Welcome to year two of our weekly series of ‘link-up’ Posts which reflect on life’s journey, old memories and family stories (see below for more info).
I’m talking first EVER dates. Where were you? Who was he/she (if it’s not too shameful to name them)? How old were you both? Tell all in this week’s nostalgia link-up.
As far as first dates go for me, it was 1982 and I’m very happy to name and shame. Mark. Scally. No, seriously, that was (and presumably is) his name. Also, as bad luck would have it, his nature. A proper bloody Scally to be perfectly frank.
He lived in a little turn of the century terraced house near to my school, and was the nearest a 15 year old boy can be to a child-stalker. He must have thought he’d hit the jackpot when puberty arrived and he realised that he was within spitting distance of one of the poshest all-girl educational facilities in Birmingham. He had one slight handicap, however, in that he was a ‘Mod.’ You know the type – striped blazer and no socks. Straight out of Quadrophenia but without any of the charm.
You may be asking why the hell I went on a date with him. I was very young, very shy and very grateful. I had been something of an ugly duckling up to my teens, so boy attention was quite a new phenomenon for me. We met for our first date in the local pub (I never had a problem with ID, being so tall), and I was immediately thrown when he asked me what I’d like to drink. Crappety crap, I hadn’t prepared for that! All I could think of was Pernod and Black (which I had no idea would taste so freaking disgusting) so that’s what I got.
What followed was an awkward hour or two of chatter and undrinkable beverages, during which time it still failed to occur to me that he may have been well practiced in this routine. He had, it turned out, turned prowling the school bus stop for grammar school girls who might be grateful for the attention into an Olympic event. I should have known he wasn’t for me when I interrupted him having his hair dyed blonde with ‘Nice n Easy’ by his mum at the kitchen sink….
On one later occasion (since I wasted almost two years of my short life and a lot of bus fare on this utter loser), I can remember sitting on the sofa together next to the window at the front of his house, listening to The Jam. From this vantage point, one could see passers-by clearly as they strolled up and down his busy street. He excused himself for a moment. I waited, assuming he had gone to the loo. I looked up to see him running down the street outside, chasing after another (less attractive if I do say so myself) girl from my school, who he was clearly asking out in front of my very eyes! To add insult to injury, she was in the year BELOW me (you will understand the intensity of my bruising).
I finally met a real man (21, with a CAR!) and we parted ways. Not sure who was the biggest loser – Scally for being, well, a scally; or me for putting up with it. I have no idea where he is, but I do hope he reads this.
Tell me about your first date. I hope to flip it was better than mine. Spill the beans in a blog post and add your posts on the Linky below, or just leave a comment. It truly makes all the difference.
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A selection of other posts from this series:-
Week 2 – Old School Portrait
Week 4 – Bestest Friends
Week 5 – Teenage Crushes
Week 6 – First Movie Memories
Week 19 – Becoming a Parent
Week 25 – Old Boyfriends
Week 39 – My home town