... a few things have become clear.
Firstly, Steve is clearly no longer barred from that particular pub. 
Secondly, he is incapable of making me happy, mainly because he can't be arsed to try. 
And finally, although it is very flattering to be texted endlessly by a ninteen year old boy, it is not necessarily my cup of tea 
So we went off to the pub Steve hates, but we didn't stay long as one of the girls is theoretically barred from there because she handed in her notice when they wanted her to work extra hours. It was tipping down with rain, so we went on to the next pub (a 'danger zone'), but I wasn't too worried as it was early, and Steve never gets his act together to go out until after 8pm. It was here that I got chatting to yet another 19 year old (what is it with these boys and me?), and I have to admit he was very cute, skinny but muscly, and desperately easily impressed by my chatty banter. They were heading off to the nearest city, so after one drink we went on to the 'barred' pub, for the rest of the evening.
While we were there Steve appeared and came over. He was tipsy, but not drunk, and was acting really friendly. My friends seemed to think that I wanted to be alone with him (I didn't) so there then started a weird cat-and-mouse game where they'd walk off and leave us, then I'd follow them, then Steve would follow me, then they'd walk off again etc etc. My friends are very dim.
He was trying to persuade me to go to a restaurant and talk 'about us'. I wasn't even hungry (I've got a chest infection). In the end my friends said I should go, get it all sorted out and so on, and by this time I'd had two more drinks so I thought they were probably right.
We went to this lovely Italian place, but even as we got there things were going wrong. He started being really negative about everything - the wait for the table (it was HIS choice of restaurant), the food, the things I said, it was just horrible. Then he refused to leave a tip, so I ostentatiously vastly over-tipped.
I came home and felt really awful. Then the door went, and it was him. He threw himself throught the door as I opened it, and pushed me onto the floor. I don't know what he was going to do, because I hit him with my shoe again - this time it was a Victorian-style platform, so not pointy like the boots, but heavy. I quite literally beat him out the door and told him to never come here again, to never text, to never even speak to me if he saw me in the street.
Because it never can work and I see that now. I'm not even happy when I'm with him, because the only times he is him is when he's sober, and he is never going to stay sober.
I went off to bed, and far from staying awake worrying as I have done in the past, I fell asleep really quickly and didn't wake til 10.30 this morning. When I came downstairs (again, unusually I hadn't taken my phone to bed with me 'in case he needed me'), I found the cute 19 year old had texted last night then this morning. Before I had my bath we were texting back and forth for a while, but I get the feeling he fancies some sort of Mrs Robinson sex fling which I'm not really up for. But I don't mind going out on a date with him, so we'll see what happens.
I'm not really bothered. I'm kind of weirdly calm. Could do with seeing Sue to talk about it, but it's the weekend and she'll be busy with her partner.
I'm feeling a bit tarot-card 4 of swords anyway - needing a time of withdrawal and retreat - off to lie on a tomb!!
