In preparation for Monday night’s hot date, I didn’t follow Crazy Garden Lady’s train of thought and apply a home-made face pack, comprising of mud and stinky ditch water - if people are prepared to throw their rubbish in the ditch, what else are they going to do in it? I wasn’t prepared to subject my face to that. Eww.
I did find something suitable to wear fairly quickly; not too dressy - I didn’t want to go overboard - but I wanted to feel comfortable (I made a big mistake though in wearing boots - my feet were killing me by the end of the evening).
Due to the strike on the London Underground, I thought I was going to have a bit of a problem getting to our meeting place, but my journey went very smoothly – except for the unavoidable getting-a-bit-too-up-close-and-personal-for-my-liking with total strangers on the crowded overground trains. I managed to tread on a few toes though.
Heh.
Some people’s personal hygiene habits were seriously lacking in the soap and water department. Gross. Plus, due to earlier rain, there was also that smell of musty, damp clothing.
I digress.
I had a brilliant evening, and didn’t get home until the early hours of Tuesday morning.
He was charming.
He was funny.
He was handsome.
He had a few moves.
He was very smartly dressed.
All his limbs were present and correct.
There were no cheesy chat up lines.
He was a few years younger than me though.
But overall, he was hot.
He really floated my boat.
Oh, and he was Canadian.
Everyone agreed he was superb.
“Everyone?” I hear you wonder.
I wasn’t alone; there were several thousand other people there too.
My ‘hot date’ was at Wembley Arena and the man in question was Michael Bublé.
My friend Bee and I were lucky enough to get tickets a few months ago, and our seats were good ones – almost close enough to throw our knickers on stage.
Joking.
About our knickers, not our seats. (Don’t worry, when we left, we were both still wearing all the clothes we arrived in. Besides, do you really think I’d throw my knickers at the poor, unsuspecting man?
Note to self: Don’t tell them about the spare pair.)
The audience was comprised of a mixture of people - adults and children, but the overwhelming majority were *ahem* female.
I was a little worried beforehand I might have been disappointed on hearing him sing live. No matter who I’m listening to on CD, I’m always aware it’s been tweaked, but my fears were quickly dispelled - what a voice he has.
As part of the encore, he sang one of my favourites (hurrah!), Feeling Good:
He sounded even better live than listening to a CD on the stereo and the whole evening was thoroughly enjoyed by the entire audience. Apart from possessing a fantastic singing voice, he also has a wicked sense of humour, willing to make fun of himself, as well as band members.
He also came across as a genuinely nice person; the friendship and affection that existed amongst all those who were on stage was very apparent.
So that was my hot date. After reading some of the comments from my previous post, I was really touched by the good wishes expressed. Then I felt a little guilty about leading you up the garden path.
Although I write about many things, I’m not sure I’d write about a date date if I were to have one.*
As I wrote in a previous post, I enjoy all types of music; next month Youngest Daughter and I are going to see something very different from Bublé, and are very much looking forward to it.
However, I thoroughly enjoyed Monday evening and I’d probably go and see him again if I got the chance.
After I got home, I sent a text to Eldest Daughter, saying what a brilliant concert it was, as she’s going to see him next February.
She can throw her knickers at him if she wants.
*Disclaimer: I reserve the right to blog about a twat, if and when I start dating (*rolling eyes* can’t wait) at any point in the future. Not that I’d deliberately want to date a twat, but allegedly there’s plenty out there. And based on the two unwelcome twats I’ve already dealt with, others are bound to head in my direction. Oh joy.
