Textbook bait and switch.
External Link/Members OnlyExternal Link/Members OnlyYesterday I had one of my best-ever punts. (I’m going to report on this in due course, but the girl in question has just relocated, and at the moment the profile is down. If it doesn’t reappear in a couple of days, I'll review her anyway.)
As a result of yesterday, I thought that perhaps this was going to be my lucky weekend.
Er, no.
Still, this afternoon, feeling bored and mildly adventurous (arguably a bad combination) – and having been unable to get a reply from a girl I'd earmarked as Plan A – I decided to risk a visit to Vivastreet, for the first time in years.
(Yes, I
know.)
Sonya and Kim. Two fabulous looking blonde babes with the same telephone number. Either would do nicely.
Now I wasn’t born yesterday, so I knew that the chances of one of these blonde babes opening the door to me were pretty slim – but nonetheless (mildly adventurous as I was feeling) I thought that whoever opened the door might be an acceptable substitute.
I rang the joint mobile number and Sonya (allegedly) answered; so I booked her for 2.30.
Two or three minutes before 2.30 I park in the street specified (one of the streets off Queen’s Road in Fratton), and text Sonya.
“Five minutes, please.”
Heart sinks.
Quarter of an hour later, I text again.
“Two minutes, please.”
Heart sinks further. You now know for certain what’s going on. You’re on a conveyor belt.
And a few minutes later a burly bloke with a moustache duly comes out of the house in question.
Sigh.
Still, I’m feeling mildly adventurous, remember?
At 2.55 I’m finally given clearance to knock on the door of the modest terraced house.
Am I greeted by an acceptable substitute for one of the blonde babes?
Nope. It's a very plain and unsmiling dark girl of about 30.
“Where’s Sonya?”
“Go in there.” (She points to a downstairs room.)
“Where’s Sonya?” I repeat.
“Go in there.”
The tone of the reply and the woman’s manner and demeanour make it crystal clear that the blonde babe isn’t on the premises – and almost certainly never has been.
I shrug my shoulders and step back out into the street.
Then, by a miraculous coincidence, just five minutes later I suddenly – several hours after I'd contacted her – get a text back from the Plan A girl.
Wonderful! The day will be saved after all!
Except it wasn’t. Review to follow.
