My Dublin Life

SO I invited Pierre around for a meal. He arrived all dressed up with a floppy shirt and fancy trousers and eau-de-cologne. Guess he thought he was on to a sure thing. He looked a bit crestfallen when he saw that my housemate was there, but he cheered up when he saw that there was football on the television.

Anyway, to cut a long and very boring story short, Bepe and Pierre ended up spending most of the evening watching football, drinking beer and bashing each other on the back in a cheerful way while I had to stir the sauce in the kitchen and serve it up, only to be told, "This pasta is overcooked," by Bepe and "this sauce is a leetle burned." by Pierre.

Finally I went to bed and left them to their football. When I got up this morning there was a note: "Thank you for the lovely evening. Call soon -- we'll go to my place!"

So who do you think the note was for? Beats me.

So, in the end I took the French boy to the cinema. We saw "Let the Right One in", a Swedish horror/art/coming of age flick.

I LOVED it. But (we'll call him) Pierre didn't. He said it was "pretentious" and "not as clever as it thought." We went for a drink afterwards, just around the corner from Smithfield, in a joint that advertised the "best crack in Dublin." This shocked me, briefly, until I remembered that this is usually spelled "craic".

I had a Guinness. Pierre had a red wine, which was "too cold" and "not good". I would question the wisdom of ordering wine in an Irish pub anyway. We talked in English and got on OK but...uf...I don't know. Do we have anything in common? I kept thinking, "This guy is boring," and then he would flick his hair in that Gallic way and say something Parisian and my heart would go pitter-patter. He walked me home but I didn't invite him in. BUT I did invite him round for dinner and Bepe will be cooking so it will be a date-not-a-date and perhaps I can make my mind up about him then.

Gotta go. My sister just rang and I'm summoned to the phone...