He may have been English but he was painted like a Greek god with his beautiful stubbles. I look through his profile and I see we have mutual friends. Mostly people from my old Fencing team. He stood tall in his tweed jacket, pinkie ring and shot gun at hand. He really couldn’t really ooze any more British if he tried to. I was not sure if I would be his type or vice versa. I stop and consider my type and I start to realise I no longer know what the hell I am doing. Curious, I swipe right and to my surprise he seems to like me. No idea why! One thing is for certain, I am absolutely not going to be the first to speak.
He starts off with a good compliment: ‘evening, I like your bio’. I liked the fact that he started with evening rather than hi. I don’t know why, I just did. The compliment was sufficient enough to grab my attention and flatter me, but he wasn’t throwing himself at me. It wasn’t ‘you look amazing’. That’s far too much. He also used ‘liked’ and he didn’t say ‘love’. Love would be pushing it. Strong start for England.
He was extremely witty and that shined brightly. After Mr Newcastle, if the sun was wit then I would have been suffering with a severe case of Rickets and osteomalacia (caused by sunlight/ Vitamin D deficiency). I couldn’t get enough of England. He was healing the crooked bones in my heart with his shine. He was a perfect balance. He complimented me during each conversation but he also took the shit I gave him, doubled it and threw the digs back in my face. He was a true a la mode (see his Eel shoes below) and noticed my Boy Bag. He used this bit of knowledge to customise me a personal dig. He called me his favourite ‘used up Micheal Kors’ bag. The prick! He was calling me popular mid-range culture at best. It’s probably the worst insult I have ever got in my life and he knew it. I liked him though. He was bloody outrageous and he could keep up with me. It was unusual trait for a Mr England and I was pleasantly surprised. I bet he was too, as without training he had just found himself competing at the Olympic 100 meters.
We talked for weeks before I decide to put him in the A-list. He was now in the section ‘frequently contacted’ on Whatsapp along with the other top 3. As a A-lister he now had access to prime times and he held my attention even more firmly more than before. At any one time, the A-list is populated by my magic top 3. He propelled as an A-lister and it was as if he belonged there forever. However, I couldn’t help but to think that running at that level without proper training could give him an injury sooner or later. Like any race, you have to build up to it. I tried to remain realistic, but sometimes I got dragged into his optimism and started think he may even win the race.