I did an hour of new material in Balham last night and barely got into the meat of the show. It's great to have so much stuff after so few gigs, but there is going to be a lot of work in squeezing everything in. But the previews so far have been very encouraging and I was buzzing with ideas again on my way home.
I got on the tube to go home and romance seemed to be blossoming. On the seats opposite, a pretty girl, all dressed up in party gear with a very short white dress was smiling and chatting with a handsome, fit, young man dressed in trendy jeans, trainers and cap. The girl was laughing and her eyes were twinkling and it was immediately clear that they were strangers who had struck up a conversation and were flirting madly. The girl, it became clear, had got on the train at Tooting Bec, just one stop down the line, so the man had not wasted any time in making his intentions known. But his overtures seemed to be welcomed. I was impressed with his confidence. Over the years I have seen many strangers that I would have loved to have chatted up, but it's not something I have ever been capable of. I am too shy and too conscious of imposing myself on people. I am aware that many people do not really appreciate the attentions of someone they don't know and yet most of us would admit there is something slightly romantic about two strangers meeting on a train and fancying each other, providing the feeling is mutual. But if I was a woman (and I am not, whatever you think of my hair) then I would be very nervous about conversing with someone I had never met. Especially in London, where most strangers who strike up a conversation tend to be a bit touched in the head or religious or both.
But in the two minute journey between Tooting Bec and Balham this man, who spoke with a European accent (possibly Polish) was on the verge of getting this woman's phone number. Kudos to him, I thought. The girl, was clearly flattered by the attention, as she'd put a lot of effort into looking the best she could. She was on her way out to a club, which in itself was quite impressive, given it was 11pm on a Monday night. She too was European, from Austria as it turned out (I couldn't help but overhear as this was all happening quite openly next to me, but I am a writer and must observe and love to listen in to people's secret conversations too). It was rather charming, for the moment, to hear this seduction carried out in the second language of both participants.
"Give me your number mobile," said the man, "And I will ring you tomorrow. Maybe we go dancing and drinking next week."
The girl smiled and was clearly agreeable to the idea at least. Even though she can only have known this man for about 200 seconds. She was in a good mood and obviously on the way out to have a good time and pleased that she had already attracted attention before she'd even got to the club. Though this was perhaps inevitable given the length of her skirt.
The man had his own mobile phone out ready to take the girl's number, but she was having trouble hearing what he was saying over the roar of the train. "Come and sit here," she said, touching the seat next to her. This was incredible. The bloke was pretty good looking, but even he must have been impressed with himself with how well this was going. He sat down in the seat and immediately put his arm round the girl, holding her shoulder as he moved in closer. I thought this was a bit of a forward move a bit too soon. There was no need to touch her and I thought that it was inappropriate to do so, yet she didn't seem to mind too much for the moment, but perhaps there was a stiffness in her shoulders. Had she suddenly had second thoughts about what was going on. The man had seemed cheeky and charming and she had obviously found his freshness quite amusing, but now he was touching her. Having done so well in the first three minutes was he about to blow a sure thing?
The girl was still giggling and smiling, so maybe not. "What is your number mobile?" he asked again.
"You give me your number first," said the girl.
"No, no, I will ring you. Tell me your number mobile. I will ring you tomorrow."
Perhaps there was a bit too much insistence in the man's voice, or perhaps the woman was considering the wisdom of giving her number to someone she didn't know, but she was equally insistent that he give her his number.
After a couple of minutes of playful back and forth, with the playfulness slowly seeping out of the conversation like air from a badly tied balloon.
"I will ring you," said the girl.
"No, I should ring you," the man replied.
The girl laughed, but looked uncomfortable for the first time.
"Maybe you take numbers from all the girls you see." She was smiling, but obviously there was some seriousness beneath this. She took his hand and removed it from her shoulder. Now she'd thought about it she had realised what was almost certainly the truth, that this man was an opportunist and not someone who necessarily appreciated her as much as she had thought. Most men wouldn't even have spoken up, let alone moved so quickly. She had to protect herself a little.
"You give me your number and then I will give you mine," the woman said. The man looked petulant about this, but went along with it.
She put the number into her phone and then, opened her bag and put the phone inside.
"Now you give me your number mobile," he said.
"No!" she said, smiling sardonically. I think at this point she still intended to meet up with the guy again, but she wanted to be in control of the situation which is fair enough in the circumstances. "I will ring you," she said.
"No," came the reply, a little too forcefully, "I should ring you."
There was some debate about this, the girl's smile freezing on her face, then fading. Her attention drifting away. She pretended to look at adverts and applied make up to avoid the persistent request.
"I need your number even if you ring," he claimed, "So that I know who is ringing me."
"I am not giving you my number," she told him. And already it was pretty clear that she wasn't going to be ringing him either. He had managed to blow it as quickly as he had set it all up. To begin with he had seemed cool and flippant, now he was being too intense and demanding. It was a dazzling spectacle to see this rocketing love explode and plummet into the ground.
Perhaps he could still have saved it, if he could have returned to the playfulness of just moments before, but he was like a dog with a phone and he was so focused on getting the number that he couldn't see that he was ruining everything.
"If you ask me for my number again I am going to have to ask you to go and sit over there," said the girl, still kindly, still hoping that he wouldn't turn out to be a dick. But he wouldn't leave it. She looked around the carriage at the one or two other people. She caught my eye and gave me an exasperated look. I tried to communicate in this instant with a look that I hoped said, "Are you OK with this?" But she gave me no response, perhaps feeling that she had made a mistake engaging with one stranger and didn't want to risk involvement with another.
The atmosphere was slightly uncomfortable and I tried to work out if there was anything I could do. I was ready to step in if things got properly nasty, but felt like saying, "She doesn't want to give you her number, mate, leave it," but I was also aware that my intervention might make things worse and that he might take out his frustrations on me and my beautiful face.
His lack of awareness at his self-sabotage was quite incredible. She told him she didn't have an English mobile, still having an Austrian number. He didn't see this as an excuse to make him shut up, but just said it was OK, he didn't mind the expense.
Finally he seemed to accept defeat on this issue, but was now trying to find out where the girl was going tonight. Which if anything was worse. She wouldn't even tell him which line she was going to take to get wherever she was going (and rightly so) and now looked slightly pissed off, her whole body language having changed, her legs pointed away from him.
He continued to ask about her destination. She sighed, "Please don't do this."
Luckily he laughed at this and stopped his inquisition, but he didn't leave her alone.
At Kennington I had to change, but did so slightly reluctantly as I felt I should try and rescue this girl somehow. But I decided that my interference would only make things worse. I think she was capable of getting out of it herself, but she might just have picked up a stalker. Luckily there were still plenty of people about, so I think I was right to leave it, even though it made me feel uneasy.
Of course he was crazy, that's why he hadn't felt weird about chatting her up. She should have realised this. She probably hasn't lived in London long enough. Hopefully she met someone nicer at the club.
I just can't believe how he blew this so dazzlingly.
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