Mr #23 - Spittle Italy

The preamble:

The dialogue between Mr #23 and I had been relatively short-lived, but he'd mentioned enough to pique my interest and I agreed to meet him within about 4 days of initial contact. All I new about his was he was Italian, he worked in digital marketing and he lived south of the river. Seemed fair enough, bring it on.

The man:

Age: 32

Profession: Digital marketing manager for the music and graphic industry

Random factoid: He said he was once chatted up by the boss-eyed lead Singer of Sigur Ros. Or so he thought. It was hard to tell, what with both eyes facing in opposite directions and all...

The date:

To be honest, I really didn't fancy a date tonight. It was a Monday, it was my first day back at an old job, and the only thing I wanted to do was curl up on the sofa and watch pap on television. But no, not tonight. When I started out on 52 First Dates I told myself I would never cancel a date unless there was bloody good reason, and being a lazy ass bastard wasn't one, so I begrudgingly met Mr #23 just outside Oxford Circus. 

My date wasn't the tallest nor the most attractive of chaps, but he was suitably jolly, and instantly I realised it would be an entertaining evening. 

We pottered off to a pub of my choosing, commandeered some cheeky vinos and took up pews. Sadly since all of the seats inside were occupied, we had to perch outside under a heater. As he was a smoker with hot Mediterranean blood, he was adamant this was not a problem. But this was a chill to properly test his Italian mettle. And for the next couple of hours he shivered uncontrollably and insisted this was just his passion for the conversation making him shudder like some sort of malfunctioning Flymo. Bullshit sunshine, you're freezing. But you're also polite, so we stuck it out a little more. 

His Italian accent was pretty thick, so I had to strap on my finest focus ears work out the key points of the conversation, but on the whole it was very entertaining and he had an impressive grasp of the common vernacular: we covered the state of kids in London today, what 5 albums you'd take to the moon (we did argue over some and work out that given we were both on the moon at the same time that it would make sense to share some...), his Sardinian heritage (sans Mafia connections), Mike Skinner, the art of making balsamic vinegar, Macs vs PCs, the merits of Pret A Manger and their artisan breads, online piracy, shoes as art and that time his grandma made him over-sized ravioli. 

Two glasses of wine down I was pretty sure I should head off home, but we were having a pleasant enough evening so I persuaded to had a third. We were both getting a bit squiffy, and after the third had been demolished, I was determined to head off to the bus. But not without an Italian escort skipping along beside me. Once waiting for the bus, he took the moment to slip me a rather grotesque Sambucca-flavoured chewing gum before then slipping me the tongue. What can I say, I was tipsy, and it wasn't horrific. At first. And then the bus came, and I tried to free my mouth enough to say my swift goodbyes. But he was rather more limpet-like than I expected and I missed the bloody bus. So then I was resigned to huddling up against John Lewis out of the bitterly cold with a man with an over-enthused tongue until the next bus came along. And ten minutes later, after having my mouth suitable routed,the bus arrived and I was blissfully able cut short his oral excavations and escape.

Memorable Quotes:

'I have grown to rather like the English Piccalilli. It is Kryptonite-like in colour'

'Last year I was jogging in Stockwell and ten youths stopped me. I knew I was going to be mugged. They asked what I was listening to on my iPod. I said NWA. They just nodded and let me go.'

Him to me: 'I think you may have hands bigger than mine. Yes, you have!' Reader, I did.

Events of note:

The admission that this fully grown man collected Playmobile. But not jut any Playmobile. Oh no. That would be silly. Only cops and robbers Playmobile. He is so empassioned by this particular genre of Playmobile that he even travelled to Malta, the country of its origin, to pick some up.

The verdict:

Considering how much I was dreading this evening for selfish reasons, I had a surprisingly enjoyable time. He was bright, he was funny, he had loads of interests. But despite all thee things, I just didn't really fancy him. And I'm not really sure why not. 

He wasn't unattractive, he had plenty to say for himself, but there just wasn't that funny little something there that would make me want to stare at my phone willing it to vibrate. And perhaps that he still collected little plastic figurines with interchangeable hairdos from my youth had something to do with it. Or the fact that yet again he had hands smaller than mine (what is it with me and my giant man hands? Who'd have thought this would be such a frequent deal-breaker?). 

Whatever it is, but I'm left massively unsure about the whole thing. He has asked to meet again, and I think under most other circumstances I would have said yes. But I think the fact that I would almost definitely be held tongue-hostage for most of the evening has made me less confident in agreeing. Oh balls.

