The Teetotal Geek - The Nail in the Coffin

Last night was the finale of my My Single Friend career – a date with a very nice bloke, who for the purposes of this blog will be known as The Teetotal Geek. His plan for our date was for us to meet in Soho, grab a quick supper then head onto a comedy show that he had booked for us at the Soho Theatre. To the set the scene, The Teetotal Geek was slim, with dark hair and in the height stakes, scraping a generous 5”7 - not the 5”9 that had been advertised. But, whatever, everyone lies in their profile.

                    We met outside the theatre, which led to an awkward “where do we go now?” chat, as we both side-stepped making any form of restaurant decisions in a super-polite way. Lesson for the future, is to always meet in a bar or pub to save this excruciating awkwardness in your first five minutes of meeting.

                      Our desperation to quickly find somewhere, anywhere, to plonk ourselves down and actually get talking to each other, is the only explanation I have for the fact that we ended up in probably the worst, most over-priced Italian restaurant in Soho. If I could remember its name to publically shame, I would. But, instead, I was too busy concentrating on trying to keep conversation flowing with the very sweet, but the rather timid Teetotal Geek sitting across from me.

                     It was about now, as I gleefully grabbed the wine list and began selecting potential wines to ease us through the evening that he dropped in that he didn’t drink. Fair enough, but this date sober was clearly something I wasn’t going to be able to stomach, as I valiantly battled to keep conversation flowing.

                    There’s no way to gloss up this experience. The truth is that this date was at best mediocre, at worst just plain bad, for the following reasons:

1      - Our supper table was on bustling Dean Street. This meant the waif-like Teetotal Geek’s chair kept getting knocked into by the exuberant crowd and sending him flying down the road – cue much embarrassment on his part.

2      - There was so much public participation in our meal, that at one point he got in the middle of an argument between teenage gangs and got heftily spat on by one of the youths. Nice.

3      - A friend I know from school walked past and started chatting to us. As she looked to me to introduce her to my date, I couldn’t provide the introduction as I had completely forgotten his name. Naughty Miss Fi!

4      - During the comedy show, the comedian dropped the “C-Bomb” approximately every 5 minutes, leaving the Teetotal Geek squirming uncomfortably in his seat and giving me side long glances in panic that my feminine sensitivities had been insulted. No chance, he was the only offended one. Oh, so very awkward!

5      - I wished myself, or even better both of us, had been drunk to make all/any of the above more funny.

Although the Teetotal Geek is a really nice guy, it was clear once again that we had zero chemistry and little in common. It would have been rather nice for my last internet experience to have been a great one, but it did leave me with no doubts that it was time to hang up my internet dating hat for good.

The Big City

On a Thursday night in London, there is one place that, if you’re brave enough, as a group of girls, you’re guaranteed to have a good night. The City, with a capital “C” comes alive with suits on Thursday nights, and when you have a Slutty Suppers Club who have started giving up on the world of online, it’s the perfect place to meet for drinks.

            Having been stuck at the office for an extra half hour, The Worker Buddy and I were a bit late meeting up with The Traveller (Miss Fifi), The Northern Lass (Tits McGee) and Sugar M for a couple of cocktails at B@1 in Spitalfields Market before going in search of suits.

            Because we were slightly late meeting the others, we were a few cocktails down on them by the time that we left the bar, but everyone was in pretty good spirits are we headed into town, getting waylaid at a pub called The Bull, nestled down a side street with suits spilling out onto the pavement.

            Wine ordered, we headed outside to get some air.  About two minutes later, The Northern Lass accidentally threw a glass of wine over herself and a boy standing near us, after which we quickly made our way back into the safety of the pub. The Traveller and Sugar M lasted an hour or so before they had to head out to a Burger King to stack up on mid-session carbs, whilst The Worker Buddy made her way over to the bar to make some introductions to encourage flirtations with a boy that had caught The Northern Lass’ eye earlier in the night.

            Having felt the pain of a stolen bag all too recently, I took charge of luggage management – effectively finding myself standing alone by a table covering a pile of bags, drinking wine and trying to work out when we would be able to leave.

            The Worker Buddy, in fabulous American style, spotted me keeping my own company, and in about ten minutes she had forced a boy with a pretty face and an utterly ridiculous tie to come over and talk to me whilst she went off in search of a new victim.  It turns out, she did really rather well for me! The Charming Suit was really rather lovely and utterly ‘eligible’ – although he was wearing a comedy seal tie. This really rather worried me until I had a little Bridget Moment. If Mark Darcy can wear a reindeer jumper, The Charming Suit can most certainly wear a designer comedy tie if he wants to.

I left having given him my number but with a low expectation of hearing from him again. I’d had a text before I got home, and a string of others followed. I’m not sure if I’ll see him again, but I do love a suit, so fingers are well and truly crossed for this one!

The Grown Up Part Three

After pretty much deciding that I wasn’t too fussed about The Grown up and it was probably for the best to let it lie, against my better judgement we had our third (and I really mean it this time) final date last night.

              I’m not really sure how I came to be on another date with him, but I think it may have had something to do with talking to my housemates, who all were of the opinion that it takes three dates “to know”. How anyone is meant “to know” or have an innate sense about whether something is right or not I haven’t got a clue. However, I did feel that there was no real harm in meeting up with him one more time, so we arranged to go to what he termed “musical comedy” at the Udderbelly Festival at the Southbank centre.

                He suggested without even the smallest dash of irony that we meet underneath the clock at Waterloo station. This, call me a tad judgemental, I took as another nail in the coffin for anything progressing between us. When we met and I commented on the cheesy choice of meeting place, his face clouded over and he professed he had no idea about what I meant. Worrying, very worrying indeed. Anyway, awkward greeting over, we wandered off to find some food on the Southbank.

