The Day was a Disaster

So I got this email newsletter informing that one of my favourite restaurants is running a speed dating event on the V day. Speed dating on V day?? That IS the saddest thing I have ever heard. It will be full of SAAAAD people, it will be so sad, so much so I cannot miss it. So I signed up.

I have done speed dating before. I have met some nice people there, too. But I personally found internet dating more fun as I get more choice. With speed dating I only get to see about a dozen people, plus if you are female and attending such events, then you have to accept that "desperation" is written across your forehead, and even if you are not so (desperate) guys there will think you are.

But anyway, so I went there on the day in my little black number with red high heels which I have never worn because I cannot walk in those for more than 500 yards, but in this case I could as I was parking 300 yards from the venue.

Event wasn't literally filled with desperate lot, since most men were friends of organisers, and most women were kind of people who would say, without a hesitation, "Nobody here catches my eye." (Honey, if you don't drop that attitude that every guy is beneath you, especially when you are approaching 45, you will never even get laid.)

I had OK time talking to some people, and I was ready to leave. One guy volunteered to walk me to my car, I accepted this, and we walked for 3 minutes, and I realized that my car was gone.

My car was really gone, with my walkable shoes, work stuff, and all that. I called police, and as soon as I said the location they suggested that my car probably was towed. I called the council, who then confirmed that my car indeed was towed, and gave me the number for the towing company, who was located 10 min walk away.

The guy was so nice he volunteered to walk all that way with me, so we set off, then I fell 3 times in my ridiculous shoes, ended with a bloody knee, and finally made my way to the pound.

I then complained to the towing people that it was wrongly towed as there was no sign of prohibited zoning, but the towing folks dismissed me and told to appeal with the council, but not with them. They then charged me whipping £260 for all sorts of penalties and fees, and I got my car back.

So this, supposedly sad event, turn out to be seriously sad for myself, and expensive night out, too. Well, it is funny, though, I can still say. So sad, so much so I can laugh. And I am thankful to the man who went through this with me, without this man I would have ended up crying in misery and hate Kensington and Chelsea council for rest of my life. (I now hate them only for next year or two.)

The venue had an impressive collection of plates with Dada influence.