Mr #14 - Ode To Lithuania

The preamble:

Mr #14 and I first got chatting online through a dating site a month or so ago, and over the last few days due to him suffering some sort of fat-thumbs syndrome affecting texting on his touchphone, we started chatting over Facebook. 

This was a bit of an online dating first for me, as normally I tend to avoid the sharing of any sort of social networking sites, mainly for the barrage of embarrassing personal information on them, but also because my ridiculous blogging exploits are shamelessly splattered all over them.

 However on revealing that in some swift social networking searches he'd already found my Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn profile AND this illustrious blog, I had pretty much nothing to hide. 

He was well aware of the ongoing emotional embuggerance of Mr Third Party who had been occupying a lot of my mind time over the last week, and even though he knew he'd be written up in true 52 First Dates style, he agreed to meet up anyway, which to be honest was just what I needed to take my mind off the other emotional turbulance. 

But since he lived out in deepest darkest Dagenham, we agreed to meet somewhere halfway. But sadly for both of us, that halfway was Barking. Dear, sweet, phenomenally dump-worthy Barking.  

The man:

Age: 23

Profession: Financial analyst sort

Random factoid: Hails from Lithuania. That's right, a real life Lithuanian.

The date:

I think we've established already we were going to meet in Barking. I can't stress that enough.  Fucking Barking. 

I'd managed to notch up some significant pre-date nerves on this one, mainly because Mr #14, who from hereon in will be known as the Lithuanian Ninja for reasons I won't be able to properly explain, had suggested that as a challenge, when we were to meet at the tube, we were to stand there for 1 to 3 minutes in silence and stare at each other. At which point he would most probably kiss me. Hmm. Cue a massive swoosh of typical British pre-date prudishness. But when in Rome, or more aptly, when in Barking with a random Lithuanian, you go along with it. 

Anyway, I turned up at the station, and as promised, the Lithuanian Ninja just stood and stared at me. I giggled awkwardly. Fortunately for me, he decided to break the stare-stalemate and let me escape snog-free. He'd been prudent enough to google a local park so we could go for a little walk and a chat. Barking Park to be precise. So wandered, and we chatted, largely about how he thought I could improve my blog, which was some rather fabulous constructive criticism. We ended up grabbing a seat in the park in a description that I can only describe as halfway between a travelling funfair and a rubble dump. I took the time to photograph the location in detail, just to create the full mis-en-scene. So here we go. Brace yourself...

The view to the left:

The view to the right:

The view behind:

And finally...the piece de resistance...the view straight ahead:

So here we were, perched in Essex's least finest green land, and conversation kicked off. We covered poverty, academia, job-hunting, Eastern European languages and the paragon of British culture that was modern day Essex. 

The wind picked up and we started to get chilly, so as sad as we were to leave the glorious vista of rubble, we wandered off in search of some sort of coffee. It soon emerged, contrary to his previous claims of being a ninja, that the Lithuanian Ninja had left his ninjic tendencies at home, as I had to save him from being flattened by oncoming traffic at least twice.  

It also soon emerged that Barking lacked any sort of commercial coffee house so we traipsed around the town centre for ages, and not even a sniff of a Starbucks, the faintest clue of a Costa and zero Cafe Nero. The one place claiming to vend hot caffeinated beverages was closing its doors, so we had to resort to a location possibly even more spectacular than Barking Park. Yes, you've guessed it: Barking Shopping Centre. What more romantic a setting for a date, than being sat in the middle of the worst shopping centre known to man, opposite an Asda, supping gritty milkshakes. Well, we did it. And you know what? It was fucking hilarious. 

I was soon realising that the Lithuanian Ninja was a funny funny guy. He had a great sense of humour about the actual dating blog, the English-Lithuanian divide and the cultural hellhole that was Barking. He was also incredibly keen, and was not shy in letting me know, either by trying to sneak in a cheeky hug or by repeatedly saying 'I like you'. 

Since the whole snog-orientated preamble, I had sensed there may be a kiss in the offing, and whilst perched on the faux-leather sofa of Cafe Aroma and basking in the flattering neon lighting of Holland and Barratt, I did concede a cheeky kiss or two. What can I say, the romantic ambiance of Barking Shopping Centre must've caught me unawares! That and the intoxicatingly high sugar content of my mango smoothie. 