                 We ended up in Giraffe, which I was perfectly happy about – at last, an opportunity to spend time with him in a non scary or intimidating romantic restaurant! Dinner was chimichangas, chat was continuous and easy, but soon enough we headed over for the dodgy sounding “musical comedy” show.

                   The comedy night turned out to be surprisingly very funny, in a sort of Flight of the Concords kind of way and we both really enjoyed it. But, later on the train home, I vowed that as good as evening had been, it was definitely time to draw a final line under The Grown Up. As nice as he is, we just have zero chemistry and I doubted that would change however many times we met up and he plied me with expensive meals and cocktails. I was hoping he’d feel similarly, but unfortunately a text message I received the next day, confirmed the opposite.  Oh dear. 

Bad times for Tits

Tits McGee found herself a nice (but apparently rather dim) young chap at the pub the other day.

Filled with hope that a strapping young lad with strong arms and a good face would be a dating potential, she was fairly excited when he sent her an initial follow up text. Oh, the disappointment that lay ahead:

Tim Nice-But-Dim: Hey how are you?

Tits: Fine thanks. Am having a very exciting night in, cleaning the oven.

Tim: Do you want to come for a drink if you can drag yourself away from the oven?

Tits: (bearing in mind that it is currently 8:45 pm) Er well I have oven cleaner in my hair and shite from the oven all over my arms, so not feeling too fresh. Why, where are you like? (Please be aware , Tits McGee is northern…)

Tim: What do you mean?

Tits:  Like, where are you? Are you out?

Tim: In Vauxhall chilling out, watching Magnum Force.

Tits: Oh a classic! I forgot to ask, is that where you live?

Tim: Yes.

Riiiiiiiiight. Might be time to delete that number methinks McGee!

Miss Fi - Back with the Grown Up

Nearly 8 weeks to the day since our last date, yesterday I had my second meet up with The Grown up. The time lapse was indeed ridiculous – the slow pace was due to his business trips (hopefully not, as my friends had joked, a ruse for spending time with the secret wife and kids), his rather nasty rugby injury and of course, my dalliances with The Captain (who to fill you in, has swaggered off my boy radar back to Germany).

                So, that is how I came to be shivering outside the Marquis of Cornwallis in Bloomsbury last night, listening to the grizzly tale of his knee injury and catching up on news from the last couple of months. As had happened last time, we had an hour or so of chatting over drinks, before he turned conversation to my favourite of all discussions, to deliberate where we should eat. With our unspoken understanding that my credit card could only access us dine-in Burger King, he suggested what else, but feasting on prime steak at the Hawksmoor. Jackpot!

                 An hour later, I was sipping a slightly odd but entirely wonderful marmalade cocktail, whilst eyeing up a bottle of finest malbec which had just been presented with a flourish. Whilst I was in this stupor of delicious cocktails/pre-steak anticipation, he asked me the bold and dreaded question...

“So, I guess what I’m really wondering, is what you think of me?” he said, smiling at the panic that had clearly appeared on my face in response to his words.

“Er...what?” I stuttered, grasping for time.

“You heard me!”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!?” was my shamefully witless answer. Thankfully though, it seemed to gloss over the matter adequately enough and conversation moved on.

                The completely truthful answer to this question is that I do like him - he is nice. He is quite attractive. He is quite funny. He has willingly bought me steak that cost twice the price of the dress I was wearing. But, the next morning as I texted him thanking him for a lovely evening, I realised that I really didn’t care whether I heard back from him or not. If that’s not a telling sign, what is? 

Let's call the whole thing off

It’s official, I am offline, and I am staying that way.

            A lot of people I know have said how much they’ve enjoyed online dating, how it’s a great way to meet new people and see if they fit. In essence, I’ve found it to be a great way to waste time, money and energy. I don’t need to pay a computer to make the sort of introductions that come across much more fluidly in person.  I don’t want to tick boxes about whether I like Chinese food and then actually think that the selections make any sort of a difference to the people I’m being matched up with. If I want to find a guy who lives in my area and enjoys Chinese food then I will go and sit in our local take out restaurant and scope out the suitability of whoever comes through the door.

            It’s been an experience, and one that’s had it’s highs and a lot more lows, but it’s off my list now, and it’s staying that way. Slutty Suppers will live on, as there are many more regions for us to investigate – Safari Suppers, Singles Nights, Speed Dating and the dreaded Blind Date through friend recommendations. I’m no nearer having won at the dating game, and I am most certainly no closer to having found ‘The One’ than when I started, but my profile is now well and truly suspended. Good bye online. Good riddance. 

A little boost

I received the following link from T-Bag this afternoon and thought it as probably worth sharing with the group. Have a read and see what you think.

            Keep an eye out for my favourite line: “Any man who is a person wants to be with a woman who is a person. Attraction isn’t intellectual, it’s involuntary – and if men really only wanted to squirt their penis inside of silent supermodels, then regular people would be extinct. But look to your left. Look to your right. Regular people in the house!”)

Then have a read of the comments too. It’s a bit sad, but quite an interesting article. 

Double-dating-disaster - Miss Fifi's version

On Friday evening Miss P and I, quaking in our boots, arrived at Farringdon station to await the two chaps who were to be our double dates for the evening... a first (and probably a last for reasons that will come apparent) in Slutty Suppers history!

