The venue was busy for a late Sunday afternoon / early evening, and there were few unoccupied tables, but as I entered I noticed that a couple were wrapping scarves and preparing to leave — vacating two small tables side by side.
I order a drink at the bar (the bargirl tells me she will bring it to the table) then turn to see an attractive woman (of a certain age) settling behind one of the free tables I had already eyed up.
As I approach (the remaining table) the woman looks up and radiates, smiling clear eyed, in a way I recognize as other than 'normal,' transmitting a connectivity that my intuition tells me is 'different' from the usual codes of mutual indifference that so often prevent real communication between our human species.
I return a 'measured' smile (never can be too sure), and sit down beside her on the red leather bench seat at the adjoining small table.
Almost immediately she leans in close to me and starts speaking.
I have to interrupt to say: "I'm sorry, but...."
"No problem," she immediately switches to English.
She's here on a blind date (as I understand it), and for a moment she thought that I was the man she had been expecting.
(It must be said that the lighting was rather subdued, and perhaps the brim of my hat cast a shadow over my face, obscuring my features)
She quickly adds that she knew it wasn't really 'him' (me) because I arrived on a bicycle. (!)
I say (jokingly) that she could always ride home with me 'Dutch style,' sitting on the rear carrier of my bike.
Bicycles aside, I'm rather intrigued by this whole Internet dating thing.
She tells me that her children have been encouraging her to meet someone new since the death of her husband (at some unspecified time before).
"I'm sorry... " I say, but she raises a hand as if to say 'it was all a long time ago.'
The details are spared.
"Yes, you have to carry on with life," I say, "It's only natural after all, and we are only human. We all have human needs."
(NB. I know absolutely zero about Internet dating)
"Is this your first time?" I ask.
"No," she tells me —
"The last time I travelled by train, but on the train I met a nice man."
Turned out that she liked the man she met on the train more than her date that evening.
I said that the next time she met someone she liked she must ask for his name and telephone number (as if I am some kind of expert).
Soon a man walks into the bar, looking around, as if expecting to see someone he knows.
He looks about the right age.
"Is that him?" I ask.
"No," she answers.
"You've seen his picture then?"
Up to this point I had assumed she was on a blind date.
"Yes, he's rather handsome..."
Once again I blame the subdued lighting for the earlier confusion.
"His job is a mediator," she says excitedly. "I thought that would be a good thing as I am rather outspoken and get worked-up and angry about a lot of things."
"Is he late?' I ask.
"Yes," she says, looking at her watch, and then checking her phone to see if he had messaged her.
"I thought it was the man who should arrive early on these occasions, to allow the woman to arrive... at her pleasure."
'Yes, but..." She checks her phone again.
For a moment I wonder what's going to happen if her date doesn't show up. Will I become a substitute date? I only came in here for a quick beer and commune with my notebook, and she was obviously not very impressed by my choice of transport.
"Oh!" she says suddenly, looking through the window, "there he is!"
(Phew...)
She's right; he is a handsome fellow — full head of thick greying hair, and a healthy complexion. Professional type.
'You must never sell yourself down,' she had said earlier.
It goes through my mind that now would be a discrete moment to move to another table, to allow them a little privacy.
But her date has already weighed up the situation, and suggests that they move to the bar, where they sit side by side on barstools.
Later, as I prepare to leave, I notice that they are on their second glass of wine and they seem to be getting on more than well together.
I wish them the very best of what may be.
So this is where I leave this story, but once again it goes to show that — there is no good day for dying, but every day is great for living.
