The London Paper has a column: looking for love, or some such.  The idea is that if you see someone you fancy on public transport, you send it a text message, and then they print your message, allowing you to get in touch with this total stranger.

About a fortnight ago, there was a lush specimen on the bus.  We'll call him Agincourt, since he was reading 'Agincourt'.  Definitely my type.  Tall, ginger, bespectacled, evidently intelligent.  I smiled at him, and made eye contact, and smiled again as I got off the bus, and made eye contact again as the bus zoomed off.  Two days later, in The London Paper, an ad catches my eye.  It begins "Knitting on the [insert bus number]."  I bounced around the room somewhat - it could only have been meant for me.  I've only once seen someone else knitting on that bus and, crucially, it was my stop the guy mentioned.

This morning, I catapulted out of the flat late (I often catapult.  It's so much more ennervating).  Wet hair, scraggy jumper, not at my best: it was a late night last night.  I went to see The Bourne Ultimatum with a gentleman who has the same name as my Father, but who is not my Father.  We shall call him Richard, for that is his name.  He's perfectly pleasant, but a definite party animal.  There shall be, I hope, much going out, but no deep meaningful relationship as he's not that type.  Not at my best this morning.  Lacking sleep.  Knitting.

And Agincourt gets on the bus for the first time since the adverty thing appeared.  And I smile at him, and he sort of smiles back, and moves down the bus... and that's it?!  I fail to locate my business card.  My phone had randomly gone dead, so I couldn't text Jo for further advice.  All I managed to do was smile very shyly.  I did receive a smile.  But...but....but-but-but-but-but? (imagine, if you will, that I'm getting squeakier with each 'but').

Now what do I do?

Apart from rejoice that my Sockpal has received her Socks!  I don't know that they fit her - she hasn't said either way.  But they are there, and, I am very pleased about this.  Phew.

xxx

.... A chicken once beat me at tic-tac-toe."

Never take an Anthropologist who's punch drunk on theory to watch The Simpsons Movie.  Apparently, it makes them feel less unusual round the edges, and, dare I say, nearly sane.

The walk home was punctuated by his repeating this gem of a line, and dissolving into helpless giggles.  However, I think that the end is beginning to be in sight for the PhD, so that's good.  And, I'll overlook the weirdness.  'Snot as if I'm his girlfriend.  Just a friend.  He's well aware that he's behaving in a somewhat unhinged manner, so there's nothing to worry about.  Yet: if he were unaware, then there would be something seriously amiss.  As it is, I think he just doesn't care particularly, and is enjoying all the flashes of creativity, and making up seriously silly and obscene songs on the spot. 

There is also something very nice about going to the cinema with someone who really doesn't care about laughing out loud, laughing long and hard.  It was so much more fun that way.  I laughed.  Happily.

Wish I knew if my Sockpal had received her socks.  I sent them ages ago: but... she's not confirmed their arrival.  Am considering signing up to be a Sock Savior. 

~x~

That's what they write in Facebook.  When their love life is complicated.  I shall put some distracting kntting photos up.  Click on them for the titles and captions.

Mine has just gone all complicated on me.

 I'm rather closer to the Anthropologist than I should be.  This is all I wish to say on the matter.  If you want more, then you need to ask the Brownie that we ended up sitting next to in the Vietnamese restaurant on Friday.  I'm sure she kept a weather eye open.  There is no label to what's going on here. We are label adverse.

 Two of the Softball Team keep asking me out: neither are in that subset of the team that I fancy!  I went for a walk along the canal with one last night.  My defence was that he had offered to match make me.  I had not realised that he meant to matchmake me to him.  He waxed lyrical about the lights on the boat, the lights under the bridges round Camden.  I have obviously become cynical, particularly in the face of having spent most of Saturday working.  I totally failed to achieve any sense of wonder whatsover.  On his way home, he took a picture of the floating Chinese restaurant, all lit up, and apologised for not having been more Casanova like.

Firstly, bless him (for he is great company, and I am definitely fond of him), he's so short as to be more Casanunder than Casanova  (see Witches Abroad).  Secondly, Casanova is renound not only for the quality but also the quantity of his amorous adventures.  Thirdly, I don't fancy him.  And so I shall name him Casanunder.  Unless I've got the spelling wrong, and it should be Casanunda.  I did try and put him off by rattling on about Brownies and Guides.  It did not work.

The other keeps asking me out at the last minute.  He spooks me slightly anyhow.

Then I'm off to visit the ENT Specialist in Brighton next weekend (I went out on one date. He's a good kisser).  Just for a day trip.  Again, he's good company, but....

I also have a two way date with DRAMA!!!! and a friend of his on Tuesday night, because several of our circle got caught up in a car accident in Inverness, and one, from Eton, so we'll call him that (Liz, no, he's not gay) is still stuck up in hospital there with a fractured spine.  New sentence.  I shut off everyone's mailboxes and access to their shared drives on Wednesday, but made sure to back up Eton's and the Nameless Friend's first.  This was Over and Beyond the call of duty as per the job description, so I get to be taken out to dinner and we're going on to the late night Prom.  DRAMA!!!! has a girlfriend at the moment.  This does not stop his arm snaking around anyone pretty and female in the vicinity.  His girlfriend is called Blue (which sounds like the name for a well  loved and faithful dog), and is in New York.  I am yet to meet Blue.  I've seen photos.  She is tiny, and makes me look fat by comparison.  I know I am not fat.

On the plus side, I am eating solid food again, my teeth feel less bruised, and my lip has healed.

xxx