Something Didn’t Happen On The Way To Heaven

The title is a take on a Phil Collins track but as I am probably the only fan in West Yorkshire, I was mightily excited when I received a message on Match.com from Ginger Andy, South Yorkshire’s only fan!

I envisaged discussions on Phil and Chester Thompson’s Drum Duet and the time when Phil entered the MEN Arena in the dark, walking down the stairs and got to the drums just in time for the crescendo for ‘In the Air Tonight'.

Ginger Andy sent lovely long emails – a real effort was put into them. He was a bass player in a band called ‘Bad Reputation’ (cringe!) where he was the youngest member at 47 and ran an ‘environmental company’ and lived in a cottage on a private estate in Wentworth so I had high hopes for the date at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park.

Pachelbel's Canon was rather ambitiously playing on the MP3 in the car and I was advised there were two car parks and of course ended up in the wrong one.

After not being able to find an ‘ugly 6 foot ginger guy in a silver VW’ (his description, not mine!) I rang him for the first time. His voice was manly, deep and friendly and he directed me to the quieter car park and advised me he would wait at the end of the road to direct me in.

Sure enough a tall, ginger bloke was stood at the end of the road and I parked up. He came over and well, his description was rather accurate. Tall, thin, very, very ginger (why don’t ginger people have eyelashes?) with a rather angry case of rhinitis (red nose with pustules) and when he smiled, he had more wrinkles than a pug dog. Ahh, a long three hours.

To his credit he had bought me a parking ticket – how chivalrous! His conversation was good and thoughtful but he had a bizarre habit when telling the punch line of a story- he just stopped dead. I had carried on walking then turned round and had to back track to hear the end.

We got lost in the bluebell wood (better than Saddleworth Moor, see last post) but he just didn’t pass the ‘could I wake up with you’ test. He also smelled like a rubber factory having reproofed his wax jacket that morning – I would much rather have smelled ‘Joop’ floating through the air rather than industrial rubber.

Upon approaching the cafe for a cup of tea, he confessed he had always lived with his mum – AT 47! and had ‘not had hardly any girlfriends’ so the date rather lost its way. Even a fly committed suicide in our milk jug.

Back at the car park, crinkly smiles all round, I knew for the second week, I had to be the ‘dumpee’ – that makes a change!

So I thanked him for his company but thought there wouldn’t be romance on the cards and bid my goodbye and put on ‘Here I Go Again On My Own’ by Whitesnake for the journey home.