A first date story (part one)
"Great, meet you at the Tate Modern for five thirty x" read the text message.

To be honest I wasn't sure what to expect, I wasn't even sure if it was a date or merely a means of us getting to know one another, for we were supposed to be sharing a car on a long road trip a few weeks hence. It's nice to know that you're compatible with your travelling companion beforehand, no?

She was worldly, interesting and judging from her pictures, not unattractive either. We'd exchanged messages and texts, mostly quite harmless although I did detect the slightest hint of ambiguous flirting, which served as an unambiguous icebreaker. I chose to read nothing into it.

Despite this, I was a little nervous - as I would be about any kind of first meeting - but I tried to put it out of my mind until I actually turned up to where we were meeting. The days of spending hours preening while my mind is churning over and over with "whatifshedoesntlikethesmellofmyaftershaveohmygodwhatdoidonext!" are thankfully long behind me. With maturity comes confidence and all that. I merely shaved, dressed smartly and headed for the railway station, the chilled December air calming my mind as I breathed it in.

One garishly lit train ride and a jolting clatter underneath the city on a superannuated tube train later and I found myself exiting the station and walking across the blackened Thames toward the Tate Modern. I sought some comfort in the anonymity granted by staying in the shadows as I paced across the steel bridge. There is something about first date nerves that makes me want to remain in the background and out of sight, less some well-wisher pick up on my obvious nervousness and trample on my calming solitude with a carelessly uttered "Good luck mate!". It's happened before in the past, therefore if I'm appearing sufficiently pensive for a stranger to comment then I'm courting disaster for the actual event. Call it mere superstition if you like. At any rate, my Mp3 player is serving the dual purpose of distracting my mind and turning away any enterprising well-wisher.

I send her a text saying "Just walking over the Thames, see you in a minute x" before immediately cursing my stupidity. How could I walk over the Thames? How badly punctuated was that? She must think me a fool.

Yes, my dear readers my dreaded nerves were beginning to make themselves felt.

I stood outside the gallery for a moment, pausing to contemplate my next move. I took my mobile out of my pocket and took a deep breath before dailling her number. "Hello!" I announce cheerily, "I'm here, where should I meet you?".

I was not sure what to expect. I imagined clipped, upper middle class diction spoken in soft tones, with faint cracks in the voice betraying her five year seniority of me. Perhaps she'd speak like a nineteen fifties school-ma'am, with a passing hint of Joyce Grenfell? Maybe the words would be spoken in sharp, rapid-fire delivery?

"Hello!" came the response, revealing warmth and a slightly folksy accent "Just head up the escalator and you'll see me on the second floor".

I walked towards the gallery, passing through the double doors and a smiling security guard. My eyes were scanning the upper floors through the glass to see if I could recognise her standing there. My eyes danced over people. People of all shapes and ages, some smiling, some talking animatedly some staring at the centrepiece exhibit; a large crack built into the floor, the symbolism of which should be obvious for such a blatant and voluminous piece. Was it bravely drawing to the observer's attention the growing gap between rich and poor in society? Was it trying to comment on the direction that modern life is taking and the resulting strain on our lives as we attempt to adjust? Was it merely an attempt to be ironic? Whatever, the milling crowd was comprised of people, some displaying obvious wealth, some dressed simply, some wearing outrageous hair and glasses and some like myself wearing none.

As the escalator rose to the top of the stairway my eyes fell on her. The first thing I noticed was her shock of uncorralled curls, falling about her face and all over the place. Her hair was exquisite, worthy of exhibition space of its' own, hair that knew no boundaries or limitations. She stood, talking into a mobile phone and pretending not to notice me, her rosy-cheeked face smiling as she spoke. I walked around her and waited, looking over surreptitiously noting that she was smartly dressed in an expensive looking tweed jacket, a skirt and wispy black and white neckscarf. Oh yes, she was a very striking woman indeed, I could not help but smile to myself as she looked at her phone bleeping into life notifying her of my text. With that, she turned, looked up and smiled...
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:35, 17 replies)

Awwwwww!
And again, awwwww!
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:47, closed)

^ joins the chorus
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww :o)

*smiles and clicks*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:51, closed)

Echoes
Aaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:54, closed)

*harmonises*
aaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:55, closed)

*Adds tha baritone part*
Aawwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
(Bazongaloid, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:59, closed)

Although this QotW...

Has seemed to turn a fair few folk into 'wannabe Barbara Cartland's, with you it has made your already fantastic writing talent flourish even further.

I'm certain the subject matter is responsible for this in no small way. You write better about the things you care about.

We could all (especially me) learn a lesson from your involving and descriptive, but never 'overly descriptive for the sake of it' style. I felt as if I was actually there, nosily watching over the procedings of your first date like a interested uncle.

It's even more brilliant for me as I know the two of you and had heard a few details about how you met.

I'll click this...and no doubt I'll click the next chapter too.

I look forward to it

oh, but what was that 'big crack in the floor' thing about then? I didn't get it *apologises for being a cretin*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:02, closed)

I don't get it either pooflake
we can be ignoramuseseses in the corner together.
(Bazongaloid, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:03, closed)

Crack
roadsofstone.files.wordpress.com/2007/11/following-the-crack-tate-modern-london-november-2007.jpg


Here you get romance, art and social commentary rolled into one post.

Thanks Pooflake!
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:03, closed)

my experience of the Tate Modern
art = shit
building = awesomeness
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:08, closed)

That was lovely.
Especially the bit where you said my jacket looked expensive - I bought it in the sales.


And as you now know I saw you first and pretended to be busy on my mobile just so you'd have to speak to me first.


Oh...and I don't think I have a folksy accent.

Do I?
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:21, closed)

Beautiful!
*awwwwww*

Lovely story. And a great setting for it too. I imagined that being shot like a classic romantic film.

*cleek*
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:26, closed)

^ definitely
in sepia..
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:31, closed)

Perhaps the film would feature images like these


Taken before he arrived.



And the famous crack, again taken before he arrived.


(All taken on my phone while I was fiddling with the settings which explains the rather crap 'arty' feel to them)
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:41, closed)

@tourettes
hee hee, makes me think of seepage. which makes me think of wee. which makes me laugh.

hee hee
(Bazongaloid, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:41, closed)

@ al
Wee is funny and makes me laugh.

Laughing makes me wee.

Tis a viscose circle...

*giggles*

*wees*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:53, closed)

Have I mentioned they met up to travel to my party.
I may have mentioned that and I shall mention it lots more : )
( girlinthehole, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:15, closed)

*joins in the chorus*
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw

I felt almost as nervous as you, there. I was speed reading so I'd get to the end faster!

See, if that was me, I'd have had my top on inside out, or I'd have fallen on the escalator, or something equally embarrassing.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:27, closed)