Orange Hat
After several boozy years in Birmingham, I moved back in with my parents in their country village to do my MSc (in order to bury the Desmond under a higher and more successful certificate). Reasons for choosing this location were twofold: it was cheaper to live in the country village and commute to London than to live in London, and two, my mum supplied limitless wine and brandy to "help things along". Great!

Only problem is that this country village had exactly three eligible young ladies. "Eligible" in that they weren't actually married, and "young" as in less than 40, but ladies they weren't. So I tried my hand at internet dating, with no success whatsoever.

Now coming back from my final Final, and with a glorious 5 months left to write and submit the dissertation I arrived home to find all my worldly possessions in the front garden, a removals truck outside the house and my parents gleefully saying, "sold the house, moving to Germany". To be fair, I did know this was on the cards. So a call to my mate A, in London to ask, nay beg, him for the use of his spare room in salubrious Balham.

So moved in, plus internet, I figured rather than delete the dating account I'd just change the search area. *ping* from matching up with 3 sheep and a granny who lied about her age, suddenly there were screens of beauties. None of whom I believed were genuine, so I got on with the important business of making emulsion polymers and thought no more about it.

A few days later, an email lands up. "Message received" it says. It's from a human female. We chatted on messenger. She really was human, really was female, and really was as advertised. You could've knocked me down with a feather (and other cliches).

So we arrange to meet at a pub near a tube station. How will she recognise me? Well, I have this orange Jaegermeister hat I picked up at Sound of Frankfurt the year before - can't miss that.

So I'm standing outside said tube station for ages, nervous with anticipation, my fluorescent orange hat drawing rather odd glances. Possibly if I had a banjo and could play it, I'd have earned a pint. After an hour or so, I realised this one was a no-show.

Hat comes off, springy rim twists and folds up into pocket, and I figure I deserve a pint or six for my troubles.

The pub - I forget the name - was rammed with Sarf Laandaners speaking their strange, foreign dialect and was almost standing room only. Availing myself of a pint I sit in the only available space - at the end of a bench where a rather attractive young lady is being leered over by a somewhat crusty old chap in a faded summery baseball cap.

Time passes, I tune out, the row beside me gets noisier until I politely ask the gent to "shut the fuck up". In the next heartbeat I turn pale: I'm far from my sheltered home, in a pub surrounded by strangers, with a beer head, and I've just told a lumphead to shut it. In the heartbeat after, I realise I'm a foot taller and 20kg heavier than this guy and move around ready for the inevitable. In the heartbeat after, an orange Jaegermeister hat, springy rim straining, bursts free from the pocket with a pleasing *thwock* and comes to settle on my pint.

Suddenly the girl clamps herself to my lips. Turns out this girl was the one I was waiting for. She'd mistaken faded not-orange for bright dayglo orange, dragged this guy over to the pub, then discovered she'd caught a monster.

Shame she was a nutter. Still, passed the time.
(daizi last tried to escape on, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 14:34, 2 replies)

I hope that's true
For it made me laff.
( Captain V, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 14:41, closed)

'tis true
I stayed with nutter for about 6 months. Then I left the country. Then answers to this QOTW overlap. I need a beer.
(daizi last tried to escape on, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 19:19, closed)