The evening got off to a bad start because they were late. Very late. Amusingly, as my tardiness is infamous amongst my nearest and dearest, I was the one tapping my toes and suggesting we take the opportunity to sack the whole thing off. Meanwhile Miss P who's ordinarily a stickler for punctuality, insisted we wait it out - she then glanced at her phone, to discover numerous missed calls from the men in question.           

When she rang them back, they told her that they were waiting for us AT HOME, which immediately sent alarm bells ringing. Despite this warning that something was amiss, we trundled up the road and we soon saw two men waving down at us from an apartment balcony.

"Oh dear god, he's massive!!!" I loudly screeched to my shame - not registering that Miss P was actually on the phone to The Shameless Self-Promoter himself at that very moment! In hindsight what would have been ideal, is that he had heard my horribly bitchy comment and then called the whole thing off. No such luck. After keeping us waiting another 10 minutes or so, we then headed off to their choice of the local Italian restaurant up the road. We were diving straight into dinner and there was no escape!

So, after all this hanging around for them on the streets of Farringdon, were they worth the wait? Well, in a word, no.  It was immediately apparent that we weren't going to fancy them (and we definitely were not, despite their protestations, ending the night in their Jacuzzi!). But, what was infinitely the worst aspect of this car crash of an evening, was that we soon clocked that The Shameless Self-Promoter (Miss Ps 'one') was undeniably coked up to the eyeballs. Classic signs - fidgety, compulsively high-fiving, chattering away about complete sh*te and despite being a big lad, eating two mouthfuls of food the whole evening. The Mute (my "one") was inoffensive enough, but definitely in the nice-but-not-for-me category (the jury's still out as to whether he too, had dallied that evening in Columbia's finest export).

The Shameless Self-Promoter had enough conversation for us all, which allowed ample opportunity for Miss P and I to plot our escape. I have never been so relieved for her presence in my entire life - it turned what could have been a rather horrifying experience, into something quite hilarious!

How do they find me?

I’ve just been added to the ‘Favourites’ list of a boy on MSF who states that he’s looking for someone with ‘an enquiring mind’.

He and The ‘I-appreciate-a-calm-and-balanced-personality’ Word Smith should maybe get together – I think that could potentially pan out to be a match made in heaven! 

Double-dating-disaster - Miss P's version

Last night, Miss Fifi and I met up with The Shameless Self-Promoter and his friend on what turned out to be one of the worst dates I have ever been on. Ever - and I’ve had to sit and eat pizza with an autistic boy before!

The only thing that actually kept me on the date was the fact that I had Miss Fifi with me to hold my hand, help pour as much wine for me as possible, and team up with to lie our way out of having to go to a bar after the fateful dinner we were forced to live.

            Maybe this would be best if I just summarised the key failures of the night out:

** Having told us to meet then at the station at half past, I got a call at quarter two (just two minutes before Miss Fifi’s cut off point, after which we would have happily taken ourselves off for pub grub and girly chats), telling us where we had to go to get to another meeting point – a boy who’s too lazy to honour the meeting plan that he made; not off to the best start then. He directed us to a Yo! Sushi, where I assumed we would be meeting.  On route, Miss Fifi asked what we would do if they were leading us to a flat rather than public place. I assured her that no one would be that mental. WRONG. Crossing the street on the phone, we were instructed to “Look up”. Two boys (ok men – the wrong side of 30, but a long shot) on a balcony, beers in hand, beer guts hanging out, instructing us to wait while they ‘finished up and came down”. Brilliant, we were going into the flat, but we did have to go and collect them from their home. Not impressed.

**On the walk to the restaurant (about two minutes away) I learnt that The SSP “owned seven companies (didn’t believe that shite for a minute), was a stand up comic in his free time (when you run three companies, you have no free time, and when you have no chat, you can’t be a stand-up – it just doesn’t work!), that mummy-daddy owned half of Guernsey and that he really had been drinking since lunch. We were two minutes in, and I wanted to get out of it already.

**As The Other One was really quite nice (almost too nice, bordering on dull) we managed to get some fairly level conversations flowing, The SSP kept butting in with random “To my left, if you had to get a dog, what sort would it be?” I suppose that if we had been sat in silence, that would have been fine, but he overrode natural conversation to dominate the table with his nonsense. He also insisted on cheers-ing with every gulp of wine that he took, and let me tell you, he took a lot. Ergh, talk about hard work.

**Finally and most importantly, The Shameless Self-Promoter is undoubtedly, a massive cokehead. I don’t know how much crap he had put up his nose before we arrived, but having pointed out the obvious habit to Miss Fifi, she confirmed my suspicions, and our tolerance to his odd behaviour quickly deteriorated.  When it came time to leave and he insisted on us going on for another drink, I don’t think I have ever had to be more rude to man that’s bought my dinner, but I have to say, there is not a rat in hell’s chance that I would ever see him again, and I know for sure that if I was ever faced with a similar situation again without my Miss Fifi safety net, I would have been out of the door five minutes into the date.

It was bad. It was oh so bad. But I guess it’s one that can be ticked off the list, and on a positive, I’m already seeing the funny side. I suppose that single men of a certain age are only going to be online dating for one key reason – they’re cut through with a high dose of crazy. Proper crazy!

Warm up texts

The dreaded double-date with Miss Fifi is tonight, as if we weren’t worried enough about it, the text exchange from this afternoon as been far from reassuring:

SSP: “I bet you girls didn’t sleep a wink last night…Don’t forget 7:30 at Farringdon Station. We’ve been drinking since midday! Also, bring your bikinis as we may have a late night pool party.”

