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! 

Blast from the past

More than a year ago, a random boy walked up to me in the pub, did an aeroplane impersonation, and asked me out on a date. With the attitude of “Well, it can’t really hurt, and everyone loves going out for dinner”, I went. It wasn’t super bad, but as you can see here, he wasn’t a keeper.

            He told me on the first date that he was in the throws of breaking up with his very serious ex (warning signs all over the place) and I decided very quickly that I didn’t want to fill her place.

            After allowing the whole thing to fizzle out, I was under the impression that I was free of him until he randomly text me nearly a year later, asking me out for another drink. I lied and said I was seeing someone – it’s so much easier than having to be mean and it’s a pretty hard statement to argue with.

            Unfortunately, people in relationships don’t use online dating sites, so when he found me online and sent me the following message, I drew a blank as to how to reply.

“I met a nice young lady from Pimlico once…lost touch unfortunately! How are you? X”

Damn. How do I get out of this one? 

A clash of personality?

I was dreading my date with The Personality Partner, absolutely dreading it. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that he was going to be a more actively obnoxious version of The Word Smith, and had it not been for a bit of a wine drinking slip up at lunch, there is a high chance I would have made my excuses and managed to avoid being stood on the steps of St Martins at 6:15.

            However, wine was drunk at lunch, and opting out of the date just felt like delaying the inevitable, so I braved the buzz of Thursday night in Covent Garden, and was at the agreed meeting place bang on time.

            Fortunately I was actually pleasantly surprised by the guy that arrived to meet me. Where with The Word Smith I had taken social incompetency for banter, with The Personality Partner I had learnt from my mistake and had been reading into comments and jokes way too much, inevitable dreading the worst. It turns out, he was utterly hilarious, and everything I had started flagging warning signs at were actually perfectly normal conversations / jokes in the making.

            I think that the test of a date in the world of online is the number of drinks you get through before you call it a night. One drink was a complete and utter failure (The Word Smith), two drinks was nice enough, but having got a round each, you’ve definitely seen enough (The Biking Engineer) and three drinks or more means that you’re both fairly keen to carry on chatting, and the fact that the person sat opposite you is a complete and utter strange doesn’t really worry you too much. This was a three drink date, and I think that we can thank The Personality Partner’s sense of humour and comedy story telling for that one.  

            Conversation started with the safe (work, home, family), branched into the slightly wider spanning (recent trips with friends, holidays, most embarrassing moments) and even reached a slightly uncomfortable low which found us discussing the website that we had met on, and our reasons for being there – yes, I told him about Slutty-Suppers (although not the blog, obviously) and I think it worried him slightly. In fact, his exact words were “Oh good, so you’re going to be discussing this whole evening in minute detail with your friends? Yeah, that’s not intimidating in the slightest.” Imagine the reaction disclosing details of the blog would have inspired…maybe next time.

            I suppose that’s the crux of the matter – whether there will be a next time, and having been asked, I think that, in the spirit of making the most of the situation and celebrating the fact that I didn’t want to kill him or myself within the first few hours of our acquaintance, I think there just might be!

Outed at work

I had a work lunch today with a man that was, for all intents and purposes, an absolute arse – seriously. But, he is a friend of my boss and a man that we could potentially do business with in the future, so the two of us headed over the road to Hawksmoor for steak and what I thought would be some work related chat.

            Unfortunately, due to his fairly close friendship with my boss, chat centred mostly on general banter and news sharing, so when the issue of online dating came up (my boss finds The Word Smith story utterly hilarious and feels the need to share it with pretty much everyone) we ended up dwelling on it for quite some time. The guy we were meeting used Guardian Soulmates when he was online dating a couple of years ago, and as such, felt the need to ask me a barrage of questions about who I was finding, and requested to see all their profiles.

            Having shared a couple of comedy stories whilst point blank refusing to share my or their profile details with him, we went out separate ways so that we could finish up a couple of bits of work before the end of the afternoon.

            Two hours back in the office, and I received the following email (with my boss cc’ed): “I would have thought you could have come up with a more imaginative name than Miss P?!” with my profile content copied below.

            Now I’m not a crazily private person, and the fact that I have shared the most entertaining stories from my online ventures with my office goes to show that I’m not ashamed of the fact that I’m online and making a bit of a hash of it. That said, there is something about a couple of paragraphs where you shameless attempt to sell yourself that’s incredibly personal, and if there is one group of people that don’t need to have access to it, it’s the boys I work with. I get that’s it’s sort of funny, and that in refusing to show him my profile I was just adding to the entertainment factor of the hunt for him, but still, did my boss need to see it?

            One of the main fears of each and everyone of the Sluts when we were discussing making profiles and getting them online was that someone you know might find you on there – either when they’re looking for dates or just for the comedy value of publically humiliating you, but I don’t think anyone thought it would be a work related ousting.  Fortunately, I seem to have reached a point in life where nothing much will shame me into submission. Still, I don’t think I’ll be going for lunch with that guy again, whether there’s steak on offer or not!

In the eyes of God

It’s been boiling away in the background for a couple of weeks now, fuelled by drunken (on his part, not mine) night bus messages and random extensive conversations about his new house and how crap he is at DIY, but tonight I am finally due to meet up with The Personality Twin, and I have to say, I’m not really too excited about it.

            Having just about managed to get over the mentally scaring date with The Word Smith, to have then got through the date with The Biking Engineer without anything going too awry, I have am awful feeling that this evening is going to mark a return to form for me, in that it’s going see a dip back down to ‘dire’ in the enjoyment stakes.

            Whilst on paper The Personality Twin is right up my street (similar interests, fairly closely linked opinions and able to cover a range of conversational topics that don’t make me want to stab my eyes out), he is also dangerously close to being what my Mamu would describe as ‘a bit of an arse’. In fact, he’s not just close, he’s pretty much there – he talks about putting up shower caps, is on some voluntary council thing at work, he sings in a choir three nights a week and he thinks it’s really witty to plan important work presentations in the theme of Faulty Towers. Hmm, if only I had noticed this, oh I don’t know, three weeks ago when I started down this ridiculous path, then I wouldn’t be facing yet another challenging date prospect when all I really want to do tonight is go home and mooch.

