Here's the deal. I've been single since time immemorial. So, in an attempt to remedy my eternal singledom, and to get over my nauseatingly pathological fear of dates, I've decided to challenge myself. The challenge? To go on one first date a week for a year! So in 52 weeks time, I will have either found my Mr Right, or I'll stay forever Miss Write. This is what happens...

The Rules

Here are the rules to the 52 First Dates challenge...

1. A first date must be had once a week, EVERY week, for a year, that's 52 dates in 52 weeks.

2. Taking someone home after a drunken night on the cider does NOT count.

3. Second and third dates are allowed, I must continue first dates unless there are exceptional mitigating circumstances. For example, God forbid, the start of a relationship.

4. Each date must be blogged.

14 December 2011

Mr #27 - Ee's A Geezer

The preamble:
There had been virtually no preamble between Mr #27 and I whatsoever. It was literally a case of 'you look nice, fancy a drink?' And given the fact that I am still engaged in very lengthy text and email courtships with a few gentlemen with not even a sniff of a date, I thought I should probably snap this one up quick smart.

The man:


Profession: Office removals

Random factoid: One of his all time favourite songs is Que Sera. Oh the shame.

The date:
Bless him, my date was late. So late in fact that he rang me on five occasions in the forty minutes leading up to us meeting. And his reason for being late? The train left early! Since when has that EVER happened in the entire history of British public transport? Worst excuse ever dot com! And before that, he'd texted me throughout the day checking whether it would be okay if he wore jeans and trainers, whether I'd be casual, and where I wanted to go. So before I'd even met him, I'd already formed a certain opinion of him. And he was, and there's no other way to phrase this, a proppa geeza! 

This was a man who uses the word 'them' as both demonstrative and adjective pronouns, only used text speak both verbally and in writing eg 'wiv', and he was very VERY concerned about the first impression he's made. Yup, that is a first impression alright! Bless. Anyway he finally turned up, and he was cuter than I'd expected: he had icy blue eyes, a cheeky wee smile, but a questionably one-size-fits-all haircut. We met, in true romantic style, outside the Cornish pasty stall at London Bridge. Straight away, he insisted on stopping to purchase fags, and then we moseyed off to the ever-illustrious All Bar One.  

It took quite literally an hour to get served during which time we'd exhausted all of the pre-date small talk of how our respective days were, the journey to London Bridge, and the weather. 

Once we'd finally sorted ourselves out with beverages, we found a relatively quiet corner away from the roaring drunks on their office Christmas dos. He was a bright and garrulous lad with the 'fickest of Saaarf Landin' accents, and he gave good chat. We covered taxidermy, depression, capital punishment, old ladies with beards, the London riots (one of my favourite moral compass indicators on dates), t-shirts, cucumber, Class A drugs, first time drinking experiences, favourite festive songs and washing. Turns out he doesn't do any. Because he still lives with his mum and dad. Uh oh... 

One conversational highlight was talking about what would happen on the day that the direction of the Earth's magnetism changed. The conclusion we came to was we had absolutely no idea, but it'd certainly be on weird ass fucking day. Shame neither of us had Dr Brian Cox on speed dial! We chattered away effortlessly for ages, and three red wines down my conscience came knocking as I was starting a new job the following morning, so we made our respective excuses and went our separate ways. 

Shortly after getting home he messaged to say he'd like to do it again on a weekend next time, so we could stay out later. What, and then go back to your mum's? Let me get back to you on that one...

Memorable Quotes:

'My dad used to take me to Glastonbury when I was 3 and 4 and sold booze and drugs out of the back of his van'
'Nothing wrong with a little bit of piracy'
'my dog doens't like black people'
'I'm naturally immune to TB'

Events of note:
We had a 'white off', to see who was the pastier person. And in an occasion of exceptionally rare proportions, it transpired there was someone in the world paler than I am. And that was him! And rest assured he gave Caspar the Friendly Ghost a run for his money...!

The Verdict:
Considering Mr #27 had been a total wild card and someone I genuinely didn't think I'd have anything in common with (and don't get me wrong, I still can't empathise with dope-dealing dads and racist canines), I still had an entertaining evening. But he spoke a little too frequently of illegal activities for my liking, and I just wondered what would come out of a second date, a rave and a spot of burglary? Not convinced I'm afraid...