MASSIVE ALARM BELLS RINGING

Miss P to Miss Fifi: “…he just sent a message saying they’d both been drinking since midday and they're threatening a late night pool plan. Can’t work out if it’s a joke or not. Shit.”

Miss Fifi to Miss P: “FUCK I DON’T WANT TO PLAY ANYMORE!! Maybe we shouldn’t go!”

Miss P to Miss Fifi: “It’s going to be bad….so bad.”

Miss Fifi to Miss P: “I’m so scared…I’ve just poured myself a gin. ”

Miss P to Miss Fifi: “Good girl. I might have wine at my desk for this evening’s conference call.”

Miss Fifi meets The Captain - Take Two

Yesterday was a momentous occasion- my first-second-date with a chap from the web! The bloke in question was The Captain, who I had been texting almost non-stop since we met two weeks ago. This is unusual behaviour for me, as normally I have very limited patience for text tennis, exchanging minute-by-minute accounts of each other's days. My tolerance of this sent alarm bells ringing that I may actually rather like this bloke - a novel feeling in this internet dating game!
            The only snag was the deadline: today he is heading back to his regiment in Germany after his 'olidays. Following a flurry of text messages after I'd tentatively suggested we meet up again, he pitched a plan of  dinner, then heading onto his friend's birthday party. So, not your normal second date then! Trying to look beyond the slightly mad behaviour of inviting a girl he's met once (and by that token, on the internet!) to meet all his friends, I gallantly popped on a lacey frock and some moderately high heels (my Captain not being the tallest of chaps) and sashayed off to meet him in Soho.
            At first it was slightly awkward... probably due to the mutual fear that we might not hit it off again. However, this was an unnecessary worry, as over cocktails (super strong Margaritas) and dinner (Mexican street food) there was barely a pause for breath as we chatted away. I confessed I was a bit nervous about the party, which The Captain found hilarious - apparently not seeing anything odd about me meeting all his friends on our second date! When we arrived at the party, my first realisation was that I was totally over-dressed. But luckily, I was surrounded by alpha- male army types who probably wouldn't have battered an eyelid if I'd wondered in wearing one of Coast's frilliest and frothiest ball gowns. The Captain was the perfect gentleman, introducing me to all his army pals and keeping an eye to ensure I was never stranded with the regimental bore. Cocktail after cocktail was knocked back and I played my part well enough, chatting away to all his friends. At one point, a gorgeous army doctor was bemoaning his inability to meet lovely girls and confessed to me his desire to go on MySingleFriend. Determined to help him in his plight, I did what any good friend would and suggested he cut out the middle man and just take out Miss P instead!  We'll see how well that little snippet of pimping works goes...
           As I write this, The Captain is racing to join his regiment back in Germany. Who knows whether we'll catch up when he's next back, but considering how disastrously date two could have gone, rather a success me thinks!

Constructive use of time

It’s Sunday and I’ve done most of my weekend jobs that have gone abandoned for the past few weeks – room cleaning, baking, healthy food shopping, general life arranging and sorted – it’s all been ticked off the list. So, feeling smug and ever so slightly bored, I figured today was a good time to do something more constructive with my time.

By constructive, I mean stalky, so I’m planning to spend a good few hours working my way through MySingleFriend, picking out the pretty boys and trying to think of something (anything) to say to them by way of introduction. Kind of wish it would be appropriate to have a glass of wine to help me along.

Double-Dinner Fun

The Shameless Self-Promoter saga continues:

Miss P: “So, you want the good news or the bad news? The good news is that Miss Fifi would actually play that game, and it sounds pretty hilarious to me, so I would say it’s a goer. The bad news – she’s a genuine hottie I’m afraid. No mingers for your inattentive friend this time round. Sorry!”

The SSP: “That IS both good and bad news. Ok, we have the green-light. Are you ladies free next Friday evening for double-dinner fun?”

Miss P (having checked and freted about it with Miss Fifi”: “Apparently Miss Fifi has to work the next day, so had kept next Friday night free for sensible behaviour. Fortunately, she caves like a chocolate teapot at the best of times, and the promise of entertainment and drinking was enough to sway her, and I’ve got work drinks that are fairly avoidable, so we’re in. I can’t work out if this is going to be hilarious of an utter disaster. Only one way to find out I guess!”

Good God, what have I done?!

Double dates

Something awful has happened – the very first person that I contacted via MSF has replied to me. Now, this should be a good thing, surely? Unfortunately, I was attempting to use this effort as an icebreaker to ease me into the game, and I was not anticipating a response, especially when you consider the approach I took.

            I was man-window-shopping (selecting hotties to bookmark and refer back to once I was feeling a little braver) and I stumbled across a profile that was hilariously written, but clearly describing an essentially ‘non’ sort of chap. However, at the end of the profile (the section written by the ‘friend’ was the comment: “Also I can promise that I am 200x better than him in every way so if things don’t work out with him why not date me, bet you didn’t see that one coming, eh Dave!”

                  I felt a bit bad for Dave, but at the same time, interested in finding out more about the comic writer, so I clicked through, was more interested with his profile and sent him a message:

Miss P: “I stumbled across your profile after your shameless self-promotion on your friend David's profile. To be honest, it's a pretty solid form of advertising, and one that I have a horrible feeling my friend *Miss Fifi has tried to replicate with my 'description', although slightly less blatantly!
So, you're 200 times better than good-friend-David in every way? Dare I ask how so?”

