So, the night I was originally to have gone out with Mac, I ended up going out in East London with a very fun gay friend to drown my sorrows. We drank too much, we gossiped, we drank more, we smoked lots of cigarettes, we drank tequila shots, we slow danced in a spanish bar and ended up swaying around in the streets at 2am as happy as larry. My friend tried to hail me a cab by standing in the middle of the road and eventually a car pulled over. I remember a conversation with the driver asking if he was a real mini cab and was I safe with him and he replied ‘yes, of course’. What else would he say? We obviously thought he looked trustworthy enough because I sat in the front seat ready to have a good old conversation with him for the long journey home, which was an hour. This man was hilarious! I laughed the whole way home and I kept saying “you don't seem like a minicab driver”, which I meant as a compliment, of course. Most minicab drivers in London are foreign and don't really like to have a conversation. They tolerate the drunkards that get in their cabs and just pray they don't vomit!
Adrian (I found out his name in the first 10 seconds) finally said “well, I only drive a cab sometimes, my real job is a theatre director!” What, sorry, pardon? I was so confused and said so... I think I implied that he might be fibbing and he handed me a business card. Theatre Director, Woolwich Theatre. Blimey! I suddenly became a little more interested in Adrian and my beer goggles kicked in to overdrive. Here was a big black man, making me cry with laughter who just happened to be involved with the theatre... my passion in life! Hello Adrian! The rest of the journey was a bit of a blur but I remember talking about theatre and the plays we had seen and acting and performing and oooohhhh, it was fun. When he pulled up in front of my flat I leant over and kissed him!! I know, I'm not proud. Kissing a strange mini cab driver at 3am. Bad! Anyway, I vaguely remember him being happily surprised and compliant!
The next morning I woke up and smiled at the drunkenness with my friend and then I sat bolt upright and shouted “Noooooooooo, what have I done!” Flashbacks of cabs and a black man and then, Oh shit, the kiss. What the fuck was I thinking! Then the hangover from hell kicked in and I worried about that for the next 12 hours whilst lying, groaning on my sofa.
A few days later I was rifling through my handbag and found his business card. Oh my God. I then decided to do a bit of internet stalking and there he was, theatre director. So he hadn't made it up. Oh Christ... and a photo. Here was Adrian, a giant grinning black guy, about 40 something, eek. Should I get in touch? Was he really very funny and sexy or was I just completely trolleyed with no sense of anything? Fuck it! I texted him apologising for my drunken behaviour. He texted back that it was a pleasure and would love to have a proper date with me. Shit, what now? A few more texts, a bit more stalking, a bit more interest, a phone call with much laughter, several more phone calls, more laughter and chat. A date. A date for tomorrow night.
I will leave you on tenterhooks!