
I went expecting one of the usual questions...
A/ What are you filming?
B/ What a great job you have, how did you get in to that?
C/ Can I be on camera?
Or in this instance there could have been an extra option...
D/ Why are you such a bossy boots?
Turns out it was none of the above. Instead, no sooner had I approached them when one of them asked in a foreign accent if he could have my phone number.
Jeez, if I had a pound for every time a guy asks me that...
Actually in all seriousness, similar things have happened to me a couple of times before. And by things I mean forward foreign men.
I wasn't exactly overjoyed about it the first time, due to the fact that I was rushing to catch a train. What part of seeing a girl virtually running across a platform would make the guy in question think I had enough time to (and would want to) stop and give a stranger my phone number?
The second time occurred when I was lying alone on an almost deserted beach in Australia. A guy suddenly appeared in front of me, blocking my sunrays, and asked in broken English if I would be his girlfriend.
I kid you not. No other chit-chat. He didn't even want to try going on a date first. What I couldn't understand is why he thought I'd be suitable partner material. I was lying miles from anyone. He must have had special binoculars to check whether he'd want me for that role.
Needless to say neither of them got a positive response from me. It did make me think about the difference between nationalities though. Do we Brits have it wrong? Are we wasting far too much time by making small talk. Should we start getting straight to the point and stop dilly-dallying?
Anyway back to man in Lanzarote. I asked him what he would do with the number if I gave him it and the conversation went a bit like this...
Lanza Man: I would phone you and take you on a date.
Me: I don't live in Lanzarote though.
Lanza Man: Where do you live?
Me: Manchester.
Lanza Man: I will come there then.
Me: That's a long way to come for a date.
Lanza Man: I will come for forever...
So of course I gave him my number.
What?! What's wrong with that??? OK, I've made it pretty clear that I wasn't happy about the forwardness (or weirdness in the second instance) of the men from the other occasions, but this time was different for two reasons...
Number 1 - Back then I didn't write a blog. You may be surprised to know this but sometimes I do things nowadays just cause they might be interesting for you to read about. Similarly if I go on a bad date part of me is gutted and the other part is rubbing my hands in glee at the thought of typing up the details later on. Read Mr Trafford Centre for the perfect example.
Number 2 - Did I mention that Lanza Man was Hot, Hot, Hot with a capital H! H! H!?
Two perfectly good reasons why I ended up giving my digits to a guy despite not knowing his name, age, where he was from, whether he was single, hobbies etc, etc..
Within half an hour my phone rang with an unknown number...