            Well, there’s no way out of it now – even if I pulled out a half baked excuse to delay D-day, the amount of background work that has gone into this one would mean that rescheduling would be inevitable, purely serving to prolong the whole process. Nope, when the time comes, I will be standing on the steps of St Martin’s, awaiting his arrival. Well, I will probably be standing somewhere up the road waiting for his arrival so that I can approach with caution and not be caught off guard and to reassure myself that, if I really need to, I can leg it at the last minute and just delete my online account. Ahh, the romance!

This has been great, I’ll give you a call, we should do this again sometime!

We’ve all seen the episode of Friends where Chandler goes on a date with Rachel’s boss (the one with the mascara goop – blurgh), and regardless of how badly each evening goes, he leaves her at the end of it with the parting comment; “Well, this has been great, I’ll give you a call, we should do this again sometime!”

            I’ve always assumed that this was because he’s a boy, he’s foolish and he just doesn’t really know what else to do, but having followed up on dating disasters with Tits McGee, it appears that this is something that actually does happen in real life – and to totally normal people too!

            I’m not sure if it’s been ingrained into us out of a forced politeness, or if it just sounds like the right way to round off an evening when you are 100% certain that absolutely no kissing is going to be taking place - it’s like saying “I’ll see you soon”, but a stranger-friendly version because, let’s face it, you’ve never seen them before, so the chances of randomly bumping into them are fairly slim (I have a horrible feeling that this is going to happen eventually, but until that dreaded day…).

            I suppose it stands as something of a testament as to how well the date went if nothing else; there is absolutely no chance that The Word Smith was going to get anything other than a wave and a cringing sideways glance as the bus failed to race him along the road home, leaving me huddled in a corner to try and avoid eye contact. The Biking Engineer, on the other hand, who is also never going to get a second date, at least got a fairly polite farewell, even if it was laced in lies.

            This might be something that needs to be discussed at a future Slutty Suppers Club – how do you say thanks, but no thanks, without sounding awful and without tying yourself up in tricky potential second date territory. 

Undercover flirting

This weekend, whilst catching up on work in Starbucks (I’ll be honest, it was 50% work, 10% news sites and 40% social networking, but whatever) I got into a Guardian Soulmates conversation with a rather random boy that has the most American style photo imaginable (think big hair, cheesy pose, maybe taken from a work profile of some sort) but the most apparently British background.

            The interesting thing about this one is not the incredibly cheesy photo, but rather than his whole profile is written as though he’s a spy (ie – a rip off of a selection of James Bond movies), and all conversations since initial contact was made has been based around secret service based banter.

It’s all very bizarre, and in fact, it’s the sort of behaviour that I would normally run a mile from (I’ve met crazy once recently, I don’t need to meet him again any time soon) but I am fairly intrigued to see where this one goes – maybe a date in Dans le Noir, a quirky restaurant were you sit in pitch black and can’t see either your date or your food…that could be fun – and definitely worth a blog post or two!

Back in at the deep end

I have to say, the dreaded date with The Word Smith the weekend before last was actually the first mentally scarring date experience that I’ve ever had, and whilst it makes for a funny story to share with the girls over the odd glass of wine, it didn’t do wonders for my nerves when I had to face my first online-source date since then.

What if he was another complete and utter freak? Would I be able to just get up and walk out without feeling an ounce of shame at being such a cow, or would I be tied into a good two-hour chat with a complete and utter arse, again? Surely I’ve done my time in that respect!

In reality it’s incredibly unlikely that I would have been able to silently turn and leave the room mid-conversation, but with the promise of at least a gingo tongo for my troubles, I managed to get myself back to my standard nerve-free state (I’m assuming the fact that I make a tit out of myself all day everyday is responsible for explaining why shame and nerves don’t touch me anymore – they’ve apparently got more delicate people to spend their efforts on) and I stuck to the agreed plan to mill around by the Costa pod outside Victoria Station at seven last night.

Actually, I was milling slightly round the corner and about five minutes early, watching the pod and getting stomach pangs every time a very short boy with the sort of hair I was keeping an eye out for slowed their pace (see my post on only realising at the very last minute that the original date I had lined up for Monday night was a good few inches shorter than me). Fortunately, it turned out that there were just an awful lot of short people buying coffee last night, and at bang on 7pm an insanely tall chap went and stood right by the pod, waiting. No mooching around pretending to shop or thinking about getting a drink. Nope, he was there, waiting. It took me a while to remember that I was actually going to have to go and introduce myself, but with that slightly awkward moment out of the way, it all went rather well.

            We made our way to The Phoenix, a local pub that I really like going to (comfort zones on dates are always advisable), but that doesn’t have the same magical home-from-home vibe as The Queen’s Arms (that’s a very special place for everyone in our house, and there are rules about where you’re allowed to take boys you don’t necessarily intend to keep – plus, I really don’t need to give the bar staff any further amo for mocking abuse; they have more than enough as it is!)

Feeling nothing but eternally grateful that The Biking Engineer was not a patch on the craziness of The Word Smith, conversation covered the entire required selection of dating conversational essentials – family background, schooling, jobs, weekend entertainment of choice, last holiday, future holidays, you know, the basics. Two drinks were drunk, one chair was knocked over (yep, I’m elegant at all times), and two air kisses were offered in farewell.

I won’t say it’s the best date I’ve ever been on, but it’s a long way from the worst one too. The likelihood is that I won’t be seeing The Biking Engineer again (unless I suddenly decide to take up rock-climbing, motor biking or Portuguese lessons as hobbies and require a buddy to help me out), but this morning, I’m just very glad to be back in the saddle and not on the cusp of deleting yet another online profile.  

Back to the drawing board

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of Guardian Soulmates – from the sites I’ve tried out, it’s by far the best in terms of layout and also potential matches (well, I haven’t met the amazing Mr Right yet, but I think I might have found his profile at least), but this morning I was sent a notification for another user that was so random I literally have no idea whey they even bothered to send it to me:

GS, what are you doing? Why are you telling me these things? He doesn't match me on any level, I match him on even fewer and you've even told me that I'm probably not his type. Why on earth would I want to "Like Him"?! Back to the drawing board tech team - I think there might be a bit of a blip in the system somewhere.

Is T-Bag Born4partner?

