Mr #31 - Smooth Criminal

The preamble:
Mr #31 was sadly another product of my post-Christmas date-lack panic, so once again there wasn't a tremendous amount of communication leading up to the date in question. But he seemed like a cheeky, chatty sort, and we had a few basics in common, taste in comedy included, so I said yay to a date.

The man:
Age: 37
Profession: Runs his own scaffolding firm

Random factoid: He's the first person I've ever met to own a Smart car. For some reason I'd always thought they were pretend...

The date:
I met Mr #31 outside the tube, and the first thing that struck me was that he was a textbook case for male pattern baldness, and that he'd been very careful to select only photos from his more hirsute days. 

That said, he wasn't unattractive by a long chalk, he had icy blue eyes and an excellent arrangement of gnashers. Well done him. 

We pottered off to a pub, he installed himself at the bar on a quest for wine, and twenty minutes later, yes TWENTY, he emerged with a bottle. I had had half an eye on him at the bar, and it was rather entertaining watching him get chatted up by some brassy blonde, and I'm pretty sure he slipped her his number as they were talking for a long time, and there was some mobile phone action.  

Once he'd returned with the booze, I very soon realised quite what an Essex lad he was, which made me feel incredibly posh, and I did try my best to de-plum so I didn't feel quite so self-conscious. The conversation was great. We covered the life and times of the Mighty Boosh, random inventions, the cats versus dogs debate, playing the piano, and had a lengthy argument about the Top Gun soundtrack. I even did the Marley and Me test on him, which he scraped past (he did say he would watch it if it was on, but wouldn't choose to). 

I couldn't help noticing the tattoo of a girl's name on his wrist, but didn't quite have the balls to enquire whether it was an ex, a daughter or a deceased pet. You can never tell these days. Before we knew it, we'd sunk a LOT of Sauvignon Blanc, it was time at the bar, and we had to go our separate ways. Not a bad evening. Or so I thought...

Memorable Quotes:
'Don't worry about needing to go for a wee, it happens to all of us.' Er, yes...yes it does.

Events of note:
So, all in all it was a rather pleasant night, no? Until it was time to say goodbye, when the following conversation occurred:

Mr #31: You getting the bus home then?

Me: Yes, the bus stop's just round the corner. You?

Mr #31: Actually my car's just parked round the corner

Me: Your car?

Mr #31: Yes

Me: But you're drunk

Mr #31: Yeah but I feel fine

Me: But you're over the limit

Mr #31: I'll be alright

Me: You shouldn't be driving. Why don't you hop on the tube?

Mr #31: I'll be fine, honest. I'll text you when I get in.

Er...that's not what I'm worried about! I'll tell you now, if I'd have seen his car, I would have rung up the police straight away and reported the fucker. Selfish, stupid, irresponsible bugger. With the benefit of hindsight I should have followed him, and I hate myself for that. In case you were wondering, he got in okay. Shame. I wish he'd been pulled over by the fuzz and taught a bloody lesson.

The Verdict:

Dare you need ask? Had he been a good boy and hopped on the tube home, I would have considered seeing him again. I'm sorry, but drink driving is a deal-breaker of the highest order. I'm not sure if I'll hear from him again, I suspect he's feeling pretty sheepish now and rightly so. But if he does suggest another date, I shall be gracefully declining, and telling him exactly why.