Never the one you want.

Life is so typical – the Vet won’t call, despite me using my not inconsiderable powers of wishing that he would (oh yeah – that doesn’t work in the Real World does it?), but at least I found the willpower to turn down an invitation from the Boy Wonder last night …. even if it was simply on the grounds that I needed sleep badly.

It’s a bit like buses ….

After months (oh well, let’s be honest, years??) of pretty much zero happening on the man / gossip front, I now seem to be in the midst of a mini-glut.

Yesterday we went for a tour of our new office, and I was surprised, and yes, a little pleased, to clock a guy clocking me. A fiull-on head-to-toe evaluation followed by a proper cheeky grin. This girl’s head was held high as she left the office.

And last night during the drunken carnage of a particularly lively fund-raising event (I’ll set the scene, there were lots of Sambuca shots with a cocktail chaser, and for some reason most of the guys on the dance-floor had lost their shirts ….), I somehow picked up was picked up by a rather tasty vet. A vet who has biceps of steel because he’s the kind of dude who rows across the Atlantic Ocean for charity. No, I’m not actually kidding. Good times ensued.

The only dilemma is that I had to shoot off home early this morning to go and meet my current landlord for a flat inspection, and since the poor lamb was absolutely spark out as I left, I didn’t get his phone number. Alternative means of making subsequent contact are currently being attempted, I can assure you. Those biceps are waaaaaaay too nice to be allowed to get away!

It’s never bloody simple is it?