She’s online and working her way through the picks of the crazies already. This little gem of an email flew into T-Bag’s inbox this weekend, and she’s decided to share it for everyone’s enjoyment:

“I am a firm believer in Female Supremacy. I would be grateful in giving a long unhurried foot massage to a Goddess like you. When you come back home, after all the stress in the day, why not just call your slave and let him take care of your divine feet. I am discreet, and i worked in beauty parlour serving women, doing foot massage and pedicure. i beg you, please use me. There is no charge for my services, i feel very passionate about being subservient to a Goddess like you. For me, real paradise is under divine feet of a Woman.”

His profile states :
“I believe real paradise exists under the divine feet of a Woman. I wish to find a Goddess, to worship her. if we click, there be fire, and then there will be volcano, and then there will be everlasting supernova...”

Run T-Bag. RUN!

Puppy loving uniform…sign me up!

One of the worst things about Guardian Soulmates is that you can ’like’ people’s profiles without actually having to make any sort of an effort regarding comments or messages; you effectively let people know that you’ve been checking them out, then you sit and wait to see if they bite and send you a note.

            The facelessness of the whole thing makes this the worst function on the site, or so I thought, until just recently. This Sunday, whilst trying to play using only my crappy phone thanks to the internet being down at our house, I was informed that I had been ‘liked’ by someone whose picture, for the first time, wasn’t totally vile. This required some further investigation, and oh, the things I discovered.

            A summary of the guy who may in fact be the most impressive person that I’ve found on the site are as follows: he’s an officer in the Navy, he has a working cocker spaniel (puppy swoon), he’s a country boy at heart with a love for the city, he’s pretty, he’s a bit posh, and he’s really rather hot. What more could I need?

            There’s been a bit of to and fro with messages since the ‘liking’, and another hottie has just gone and ‘liked’ me too. There’s no mention of a puppy in his profile, but I feel that this might be worthy of a little follow up investigation too. Things are starting to look up in the world of online…

Battling a full diary

Having cancelled on the (rather unfortunately) short boy for this Monday - he sent a really sweet message back to my cancellation email and I am honestly really rather upset that he’s barely tall enough to graze my elbow (if only boys could wear heels…and it be acceptable), I found myself with a free day to fill in an otherwise jam packed few weeks.

            I don’t really take things as being ‘a sign’ but considering I cancelled on the short boy around five minutes before I received a message from a boy that shall now be known as The Biking Engineer (he does the same job as my sister’s husband – digging big holes and tunnels and things and rides motorbikes around Europe in his free time) asking if I would be around for a drink on Monday, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to brave a first meeting.

            It also looks as though (despite my continued best efforts to finally finish Dracula ahead of this Thursday, I am actually going to have to opt out of Wine (Book) Club in favour of a date with The Choral Business Man – that’s right, I am braving a date with the boy that sings in the St Martin’s choir.

            I’m not sure how it happened, but it looks as though, just one week since our last Slutty Suppers dinner, I will already have hit the monthly target of two dates, and I’ve definitely already emailed about to my required six strangers. Obviously, I’m pleased to have hit the target, but slightly less excitingly, this means I have to deal with two first dates in one week. Good God, I hope there’s going to be enough gin in London to get me through to the weekend!

Short notice

Right, I’ve done it; I’ve pulled the plug on potential Date Night 2. I just couldn’t bring myself to go on a date with a boy that was going to be a whole head (if not head and shoulders) shorter than me, no matter how good he looked on paper. Well, on paper when you miss read a couple of vital pieces of information, obviously!

            I’ve had a couple of days to worry about this, and failed consistently to come up with a good get out clause. You can’t tell someone that they’re too short to date – it might be true, but I’m too proud to admit to being that shallow to stranger. You can’t tell a person you’ve met through an online dating site that you’re no longer looking for someone to date, because everyone can see how regularly you’re online, so if he checked back and saw that I’m still checking messages each day, he will know that I’m a dirty rotten liar. What a pickle!

            In the end, I went with a combination of two different lies; I told him that I had been on a couple of dates with one person that I had met online (LIE – I’ve been on one date with a boy that made me want to dig my own eyes out with a spoon – never again) and that I wasn’t really comfortable dating someone else at the same time (again, LIE, I know for a fact that boys go in for multiple dates until they’ve ‘had the chat’ about whether that’s against the rules or not, so I’ll be buggered if I’m not planning to play according to the male rule book rather than the female one).

Still, sometimes you need a good lie to cover your back, and whilst I haven’t had a reply just yet, I’m hoping that this one will help me through without too much backlash. Fingers crossed!

How NOT to do it

Having managed to hit the deadline to get online without having to hand her profile over to her fellow Sluts, T-Bag is now making the most of a week of sober evenings, attempting to make up for lost time.

            As she’s done the whole ‘looking online’ thing before (even though last time was in New York, so I can only assume it was painfully more cool than our version), I was of the opinion that she would know exactly how to get the best out of the sites that she’s on and that she would be able to filter through all the searches, remaining safe from the crazies.

            Not so. Yesterday I received a slightly disturbed email from her, suggesting that she’d found herself profile face-to-face with a less than savoury suitor. I wasn’t sure just how bad it could be, but, well, see for yourself:

I’m not a pro at this whole online thing, and I’m sure that I’m not looking for the same thing as everyone else, but, well, is anyone in the world honestly looking to buy whatever it might be that this profile is selling?
          Genuinely, the thing that worries me most about this is that OkCupid thinks that me and naughty_boy_09 are a 66% match - I really hope this is just based on 60% due to the fact we're human and 6% on the fact we live in the same city and nothing else, otherwise all faith in the system has officially gone. OkCupid - you're going downhill in my opinion!

Attention to detail

When it comes to online dating, I am starting to realise that seeing as the only information you have about the people you’re picking from is what’s been deemed suitable to go on their profile (probably following some hefty editing by friends), a bit of hard work and concentration is required when you’re carrying out your initial research.

            “I like kids” - I already have one with someone else, “I enjoy word play and Scrabble” – I’m an arse with no social skills (even my mummy said so!), “My life is pretty busy, so it’s probably best to start things up online before meeting” – I’m in prison and am probably going to ask you to smuggle drugs in for me if at all possible and/or I’m a 60 year old freak.

            Yep, there are some real catches out there for the taking; you just have to be the lucky girl that’s stupid enough to get sucked in by the lure of the love of a stranger.

            Unfortunately, I seem to have been spending so much time focusing on what’s not been said, that I’ve totally overlooked what is written down in black and white.

