My Weekend with a Total Stranger

Just over a week ago, I had the absolute pleasure of meeting Lisa Rumbelow(@RibbonsandTulle), a craft-doing, paper flower-making, amazing woman. I have decided to write a little story (at her command) based on one of the most side-splittingly funny weekends I have ever had.
I’ll update as and when I can because real-life and writing a novel are kicking my butt right now.

Please Note: Some events have been changed to make for more entertaining reading.          Please Also Note: I haven’t changed much!

***
Six am rolls around. I’ve been asleep for half an hour, and my son is now sitting on my head and singing ‘It’s morning, Mummy!’
After the initial groan, noticing the sun is only just rising, I realise today is the day. The day I pre-planned meeting a total stranger. I fly out of bed, flip the switch on the coffee machine, fill a plastic Winnie the Pooh bowl with Coco Pops and inhale a cup of coffee before the first billow of steam begins to rise. I finish packing for my weekend away, wondering how I’m going to make a good first impression when I’ve got panda eyes and a headache from lack of sleep and my date with Mr Merlot last night. I throw a few dresses into my bright red case, with a pair of killer heels and my packet of Party Feet (let me tell you now, they don’t work!) A toiletry bag bursting at the seams joins the crumpled pile in the case and I’m ready.
The sitter arrives, my mother who drives a hard bargain, and I leave the house, stepping out into the pouring rain and somehow juggling my suitcase, a small child, said small child’s case, his rucksack, his two bed time bears and the remote control quad bike that can’t possibly be left behind!
 
I pull my case into the train station, the oversized hood of my coat and the trajectory of the downpour stopping me from looking anywhere but at my feet, and hear the train leaving the platform. I’m already late!
 I wait in the rain, barely covered buy a plastic roof and steel beams that actually serve no purpose, for twenty three minutes. The train pulls up and I climb on, dragging my case behind me and knocking the ankles of a Saturday morning gruff in a knock-off Prada suit who makes his way through the carriage and straight into first class. I plonk onto the rock hard seat, next to a woman who can't have washed this week and hold my breath, convinced I’ll have gum stuck to my denim-painted backside when I get up.
 
I hop off the train, luckily sans gum, and straight onto the underground. After being told by the train driver to ‘please ensure there is nothing obstructing the doors’ at least ten times, they close and I grip onto the pole for dear life, praying I don’t end up sprawled on the floor of the victoria Line train.
I make it to Finsbury Park, and as usual, get lost in the tunnels that seem never ending and could definitely use more adequate signage. Eventually I find the Piccadilly Line and climb on the train in time to leave half of my case stuck in the doors. With one almighty tug I fly to the other side of the train and I’m left with burning red cheeks and at least thirty pairs of eyes on me. At least my shoes are safe.
I’m only fifteen minutes late, but my half hour journey has already been an adventure. A sign of what’s to come? I step outside Covent Garden Station, my eyes immediately finding The Sunglasses Hut; I’m a sucker for a pair of Ray Bans, but I quickly look away, down the cobbled street and pull out my phone.
‘Sitting outside the Piazza Café. Opposite Kurt Geiger and the Disney Store x’
I take a deep breath and pull my case along the cobbles, wondering what I’m getting myself into. I have no idea what Lisa looks like, beyond her Twitter avi – a pair of sparkly green eyes and pump red lips. I don’t know what I’m looking for!
I spot the Piazza Café and the hordes of people taking shelter from the rain underneath the heat lamps. And then a hand pops out from the crowd and I see a lively wave. I look behind me – I’m the person who waves to strangers when they’re waving to someone else. Today, that someone else is me, and I head in the direction of the flailing arm.
I recognise Lisa when I see her face, purely by the avi, and the minute she flashes me a cheeky grin, I know we’re going to get along just fine.
“Hello lovely!” She sings and I deposit my case on the floor and hug her.
I’m not European enough for a couple of air kisses, and I’m too common for a handshake. I’m a hugger. And so is Lisa, judging by the squeeze I get in response. I drag my case to the other side of the table, tripping over her crutch on the way and slump onto the chair, underneath an orange light pumping out some much needed heat. I resist the urge to shake off the raindrops like a dog and slip my coat off.
“So…” we say in unison, and then laugh.
The awkwardness ends there.
I can tell we’re going to hit it off the moment the conversation turns to sex and turn around to get the waiter’s attention and order my first large latte of the afternoon…