West London Girl

WLG follows mum’s advice

May
13

‘I think you should consider going out with a 20-something,’ was her verdict...

‘I want the gossip on your love life,’ the Gentleman was referring to the last couple of blogs.
‘I’m in the interview process,’ I replied.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘It’s like buying a house. You need to look around a selection before making your choice.’

My eight-year-old nephew also wanted to know if I had a new boyfriend before asking after the ex whom I’d split up with nearly two years ago. ‘Why didn’t you marry him?’
‘We just weren’t compatible,’ I explained.
‘But he was a millionaire.’
‘Who told you?’
He fidgeted; ‘he did.’
‘He certainly didn’t’.
‘Anyway you could have just divorced him afterwards so you could be a millionaire.’ My nephew thinks I’m now living in abject poverty since moving into my Notting Hill studio (he presumed I’d moved into a music studio when I attempted to prepare him for my new living arrangements). He genuinely misses the Trustafarian, though. When a guy joined us at our table in the garden of The Eagle in Shepherd’s Bush, my nephew eyed him suspiciously, ‘Why are you talking to her when you don’t even know her?’

Even my anti-marriage, hippy mum is starting to ask me about my (lack of) love life. She wanted to know about the Surgeon, who I haven’t seen since the first date due to his long working hours and a work trip abroad. ‘My recent experience of 30-somethings is that they are focussing on their careers,’ I said.
‘You can’t knock a guy because he works hard,’ she replied.
‘I’m not. It’s just difficult when the time between each date is so long that you feel like you have to start at the beginning all over again [without the butterflies]’.
‘I think you should consider going out with a 20-something,’ was her verdict.

After dropping my nephew at his mum’s, a hot 20-something sat opposite me on the train journey home. We were both unsure where to look: we could still see each other in the reflection of the window; on the other side of us an unattractive couple pawed each other and snogged noisily. Looking at his reflection, the 20-something ruffled his hair before pulling up the sleeves on his muscular arms. We glanced at each other and smiled. ‘You obviously play rugby,’ I said.
‘How do you know?’
I pointed to my left ear. He looked disheartened. ‘Well you clearly work out, but the ear gives away your choice of sport.’ He smiled again. For once I’m trying to follow my mum’s advice…