            I’ve got a date booked in for after work on Monday, and when I informed The Co-Dependent of this she quite reasonably requested more info.  Fine, well, off the top of my head I could tell her that he’s quite cute, he sails in his spare time, he does a good job and lives in a nice part of London. However, I felt this wasn’t quite enough info (and seeing as I had been messaging couple of people at the same time, I wanted to double check that I was giving her all the right info and email her a copy of his profile pic too, obviously).

So, off I went to his profile for more info. The moment the page opened, there was only one thing that I saw:

Height: 5’7”

…5’7”. I’m 5’10” – and that is probably an underestimation. There is only one thing in my “What I’m looking for” section on my profile, and that’s for someone who’s a good height for me. 5’7” is not a good height for me – not even a little bit. I have no idea now how I am going to get out of a date without hurting a boy that really does seem rather lovely.

But 5’7”?! I just can’t bring myself to do it!

Time for punishment – Meeting Two

We’re one month in to our Slutty Suppers setup; there have been dates, disasters (mostly for me and Miss Fifi) and fair bit of flirting. It hasn’t been clean sailing for all of us, well, any of us really, but I like to think that we’ve really done fairly well.   We set out with the challenge of just getting ourselves on line and looking by this V-Day meeting, but with differing degrees of success, we’ve ploughed ahead and have had a fairly eventful few weeks:

 - I went on the worst date of my life, followed by the worst ‘follow up’ conversations the world could ever have imagined. I’ve got a couple of other potentials lined up for the next few weeks, and I am already quite desperately trying to work out how to get out of them.  With attempt number one out of the way, I think the way to do this is going to be to get a lot pickier.

- Having had a mental month of work, T-Bag actually only just got her profile up and online in the last few days, just as she started to panic at the prospect of handing her profile over to the other Sluts as a forfeit for failing to get online.  She’s on there now, and we’re looking forward to hearing fun and exciting stories from her anytime now!

 - As you’ve seen, Miss FIfi started the month on an absolute roll, racking up the dates with boys who very quickly turned out to be ‘less than ideal’.  She’s slowed her progress recently, and whilst we’re scared that she might be getting a slight online phobia, I’m pretty sure she’ll have more luck with her shiny new My Single Friend account – more juicy gossip to follow.

 - After an insanely strong start, lining up a date within a week of first going online, SugarM seems to have bagged herself a nice young boy from The Real World. That’s right, she’s already completed a second date with a boy that didn’t even have to create a profile with excessive amounts of lies to sell himself. We’re all a little jealous, but more online fun is still anticipated.

 - Tits McGee has been the most successful POF user amongst us. We all started up with a profile on this site, but very quickly got scared off by the shear volume of crazy topless shirtless prisoners that were on there, but with a little perseverance, Tits McGee bagged herself a very eligible Irish man – and there’s another date with the same boy on the cards. She quite rightly got the trophy for most successful Slut this month!

 - It’s been a challenging month for The Sausage Hunter. Having been online and played this game in the past, she’s found it hard to get herself up and running properly. So much so, that Miss Fifi decided that it was time to take action on her behalf. That’s right, the profile was handed over, and Miss Fifi took control of who got a bit of a Sausage Hunter flirt. I literally dread to think what her inbox must look like this morning!

From our first fishing expeditions online, we learnt a couple of tricks to the trade that we would certainly be baring in mind as we start trying to hit all our targets for this month – we’ve got to message six boys and complete two dates from now. Challenge on!

Miss Fifi Update 5

After a very dreary Monday, which I lived through in a haze nearing full-on coma, came today, the not so joyous day of love! As much as my dark and murderous mood today can be blamed on schmultzy card manufacturers and Fitness First (who insist of covering the gym of all places, in red heart decorations, why?!?) yesterday's torturous state was most definitely self-inflicted. More specifically, from repeatedly getting rather too tipsy over the weekend...

Amongst the sea of 'booze blues' that I'm still recovering from, I have a story of fun to report. On Friday, with my work buddy and new found partner in crime,  I finally sampled Maddisons Bar, located up in the rafters of One New Change. In summary: lovely bar, stunning view, lots of suits. Unfortunately, the partner in crime and I were soon cornered by two of the most tedious and racist men I have ever met (racist against English people- surely the first rule of flirting is to know your audience?!)

Thankfully, we were soon rescued and whisked to the dance floor by our knights in shining armour...or the modern day equivalent, men in well cut suits. I'm yet to hear the partner in crime's debrief of her rescuer, but mine from bleary memory appeared friendly, humorous (possibly) and an enthusiastic dancer. He was also 35. A real, certified grown-up!

Age is something we've been discussing numerous time at The Slutty Suppers Club - just how old (or young, in SugarM's case!) would you go? But, as The Grown-Up had already texted me by the time I'd stumbled home, treasured chicken McSandwich in hand, it struck me that meeting an older bloke may offer pleasant novelties. Perhaps in his world there's less game playing, with minimal concern to the silly politics of who texts who first, how long to wait before sending a reply etc. An enticing possibility indeed that this crap ceases to exist when you're over 30...

We texted quite a few times on Saturday, and he wasn't even perturbed by my texting-misspelt rubbish to him at 4am on Sunday morning, when he was sensibly fast asleep after a night of Ovaltine and Top Gear (or so he said!). Communications have gone rather quiet today, possibly in part due to the evil V Day throwing an elephant into the room, but we'll see!

You can always rely on your family

It’s true what they say you know, you can always rely on your family to pick you up when you’re down, and to help you see the silver lining in the endless stream of disasters that you come up against (and believe me, I have a fair few a week at the moment), and following last weekends disastrous date, my sister in-law has done me proud in this respect.

            Having read through my blog post, and received a bit of additional background from me too, she sent me the following, beautifully succinct and fabulously to the point email:

“I have been reading your blog, and my opinion on your latest date is that you should definitely not date people who think they are smarter than you (no one likes a smug twat).”

Sadly, I don’t think that the current Australian that I am talking to is much better, and he’s definitely on the other end of the spectrum. The totally opposite end, in fact:

“ey [I am assuming that he forgot the ‘H’ in ‘Hey’]

well im back in sydnet where im from ., seeing family n friends ..

so nice and sunny now .. my tann is going reall well ..

back 28^th i am .

how was ur v day ?”

