Liz Jones's Diary: The second date with Cambridge Man - YOU Magazine Fashion Beauty Celebrity Health Life Relationships Horoscopes Food Interiors Travel Sign in Welcome!Log into your account Forgot your password? Password recovery Recover your password Search Sign in Welcome! Log into your account Forgot your password? Get help Password recovery Recover your password A password will be e-mailed to you. YOU Magazine Fashion Beauty Celebrity Health Life Relationships Horoscopes Food Interiors Travel Home Life Liz Jones Liz Jones’ s Diary The second date with Cambridge Man By You Magazine - June 13, 2021 And so, the Big Day dawns. It’s been five weeks since we had lunch, and I’ve forgotten what he looks like. Our second date feels like a first. I’ve just been renovated, of course, but I haven’t gone overboard: no Botox, no filler, no microbladed brows; he’s not Nigel, after all. But I’m nervous as a kitten. I’ve booked a tiny room at Soho House, in Central London, and arranged to meet him in the bar downstairs. Abbey Lossing I’m such a media cliché that all the big moments in my life have taken place in Soho House. I might as well be Meghan Markle. My first mini break with my future husband happened at Babington House, the Soho House outpost in Somerset. I’d insisted on the room in the eaves, with its own hot tub on the balcony. But of course, being a man, he didn’t appreciate the effort and wouldn’t venture out on the balcony as ‘it’s too windy’; he went to play football with the kitchen staff instead. I got married at Babington House, booked the same room for our wedding night, but he didn’t remember we’d stayed there before. I spent my honeymoon checking my phone, worried I’d get a text from NatWest saying the £20,000 cheque to pay for it all had bounced and Kirsty Young’s husband (Soho House’s founder) had issued a warrant for my arrest. I even took my husband to their outpost in New York, but instead of being impressed, he was chippy, ungrateful. Even my membership didn’t stop him sloping off to meet his mistress on the pretext of attending a yoga class. I check in at 3.30pm, figuring that’s just enough time to trowel on the make-up: primer, tinted moisturiser, foundation, concealer, powder, bronzer, blusher. I’ve brought a choice of two outfits: a simple black shift from Reiss, and my Victoria Beckham body-con. Both will go with my black Louboutin shoe boots, Prada clutch, black Myla thong. I had felt a little disloyal, packing the thong, as it was bought by my ex as a Christmas present, but needs must. I’ve packed inky Paige flares, heels and a white T-shirt to wear the next day in case he stays the night. I know he’s already thinking about sex. He texted, saying he wakes up naked in bed with me every Sunday (he means a copy of YOU magazine, containing my column. He used to read it furtively, with his ex in bed next to him). He has asked what coffee I prefer for when we actually wake up together. But even so, it all feels too soon. The worst thing is, if I do have sex on our second date, my ex will know, and abandon all hope, because of course I will write about it. I’m finally ready. I teeter downstairs early, so that I can arrange my limbs in good time. I’ve decided on the Victoria Beckham: the great thing about a new man is he hasn’t clapped eyes on your best outfit before. This will be the first proper date with a man without alcohol. Now that I have been diagnosed with Ménière’s disease – an imbalance of the inner ear – even a sip makes the room spin. I order fizzy water instead, eyeing enviously the tall, golden flutes at other tables. I can’t imagine taking my clothes off sober: the sensation will be like getting on my horse Swirly without a crash helmet, full body protector, boots and gloves: vulnerable, exposed, terrifying. At what point do I whip out my hearing aids? I don’t want him nuzzling, causing them to whistle. I keep looking up, worried I will wave at the wrong person. I keep checking my phone. My palms are moist. The thong has a mind of its own – keeps migrating. But this isn’t high school, when hockey and swimming were compulsory. I don’t need a letter from my mum. I can just say no. But an awful lot of his texts have been about kissing. How he will be able to tell if I really fancy him, or if I’m still unsure or, worse, just meeting up for a column? Oh God. My phone has just got all excited, wriggling. It’s a WhatsApp. He’s in Romilly Street, surely. He must be almost here… RELATED ARTICLESMORE FROM AUTHOR Liz Jones In which I m turfed out on to the street Liz Jones In which I m torn between two men Liz Jones In which I have a birthday date DON' T MISS Fiona Bruce Sometimes I struggle not to cry November 14, 2021 17 beautiful 2021 diaries to help you to look forward to December 4, 2020 Why women leave men for women What’ s fuelling the rise of April 28, 2019 Hollywood veteran Laura Linney on plastic surgery friendship and her stellar July 3, 2017 You can shop the khaki jumpsuit from Holly Willoughby’ s new M& S July 17, 2019 The secrets and lies behind this happy family photo April 11, 2021 It’ s cocktail hour Olly Smith’ s cocktail recipes and Eleanor Maidment s canapé November 14, 2021 BBC One has revealed its Christmas TV schedule and there’ s lots December 2, 2020 YOU Beauty Box August Reviews August 1, 2017 Rome has been named the cheapest major city to visit in August 7, 2019 Popular CategoriesFood2704Life2496Fashion2240Beauty1738Celebrity1261Interiors684 Sign up for YOUMail Thanks for subscribing Please check your email to confirm (If you don't see the email, check the spam box) Fashion Beauty Celebrity Life Food Privacy & Cookies T&C Copyright 2022 - YOU Magazine. 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