Lovely-Browed-Brad (who only wanted to, like, hang out in bed)

Lovely-browed Brad (LBB): Are you out tonight?

Me: Just got home, are you?

LBB: Kinda, now in Clapham McDonald’s.

Me: Oh that’s like a 20 minute walk from me.

LBB: Can I come over?

Me: [after a speedy discussion of safety protocols with flatmate] I’ll put the kettle on.

Lovely-Browed Brad was sweet, like weirdly sweet. Not sickly sweet like a Love Island-type fuckboy, genuinely sweet, like a lost child.

Posy! Don’t describe someone you slept with as ‘like a lost child’.

No! I just mean, he only moved to London about three weeks ago so-

Oh, so just because he’s not some cityboy or faux roadman you think he’s comparable to a lost child?

Yes. To be honest … Or a lost lamb, or a rabbit in the headlights. Some kind of sweet and scared country-dwelling animal.

Anyway, it was fun. Brad was very good looking, quite funny, and had a soft West Country accent which he later described to my flatmate (Flo) as “an accent that sounds like home”.

“Did you just describe your own accent as ‘sounding like home’?” Flo retorted.

“Yes.” He replied, shrugging, “It sounds like my home”. (Sweet!)

Brad told me he was very close with his 14-year-old sister, and was sad that he wasn’t home to give her advice and scare off boys who treated her badly.

Brad also told me not to catch any feelings, and that he wanted to stay the night but would like us to sleep back to back, “otherwise it’s too intimate”. (Sweet!)

“Are you joking?!” I screeched in a very-unchill, uncool manner. “You can just leave! I don’t want a weird cold stranger in my bed.”

“OK, OK, OK, fine.” he laughed.

“No, whatever, I don’t care I’m just tired.” I said, and turned away.

Don’t try and make me stay!

At 5am Brad sat straight up in bed and announced he was leaving, “I just can’t sleep!”

“OK” I said, three-quarters asleep.

“Don’t try and make me stay!” He exclaimed.

“OK,” I said, half asleep.

“Seriously, I’m just going to get an Uber right now,” he said, getting dressed. He passed me his phone so I could tell him “how many minutes before it arrives”?! (I love boys).

“OK, one minute – Oh, it’s here” I think we kissed. “Bye!”

“Wait!” screamed Brad. “Where are my playing cards!?” I looked at him blankly. “I don’t have my playing cards!” He repeated. I shrugged and got back into bed, making a mental note to contemplate the innumerable bad decisions of the night in the morning.

I assume Brad found his cards somewhere but I was too scared he was a weird magician to engage in further discussion.

Hope you got home safe Brad.

Love, Posy