Is it just me, or are well over half of those words in the wrong order?

Radio silence

As if the pain of the date and the dodgy follow up text from The Word Smith about scoring him out of five in a number of key ‘datability’ areas wasn’t enough, he’s now just gone and made it all a bit worse.

            I replied to his ‘rate me’ text with a fairly conservative, “Interesting approach. OK, I’m going to go with: 5, 4, 3, 4. I’d say that’s a pretty solid score.” By solid, I meant totally fabricated as I had added at least two points to each score I gave, but still, just because the boy was odd, that didn’t mean that I needed to be harsh or to crush his eagerness for the world of online dating (regardless of how much he’s scared me off.)

            He responded three times in a row, to which I didn’t send a single reply. I think that I’m complete done now. I’m going to leave it on this slightly awkward note, and embrace the safety of total radio silence from here on in:

“Meh at the lowest score being on shaggable. But, hey, I can be clever with words.”

“To be fair, your shaggable score is also 3!”

“Still can’t believe you gave me a 3. *throws a PG Wodehouse book **grins smugly”

The End. Very much, the end.

The Word Smith update

Just when I thought I was safe (ie, on the sofa with a glass of wine)  the following text popped up on my phone; I guess it’s not going to be quite as easy to just walk away from this one as I had hoped!

“Let’s make this interested…on a scale of one to five (five being the highest) how would you rate me as: 1) film partner 2) dinner companion 3) shaggable 4) cinema companion J”

I’m sorry to be crass, but since when did a smiley face justify asking someone where they would rate you out of five on the shaggability scale. Good Lord, I don’t half know how to pick ‘em!

Terror, fear and a little pizza on the side

I’ve just been on my first internet fuelled date, and to be honest, I’m not too sure where to start with this post.

I’m hoping that by running through the main emotions that I have had to deal with today I will be able to offer a fairly full date summary. Let's give it a go. Today I have felt:
- Drunk, thanks to the two ‘warm up’ glasses of wine I felt obliged to have before meeting up with someone I know is t-total.

- Fear that, having received three texts progressively delaying meeting up for a full hour and a half, I was going to get stood up when I had already ordered a glass of wine and settled myself on the bar with a spare seat beside me.

- Terror that the old man with the handlebar moustache and paunch who gave me a slightly suspicious smile as I took my seat was in fact going to be my date and I was going to have to struggle with the inner turmoil of having to decide whether to cut and run or be polite and sit out the pain.

- Relief at the fact that the face that eventually arrived and sat next to me was pretty much the same one as the photos I had seen suggested it ought to be.

- Tired. As the wine wore off and the reality of the rather dry company that I was keeping sunk in, I found myself slowly starting to lag and having to fill the time with inane chatter and nonsensical conversational topics. Did you know that the weekend edition of the FT is really rather entertaining with some really cracking regular commentary slots? Yeah, me neither. It's fun to learn new things isn't it?

- Disturbed at slowly discovering that the 29 year old sat next to me was basically the exact same person as my 55 year old uncle; from voice and mannerisms, through to their strongly held convictions regarding a number of decidedly upper class concerns. I am pretty sure that they would have had a more successful meal together and far more to talk about too. I just don't care about the way every single machine in the world works, nor am I so mortally offended by people wearing wellies in the city that I have to turn around and point them out as they work their way around Harrods. 

- Grateful that the 137 bus arrived at the perfect time, and that I got to leap through the doors and drive off well before the awkward goodbye.

-Awkward. I was planning to walk home, but as he was going to be walking the same way for at least 30 minutes, the bus had seemed like a much better choice. That is, until it started getting stuck in traffic and at red lights so much that, having pulled past The Word Smith once, and breathed a sigh of relief at having survived, we then stopped moving, allowing him to catch up with an overtake the bus (a pattern that was repeated a good four times in total) and I hid from him every time. Such a classy lady!

So, in summary, it could have been worse, but it also could have been a whole lot better. I think that now, seeing as the guys that I am meeting up with have all been looking for dates online, I am going to have to assume the worst with each and everyone that comes to my attention. Easy, I just need to find someone that sounds ridiculously perfect on every level, get them to agree to go out with me, and then remember that in reality they are going to be, at best, distinctively average (and hopefully not crazy) when they arrive. Sounds like a fairly good game plan to me!

Heeding my own advice

How is it possible that I have learnt nothing from my previous disastrous dating experiences? When did I become that sort of girl that knows something is 100% a bad idea, and yet cracks on with it anyway, just to make sure? I don’t know how or when it happened, but I have certainly taken my ridiculousness levels up a notch or two recently.

For some reason, despite the fact that I have said from the off that The Word Smith is most certainly not the one for me (please see pretty much every blog post with his name on for supporting statements), my Sunday afternoon now has his name pencilled in in my diary. Honestly, what was I thinking?!

A hung-over Saturday spent playing online led to a text exchange with The Word Smith, in which he very quickly asked me out for dinner. Fortunately I had a good excuse lined up for Saturday night, but when he asked about my Sunday plans I drew a complete blank and found myself agreeing to a coffee on the Kings Road.

I was under the assumption that a quick coffee would require an initial meeting of 30 minutes or so, and that I would be able to make my escape having made a swift assessment of whether it was a meeting worth repeating. I’m sure that this would have been the perfect plan, and it’s one that I am hoping to actually stick to the next time I go on a date with a complete stranger, but unfortunately, this time it didn’t pan out perfectly.

I received one particular message that changed the plan for the day. It had one notable sentence that is worth commenting on for two reasons – “I’m currently on my way to Harrods to buy a dvd for this evening.”

Firstly, the only person I have ever heard of using Harrods as an actual shop rather than a complete and utter luxury store is Eddie. I’m talking about Edina Monsoon, of Absolutely Fabulous fame, and whilst I love her dearly for her ridiculousness, I can’t honestly believe that anyone genuinely lives that life. Secondly, there is only one reason I go to Harrods, and that’s for the Food Hall, the ice-cream parlour and the pizzeria with the opera singing chef, which I have never eaten at, but that has been on my list for quite some time.

I suppose you can see where this is going? Coffee is out and pizza is in – that’s taking the half hour coffee session to a 2 hour+ dining experience. All for the love of ticking yet another restaurant off the list. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. 

