yet (I guess I’m out of practice writing an actual journal). Well, anyway, this entry is dedicated to, and largely about, my lovely Ros.
We’d known each other for a while, at first through church and then through post-church pub-sitting: I made the first real contact and invited her to join a bunch of us for a drink and thought no more of it really – the more the merrier as far as I’m concerned – she was good, boisterous company and livened things up considerably on a Sunday night.
At one point, she and I convinced another of my mates to go out with her and she was kind of wrecked when that ended badly…
I had people around for tea and general hanging-out-ness when she rang, knowing what was coming, I took the call, “Tim, he’s just broken up with me.” I checked with my guests and invited her round. One of them drove to pick her up and the three of us took care of her for the night. Over the next few months we developed a fairly close friendship – helped, at least in part, by her coming for lunch at the flat, twice a week (on my days off)whilst she was on placement around the corner. Well, that and a shared interest in general socialness in pubs with whomever else we could persuade to join us.
About five or six months ago, I got a bit down and needed very much to be around people as much as possible. This coincided with an extended period of free time for Ros and consequently we spent an awful lot of time together – what I now look back on as pre-dating, despite me initially thinking of Ros as just a cool person to hang around with (even going so far as to say so, having become worried that she might be reading more into my need to hang out than there actually was).
This kind of changed the night before a friend’s wedding when after an evening of DVDs, wine and pizza she sat on my lap and tried to kiss me. Being a Tim of very little brain, I resisted her valiant attempt by staring straight ahead of me and not moving my head until the album we were listening to (Trash by Alice Cooper) needed changing. I had hoped to talk to Ros about it in the next couple of days but by the time we got to hang out again the moment had long passed.
Then, on Friday night, three weeks later, the same thing happened again. This time, instead of sitting there like a lemon, I actually spoke – I hadn’t been expecting anything like it, and whilst it would be very lovely to kiss her, I wanted to know that it was a good idea (and, incidentally, make sure of my motives). Because I was going away for the weekend, we agreed to meet up on Monday evening. I don’t think I’ve ever done the trip back from Leeds to Newcastle as quickly as I did then, and given how this entry started, you already know how things went when I got back.