I arrived back from LA LA land to Heathrow.
It was a hot day.
I was wearing a long strippy tight blue and white dress that the manhore had brought me from bloomingdales. High sude wedges and a denam biker jacket.
He was waiting in his 4 by 4 at ‘arrivals’ in a shirt and blazer and belly that hungover his belt.
We kisses on both cheeks. We drove through Henley upon thames. Its beautiful. Quaint. Oldie worldly.
The spa was beautiful.
We sat in the gardens and drank pink champagne, and ate fish
The conversation was refreshingly honest.
We laughed about the Hollywood manhore. And he talked about his daughter and wife. Apparently they are separated but still live in the same knightbridge house. Im not convinced. He laughed at the fact that the manhore had left me $300 dollars and told me to send him a picture of the $300 cheque ripped up with ‘ don’t come to London to visit. You cant afford it’
I told him what the manhore had said on the last night that we lay n bed together
Manhore ; are you in love with me yet? ( annoying upward inflection in voice)
Me; no
Pause
Me; why…..are u in love with me?
Manhore; I’m in love with the idea of being in love with you ( annoying upward inflection in voice)
I mean what the fuck??!!! He said this in all seriousness. Not taking the piss. Not trying to be cheeky or funny. Who says that??!!
Joe Pesci has a good sense of hour. For an Albanian ; )
I got tipsy.
We went for a walk in the gardens after a few hours. He went for a snog. I managed to fob him off with a side mouth peck. I asked him what he wanted to exchange for this spa day with a room attached as had previously said he couldn’t stay if he booked a room for me. He said he wanted nothing. I knew he was lying. I was too tipsy to care. And something about him wasn’t threatening.
He told me I could go and get what ever I wanted in the spa. I was like road runner. He was left in the gardens with dust and grass in his face.
I had a facial, massage and my nails done.
He text saying he had gone for a lye down in the room he had booked for me.
I floated reluctantly up to the 3rd floor where the room was. Room 369. I shuddered at the thought of the 69 bit. With him.
I ordered more chanpage and a plate bigger than my head, of strawberries. I fely like Julia Roberts in pretty women. But without as good legs. Or smile. Or hair for that matter.
We talked again for about an hour. On love. On buisneess. On money. On sex.
He asked me what turned me on. I told him I liked guys who pick me up and really fuck me. I left out fraggles’s. I didn’t think that was appropriate for the mood.
I ordered more champange. And more strawberries……
TO BE CONTINUED …..
The single womens Diary.... 