Miss Fifi Update 4

I can report that I had a lovely time the other evening enjoying fine wine, delicious food and good chat with a boy…disappointingly though, this man wasn’t sourced from militant trawls through POF, but my old friend The Faux Boyfriend.

We have that rarity of male and female friendship that for over 6 years, has not once been marred by as much as an accidental snog or drunken groping. Despite getting on like a house on fire, we have a mutual understanding that however many M&S meals for two we share, or Sunday’s spent with eggs benedict in Clapham’s coffee shops, we will never be anything but good friends. The Faux Boyfriend, like many of my good friends, has been unusually keen to meet up recently – clearly, to mock my internet dating exploits!

So, I filled him in on my less than perfect dates with The Cute Geek and The Weird Fish – stories which left The Faux Boyfriend spluttering out his glass of merlot with laughter. I also confessed to him an incident from last Saturday, when I was kissed (note who’s the perpetrator), by a suave stranger on a snowy Battersea street at 1am. Admittedly, this was not my finest hour, as said stranger later casually mentioned a live-in girlfriend. The Faux boyfriend tutted and shook his head at this escapade, whilst demanding access to my POF messages as punishment for my ridiculous behaviour.

For your viewing pleasure, here are a few of our favourites – crimes against punctuation, spelling and common decency are the author’s own:

1. Hi hun, saw your profile and thought I’d send you a message to say hi. So about me, I’m 27 and live in south London too. I like keeping fit as well – in fact, I think my biggest achievement was losing 10 stone over last year. Perhaps we could meet up and get sweaty? LOL x


2. hi there i just looked at your profile and liked what i saw and wondered if you would like to chat sometime if not its cool. Do you like the pic of my baby chantel? Be nice if you could maybe meat her somtime. anyway i wish you all the be on here and hope you find your mr right soon take care hun. xx


3. Hi, so say we lived together and you walked past my room and saw me w***ing what would you say? Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Er..so I hardly need to mention that none of the above received a response. After reading these and the other "interesting" messages I received, The Faux Boyfriend was clearly caught somewhere between absolute horror and crippling laughter.
           "Fi, you REALLY need to get off this site" he said emphatically, as he emptied the wine into our glasses. I think he may have point! 

Date developments

Um, I seem to have gotten myself signed up for a coffee date with The Word Smith tomorrow. How the bloody hell did this happen?

            There a bit of a crazy Australian who’s also building up for a date when he’s back from his trip home, and the posh sailor who I was in touch with before has mentioned meeting for a drink next week.

            Is it wrong that I’m starting to panic a bit about the whole thing?

Words of wisdom

A fabulous friend from home recently sent me the below email to offer me inspiration in my online hunt. I have to say, this suggests that I ought to completely abandon all conversations with The Word Smith, and maybe take advantage of the slightly more simplistic ‘hot chav’ “Your face is nice and that innit” messages…I’m sort of inclined to agree with her:

Resimay

To hoom it may consern,

I want to apply for the job what I saw in the paper.

I can Type realey kwik with one finger and do sum a-counting…

I think I am good on the phone and I no I am a people people, People really seam to respond to me well. Certain men and all the ladies.

I no my spelling in not two good but find that I can Offen can get a job thru my personalety.

My celery is open so we can discus wat you want to pay me and wat you think that I am werth.

I can start mediatley. Thank you in advance fore youre anser.

Hopifuly yoyre bestest aplicant so far.

Cinserely,

BRYAN

Pee Ess: Cause my resimay is a bit short – below is a pikture of me

Employers response:

Dear Bryan,

We’ve got spell check.

See you TOMORROW!

Ready to call time?

I’m struggling to work out whether it’s really time to call time on my chats with The Word Smith. I know that it is, because let’s face it, his intelligence is so beyond me it’s insane and I have no idea what made me message him in the first place. However, I find it very hard to ignore messages from anyone, added to which he has now included a numbered list, and there is a small part of my brain that forces me to gravitate towards lists like nothing else.

There’s only one thing for it; I’m going to have to reply with 100% honest answers and see whether he feels the need to respond. I can’t help but assume that, when you ask someone if they enjoy the FT weekend edition and they reply with “I like the colour, but other than that, I don’t think I have ever even touched one before” it’s only going to go one way isn’t it? I guess we’ll find out fairly soon. 

Just for fun, below is a selection of other exciting questions that he put to me complete with my, I think, rather well thought through replies:

TWS: Have you seen a 1972 movie called Death Train, which is a semi-horror (I think). and rather interestingly involved the London Underground?

Miss P: No.

TWS: Olive green tights and brogues down the Kings Road. Yay or nay?

Miss P: Olive green tights and brogues pretty much anywhere makes me feel a bit sick. That fact that people would be rocking them on the Kings Road is just unnecessarily vile. So, nay.

TWS: Would you object to flying business class on the grounds of suggestions of inequality?

Miss P: If you’re talking about transatlantic travel then I will willingly sign a petition publically celebrating the realities of inequality in all its gory detail if it means that I get a fully reclining seat and a glass of bubbles upon arrival.

TWS: Does wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt make you feel as though you should be painting the roof?

Miss P: I don’t think I’ve ever painted a roof - I have a tendency to fall over / off things, so it would be a little dangerous. I’ve also never worn a plain t-shirt (well not since I was about ten at least). If I had to guess though, I would say yes. That’s something that really shouldn’t happen.

OkCupid developments

I’ve been a silent member of OkCupid (my free dating site of choice) for a couple of weeks now, and I still haven’t yet been moved to break the silence. When compared with Guardian Soulmates, the site isn’t really as great to use and search through, I don’t like the layout and the fact that they insist on your answering ridiculous questions about whether you would allow your 13 year old children to watch films with full nudity in them, plus the boys on there are all a little bit…well, not really my bag.

            I assumed that this was because, as a free service, you get an awful lot of people on there (a bit like POF, although considerably less offensive, and with less of what Tit’s McGee and Miss Fifi refer to as ‘hot chavs’ – men with lots of tattoos and their shirts off) so your searching has to be more intensive.

            Apparently not. According to the email that I received from OkCupid this morning, it’s not that the calibre of people on there are lower, it’s just that they have only just opened my profile up to what they refer to as ‘more attractive people’. I kid you not – this was waiting for me when I logged in this morning:

“Hey Miss P,

We just detected that you’re now amongst the most attractive people on OkCupid. We learned this from clicks to your profile and reactions to you in Quickmatch and Quiver. Did you get a new haircut or something? Well, it’s working.