The Shameless Self Promoter: “Ha, brilliant. 
In fact I went for a drink with him yesterday and he hadn't even read what I had written, what a buffoon!
He got a bit angry but I have managed to placate him by promising that if any girls emailed me on the basis of reading that line I would only go on a first date with them if it was a double date and he is included. Deal? You can bring Miss Fifi (PLEASE tell me she mings...)
s x”

You want to know the best thing about this? Miss Fifi has agreed to play the game. Online-double-dating…what.the.hell!

Next steps?

I thought that a fairly dismissive message and a lack of follow up communication over the past two weeks or so would have been enough for The Personality Twin to get the message and acknowledge that whatever was going on between us before (which was pretty minimal, at best) is no longer in action.

            Apparently not; not only did I get one of those generic “phone book wide” texts yesterday requesting sponsorship in the London marathon (treats!), he followed up this afternoon with a general “How are you, how’s life, share with me” style message. I don’t really have anything that needs sharing with him, and to be honest, I can’t really be bother with polite background chat either. Silence seems a little too harsh, but having to wade through a few days of polite text exchanges before having to crack on once again with the thanks-but-no-thanks conversations just seem like way too much effort though. Ergh – boys.

Swords and Sandhurst

Miss Fifi has turned into a walking solider seller – if you’re thinking about going on a date, the one piece of advice that you can be sure of being offered by her is “make sure he has a hot uniform and a sword to his name”.

            Don’t get me wrong, it’s fairly solid advice, and thanks to a couple of ‘recommendations’ she’s made for me on MSF, I’ve got my eye on a couple of Captain potentials already. However, it looks like I might not be needed her online help after all. Surely one solider is more than enough to be getting along with.

An actual single friend

On my very first My Single Friend stalking session, when a girl is allowed (without any shame, apparently) to scroll through pages and pages of picture of boys faces, ‘bookmarking’ the pretty ones to follow up with later if you can think of fun and exciting things to share, I stumbled across a slightly familiar face.

            It took a full stalk through his photos (combined with some cross-referencing with Facebook) to realise that this pretty face with lots of blond curls was the same boy that The Life Long brought along to brunch one day a couple of years ago.

A single hottie with a motorbike and good hair – aren’t your friends supposed to pick these ones out and shamelessly introduce you to each other in flirting-appropriate situations? Now I either have to message him and pretend not to recognise him, message him and shamelessly recognise him, or sit quietly and instruct The Life Long to try harder.

            Hmm, tricky to know which way to approach this one. Maybe I’ll have a swift glass of wine and a little think. I seem to do all my very best thinking with a wine in hand. Funny that!

Miss Fifi update: Another day, another date!

After my hugely enjoyable time with The Captain on Saturday, yesterday evening I psyched myself up for another first date with a guy from MSF. We arranged to meet at The Cut bar in the Young Vic Theatre by Waterloo. Thanks to the whole of 2012’s expected rainfall occurring in one evening, I arrived in rather more of a bedraggled state than is ideal when you’re meeting someone for the first time.

               So, on with the details about the bloke: He is nice. He is well-educated. He is intelligent. He is good looking. He has a good job. Overall I had a nice time, but there’s no ignoring the fact that this was a pretty mediocre date. We got on fine, but it wasn’t the same level of fun or easy company that I had experienced a couple of days before with The Captain.

               I was also thrown by the fact that in person, he looked uncannily like a boyfriend I’d had many years ago in sixth form.  Sensing a couple of hours in that I was pretty done with the evening, I made an excuse about a heavy schedule the next day at work and we left the pub.

               We got the train home together as it turned out I live at the stop along from him. It was then, on a brightly lit over ground train, that for me the most hilarious point of the whole evening occurred. Bearing in mind that we had shared minimal chemistry throughout the evening and only sipped two drinks, in a very full train carriage he leaned in to full on snog me as he said goodbye. In a fit of panic, I tried to swerve it in an aim a kiss him on the cheek, with minimal success. All in all, an incredibly awkward scene and a spectacle for the sleepy commuters who were our audience. I’ve since made a deal with myself to have at least four drinks on all future first dates, to avoid the self-conscious horror of soberly avoiding the advances of strangers. Argh!

Signing off

I’ve had enough of Guardian Soulmates on every level. The boys are nice enough, but have little-to-no spark, they are slightly tedious and mostly boarder on the autistic spectrum, so the time has come – I’ve pulled the plug.

            Not only did I skip the date with The Personality Twin to bring that one to an end, I’ve also phased out The Crazy Swimmer and I have officially deleted (inalterably) my profile. That’s it GSM – our relationship is now 100% over.

            That said, treating this ‘relationship’ as I apparently treat most of my others, I have now lined up a replacement so I am just waiting for Miss Fifi to complete my profile intro and I will be up and running on MySingleFriend.

She’s promised me greatness with this one (both the intro and the site) so she better not let me down on either count. The pressure's on Fifi!

Miss Fifi udpdate: A dashing Captain…

Yesterday, after a morning spent at work with hyperactive teenagers, I wasn't especially in the mood for my third MSF date. However, I was determined to go as from our texting he sounded like a nice, amusing kind of guy who was far too good to bail on. Another incentive to man-up and go was that the bloke in question serves our Queen and country in the army - meaning not only a gorgeous uniform, but also that he may not always be kicking around London for a second chance!

               We met for lunch at Back to Basics a fish restaurant in Fitzrovia. My suspicions were soon confirmed that I was dealing with a MSF virgin, as I doubt anyone with any prior experience of the bizarre and often disappointing world of internet dating, would generally suggest anything so committing as a meal for a first meeting.  By lucky coincidence, the gamble paid off. The Captain and I had plenty to talk about - the hours felt like minutes and in what felt like no time at all, we had in fact spent the whole day and evening together!

