Select a region
Smart, successful, sophisticated and so far, single, Fenella Bond is living the life of a professional 21st century woman in Jersey. In this edition of her column, Fenella gives a slightly alcohol-tinged look into the world of covid-friendly dating...
"Dear Diary,
After a brush with getting a bitter taste of my own medicine, and almost becoming the f***boy I’ve spent way too many tear-tainted rosés on, it’s officially happening... I’m going on a DATE!
Like, a date date! Like outside of my house! IRL! PhoneBae is about to become regular bae (admittedly not as catchy) but who cares?! I get to see him in the flesh at a safe distance. Kind of like being at the zoo... good looking guys with even a slight sense of humour are an endangered enough species nowadays.
To refresh your memory, I was *this* close to dumping his perfect hiney because he happened to come out of the same hoo-hah as one of my least favourite people on the planet. I know it’s not 'cool' or 'mature' to have an arch-nemesis these days, but I think I can pull it off.
Pictured: "Dancing around my room getting a little merry on my pre-game prosecco, my phone lit up. It was him."
Yes, PhoneBae is Victoria Pinkerton-White’s brother. But if I think about that for too long I start to sweat out of my head, so instead I’m going to turn Lizzo up to eleven and start getting ready. In my haste, I managed to burn the back of my ear with the hair curlers, but no blister was going to ruin my night.
Dancing around my room getting a little merry on my pre-game prosecco, my phone lit up. It was him.
SWOON.
'Can’t wait to finally see you tonight.'
Oh boy, I didn’t think they made them like this anymore. I noticed the time and started throwing outfits around the room. It’s a bit soon (and way too hot) for my leatherette dress, I’d probably slip off one of those fussy bar stools like a bodybuilder in a waterslide (ew). I also vetoed my fave jumpsuit – a tried and tested crowd-pleaser – but he’d have to put a bit more effort in if he wants to see that neckline.
I went with some crisp, white, high-waisted suit trousers and a spangly top. It’s the perfect look to exude what I like to call ‘sexecutive’. Sexy, but competent, you know? Ugh, I love my life. We were going to an al fresco cocktail bar where we could make eyes at each other from a metre away, and I could already feel the butterflies in my stomach.
Pictured: "We were going to an al fresco cocktail bar where we could make eyes at each other from a metre away, and I could already feel the butterflies in my stomach."
Making sure I was fashionably late (keeping it cool), I strode onto the terrace and caught his eye. He was already sat at the table and he was looking even more handsome in the real. I tried to take a mental picture so that I could vividly describe the scene to our grandkids.
He smiled at me and started to stand up. I thought he was going to continue standing up, you know, as if he wasn’t done fully extending his beautiful frame, but he just kind of stopped a little shy of five foot seven.
I subtly flitted my eyes down as if I were being coy just to check if the terrace was on some kind of incline, but no such luck. As I drew nearer, it became apparent I was a good head-and-a-half taller than him. My first thought was that everyone else at the bar was going to think this was some weird stepmum-stepson bonding drink. Not a good look.
Pictured: "I subtly flitted my eyes down as if I were being coy just to check if the terrace was on some kind of incline, but no such luck."
Oh balls. Why do terrible things always happen to tall people?
He’d seen me so my options were very limited. I could either: put on an accent and pretend I didn’t know who he was or swallow my GIRAFFE-LIKE pride and go through with the date. He was already greeting me, so I had to think fast.
Perhaps as a symptom of the dizzying vertigo I experience at my EXTREME HEIGHT of five-ten, I blurted out a way-too chummy 'Oh, didn’t see you there!' Before snort-laughing at my own awful and immediate short joke.
‘What in fresh hell is wrong with me?’ I thought to myself as I mourned the hours I’d wasted on my spring wedding mood board.
He looked a bit taken aback, naturally, but maybe he just put it down as being a consequence of the socially starved year we’ve all been having, because he graciously chuckled and asked me what I wanted to drink.
I ordered a double of the first thing I saw on the menu which happened to be Irish whiskey – more of a ‘Mad Men’ vibe than I was going for, but I rolled with it.
He seemed surprised and a little aroused by my order. I don’t blame him. Such a giant woman ordering such an aggressive drink must be a lot for such a short man to take in.
Pictured: "I ordered a double of the first thing I saw on the menu which happened to be Irish whiskey – more of a ‘Mad Men’ vibe than I was going for, but I rolled with it."
‘Gah, stop it, Fenella. Be nice,’ snapped my mind, giving itself a good telling off.
Naturally it was a little awkward at first, but conversation started flowing (aided by the Don Draper drink I was casually sipping) and we started talking about the pros and cons of online dating.
He charmingly offered: 'Well, I must say, you’re even more beautiful in real life.'
Instead of gently giggling into my MASSIVE TUMBLER OF WHISKEY and retaining some of my feminine wiles, I half-shouted: “Yeah and you’re short!”
He just sort of looked at me, blinking.
'Ah, yes I wondered if you’d noticed. But to be fair, you’ve caught me on a bad day. My tall man’s legs are being repaired so I had to use these. Normally I’m a strapping six foot.'
This actually made me laugh, and I tried to remember the last time a man had actually made me belly laugh on a date. Oh god, the bar is so low.
I don’t know if it’s the whiskey talking, but for my next order I’d like a tall glass of that short ass... yep, I’m definitely drunk.
Tipsy, tall, but always yours,
Fenella xxx"
A physically distanced romance
