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!