               So far so good, but there is one slight catch – about an hour into our date he casually dropped into conversation that he actually lives in Germany. Fellow soldier daters beware- you might be needing your passport to meet up with these dashing young men again!

Out with the old

It’s been over two months now, and I have to say GuardianSoulmates has treated me a little bit randomly. I have met some lovely boys and some mental boys, all of whom are super intelligent and have many ‘interesting and varied’ topics to be discussed.

            I’ve had fun, it’s been enjoyable, but the time has come to delete my account, hide my profile from strangers and get myself live on MySingleFriend. The waters look a little clearer over there, and hopefully I won’t be expected to know who the Vice President of the States is, or the name of that really famous composer who wrote that ‘truly inspirational operetta’ that I have no idea about. Bring on the pretty-but-dim boys. It feels like it’s about time.  

In hiding

After three dates, I had no idea how I was supposed to tell The Personality Partner that I’d had enough chances to ‘get to know’ him, and that I probably wouldn’t be requiring a fourth meeting to think about it any more. It sounds simple enough, but for some reason, now seemed like a weird time, considering we had already semi-arranged the next date, to declare a sudden lack of interest and to bow out, so I sat and struggled to work out what to do for a full week.

            Fortunately, when he emailed me this Thursday I was still in the midst of a lost-diary-storm, and had no idea what day it was, let alone what I was supposed to be doing at the weekend, so I was able to rely on a little white lie of needing to check plans, and then I have just quietly sat out Saturday (the day we were potentially supposed to be meeting up on).

            I feel a bit like a child, hiding away (baking brownies and drinking a lot of coffee) rather than just telling him that I’m not really that interested, but seeing as he didn’t follow up a second time to see what my plans were, I can’t help but think that he’s probably not too distraught to have found himself with a little extra free time to play with this weekend. Looks like everyone’s a winner. 

Miss Fifi update: Pink hearts and bubbles...

After having such a tedious time with The Fulham Bore, I was hardly filled with joy and excitement at the prospect of another first date the very next day. This time I was stepping out with The Grown up, who I'd met eons ago in Madisons Bar (that’s right, someone from the Real World!).

               Clashes in work schedules and busy social lives had meant it had taken nearly a month for us to finally catch up. We arranged to meet at the Bleeding Heart Tavern in Farringdon, a lovely old world pub with lots of character. Within minutes, I realised that this experience would be polar opposite to the previous evening – we barely paused for breath as we chatted through the first three rounds of drinks.

               We then enacted the standard charade of first dates: once he'd assured himself that I didn't appear to be a crazed bunny-boiler or professional gold digger, he casually dropped in that we should go for dinner. He decreed I flip a coin (yes, you did read that right!) to decide where we'd go – would it be the lovely mid-range Bleeding Heart Bistro or the more upmarket adjoining restaurant? With my innate, God-given talent to invariably select the expensive option, we were soon making our way downstairs to the French restaurant. To set the scene, it was a real grotto of a place, with an abundance of low-lit corners and rather nauseating heart shaped décor.

               Now, when I later regaled this tale to my fellow sluts, most of them quite rightly recoiled in horror at this whole cheesy episode... I would have assumed I would have felt the same, but to my surprise I truly enjoyed my evening of being treated like a Princess. Other quite lovely, yet more than a little sickly moments of note, included pink champagne awaiting us at our table (again, I kid you not).

               Then, there was the tricky issue that the waiting staff had a minimal grasp of English. Well, this was no problem at all, as The Grown up speaks fluent French! By this point, my inner girly-girl and cynic were in a tug of war as to whether I should beg him to marry me, or vomit over the heart-motif butter which was gleefully presented to me. Needless to say, my girly side won out and I had a great time. The food was amazing, not least the cheese trolley which sailed over to our table at the end of the evening.

               Now I’ve realised I’ve rambled on a lot about the restaurant, but largely glossed over The Grown-up himself. He certainly ticked a lot of boxes: he was interesting, extroverted (we got talking to half the restaurant… luckily for me in English!) and a true gent. However, I wasn’t sure there was much of the elusive super-spark between us. But who knows, maybe if there’s a next time something more would develop.

Miss Fifi update: The Fulham Bore

I’ve been very silent on here of late, which is due to a tricky blend of going on holiday and downright laziness. However, I’m well and truly back in the game now with a yarn or two to tell from my dating adventures.

            The lovely SugarM and I packed our summer frocks and bikinis last week and flew to the incredibly sunny Egypt, for some intense relaxation and vitamin D therapy. Sadly among our fellow tourists, there was a dearth of the long-wished for “lad on tour”, but we entertained ourselves regardless by flirting scandalously with waiters and musing over our dating experiences back in London.
            Barely any of our time was wasted discussing my meet up with The Fulham Bore. This was a lad from MSF who put simply, embraced every hideous stereotype of a public schoolboy let loose in The City. His first crime was that he was late. Really late. When he finally sauntered in, I was subjected to many a tale of his thrice weekly excursions to Mahikis, drawn out discussions as to why he thinks his housemate doesn’t like him (brilliant first date chat!) and it soon transpired we had very little to say to each other at all.
            Needless to say, this awkwardness was compounded by the tricky fact that The Fulham Bore had prank called me at 2:30am the previous Friday morning. I had not answered, as I was tucked up in bed like the good girl I am. Whilst I'm sure there may be some innocent possibilities as to why a chap might call a young lady he's never met at such a time (friends playing a prank? Inadequate phone-locking?), there's obviously another more sleazy explanation that may jump to mind.
            As he had dropped the booty-call bomb before I’d even met him, you may be wondering why I still went. My rationale at the time was that this “at least this proved he went out and had a social life...” During our fleeting time together, neither of us alluded to his ill-timed phone call at all. This was for me the ultimate indicator we weren’t on the same wavelength in terms of humour or indeed, anything – my natural inclination being to have had a hearty laugh with him about the whole thing. So, it was with a huge sigh of relief that I hopped on the bus back home just over an hour after we had met, phew!

