Tag Archives: House of Cards

The best of intentions

13 Feb

The week has flown by. Work, work, work, catching up with friends, getting lots of sleep (I seem to need ten hours a night since I was ill). And now the week is about to be punctuated by Friday. Valentine’s Day.

Well, I am spending Valentine’s Day celebrating my most enduring relationship and greatest love of all – Netflix. I will be bingeing on House of Cards Season Two. I’m not even going to feel bad about that. But wait. A twist in the plot. I will not be bingeing alone. Oh no. My new Irish friend is coming over to watch with me. And to eat pizza. There is so much that is unexpected about this situation. Not least the pizza element.

Then, on Saturday evening we’re going out to eat. 

My Mum is part Italian. Which means I am blessed with dark, dark hair and was born with the ability to cook a mean aubergine parmigiana. Irish Two is yet to sample my cooking skills, other than pizza. He called me the other night and asked if I like going to Italian restaurants or prefer to have it homecooked. I told him that I love going to Italian restaurants, “If they’re good.”

Well, Irish Two went ahead and booked the swankiest Italian in London for Saturday night. Theo Randall’s at the Intercontinental on Park Lane. 

If you don’t know London, Park Lane is, like, well posh.

And this restaurant ain’t cheap.

Which leaves me wondering, who is paying for my dinner?

On all of our early dates, Irish Two and I split the bill. As I mentioned before, I am all about paying my own way. But I’d rather take turns. There is something spectacularly unromantic about gazing at each other across the table, touching hands, and then the moment the bill lands you both whip out your Amex and start doing complicated calculations with regards to the tip. Not cool.

Last Saturday we spent a small fortune on Negronis and tapas, and when the bill arrived Irish Two asked me, “Am I supposed to pay?” 

I told him, “No, but it’s nice if you offer to.” 

In the end he insisted in paying. And we had sex afterwards, so I feel like he did OK out of the whole situation.

Well, I checked out this place we’re going this Saturday and my wallet felt a little bruised just looking at the menu. I felt sheer panic. So I emailed Irish Two and said, “Wow, this place you have booked looks really beautiful and delicious, but I’m a bit worried about how expensive it is.”

The correct response to this was, of course, “Don’t worry, it’s my treat.”

Oh no. Not from my Irish Two. He responded with a lengthy description of the episode of House of Cards he had just watched, not mentioning Saturday or the financial side of dinner at all.

Sometimes I think Irish Two just needs a bit of training. He was in a relationship for six years that ended a year ago. He doesn’t really know how to date as a grown up. I’ve already told him off for leaving the toilet seat up, not putting a kiss at the end of his emails, and never telling me that I look nice. He actually thanked me for all these advices.

He’s a curious character. But there’s something refreshing about a man who genuinely has no idea what he’s doing. Although the best of intentions.

Because, to be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing either. Although the best of intentions.