People often read this blog and think it's made up. I counter that with two arguments.
One: if I was going to make things up the blog would be a lot more exciting than it is. A lot of the stories in the blog are unremarkable, but that's because I'm just telling you what really happened.
Two: if the blog was made up, I'd make myself look far cooler.
Now I'm going to tell you a story that reinforces theory number two — a story I am embarrassed to tell, even from behind my cloak of anonymity.
And before you expect anything salacious, I should warn you that nothing spectacular happens in this tale, it just simply makes me look pathetic. And I don't really want to share it, but I told some friends the story and they thought it was funny — and everyone yearns to be funny. So...
I met Laura for a date at a stupidly late hour: 11.30pm, at her request. I'd been working late in Soho (nothing seedy) and that's when I was free. I gave her the once-over on her arrival and was slightly disappointed
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