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Ross, 24, broker Ross from Wandsworth, South
London describes himself as 'confident, classy and
unputdownable' and said his grounds for dumping
were his girl being 'caught with best mate' or 'caught
with her own best mate and not letting me watch'
- definitely no shy guy. His expectations of the
date? 'Good fun, free food, free drink… a shag would
be nice.' Sorry Ross I know you didn't want to be
quoted on that but there's no such thing as off
the record here at lifebyte towers.
Julie, 26, freelance graphic designer Julie
lives in Central London at the mo but is originally
a Canadian mountie from Halifax, Nova Scotia. She
recently broke up from a six-month stint with a
Kiwi who 'couldn't communicate'. She was out to
'get pissed for free, have dinner - no other expectations
really'. Just to fleece lifebyte, then, eh dear?
It was a sunny Tuesday evening in early September;
early week, late summer. But the date threatened
to go smelly right at the start when we discovered
the original meeting place had a 'no suits' policy
and as Ross works in the City (la-di-da!) we knew
he'd be suited and booted. After a quick rethink,
the Embassy in Islington, north London became
the new venue and a good choice it proved to be
too – cool in a quiet way and super close
to the curry house.
Ross was dressed up dapperly but he didn't look
suit-ed to our Julie who arrived all jeans and T'ed
up, albeit in a groovy way, and I started to be
a tad worried that my Cilla skills were going rusty.
Luckily we were soon put at ease by Julie's down-to-earth
chat and the fact that she didn't seem to give a
monkey's what Ross was wearing. I soon discovered
she was a fellow Halifax girl: her from Nova Scotia
and myself from the more exotic West Yorkshire.
No wonder we hit it off straight away. Flirty Jules
didn't do badly with Ross either and soon suggested
that she come round the table and 'sit right next
to the boy' – er, don't hold back, darling.
Our Ross wasn't backward in coming forward either
and soon the two of them were gassing away like
old mates.
So when we landed at Taste of India, photo-whizz
Mel and I decided to keep a safe distance and busied
ourselves with the serious matter of filling our
faces. A happy hour passed and so did the waiter,
back and forth with more trays of drinks for our
greedy-guzzler daters who were going for it like
it was the last days of the Raj or something.
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