Patience Is A Virtue

After the success of the night before I was now stood nervously in a pub in Northern Ireland.

The night before had finished with a kiss by the taxi rank, while her friend looked on disapprovingly.

Earlier, after a fortifying pint of Harp, I'd rung the number that she'd scrawled on a cash machine stub the night before - hoping beyond hope that I'd read the numbers the right way.

I'd read the numbers the right way but she wasn't there. Someone was though - her mother - just what a bloke wants when he's almost crapping himself already anyway.

Mother had passed on a message and another phone number and eventually I'd reached her at her friend's house. We'd agreed a time and a place.

After the trauma of the phone calls I'd caught a cab into town with a couple of mates although they were going elsewhere.

When I'd arrived in the pub I was fifteen minutes early - better to be the first one to arrive I thought.

Forty Five minutes later and I was nervous. Maybe she wasn't coming. Second thoughts perhaps.

So I ask you - the audience - how long should a fella wait?

Answer tomorrow. (And this time it will be tomorrow).