Here we go, In-di-go-ho

I think Colin had waited up for me specially Tuesday night, and was up off the sofa with dancing eyes as soon as I walked through the door. No boys were present so I assumed they were all safely despatched to the realm of dreams. Colin waited impatiently for me to remove my coat and pop the kettle on for a late night hot chocolate (as I am still managing to remain deaf to the call of the whiskey bottle) before beginning to pump my arm for information.

So I told him it began brightly and I was really enjoying the first hour or so, although certains aspects of it did not quite ring true and seemed gratuitously simplified and a little cliched, whilst whole areas of inexplicability were simply glossed over. The last forty minutes or so saw the real decline, with everything taking a rather convenient and almost hackneyed path, including one element so blunderingly predictible it was almost an insult. The conclusion seemed inevitable and not really worth the effort that had gone before, and it was relief, not sadness, that greeted the end.

Colin looked both crestfallen and confused, then asked me what the hell was I going on about. I told him I thought he was asking for thoughts over Slumdog Millionaire. My brother then gave me a dark look and told me to stop toying with him.

So I told him about the date, firstly chastising me for leading me to believe that Sarah had anything to do with the speed-dating experience. Colin just frowned and said Wasn't she? So explained to him that Sarah was someone I'd met through work a couple of months ago. Again, Colin just dismissed this and said it didn't really matter how you knew her, did it? I guess not, I admitted, except that I spent an inordinate amount of time wondering whether she may have been one too many cocktail sausages short of a buffet; time wasted that would not have been wasted if I knew I'd met Sarah on more reasonable terms than an eight-minute flash-date. Colin gave me an impatient look and told me to spill the beans.

So I said, it went very well, there were no awkward gaps in the conversation, nothing seemed forced, Sarah laughed appropriately at my jokes, and she didn't climb out of the window and fashion her escape when she nipped to the loo. Plus - when we spoke about it breifly - she too thought that Slumdog Millionaire was a little disappointing, and certainly not Oscar-worthy.

Then Colin asked how the night ended, getting out a small cardboard box and affixing the waggling version of his eyebrows to his brow. I told him Sarah said she felt tired, we parted and she drove off. So Colin said, so you blew it then? I leapt on to the defensive and said of course I didn't blow it. Colin countered Yes, but there was no trouser action, was there? I replied that this was not my intention, and I didn't blow it as I'm taking her going for dinner tomorrow night. At this news, Colin's face adopted an instant warming light and he gave me a slight round of applause. He said this could be the start of something beautiful - to which I responded that that was hardly likely as Sarah lives in Southampton. Colin shook his, started to reply, got as far as Well I-, and then thought better of it. Instead he asked, what she's like?

I began with the Catherine Tate resemblance, but this meant nothing to Colin who of course has spent the last few years of his life living in Germany, where I think The Catherine Tate Show or "Arzt Wer" may not have permeated their cultural consciousness. So I described her as best I could. This all seemed to meet with Colin's approval (not that I needed such) except for the parts about her having a daughter (Colin: uh, baggage) and being a vegetarian.

I'd had enough of the German inquisition (but I was expecting it) so with half a mug of hot chocolate I ascended up to bed to contemplate one of the nicest evenings I've experienced for far too long. Sadly.

Today has been dreadful, for many reasons, mostly the unexpected trepidation I suffered from all day until half twelve arrived - the arbitary time I decided I would ring Sarah and attempt to make arrangements for tonight. I'm pretty sure I chastised myself a record number of times for being ridiculous. It didn't help that I had a pay review with the unarguably unlovely Peter Hardyman scheduled at half eleven, so I spent the morning not looking forwards to two things. However, the pay review was thankfully brief as Peter seemed in a hurry - my payrise is a largely useless 1.49%, although I have also been awarded a £750 bonus. Peter made sure I understood my bonus had been awarded by Alan, and not by him.

The hands on the office clock, which I checked three times during the day hadn't been glued to the face of the dial, finally swung around to half twelve and I punched in Sarah's number. Almost the worse case scenario happened and I heard that slightly sexy-sounding answerphone lady telling me Sarah's phone was switched off, although I was welcome to leave a message. This I did, saying hello, who I was and what I was calling about. Then it was back to the thumb-twiddling and the being-distracted.

I've everything organised and planned. I'm aiming to take Sarah to a vegetarian restaurant I know - okay, the *only* vegetarian restaurant I know, one we took Andrew to on his fouteenth birthday, which left an extremely favourable impression on me. It's called Indigo. Of course tonight is Gabe's kick-boxing, but I'm going to get Colin to take him. Dinner (for me) will be at half seven. Everyone else can make their own arrangements.

No dates for years, now two in three days. And with the same person. Bizarre.

Now, if only Sarah'll ring back, I'm sure I'd feel a whole lot better.