Posy Bernstein’s Dating Diary

Brexit in bed

On Thursday at about 4pm, I cancelled my date with Devon Dylan. It was chilly and I was cosied up in leggings. About two hours later, I changed my mind and de-cancelled – I figured I was cosy in leggings, but I would be even cosier in a boy’s bed.

I arranged to meet him in Clapham (oww) at nine, and decided to walk through the park to the bus stop. As I walked into the through the gates it suddenly occurred to me that I could get locked in like the other day (different story, not dating related).

The gates said that the park closed at “dusk”, I texted Ruby: “What time is dusk? Got locked in park the other day and can’t afford to be doing that today even though it would be JOKES.”

I was in the middle of the park when it began to pour with rain. It was quarter to nine, Dylan texted asking my ETA. “This rain!!” I replied, alongside a photo of me looking like a pretty-but-sad drowned rat. “Glad you look so excited to see me,” he replied.

When I turned onto the main path down towards the bus stop I saw the dreaded park van. “FUCK” I screamed – I ran towards it as the driver sped towards the gates. “Please don’t lock them,” I screeched.

“You can exit at the gym gate,” he shouted back.

“But! But … that’s not … the bus will have already stopped there.” I muttered to myself. I ran to the gym gate and practically leapt down all the steps at once – magically, there was a bus approaching just as I reached the stop.

Twenty minutes late wasn’t too bad. Glamorous. Twenty minutes late would be glamorous. I was texting Ruby while on the bus, and Dylan, obviously. He said he’d meet me at the pub and asked me what I wanted to drink. Ruby said she was jealous, and that being late for a date because of being locked in the park was “very Lana” – “if it wasn’t in Clapham”.

When I got to the pub, Dylan, ten times better-looking than I had remembered, was outside with my whiskey ginger. He leant in to kiss me on the cheek and I got half his lip.

I was tired as hell. When Dylan asked me what I’d like as a second drink I took about five years to respond. I think this gave me some sort of Damsel in Distress vibe, (he was able to save me with his big strong decision-making).

When he went to get the second round, a group of people pounced on our table, so once back, the only space for him to sit was next to me. I spent a lot of time trying to squeeze a lime into my drink, Dylan asked me when I was going away. “Um I think …” I licked my fingers free of lime juice, Dylan grabbed my face and kissed me. “Bit of a rude interruption,” I said when we parted, (a line from Taylor Swift’s 2010 release, Last Kiss). “Sorry,” he said, “you were taking too long to reply, I couldn’t help it,” and then he kissed me again.

We were chatting and kissing and I was yawning. He asked if I wanted to go home, I shook my head through a yawn.

I told him a certain famous designer lived next door. Before he sauntered off to get another drink he kissed me again, then muttered, “ridiculous PDA”.

I messaged Rose telling her that I missed her madly, and that I kept falling asleep on my date and it was reminding me of her. I was so sleepy. I reasserted this to Dylan on his return and he asked if I wanted to stay at his (“you don’t have to”).

“I will but I’m going to fall asleep straight away”. “That’s fine”. We drank and kissed for a bit longer, Dylan repeatedly insisting he was going to knock on famous designer’s door once we were outside, (“aren’t you going to do it with me?”).

The bouncers smirked at us as we left – we stood outside famous-designer’s house while Dylan pondered getting an Uber. “Look there she is!” I pointed at famous-designer’s window, and there she was, at her dressing table.

“Famous designer!” shouted Dylan.

“Shut up!” I whacked him.

“Famous designer!” he shouted.

“Fucking stop it,” I said, and dragged him down the road, sacrificing the prospect of an Uber.

I started shivering.

“Fuck, you’re like – actually cold, aren’t you,” said Dylan. “Yeah, quite”, I answered. “Have my jacket” he smirked, as he took off his very thin blue shirt. He then put his shirt over my head and held my shoulders – “are you so much warmer now?”

“I can’t see !” I laughed. The streets were empty and it felt a bit like we were in a very middle-class South London rom-com.

“But you’re so much warmer aren’t you,” he said, guiding me along the road by my shoulders, “almost too warm maybe”. He was pissing himself laughing, “I feel like we are on quite different energy levels right now,” I said. “No, no” he replied” – you’re just a bit too hot”. He lifted his shirt from my head/face/shoulders and snogged me as we waited for the green man.

We went to bed and it was quite nice. Not amazing.

Mark Darcy is a human rights lawyer …Copyright: © 2016 Universal Studios
Mark Darcy is a human rights lawyer …

As we were falling asleep I asked him if he voted for Brexit:

“I was really on the fence. So on the fence that I had splinters,” he said.

“Right so you voted Leave?” I replied.

“I voted purely based on how good I thought the campaigns were … so yeah.” He said.

“Are you a massive Tory?” I asked

“Not a massive one,” he said. I sighed. “What are you?” he asked, “a Lib Dem?”



“No, Labour.”

I fell asleep wondering if it was possible that Dylan could be some kind of small ‘c’ conservative like Mark Darcy.

I decided he couldn’t be: Mark Darcy was a human rights Lawyer – Dylan worked for a company who do PR for Facebook.

Oh well. At least his bed was cosy.

Posy xoxo