Episode 9 Mile High Bruce.

This Started Well. Which Was Suspicious

Bruce.
44.
Pilot.

Now...

there are certain words that immediately lower your guard.

Pilot is one of them.

There is something about a man casually mentioning he is a pilot that does make you pause.
In a good way.

It suggests competence.
Stability.
A certain level of control.

Which in hindsight...

was wildly optimistic.

Bruce was not your standard commercial pilot.

No.

Bruce had two jobs.

The first involved flying large quantities of baby eels to South Africa.

Which, is a delicacy.

I was aware this was a thing.
I work in food.

So at the time, I actually thought it was... quite cool.

The second involved flying in circles over golf courses while an American cameraman filmed tournaments from the back of the plane.
A man he actively disliked.

For hours.
In circles.

At the time...
it didn't raise any immediate concerns.

So Far... So Good

He was tall.
Slim.
Very handsome.
Slightly tanned in a way that suggested either travel... or lifestyle.

Calm.
Relaxed.

The kind of man who makes everything feel easy very quickly.

Which , in hindsight...
should always be approached with caution.

We started with drinks.
A couple in the bar we had arranged to meet in.

Easy conversation.
Relaxed.

The kind of start that makes you think:
Oh.. this is nice.

We then decided to go for dinner.

Which felt natural.
Effortless.

Thai food.
A cocktail.

Still easy.
Still talking.

I had a good feeling about this one.

We talked for hours.
Properly talked.
About work.
life.
Food.

The kind of conversation where you forget to check your phone.

And I remember thinking...
this feels easy.

Which as it turns out... was optimistic.

Let's Add More Alcohol (Because Why Not)

As things started to wind down, Bruce said:
"Let's find a cosy pub."

And at that point I thought:

Ok. Sure.
I'm driving... so I won't be drinking any more.

But also...
so are you.

And you have already had more than is probably...
legal.

And I did briefly wonder:

Is it my place to point that out to a grown man on a first date?

A man who had just told me he plans to drive back to Bristol.

And the answer I came to was:
Apparently not.

Because clearly...this was going well

So of course....

we found another pub.

The Decision

At some point after the cosy pub...
we decided to get a hotel room.

Now...

I am aware this was... a decision.

But also... hear me out.
A pilot.
A hotel room.
After a genuinely good night.

It felt like a solid idea at the time.

And then... on the way to the hotel...
following his car...

I had a very clear thought:

You could take this next turn right.
He would have no idea where you had gone.
You do not have to do this.

And it wasn't random.

Because somewhere underneath all of the easy conversation and the momentum of the evening...
something felt slightly off.

Not enough to stop.
But enough to notice.

The pace.
The drinking.
The fact this had gone from "nice drinks" to "hotel room" at quite an impressive speed.

You could just go home.
No drama.
No explanation.

Just... quietly remove yourself from the situation.
Like a sensible person.

Which, historically... is not my strongest skill.

And then immediately after that:

Or...

Let's just see what happens.

Which, in hindsight...
was a bold strategy.

Not a good one.
But... I did fully commit to it.

This Is Where It Gets Weird

Somewhere between the pace of the evening and my clearly questionable decision making...
we ended up in a hotel.

Now...

Up until this point... everything had felt good.
Easy.
Natural.
Promising, even.

Which made what happened next...
Slightly alarming.

Because the moment he kissed me..
I knew.

Oh.
No.
Not again.

I am starting to think I have a type.

And that type is:
men who cannot kiss.

Which, statistically...
feels unlikely.
And yet...

I am 5 foot 3.
He was... at least 6 foot 3. Possibly 6 foot 4.

And at some point during the kiss...
he placed both hands on either side of my head.

Not gently.
Not romantically.

Firmly.

Like he was securing a bowling ball.

And I remember thinking...
what is this??

Because it was so distracting...
I couldn't focus on anything else.

Which, for a kiss...
is not ideal.

This was....
not what I had in mind..

His hands ....
were enormous.

Because I wasn't just being kissed.
something else was happening.

This felt less like a kiss...
and more like something I should have signed for.

This Should Have Been The Good Bit

Now...

This is the part, in theory...
everything should have worked.

A hotel room.
A tall, very attractive, slightly tanned pilot.

And, I will say...
From a technical standpoint... things looked very promising.

So on paper...
this had all the ingredients for a very good ending.

And to be fair...
some of it was.

But there was also something slightly...
off.

Because by this point, the drinking had caught up with him.
And everything felt a bit...
chaotic.

Not in a fun way.
In a slightly uncoordinated, not entirely present kind of way.

This isn't quite what I expected.

Or, more accurately... this isn't quite who I thought I was with.

And Then He Disappeared (While Still There)

And then, very quickly afterwards...
he was gone.

Not emotionally.
Physically.

Completely unconscious.

Now...

There is a very specific moment when you realise the man you have just been... quite involved with...
is no longer participating in the evening
at all.

Right.
What do I do now?

Because this isn''t something you really plan for, is it?
There's no guide.
No handbook.

"Unconscious pilot... next steps."

Step one:
confirm pilot is still alive.

Do I wake him up?
No.
Tried that.
Nothing.

Do I just...lie here?
Next to him?
While he sleeps?

Do I ...
adjust the duvet slightly...
as if that somehow improves the situation.?

It did not.

At one point I did consider checking if he was still breathing.
But that also felt like a big escalation for a first date.

And the strangest part was...
this had all felt quite promising about an hour earlier.

And now I was lying next to a completely unconscious pilot...
quietly reassessing my life choices.

To be fair...
you could argue that was down to exertion.

And I did briefly consider giving him that.

But no.

This was alcohol.

Well...
this has taken quite a turn.

So... I Left

Because what started as:
easy
fun
promising

had very quickly become:
chaotic
slightly concerning
and deeply unromantic.

The Exit Strategy

Now, you might be wondering why I didn't just stay the night.

Which would have been the normal thing to do.

But I had already told him...
I wasn't staying.

My son was at home.
Waiting for me to get back safely.

So this was always the plan.

Which meant...
at some point...
I was going to have to leave.

The only slight complication being...
I couldn't wake him up.

At all.

So in the end...
this wasn't really a dramatic exit.

It was more a quiet departure...

from a room containing:
one fully awake woman...
and one completely unconscious pilot.

At that point...
staying felt unnecessary.

And Then... Ghosted

The next morning...
I messaged him.

Polite
Normal.
Civilised.

Delivered.
Seen.

Nothing.

Which, I'll be honest, did make me pause.

Because this hadn't been a quick drink.

This had been:
drinks
dinner
another pub
sex
and a full unconscious episode.

And yet somehow...
we still landed on ghosting.

Not because I wanted to see him again...
but because... it's just basic respect.

And I did briefly wonder if perhaps...
leaving immediately afterwards might not have screamed
"call me"

But even so...
it felt like quite an impressive disappearing act.

For a man whose entire job revolves around navigation...
he had absolutely no idea how to follow up.

And I'll be honest....
it still amazes me how someone can go from:

full evening
full conversation
full hotel experience

to...
complete silence.

It takes less than a minute to send a message.

Not a heart to heart
Not a dramatic conversation.

Just...
basic adult communication.

Because at that point you do start to wonder...
are you actually an adult?

How hard is it to send a 30 second text?

Apparently... harder than flying round in circles for hours.

Final Thoughts From The Swamp

And that...

was Mile High Bruce.

Strong take off.
No flight plan.

And then...
complete disappearance from radar.

Which, looking back..
explains quite a lot.

Occasionally I do wonder what he's doing now.

I like to think...
he's still somewhere...
flying in circles...
with an American cameraman he doesn't like.