            To celebrate, we’ve adjusted your OkCupid experience. This won’t affect your match percentages, which are still based purely on your answers and desired match’s answers. But we’ll recommend more attractive people to you. You’ll also appear more often to other attractive people.”

Are you kidding me? I really hope that this is a somewhat desperate attempt on their part to make me engage with the site more and help them build advertising revenue by getting me addicted to clicking through multiple pages (wah-oh – work chat, I’ll stop now, I promise), because otherwise, I find this all a little bit wrong, and if nothing else, it’s making me even more inclined to bid farewell to yet another site for the general weird feeling of wrongness that they give me.

            Well, maybe I’ll just wait and see how outrageously hot the people they send my way are going to be from now on in. I’m not going to lie, they better have something pretty darn impressive to pull out of the bag here…

Miss Fifi Update 3

They say that in life things have a nasty habit of going from bad to worse. Sadly, this can certainly be said for my POFfing tales. Despite the nice-but-dull evening with The Cute Geek, I was feeling surprisingly buoyant as I made my way to date number two on Saturday. I was optimistic about this guy– he looked quite cute from his photos and his messages inspired an image of a carefree personality with sparkling chat and a love of travelling. What could possibly go wrong? Well, the answer to that as I’m sure you’ve already surmised, is plenty.

            He had sent me a text that morning suggesting we meet at the café by The Globe. and informing me that he would be wearing a blue coat so I would know it was definitely him. I assumed The Globe Theatre; he (as I later discovered) had meant The Globe Pub. To add another aspect of panic, whilst waiting impatiently at The Globe (theatre), a man decidedly on the wrong side of 60 in a very blue coat came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I began to panic, instantly assuming the ultimate horror had occurred – that I had hit rock bottom and was on a date with an OAP masquerading as a 26 year old! Thankfully, his intent was to alert me to having dropped my glove, not to make true everyone’s nightmare of being caught out by a sad old man with a fake profile.

Anyway, after two confused phone-calls, the boy and I rectified our location-crossed wires and I made my way to meet him at The Globe (pub). In hindsight, I am not entirely sure it was really worth the effort.

What was waiting for me on my arrival was someone who fortunately looked young enough to be his promised 26 year old, but whose charisma was not in keeping with his emails. He was quite sweet, but “weird-fish” as we shall now know him, certainly had what we’d describe in the trade as ‘social-communication difficulties’.

Conversation was stilted, leading me to panic and barrage him with questions in the manner of John Humphrys. Once again, I was left pondering how such odd men appear so nice and socially adept by email… Is there a secret team of witty and charming POF ghost writers out there ruining a girl’s ability to separate the genuinely fun guys from the truly tedious?!

After forcing down two drinks at a rather alarming speed, I made my excuses and legged it (becoming a bit of a habit) to meet my housemate The Banker Beauty and her boyfriend. Whilst we were in the pub watching the rugby, I gave her a blow-by-blow account of the painful 80 minutes I’d just endured. As we chuckled together over another disaster, I received a text from date number 1, The Cute Geek: Hi, nice to have met you the other evening. I kind of got the feeling you won’t want to see me again, but if I have got this wrong, then let me know. X

Ouch. Am I that obvious? Clearly need to work on my manners. I replied with what I hoped was a nice message, explaining that though I thought he was lovely, I didn’t think we were well suited. Seconds later, this was his response: That’s OK. I joined ”My Single Friend” this morning anyway. If you have any friends you think would like to go out with me than let me know! Also, I’m still trying to find your blog….X

You’ve got to admire the man’s determination.

Drowning in proverbial salt

The Word Smith is quickly turning into one of my favourite online correspondence companions. I can’t quite work out if he’s hilarious or so very mental that it’s unreal, but here’s where we’re up to so far in the super exciting Scrabble banter (continuing from our original chat here):

Miss P: You sound like a pro at this game! Are you a wiz at pub quizzes too? Oh, and thank you for advising against the use of the word ‘bum’ as a Scrabble opener. Who knew there could be such a minefield to navigate when you’re just trying to score points against your housemate! It sounds like a much more dangerous game than I initially appreciated.

Him: Well, there is no such thing as subtlety in Scrabble!

Miss P: So it would seem.

Him: Well, I hope you have a good fame this evening (I sound so middle-aged). Meanwhile, I will turn to the Harvard International Review for the next hour, before finishing off some matters for work*.

*Please read this with a pinch of the proverbial salt

**A very impressive Scrabble word

Um, am I supposed to know which bit of this chat I should take with proverbial salt…the work bit or the Harvard International Review bit? Maybe it’s time to go and play on Google.

New Google Search: What the bloody hell is the Harvard International Review, and if I’m so stupid that I don’t know what it is, will I be able to understand it if I were to try and read it? Search. 

Anyone for Scrabble?

Ok, it’s not going to be one to tell the grandkids, not even close. But below is a little chunk of some of my favourite online dating correspondence to date.

You might think that all you get on these sites are weird, sex obsessed prisoners (if Tits McGee’s recent discovers are anything to go by), but when I came across a little choppy (aka The Words Smith) who doesn’t drink (WTF?!) but who likes word play, I couldn’t help but send him a little geeky salute:

Miss P: If you’re a fan of word play, does this mean that you’re amazing at Scrabble? My housemate has just started to insist on playing it all the time, and I’m absolutely rubbish at it – any handy hints would be most welcome.

Him: Sure.

1)     - Avoid any words with a sexual connotation, as this will invariably lead to your opponent thinking you dim. Your opponent is then likely to try his hand at various tricks to take advantage of your perceived difficulty with words;

2)     - Aim historical words, where pronunciation is not easily implied by the arrangement of letters in the word;

3)     - Like chess, Scrabble is just as much a game of psychological warfare as it is a test of your vocabulary. Therefore, try to remain unflappable throughout the battle, even in the face of a “crap hand of letters”.

Happy scrabbling!

Miss P: Duly noted! I guess always opening with words like “Bum” was never going to be a great starting point (that’s a joke…sort of). I’m not sure I’ve got the know how to remain unflappable as you suggest, but I’ll give it my best shot and see how I go. Wish me luck!

