Mr #48 - Ricey Missiles

The preamble:

There hadn't been a tremendous amoung of preamble between Mr #48 and I before we'd arranged a date. The reason was I'd had such a lovely evening with The Bulgarian Sherlock last week, we'd arrranged to meet again for a second date this Wednesday (which was delightful by the way, thank you for asking, but that's as much as you're going to get on here on account of the fact it's 52 First Dates...not 52 First, Second, maybe Third Dates depending on how CTS gets on), and I felt uncomfortable meeting someone else in the interim. 

But I was aware that I needed to cram a date in during the week, and since all of my evenings were booked up with other things, I had a bit of a panic, and took up the offer of a coffee with Mr #48 from an online dating site on Saturday afternoon. Two things struck me about Mr #48 after we'd exchanged numbers...a. he was really grumpy by text, and managed to make me feel that a quick message to confirm the date was interrupting his incredibly busy working schedule and b. he was absolutely rubbish with predictive text, and never made any attempts to remedy it eg. I can come to White japes. Er, did you mean Whitechapel? Weird.

The man:
Age: 37
Profession: Freelance lettings agent. Mmm, estate agents. My favourite...

Random factoid: He knew more about the  history of the Rotherhithe Tunnel than anyone I'd ever met. This is nothing to be proud of...

The date:

Saturday afternoon galloped around with frightening aplomb, and before I knew it I was heading off to Brick Lane to meet Mr #48. As per usual, I texted him to let him know where I'd be, what I looked like and to warn him I'd had a fringe cut since I'd updating my profile pictures. His response? 'I'll be in a black jacket'. At this point I hoped that no-one else on the busy bustling Brick Lane would be wearing a black jacket too (hmm...) or even more worryingly that he was wearing more than just a black jacket (although that would have definitely added a certain je ne sais quoi to the date. 

Fortunately, when I arrived, he was the only one matching that description, and yes, he did have his trousers on. Phew. Unusually for my dates, he was tall, very rough around the edges, not particularly attractive (well, nowhere near as nice as he'd looked in his pictures), and was a prop'ah geez'ah! 

Before we set off, he made it perfectly clear to me that he needed to eat and that he had to leave in enough time that he could go and watch the football, one man, two missions. We marched up the lane to grab a coffee, and I noticed he didn't have much appreciation for personal space, and as we kept walking I found myself veering closer and closer to the wall on the right hand side. Fortunately before I grazed the skin clean off my right arm, we found a quaint little mezze place, so we commandeered a table, I ordered a peppermint tea, and to my surprise he went for the same, as well as ordering a mammoth bowl of brown rice and meatballs. 

As we waited for his food to arrive (I wasn't eating as it was mid-afternoon, I'd already had lunch, and we all know I'm not the biggest fan of eating on first dates unless there are mitigating circumstances), he cracked on with the small talk, with him taking particular notice to my dress and necklace, both of which he was not content to just look at but was determined to paw. Easy now. 

Being the football-heathen I am, I foolishly asked what the big match was (I knew there was a big match, that's enough surely????) and was then subjected to a rather painful pop quiz of my knowledge of the Europa League. After ten excruciating minutes, Mr #48 conceded that it was okay that I didn't know that much about football, because I am a girl after all. 

As the subject changed, the teas and meatballs arrived, and the rest of the date ensued in between giant mouthfuls and munchings. The date was relatively brief on account of Mr #48's pressing engagement with the big game, and the subject matter was varied. He covered Thailand (well, he did mainly on account of his just arriving back from 5 months away there and all of the accompanying anecdotes, and my contribution that I'd never been to Thailand, but their cuisine is ace), lettings prices in London (don't get me started!), birds, the weather (pleeeeeeeease!), car and van hire (his instigation, not mine thank you very much), the fact he has no idea what a fringe is, quinoa and the Rotherhithe Tunnel.

Soon enough, the meatballs had evaporated, and his internal body clock was telling him it was beer with the lads time. He went off to pay for the food and teas, and then spent the following 10 minutes arguing loudly with the guy behind the bar about the bill, as he was adamant that he had been overcharged. It turned out he hadn't, and rather sheepishly he returned to collect his jacket and we headed off. He frog-marched me back down the lane again and offered me a lift home, which I gracefully declined on account of not wanting to get in a car with someone I didn't really trust to keep himself to himself. 

We arrived at a stunning Rolls Royce and he offered up his goodbyes. And as I walked away, I noticed in my peripheral vision the lights on a battered old Fiesta on the opposite side of the road go, and Mr #48 stealthily scampered over to climb into the vehicle. I pretended I hadn't noticed.

Memorable Quotes:
'So where exactly do you live, what road? Don't worry, I won't stalk you or sit outside your house or anything...' Sorry love, not taking any chances...

'I do like brown rice. Makes me feel all healthy and stuff.'

'Look at you and yer Brick Lane shoes!'

Events of note:

Over the course of the date, I'd successfully managed to dodge no less than ten brown rice missiles as Mr #48 chattered away through mouthfuls of food, all of which I had to quickly pick off my dress when he went to the bar.

The Verdict:

As we said goodbye at his imaginary car, Mr #48 suggested he'd give me a ring and we could go out for 'prop'ah booze!'. Sadly, I fear that's a bullet I'm still going to have to dodge. He wasn't very attractive, was too much of a wide boy and we just didn't have anything in common. I was retrospectively grateful he had something else to do afterwards so I didn't have to call the date short myself, but to be honest I was rather pleased to escape.

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:

Age:31

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...