Wine, wine and a bit more wine

Having first met up last Wednesday, leaving the second date until a full week later seemed like the best approach to take with The Crazy Swimmer. He was again going to be a bit late getting into town as he was working at a clinic somewhere near Wimbledon (I think) and didn’t finish until sevenish, so to fill the time between work and meeting, The Co-Dependent very kindly took pity on me and saved me from a late night in the office in favour of a trip to Notes, where she tried out their fabulous coffee for the first time and I stocked up on pre-date wine whilst we had a quick catch up.
         Then, whilst she headed home I made my way up to Cambridge Circus, where we were planning to meet ahead of paying a visit to one of my favourite little wine bars – the incredibly French La Beaujolais on Litchfield Street. This quiet, dark corner of the world, where everyone speaks French (almost exclusively) always feels like a bit of a treat, and when I was given free rein to make whatever selection from the wine list that I liked, I knew it was going to be a good night.
         What I had anticipated would be a fairly brief night out (based on the fact that I had woken up at five that morning to walk and swim before work, and had another 8 mile walk planned in for the following morning) actually stretched out to cover a bottle of wine at the first bar, a detour to a jazz bar that sounded so offensive I refused to go in, before returning to the safety of the known and loved Bedford & Strand for another bottle. This bottle was his choice this time, and I have to admit it was much better than my initial random selection, as he assured me it would be. Turns out that buying the best bottle of red is going to become something of competition here, which is why I know there’ll be a third date. The gauntlet has been thrown down, how can I possibly walk away?!

Dim sum and 'banter'

The Personality Partner is one of those boys that uses words like “Banter” and “Lad” to punctuate his sentences. This worries me. Sure, it’s fairly entertaining and I am the last person to hide behind a fake persona and not embrace the fact that I swear (yes, and drink) like sailor, but still, anyone who actively encourages the part of my brain that yells “For the win!” every time I achieve anything can’t honestly be the very best company for me.

            Still, we’re three dates in and I don’t actively hate him yet. I would have to say that, despite the fact that he really is the sort of boy that my mum would call ‘an arse’ I rather like him. I think.

            I’m still confused about when you’re supposed to know if a boy ‘off of online’ is for keeps, or whether the fact that you still find them funny after three meetings is just a sign that they’re not mental, but by no means worthy of keeping.

            Regardless – I got to have gin on Monday and Dim Sum to boot, it’s just a bit of a shame that I had woken up at 5am and was utterly shattered by 9pm. At least it was a Monday and the requirement of an excuse to need an early night was fairly unnecessary. 

Third date territory

Seeing as you meet people online for the very first time ever when you go on your first date, I am struggling to work out how many dates it is acceptable to organise, just to see if you’re going to get along?

Obviously, if you go on the first date and it’s vile (may I draw your attention to my experiences with The Word Smith) then that’s one thing, but what if the chap is nice enough, fairly entertaining, not vile looking and maybe a potential…but maybe not? They obviously require further investigation – but how much more?

            This week I’ve got a third attempt lined up with The Personality Twin and a second meeting in the making with The Crazy Swimmer but I can’t work out if these ought to be the last meetings if there aren’t any sparks flying.

            Having spoken to Tits McGee about this last night, it seems that I ought to be able to make a decision about this in 2-3 dates tops…I have to admit though, I’m struggling. I hate to cut things short when you’re not sure what the results might be, but as everyone keeps telling me, these boys aren’t on the site to make friends, so I need to make a firm decision either way, and probably sooner rather than later. Tricky, very tricky.  Maybe dim sum with The Personality Twin this evening will help shed some more light on it.

It's getting serious!

And it’s scaring me.

            It’s not getting serious personally – don’t worry, I haven’t decided that after two rather non-dates I am going to marry The Personality Partner or anything dire. It’s more a realisation that for a number of people participant in online dating (well, pretty much all of them I guess) are looking for something a lot more serious than me.

            I was dreading the date I had got lined up for last night. It transpired (through a string of emails and text exchanges) that the guy was not only nearly ten years older than me, but he also a ‘part owned’ dog, which triggered (maybe slightly over-reactive) warning bells. It doesn’t take too much reading between the lines to see that revelation was code for ‘broken home and custody battles over said pooch’. I don’t want to get myself overly involved with a guy who cried every weekend when he has to part with his dog and send it to live with The Ex. Christ, I have enough trouble looking after myself – I don’t need a crier on my hands too!

            Eventually, unable to come up with a suitable excuse and with a feeling of obligation to at least meet up with The Crazy Swimmer (he thinks that swimming in frozen lakes is a treat…) and see if his eyes are constantly on the brink of tears, I met up with him last night at Skylon – a rather fabulous cocktail bar on Southbank with amazing views and even better gin cocktails.

            We bonded over a mutual love of gin and a general obsession with dogs, and he scared me with talk of his ultra-marathons (he ran 150 miles across a desert in 7 days once. I have no idea why, but the mere thought of it terrifies me!), whilst we drank and ate our way through a fair chunk of the menu. Surprisingly, it was really rather a good date, one that I look likely to rerun shortly, and one that didn't result in tears or mental breakdowns of any sort. Maybe the internet isn't just full of crazy people after all!

