Today I trundled off to a wild life place where the children could stroke chicks and see wild boar and lots of other animals in dreary looking enclosures surrounded by mud.
It's soon back to The Building of Betrayal for me next week, so I am spending time with them before thay also recommence.
Anyhow, back to Mr C. As I was driving through the countryside I followed the signs for CG and I then remembered this was the place that Mr C and I had decided to meet for a pre-fuck civilised tete a tete at Ye Olde Teashoppe over 18 months ago! So, what happened...well nothing in the end and that was unfortunate really.
He was very sensitive, very deep, intelligent, articulate with a dry wit. We had been exchanging messages and had talked for several months as we had met via a particular adults only website (the place where I had met others).
I knew it had the potential to lead to something rather special and certainly sexy as our erotic fiction was charged and he was the first man since Darcy to write so well and to engage me completely...yet there was a deeper side to his nature which made him incredibly 'careful' and I suspected he had been hurt somehow in the past. (In fact, writing this makes me realise how similar he is to Fantastic Floyd Fan).

The first meeting, I could not make it. Just too risky with timing and other events. No one was more upset than I!
The erotic fiction continued and we learnt more about each other...his writing was impressive. He was reading an Iain Banks novel at the time and I always remember him saying,
'I love the sex scenes. You are never quite sure where Banksie is going with those...!'
I think he was either the boss or actual owner of a company. Something to do with architecture and engineering. (Is there such a thing?)
He had a penchant for Italian motorcycles and travel writing.
We'd still not met, but the relationship moved on; Ye Olde Teashoppe was abandoned for the comfort of a particularly pleasant hotel, (ironically the one G and I used up until his relocation).

Mr C booked the room.
Mr C sent me the details and the hotel's website.

Three days to go.
Mr C apologises.
He wanted to wait, so he said.
I replied that the ball was entirely in his court and that I would not be contacting him again. I really cannot remember too much more, but it was a shame and I do hope he is alright out there in the land of bridges.

Mysteriously though, driving through the tiny streets of CG, I never saw the teashop. I never saw any Italian motorcycles either.