Him: Good luck!  Well, yes, best not start with the word bum, unless you’re playing against a male opponent, and are prepared for him to read it as a terribly subtle hint that you think your bum is beautiful and that he should take the hint. A word like dyspeptic may lead you towards a triple word score!

I don’t really think I’m quite high-brow enough for this one. I don’t even think I know what dyspeptic means, let alone how to spell it in the heat of some intense Scrabble warfare! 

A love poem - ciao!

I’m not really sure what to do with this one, but a very moustached man emailed me today, asking if I fancied a chat - I hope you will understand why he won't be getting a response. He signed off with a ciao and a smiley face, and then wrote:

A Love Poem…

Title: Ardita Zanzaretta

Composer: Carlo Gesuadio

A bold gnat

Bites the woman who destroys my heart and keeps it

In such cruel pains;

Then it flees and flies back again

To that lovely breast which steals away my ear;

Then she seizes it and squeezes it and kills it –

A happy fate for it.

I shall bite you, too,

My sweet beloved, and

If you seize me and squeeze me, ah I shall succumb,

Tasting sweet poison on that lovely breast…”

Now, I haven’t got a degree in literature or anything like that, but I am pretty sure that this is more of a sex poem than a love poem, and seeing as it was sent by a middle aged man that looks a bit like Josef Fritzl, that makes it utterly inappropriate in my mind. These must be the sort of people that you get warned about meeting when you date online, and for good cause it would would seem. Delete. 

Yet another classic

How’s this for an opening line:

“Sweetheart you and I should totally make babies together!! They would be so hot ha!! Have you found the love of your life on here yet? If not, I’m up for the job!!”

Applicant DENIED.

Tits McGee Update 2

Having had a bit of a chat with one of the less-crazy-than-most boys I’ve met online, it turns out that we girls are not the only ones that get sent really crazy messages on these scary sites.

            Here’s a classic that might go some way to explain why this particular young lady was still single and having to look online:

“You have taken my heart,

Give it back!

But you can’t just give it back,

It belongs to you!

So the only way for me to get my ear back,

Is for you to belong to me!

Be mine, be mine,

Cause my heart is yours.”

Wowza, I hope he went and checked on the status of his pet bunny after he received that one!

Essay Grade B-

The Personality Twin is maybe not going to be the ideal match for me after all. Having had a little bit of back and forth with him via email, this Saturday morning I received a reply that was literally the length of two A4 pages of normal type. I opened the email as I was trying to run out the door, and it quickly became apparent that it was going to take a fair while to wade through the whole thing.

            From the opening line, I think you will understand what I mean:

“Thank goodness it’s the weekend! I hope your disaster of a week turns into a storm in a teacup or a damp squib…“

I can only say it was a good thing that I had a hour long train journey ahead of me, and I’d forgotten my book. Who needs Wuthering Heights for company when you’ve got dating emails to keep you entertained?

            It was most definitely the lengthiest email I have ever received from a boy (and I was seeing a guy that lived on the other side of the world for a while). It was actually more of an essay, one that if I had to grade I would probably give a B-. It was witty and fairly interesting, but he loses points for that fact that I had to concentrate so much on reading it.

            I think that, once I have built up the energy to pen and reply, I’m still going to stick with this one and see how it goes. It turns out that his choir has a concert at St Martin in the Fields in a few weeks, and he mentioned that if I was in the area, I ought to stop by.

Is it wrong that I really, really want to go, even if I don’t necessarily want to meet him? I can’t help but think that this would be the perfect opportunity to get a glimpse of him in real life without having to be in an awful face-to-face date environment. This way, if he’s nothing like the pictures, I can walk away and not even have had to spend the cost of a drink and a night of forced politeness, plus I get a pleasant night of classical music for my troubles. 

Tits McGee Update 1

Some girls have all the luck. Tell me, how can you not go weak at the knees from a classy introduction like this:

“Hi baby, what’s up? You look good. Am in jail. Send me your number. Xx”

Yeah, I’m definitely getting the pick of the litter here. 

Miss Fifi Update 2

Time to update on what has happened since I took the plunge and targeted all the reasonably normal sounding men on POF  (N=2, by the way, should you be curious!) and asked them out for drinks.

I write this wearily on the train to work after Date Number 1. We shall call him The Cute Geek - a good-looking, nice, shy lad who works in software engineering. Overall, I would term the whole date 'pleasant' - although I know as well as anybody, that really that adjective's only acceptable usage is when describing an afternoon spent with relatives.

            I faithfully followed my dating expert friend 'the Guru's' advice: I must stick to sipping gin and tonics as a way of combating my tendency of getting too tipsy (AKA smashed!) on first dates. Firstly, we had the typical chat about all the get-to-know you stuff. It was pretty clear to me from early on, that although he was a lovely guy and obviously somewhat shy and/or nervous (cue panic that I literally terrify men!), we had about as much chemistry together as the leads in a very poorly made rom-com.

So, what did we talk about? One word, SMARTPHONES (despite the fact I had confessed early on I was a complete technophobe). Who knew there was so much to discuss?  I began to wish I'd followed my usual routine of downing a bottle of shiraz...

Again though, I will reiterate, that despite the predominance of technological chat, it was a pleasant evening. Although there was a distinct lack of sparks, it definitely hasn't put me off the whole internet dating thing as he was very nice. As we were leaving and making our way awkwardly to the station (eeek, how's it going to end?!? We're both silently asking and fearing!), I sneaked a text to Miss P telling her I'd debrief her about the date in the morning.

When the cute geek and I arrived at the station, my auto-pilot response kicked in and I began desperately scanning the timetable screens for the next train home. Unfortunately, there was a train in three minutes, which I blame for the awkward "kiss and run" which followed. I literally pecked him on the cheek and without thinking, legged it to the opposite end of the concourse with a cursory "Byeeee, see you soon!" called after me.

As I slumped onto the train just in the nick of time, I received a text from Miss P in response to my promise I'd debrief her on the whole date debacle in the morning. It read: "I assume this means there was no "de-briefing" action tonight then? Ha!"

This led me to reflect on 3 things:


1. Worryingly, Miss P's text was the wittiest thing I'd heard all evening.


2.  Given my recent antics with other Oxbridge alumni, this comment was justified. Oh the shame!


3. I realised that I was actually quite out of breath from my sprint across the station. Poor guy, I literally had run away from him! 



Oh even more shame!