Roulette and wine

Well, what can I say? There I was saying that I wanted to be single and I enjoyed seeing different guys. Nothing special. I just wanted to have fun.

I should explain. Last night I had an amazing night with a guy who's a friend of a friend. I was a bit dubious about the whole thing at the start, but really glad I did it. No, I didn't have explosive sex, but I did go on a very lovely date. It's probably the best first date that I've ever been on.

This guy is my age, and is a heating engineer. He dresses well and enjoys fashion. He even owns some Westwood. No Primark for him. We met about a month ago when I was out drinking with a friend and he was in the same bar. I didn't really think much of it at the time, even though he had told my friend that he liked me. Saying that we did end up kissing. Just some harmless flirting and some clean conversations via twitter.

Apart from a few things such as liking a football team that are scum, some music taste and that he owns a onesie, he comes across as quite sweet. My friend keeps telling me that he's a good guy, so we arrange a date.

We decide on the Mailbox and say that we'll meet at the front at 8. So, what should I wear? I opt for a pretty dress and heels. I'm on time getting ready. Bravo me. DRAMA! I cant find my handbag that would look really cute with the dress. After spending 10 minutes searching for it, I opt for another one. I'm still on time. Phew!

I'm about to get a lift into King's Heath where I'll jump, not literally, on a bus. However, as soon as I walk out of the house I notice that my brand new tights have make up on them. I rush back into the house and change them. Crisis averted.

I make it onto the bus where I cross my legs. I look down and see a ladder in my tights. Why do bad things happen to good people? There's no way that I could possibly go on a date with a ladder in my tights. What's the time? It's 7.57 as I get off the bus. I'm really not going to make it to the Mailbox for 8, especially as I decide to run to New Look and purchase some new tights. They're locking the door as I approach, but show mercy on me and let me in. £2.99 and a trip to the toilets on the theird floor of the Bullring later, I send him a message saying that I'm running late. Thankfully he is too, and I meet him at New Street station.

We walk to the Mailbox, and we're having the normal first date chat. We discuss our mutual friend, and how he's jealous of my holidays that I get through work. Our table for Strada is booked for 9, so we go to a bar and get a drink. I get a large glass of white wine that he refuses to let me pay for. So far I like!

We head to Strada and I'm already feeling a little tipsy. I must compose myself. I knew I shouldn't have ordered the wine. The waitress comes over and asks what I would like to drink. Wine please. There I go again.

Along with my mushroom risotto, I also enjoyed talking to him. It wasn't like the other dates I've been on. We had so many of the 'and me too' moments in our discussions that I was thinking at the time that I quite like this guy. He paid for the meal. Actually, I did it for him; he needed the bathroom and gave me his pin number. Very trusting of him, especially as he said how an ex got a lot of money from him.

We head to another place in and two white wines later we discuss gambling. I have a little problem when it comes to roulette. The problem is that I'm awful with the game and I've lost quite a bit of money from it, yet I find myself loving it. He enjoys roulette too and is off to Vegas next week, so in my completely drunken state I say that we should go to a casino. Part of this is because I love casinos, and also because it was one of those dates where you just don't want it to end and time doesn't exist in casinos, just flashing lights and racing hearts.

Yet again he buys me another wine, and I get out £50 to bet. I was up for a while and then I was down. However, he was up and left the table when he was up. Clever guy.

We're both out and leave the casino at 5am. We get a black cab and we just couldn't keep our hands off each other. I've kissed a lot of guys since my young days in Ramshackles, and I have to say (there's a gun to my head) that he's a bloody good kisser. I'm finding myself writing this just smiling and thinking about when I can kiss those lips again.

I wake up this morning with a smile on my face and a sore head. My sore head disappeared throughout the day, but the smile has remained.