At this point, the Lithuanian Ninja made it clear he thought he was a genuine contender to thwart the future of 52 First Dates, a bar I fear is almost impossibly high these days. Soon the tannoy clamoured the closing of the shopping centre, and we moseyed our way back to the station to say our goodbyes.

Memorable Quotes (of which there were many):

'My dissertation was meant to be 72 pages long, but I cut it down to 69 as it's my favourite number'

'When I got to England I realised how good-looking I was'

'I hope no-one notices that I've got a hard on'

'I like to wear suits. For work? Smart suit. For home? Sports suit. For swimming? Swimsuit. For when I'm hot? Birthday suit.'

Events of note:

The Lithuanian Ninja's awesome demonstration of the difference between the various Eastern European and Russian accents. Turns out, nothing like Borat.

The verdict:

Mr #14 has gone and baffled me a bit. He's very sweet, incredibly funny, and is unfeasibly bright. And although on paper it was one of the worst dating locations ever, it was a genuinely brilliant date for lots of right and lots of wrong reasons. And it was really lovely to feel fancied, something that hasn't really happened a lot over my 52 First Dates quest thus far. And although we shared a lovely kiss in the romantic setting of the Barking Shopping Centre, I'm just not sure that the chemistry was really all there for me. Which is a real shame, as I'd have loved nothing more than to cite a Lithuanian Ninja as the reason for abandoning 52 First Dates. But sadly I fear that it's still game on for the next 38 dates, and I can only thank the Eastern European with a name a lot like a Bond villain for giving me a totally random yet totally awesome dating experience.

Mr #11 - Captain Coriander

The preamble:

I've been messaging Mr #11 for a wee while now, and although on the face of it he wasn't the usual kind of guy I'd normally go for, I knew pretty early on that he'd be an evening well spent regardless of whether there was any chemistry or not. He'd been very playful, and we'd already had some very funny banter about coriander, his favourite thing in the entire world, and a substance I have dubbed 'the evil weed'. But putting herbal differences aside, we agreed on a cilantro-free venue and the date was set.

The man:

Age:37

Profession: Artisan crafstman slash electrician

Random factoid: Once heckled Nick Cave in a Q&A session

The date:

I'd been warned early on that Mr #11's football team's performance had left him a state of emotional distress (oh dear Arsenal, oh very dear, thwarting my dates so, Wenger you big old bastard you), so I was under pressure to make the evening an improvement. 

He was running late thanks to neglecting to check TFL so I sorted myself out with a drink and waited for him to pitch up. Eventually, Captain Coriander blustered in with a faceful of apologies for his tardiness, this awesome shock of black curly hair, a delightfully shambolic manner  and I knew we'd be in for a fun evening. 

I did initially have reservations about age, since he was my oldest date to date (not that it's an age gap of Anna Nicole Smith proportions but you know what I mean) but after he'd acknowledged the fact I was a bit younger that was that and it wasn't mooted again.

Conversation was really varied, from his love of ancient history and Thailand to Polish builders, dads, Wiis and tragically losing his little sister. He also revealed his obsession with origami, not to mention the incredibly vexing petal technique (which I heard about in great great GREAT detail), and when I was at the bar he knocked me up a little flapping bird out of the Racing Post. 

Since it was a bank holiday Sunday and no-one had work to do in the morning, we decided to move on to an awesome rockabilly bar with bras on the ceiling and continued the banter. This was an evening of a few #52firstdates firsts...he was very complimentary and for once, because I need these things spelling out for me, I was aware that he actually fancied me. 

I think maybe there must've been something in the air in that bar though, as every time he popped off to the loo, some random boy would pop up and try and chat me up. Very strange. It got to about half twelve and I had to call time on the night on account of extreme tiredness and an ever-increasing vodka-to-blood ratio. We ambled off to get the night bus, which in true TFL style didn't turn up for 45 bloody minutes. Still, to while away the time we shared a lovely little kiss and a cuddle at the bus stop like some silly teenagers, and went our separate ways.

Memorable Quotes:

Would you like a drink?'
'Can I have a pint please?'

'Sure, what would you like?'

'Heroin'

'I'm afraid they're all out'
'Oh. In that case I'll have a Fosters'

Events of note:

I have never seen beer come out of someone's nose before like a sprinkler system. Until tonight. Dear lord!

The verdict:

I have to say Captain Coriander was excellent company, and one of the most down-to-earth guys I've met so far. I think he may be keen to meet again, and if he is I think I would like to see him again, just to see if there may be anything there other than booze-induced snoggings.