The Drought (The hilarious laugh-out loud comedy about dating disasters!) (17 page)

That was all
the text had said. I didn’t really question it; I didn’t need to.
Trafalgar Square seemed the perfect place to meet for a first date.
We could take a stroll through the square, take in some of the fine
art at the National Gallery, enjoy a romantic walk under Admiralty
Arch, and there were plenty of bars and cafes along Charing Cross
Road if we wanted to meander on up to Leicester Square. Hold on,
mental note to self – do not use the word
meander
if you want to get
laid.

And that was the whole point of
today. Nearly three months had passed since my penis had
experienced human contact, other than that of my good self and the
assault I received at the hands of Toni the mum. Neither experience
was worth boasting about. I knew that if I played my cards right, I
could win Carla over. I was going to take things slow and be myself
just as Kelly had told me. There was no need to rush things. I’d
waited long enough – I could last two or three dates.

Now what to
wear for a lunchtime date? I decided to give Rob a call. He worked
in fashion. Well a clothes shop anyway, or a
boutique
as he would constantly
remind us. It was one of those obscenely expensive outlets where
you were required to remortgage your house just to buy a
sweater.

“
First of all
you need to decide what sort of tone you want to set,” Rob said
when I called him. “You want to make sure you are smart, but not
too smart.”

“
Right, not
too smart,” I said as I worked my way through my
wardrobe.

“
Go for a
casual look, but not too casual. Smart casual. You want to make an
honest impression and a statement about your style and
attitude.”

“
Okay, style
and attitude,” I repeated his words as I pulled out a horrible
yellow and purple flower patterned shirt Stacey had bought for me
for my birthday last year.

“
Pick from the
classic basics unless you have a specific side of yourself to
express,” Rob continued. “Wear neutral colours if you want your
conversation to do the talking.”

What the hell does that mean? I
held up a Bart Simpson T-shirt and Bermuda shorts and even I
realised that wasn’t going to work here.

“
Footwear is
important. Girls notice things like shoes,” Rob said as I dusted
off an old pair of stained black suede Wallabies that hadn’t seen
the light of day since the 90s. “Personal grooming says more about
you than your clothes.”

“
Good point,”
I said. I hadn’t showered yet.

“
Remember –
clothes make the man, so create the man you want to be. And Danny?”
Rob trailed off. “Whatever you do, don’t wear white socks like you
normally do eh? Just promise me that one thing.”

I promised and Rob clicked off.
Brilliant, I was even more confused than when I first started
out.

I thought back
to Kelly’s advice:
just be
yourself
. Yeah, sod listening to the guys.
It was time I started listening to advice from a woman. So I pulled
on a pair of jeans, a blue and white hooped polo shirt I had bought
in New York last year, and a pair of plain white trainers with
Velcro straps. I looked in the mirror. That will have to
do.

I set off just after midday to
travel the Tube to Charing Cross. I arrived 10 minutes early. I
walked outside of the station and stepped out onto the Strand.
Crowds of pedestrians hustled and bustled as they went about their
business. London taxis and red buses zipped up and down the bus
lanes whilst the rest of the traffic crawled along at a snails’
pace. A few hippy types walked past flashing me the V sign for
peace. At least I hope it was the peace sign.

I walked back
to the station entrance. I had only been waiting a few minutes when
Carla appeared. She was wearing a pair of khaki combats, a grey
vest top, and a black hoodie top. It wasn’t quite the short skirt
look that I had been initially attracted to, but I could work with
this. Maybe she was going for the
GI
Jane
look. Yeah, that was it and I was
her
Action Man
.
How I wished I had worn my camouflaged patterned boxer shorts. I’d
have to remember that for our second date.

“
Hey,” Carla
greeted me with an air kiss on the cheek. “You look...” she paused,
searching for the words as she studied my white and blue hooped
polo shirt. “...like a sailor!”

Not quite the
response I was hoping for.
Style and
attitude
Rob had said. Apparently my
interpretation of that was
Popeye
-chic style with Village
People attitude. Good job I had left my can of spinach at
home.

“
Thanks,” I
hesitated in response, trying to search her tone as to whether that
was a compliment or not.

“
Come on,” she
said grabbing me by the hand. This was good, this was female
contact. The way she was dragging me through the crowds made it
feel more the female contact a mother would give her child when she
was in a hurry, but I was hardly in a position to
complain.

“
What’s the
rush?” I asked.

“
We’re running
late,” Carla replied without turning around to face me. Instead she
continued to weave her way through the crowds and built up
speed.

We were
late
for something.
Maybe she had a surprise planned for me. I wondered what it might
be. Perhaps she had booked a table for a nice romantic meal. Or it
could have been the theatre – we were in the West End after all. My
mind raced at the possibilities. I was excited. If I was lucky it
might be a visit to the Trocadero in Piccadilly Circus.

Or maybe,
just
maybe,
she
was one of those direct-and-to-the-point type of girls and had
booked a hotel room and we were late for check-in. You hear about
these girls who like to get straight down to business. Granted,
most of those girls normally require payment up front. No matter,
Carla was forthright and a headstrong girl. She knew exactly what
she wanted.

And she
had
said that I looked
like a sailor. Maybe she was into that sort of thing. This could be
some sort of twisted, erotic, role-play. Carla could be one of
those girls who fantasised about men in uniform. And hello,
we
were
heading
in the direction of Nelson’s Column. She didn’t see me as
Popeye
or one of the
Village People – she saw me as some sort of Admiral Horatio Nelson
type, and before long she’d be asking to see my very own version of
Nelson’s Column.