A walk in the park

Today I braved a second date with The Personality Twin, and it went surprisingly well! Having met at Victoria Station with the intention of grabbing a quick brunch (yes, we’re talking pre-noon, alcohol-free dating here) so that I could spend the afternoon hunting out last minute essentials for my ski trip, we made our way over to The Serpentine Bar and Grill in Hyde Park.

            Unfortunately, we arrived at a strange mid-point between the breakfast and lunch menus being available, but having chatted for an hour or so over coffee, watching the seagulls and discussing the finer points of what the best breed of dog is (it’s cocker spaniel, for the record) we placed our orders and spent another hilarious hour or so participating in some sort of wit-battle whilst eating fish finger sandwiches. I’m pretty sure that I lost the comedy war, but it might be the first time I enjoyed undeniable defeat – for some reason, there’s something about him that I’m still not 100% sure about, but he’s so funny, I think I can almost overlook it.

            Fairly efficiently, from early on in the meeting he had already mapped out the next date, as well as a trip to see The Proms and a visit to a pub at the top of Hampstead Heath, so whilst I left him at the station with an underlying feeling that maybe he's not my traditional 'type', I’m looking forward to our trip to Dulwich when I get back from France. I might have to brush up on my political and historical knowledge first though. To say he’s a couple of stages more intelligent than me would be a complete and utter understatement. 

Lining up a re-run

Tomorrow I shall be braving my first ever “Second Online Date”, and I’m a little concerned about how it’s going to pan out.  The best thing about online dating is that if someone’s not quite right for you, you can just walk away after a drink or two and never have to speak to them again. It’s a great arrangement.

            However, if you’re like me and go on one date with a person that doesn’t make you want to launch yourself out of the fifth floor bathroom window, it all gets a bit overwhelming when you have to make the decision whether or not to give it a second run. The shear joy at having not wanted to kill myself last Thursday evening was enough to get me to agree to a second date with The Personality Twin this weekend, but is that enough to work with for a brunch meeting in the absence of wine?

Plus, now that I’m branching into second date territory, how rude would it be to just turn away with a simple ‘we just didn’t really click’? Oooooh dear. I suppose I’ll just have to approach the whole thing with a positive outlook and hope for the best. Worst-case scenario, he was hilarious, so we’ll laugh our way through a couple of hours and then I’ll have a day or so to think of the right response text. 

Mummy would be proud

It’s a bit of a random one, but I am currently in the process of setting up a date with a guy that is officially crazy. Not in the axe-murdering sense of the word (I bloody hope not, anyway), more in the swims-outdoors-in-ice-frozen-lakes-as-a-hobby kind of way.

            In fact, he competes in, and has won, the annual Christmas Serpentine race, which my mum was talking about this very Christmas as my brother and I threw ourselves into the freezing cold sea, setting a very dubious new tradition in swing.  I will have to remember to gather as much entertaining material from this one as possible.

Miss Fifi Update 6

Last Friday I met up with Miss P for early-bird breakfast at Notes, our favourite new catch- up spot.  As evident from my lack of blogging over the last couple of weeks, I had to confess to her my tumble into 'a slutty suppers slump', where in the preceding week I had barely logged onto my dating profile, let alone met up with anyone. 

          Whilst we gorged on the best almond croissants in London, Miss P shouted at me to pull my slutty little socks up, strap on a pair and to go out and meet all the fine young men that “My Single Friend” has to offer. Leaving Notes determined to make some dating progress and to avoid the future wrath of Miss P and the other sluts, I arranged to meet up with a rather fun (and let’s be honest, exceedingly posh!) sounding polo player from MSF on Sunday.                      
            So that's how I came to be yesterday, awkwardly propping up the bar at the Orange pub in Pimlico waiting for The Polo Player to arrive. There was nowhere to sit, as the bar appeared to have been booked out for a “Made in Chelsea” cast party – the scene awash with Mulberry handbags and sculpted hairstyles. Soon enough though, a chap came striding towards me, grinning and laughing to himself as he air kissed my cheeks (both sides, we are in Belgravia daaaarling!) and introduced himself.
            I must have looked a bit perturbed by his raucous laughter, as he swiftly explained himself: ' Har har haaaar! Sorry for laughing. Nothing about you, you’re clearly a sweetie, but isn't this whole internet dating thing just TOO funny!? HAR!”I couldn’t disagree with him.
             We swiftly decided to decamp down the road to the deserted Ebury instead, where the only other punters were a couple snuggled in a corner. The girl was clearly enjoying herself, as she was with bare-legged abandon full-on straddling her partner - or someone who I suspect, may be better described as a “client”. As we wandered about to find a sofa of our own, the polo player said with a sideways glance at this amorous couple and a cheeky wink, "I'm up for a bit of that, if you are?”, before giving another raucous laugh and apologising profusely for his non-pc humour. He needn’t of, I was loving it!
               A more different experience from my previous two internet dates cannot be imagined- he was witty, interesting, incredibly knowledgeable and brilliant fun. We raced through the typical get-to-know you topics, but with lots more interesting and random chatter on the side. He told me about his (by his own admission) rather privileged childhood, and then his social “U-turn” in joining the army as a squaddie (and yes I checked, he still owns the uniform!). Upon discovering we were both from Sussex, we soon realised that Miss P herself is our mutual friend - small bloody world!
            Three hours raced past and before I knew it, it was time to head home. I left this very entertaining evening uncertain that I fancied him, but very much sure that I loved him. Even if I never see him again, I have to thank The Polo Player for reigniting my enthusiasm for this whole game!