Mr #10 - Toothpaste Tash

The preamble:

Mr #10 was turned around in relatively swift time in my standard internet date terms. There were a couple of generic emails, and then I had an email at 3am saying 'I'm not going to be chatting on this all day so how about we just go for a drink'. Anyway, the next day, he followed it up with a 'sorry about that, I left my laptop on overnight and my "housemate" decided to send that message'. Oh that old chestnut! Whenever I leave my laptop on overnight, the parrots end up looking at porn on it. Honest guv'nor!

The man:

Age: 29

Profession: Runs his own landscaping business slash budding entrepreneur

Random factoid: Once met Michael Eavis

The date:

I won't lie, for whatever reason I wasn't exactly 100% up for tonight's date, and I suppose it was a bit doomed before it started because I had grand plans of having a romantic night in on my sofa with my favourite men, Ben, Jerry, Ernest and Julio. However, determined to honour my word, I popped off to meet Mr #10. I have to say, first impressions were far from favourable: very short, unnervingly sweaty, half-dressed,  super-scruffy, bushy-bearded, and  looked about 10 years older than his claimed age. He was also my first ginger of the project, so for the record I don't want people thinking I'm not an equal opportunities dater. He also appeared to have not looked in the mirror  nor any other reflective surface since brushing his teeth, as he was sporting a rather fetching Colgate-tash. When I clocked him, he nervously offered a hand to shake, but trying to be in keeping with the dating theme I went for a peck on the cheek. A very rough and sweaty cheek. Uh oh. I knew this wouldn't be a long haul effort, but nonetheless, effort I'd put in. It rapidly transpired that Mr #10 had been drinking vodka until 5am, hence the booze-sweats and shabby appearance. Classy. I wished he'd have cancelled at that point. For the most part of the date I felt like I was having to interview him: where do you work, what do you do, where do you live, what are your views on sharks, how gutted were you when Steve Irwin died, if you were to go on the Dragon's Den what product would you pitch...all the usual routes of conversation. He originally hails from Manchester, and as much as I appreciate Northerners have a very dry sense of humour which I'm rather fond of, he genuinely didn't appear to have one at all. I couldn't even raise a titter with my bullshit banter. Tough crowd. And I couldn't help but stare at the way he was constantly fingering his tonic bottle, and I wished that Sigmund Freud was sat on my shoulder taking notes.  I was also willing him to get his finger stuck in the bottle so a trip to A&E would have a. perked up the evening and b. brought it to a rapid conclusion. As he was warming up and making better headway with his gin and tonic, I was rapidly cooling, and  before long made some feeble excuse up about having to go home and make notes on Big Brother for work. Cos I work in telly y'see, that's what we do. Or not. Anyway, at 90 minutes, this stands at my shortest date thus far. And at around 5'4", so was my date. I'm pining for a giant right now...

Memorable Quotes:
'Next year I am going to buy a convertible. A Mercedes SLK and fly first class to the States.' Wanker.

Events of note:

Giving him wrong directions to the tube station. On purpose.

The verdict:

Tonight is a lesson well learned that putting a bit more effort into sussing the buggers out beforehand makes for a better choice of contender. He has just messaged to ask me out again, and I will politely put him out of his misery. I'm tempted to offer him some constructive criticism, but I kinda want a few more unsuspecting ladies out there to have similar anecdotes to tell their mates in the morning.

Mr #6 - Textbook Dating Don'ts

The preamble:

Mr #6 was not the usual internet dating kinda guy. Mr #6 came about through Twitter, and unlike any of my other dates, he was well aware of the fact I was blogging my dating exploits. Even after fore-warning him I would be documenting the event warts and all, he still rather fancied himself as writing material and offered himself up for a date. 

The man:

Age: I didn't know this when we agreed to meet...but I soon found out the awkward way...

Me: So how old are you by the way? Just so I know to include it in my blog...

Mr #6: Guess

Me: Er...31?

Mr #6. No. I'm 21.

Me: Oh *pregnant pause* Sorry about that. Er, you don't look that great for 21 I have to say...

Mr #6: Yeah...I get that a lot...

Profession: Failed writer, full time student and connoisseur of all things alcohol it seems...
Random factoid: He once wrote a musical about Nick Griffin's appearance on Question Time

The date:

As I was at the tail end of a rather boozesome hen weekend, but still in need of a #6 to tick the right box for this week, I agreed to a quiet Sunday night beverage at one of my locals establishments. What I didn't expect was to be confronted by a man dressed as an unkempt barman wielding a rather strong rum and coke on my arrival. Hmm. All I wanted was a shandy. And so it began, probably one of the more unusual and postmodern of my dating experience thus far; a meta-date, as it were. 

Since Mr#6 had read my blog and confessed that my write ups thus far hadn't been 'too bad', I have decided to make this one even more brutally honest, knowing full well he'll be reading.  After all, Mr #6, you did keep insisting you were providing me with good blog fodder. Yes, yes you did. Just perhaps not in the way you had intended. 

So I suppose instead of a date post mortem, see this write up as more of a 'what not to do on a date guide' in case anyone else out there in cyberspace fancies adding themselves to my tally...

On a first date, DO NOT...

...turn up drunk, and sit there squinting through the shaky beer sweats. It's not a terribly attractive quality. Did I say terribly? I meant remotely... 

...call your date a 'smart phone wanker' - just because you're stuck in the Nokia-nineties, doesn't mean you should belittle those who like phones that actually do stuff!

...tell your date about the strip club you ended up in last night. And no, it doesn't make it any better if you say the girls you were with wanted to been there...they were probably working there too.

...use phrases such as 'my debt is actually currently under control...well, as long as my drinking is...' I would argue the latter is most definitely not...

...call your date a fucking middle class stereotype.

...accuse your date of being sad and lonely, and having no social life whatsoever on the basis that she occasionally likes to Tweet during prime time television shows. You're just showing that you spend far too much time reading about other people's lives than having your own...
...preface many anecdotes with 'when I was out in LA...', especially when it is a non sequitur.
...say such things as 'when I'm your age, I'll be very successful'. You might want to have a word with your liver to make sure getting 'that' old is even on the cards...

...keep saying 'and that's why I've always been an executive producer' after every suggestion you feel is clever and remotely constructive. You're 21, and the only thing you have executively produced is something you wrote yourself. I could say I am the executive producer of my blog. But that'd just make me sound like a wanker...

...tell your date you can hear her body clock ticking after finding out how old she is. Just don't...

Memorable Quotes:
'Do you carry a rape alarm around with you in your handbag?' Yes, yes I do. And pepper spray. And a big old fat old machete. And a good thing too...

Events of note:

Finding out that there's a gay fetish club just down the road. 

The verdict:

Well, as grateful as I am to have had a first date for this week, that is about as far as it goes. Mr #6, as part of his ongoing critique of how to make my blog better, suggested that I marked each date out of 10. Well, Mr #6, you sadly don't even get yourself on the scale.  You've bagged yourself a big fat zero. Let's hope your writing is better than your dating technique...