French boy

So, in the end I took the French boy to the cinema. We saw "Let the Right One in", a Swedish horror/art/coming of age flick.

I LOVED it. But (we'll call him) Pierre didn't. He said it was "pretentious" and "not as clever as it thought." We went for a drink afterwards, just around the corner from Smithfield, in a joint that advertised the "best crack in Dublin." This shocked me, briefly, until I remembered that this is usually spelled "craic".

I had a Guinness. Pierre had a red wine, which was "too cold" and "not good". I would question the wisdom of ordering wine in an Irish pub anyway. We talked in English and got on OK but...uf...I don't know. Do we have anything in common? I kept thinking, "This guy is boring," and then he would flick his hair in that Gallic way and say something Parisian and my heart would go pitter-patter. He walked me home but I didn't invite him in. BUT I did invite him round for dinner and Bepe will be cooking so it will be a date-not-a-date and perhaps I can make my mind up about him then.

Gotta go. My sister just rang and I'm summoned to the phone...


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