As we approached Trafalgar
Square, I could hear chanting and whistles sounding off. Perhaps
Carla had arranged a party for me. Hell, after three months of
celibacy I probably deserved a party. Wow, I really had hit the
jackpot with this girl.

“
This way,”
Carla said and pulled me through the crowds towards the noise. Over
a wall of bobbing heads and a sea of tourists I could make out a
line of police officers. Surely she hadn’t arranged a police escort
for us. Beyond the line of police officers was what looked like a
500-strong group of people, all looking like the hippies that had
passed me earlier.

“
This is it,”
Carla said excitedly and pulled me towards the crowd. I could see
many of them were holding signs and posters. “Are you ready to make
a difference, Daniel?”

My face told the story of
confusion and pure bitter disappointment. “What is going on here?
What are we doing?” I asked. What I really wanted to ask was where
is the bloody hotel?

“
The G20
summit takes place in two weeks. It is time world leaders started
to listen to us,” Carla started. “It is time to stop the wars, end
world poverty, and help the starving families all over the
world.”

“
But I wanted
to be an Admiral,” I whined under my breath, my head bowed like a
child as I drew circles with my foot.

She held both of my hands and
tilted her head as she gazed into my eyes. “This is important to
me,” Carla went on. “It is vital we build a different future, one
that fights recession by making the world a fairer and a greener
place. Do I have your support?”

I didn’t care about world
peace, or saving the ozone layer. I didn’t sign up for this. I just
wanted to get naked with this girl and give my usual 6-out-of-10
performance under the sheets. I swear it never used to be this
hard. Had the rules changed since the last time I was single? Did
women grant you sex for every good deed done? This was
confusing.

“
I guess so,”
I finally conceded. Maybe it was a test and if I passed my prize
was that we left immediately and headed around to that
hotel.

“
Brilliant!”
Carla threw her arms round me. “Put this on.” And she pulled out a
bright pink T-shirt with the words
Hug Me.
Hug the World
written across the front in
black
. “
You look
a bit too much like a supporter of capitalism in those
clothes.”

But I look
like a
sailor
!

I reluctantly pulled on the
T-shirt. Someone patted me on the back. A woman with greasy hair
wearing a brown woolly jumper and fingerless gloves gave me a
massive hug. It was then that I realised the crowd was actually
much bigger than I first thought. Spread all around Trafalgar
Square were protesters of some kind, all supporting a different
cause. Before long the crowd seemed to have grown tenfold and the
banging of drums and whistles grew increasingly louder.

What do we want? WORLD PEACE!
When do we want it? NOW!

That ought to do the trick, I
sarcastically thought to myself, rolling my eyes. I stared up at
Lord Nelson perched on top of his column and I could have sworn he
was looking down on me with a mocking grin on his face.

Carla screamed at the top of
her lungs, waving her fists and joining in with the crowd’s chants.
I kept looking for a way out, but by now I was well and truly
penned in.

Over the next hour the crowd
grew in numbers, and like a tidal wave I was swept along from
Trafalgar Square towards Piccadilly. Someone handed me a signpost
to carry. I didn’t even bother to see what it said. I didn’t care.
I’d had enough of this. We got about halfway down Haymarket and I
pulled Carla towards me. “How much longer does this go on for?” I
shouted to her over the noise.

“
You can’t put
a time on making the world a better place to live, Daniel,” she
responded before rejoining the chanting.

I pulled her towards me again.
“No, I meant do you think that perhaps we could sneak off for half
hour and grab a drink or something?”

If looks could kill I would
have been brown bread at that moment. “A drink?” Carla said in a
tone so disgusted you would have thought I’d just confessed to
duetting with Gary Glitter on his comeback song. “I was right about
you the first time. You don’t care about saving the planet or
ending poverty. You just want to get into my pants.”

And before I got the chance to
respond she shoved me as hard as she could. I went flying back,
still holding the signpost, and crashed into the wall of police
officers who were lined up along the street.

“
You’re
nicked,” I heard one copper say and before I knew it, two riot cops
pounced on me. A camera crew appeared from nowhere and a news
reporter shoved a microphone under my nose asking me something
about this being an injustice.

“
Yes! Yes!” I
shouted. “I haven’t done anything!”

“
Leave him
alone,” I heard a cry from the crowd and suddenly there was a surge
from the protesters. I found myself in the middle of a tug-of-war
between the chanting crowd and the police. I was helpless and
spread-eagled as both sides wrestled with my body, and with one
final heave a huge cheer went up from the protesters as they prised
me away from the clutches of the Old Bill.

Like a rock star crowd-surfing
at a gig, I was lifted to safety out of reach of the police. Two
stocky guys with cropped hair hoisted me on to their shoulders and
the cheers grew louder.

“
Daniel!” I
heard Carla cry out as she ran towards me. The two men lifted me
down and Carla jumped at me, wrapping her legs around my waist and
started kissing me passionately. “I was wrong about you,” she said
kissing me more. “What you did there was amazing! You really made a
stand.” She kissed me some more. “I’m so turned on.”

“
You don’t
understand...” I suddenly stopped myself, realising I was about to
put my foot in it again by admitting the truth.

“
Understand
what?” Carla said between kisses.

“
Understand...” Think Dan, think. “How much saving the planet
and the monkeys and the...” I started to run out of things to save
and just blurted out the first thing that rhymed with monkeys.
“…and the donkeys means to me.”

“
Oh, Dan,”
Carla melted and kissed me more. The police were now starting to
make their way through the crowd towards me. “Quick,” Carla said
taking me by the hand, “we need to get you out of here.”

The protesters opened up a
pathway for us, like Moses parting the Red Sea. They cheered for me
and gave me congratulatory comments before closing their ranks as I
passed to make it difficult for the police to get through.