Emotional Real Estate

Sam the Estate Agent is 15 minutes late to our date, and it’s one of the only times I’ve been on time. He’s chosen one of the coolest venues so far though, so it’s a good opportunity to check it out.

By the time he arrives, he’s brought with him a cloud of stress and angst which is most unwelcome. I’m just relaxing in a dark corner of this excellent cocktail bar, when he barrels in, a larger-than-life character and person, demands a martini and then proceeds to wind me up.

The Venue

screen-shot-2016-12-19-at-10-40-48Venue68 & Boston
Location – Greek Street, Soho
Eating/Drinking – Cocktails
Atmosphere – Great, exactly the kind of dark, atmospheric corner you want to hide away on when you’re on a first date. Boston is the cocktail bar on the first floor, 68 is the wine bar below. When you go through the doors, go up the stairs on the right hand side to get to the cocktail lounge.

Sam Estate Agent
Employment –
Estate Agent – he runs a branch, as he tells me, again and again
Age – late thirties
Nationality – 
Interests –
Property, art
Source – 
Anatomy – 
Tall, built like a rugby player, ruggedly handsome face

Sam Estate Agent’s voice immediately begins to grate. He orders his martini, I get a gin and tonic. The staff are waiting at our table, and so service takes longer than he would like, and he gets angry. Even when the drink is delivered to the table, he quibbles about whether it’s a dirty or normal martini. I immediately begin to wish I was elsewhere.

It becomes apparent that this date is not going to be worth the calorie intake, and because I can hardly hide my distaste at his behaviour, I know I’ll have to pay my half, I can’t even pretend to enjoy his company when he begins to give me advice about buying property and dealing with estate agents.

He’s obviously out to impress, which makes him repulsive. He admits that he gets anxious, and that he was especially anxious about what to wear, and choosing the right venue. Even if I did fancy him, I don’t have the time to take on someone else’s emotional real estate. I congratulate him on the choice of venue, but not the choice of attire. He’s wearing a flat cap for god’s sake.

Except, as it becomes apparent that we don’t like each other, he begins to open up and tell me about what happened with his ex-girlfriend, and I tell him about my divorce. I prefer this version of Sam Estate Agent. We order a bottle of wine after the cocktails, and relax into a kind of therapy session. He tells me that because his ex was older than me, he felt that unless he wanted to commit to marrying her and having children, he was wasting her time. I can sympathise with this, but I tell him that there’s no real difference between being married and being in a long-term relationship, if you love the person. He disagrees.

He tells me that what I’ve been through with my marriage is very different from what he’s experienced with this girlfriend, in a patronising “you don’t know what you’re talking about” kind of way. I don’t let my anger show, but shortly after, ask for the bill.

He walks me to the tube. I kiss him on the cheek goodbye and hurriedly get onto a tube to take me home to safety.


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