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.