Mr #34 - Chavvy Metal

The preamble:
Mr #34 and I had been due to meet at the end of last year, but I had to cancel on account of having the lurg. We then rescheduled for over Christmas, and then he had to cancel for the same reason. So by the time we actually came to meeting, to be brutally honest I just wanted to get it out of the way as it had been lingering along for AGES.

He had also begun to irritate me quite a lot, texting me every day calling me babe this, babe that, and doing things like randomly ringing me drunk from the curry house to plot our meeting.  

As he lived in High Wycombe (having lived there myself, I can confirm this is warning sign number one), we decided to meet in London because he'd come into town to watch his football team play. And, bless him, he was very concerned about what to wear, so called no less than three times to see if he needed to bring a change of clothes, and to see if it would be okay if he wore jeans and trainers. 

By this point I was beyond caring, and was secretly hoping he'd turn up in fancy dress. He didn't.

The man:
Age: 30
Profession: Painter / Decorator

Random factoid: Is one of nine children. NINE!

The date:
We'd arranged to meet at Oxford Circus, nice and public, and close to a few of my favourite haunts. I got there first, and hung around inside the entrance of Nike Town. Mr #34 rang to try and find me, I described my coat, and stood and waited. Five minutes later, I was grabbed from behind and a rather boozy Mr #34 who planted a massive smacker on my mouth to the tune of 'awight Baybe!'Just brilliant. Brilliant, in the freakiest creepiest way imaginable. 

Buoyed on by the success of his team, he was perhaps a little more over-enthusiastic and drunk than most of my previous dates, and have to say I was filled with the fear of further facial burglary from the off. 

He was quite an unusual looking chap - a long greasy bob and a couple of crackers of front teeth, but he'd obviously dressed for the occasion in his finest Kappa tracksuit top the likes of which I'd not seen since the nineties, stone-washed jeans and white trainers. 

Once again I was the tour guide, so I carted him off to one of my favourite pubs which was not too far from the station, just in case another attempted oral assault required rapid escape. Small talk en route was tough, the best I could do was ask about the football game, league standings and match highlights, in constant fear that I was on my prime conversational handicap. 

Once in the pub he got the first round in. I settled for a bottle of beer, and he opted for Bacardi and Coke, his tipple of choice apparently. Novel. We commandeered a table, and I was treated to quite the show as Mr #34 removed the Kappa jacket to reveal extensive tattoos covering the skinniest little arms I have ever seen in my life. They were like little painted Twiglets. He can't have weighed more than 7 stone, which I have to say is not something that I look for in a man - what girl wants to feel like a whale compared to a sprat? 

His tattoos extended onto his hands, on the one hand was his favourite football team, classy, and on the other a girl's  name which, judging from how faded it was, was no longer his favourite. 

Anyway, once he'd sat himself down the date commenced, and I kept thinking that maybe I was on  a date with a fictional character, He was hilarious. He was keen to know about my romantic history, success on the dating site, what I was looking for and about the worst date I'd ever been on. What did become a little unnerving was how he kept bringing up how long I'd been single for. It's not as if I don't already have enough of a complex about it, thanks! 

He also seemed to have a photographic memory for the pictures on my profile, and decided to talk me through them in detail, which was in no way disconcerting at all. We chatted about football even more, the recession, him living with his elderly parents, and finally we moved onto the main common ground of the evening - metal music. From the look on his face, it was like all his Christmases had come at once when I revealed my fondness and knowledge of death metal and hard rock bands from the mid-nineties onwards, and I even had to produce my iPod to prove I had the likes of Soulfly and System of a Down amongst my music collection. 

Four drinks down, we'd done better  than expected, but the evening was starting to drag a little and I was aware that the more he drank, the greater the chance of a salival reprise would be, and I wasn't going to have any of that. Despite him offering another drink, I had to insist it was time to call it a night, and we headed back to the tube. Once at the tube, I tried to preempt off a snog offensive by giving him a peck on the cheek and saying goodbye. He just stood and stared at me and tried again to suggest another drink, and I just couldn't do it. I went in for a final quick peck and ran off before he had a chance to stare at me again.

Memorable Quotes:
'To be honest I worried for you meeting me today babe, you know it's different for girls meeting boys on the internet. I mean, you're safe with me and everything babe, but I did worry for you. Does anyone know you're here babe?' Yes, yes they do...

'I'd drive you around in my Transit babe. I'd take you wherever you wanted to go.' Who says romance is dead?

'I don't like poetry except when you write it for your girlfriend and that...'

'I did some flyers for my painting business the other day, took 'em round all the local posh estates, hit the rich and all that eh babe!'

'I think you're the only one that replied to me on that site babe'. 

'Do you want to go and see Cradle of Filth sometime babe?'

Events of note:

Without doubt the highlight of the evening was when I returned from the loo to find Mr #34 sat at the table of this old boy diagonally behind us. He'd plonked himself there to use the power point to charge his phone, and was in the middle of talking his dad through the process of opening a bank letter to read his pin number out to him. He stayed there for 15 minutes whilst this poor old guy was trying to eat his roast dinner in peace. They looked like the weirdest couple ever.

The Verdict:

Bless him, he was a really funny little chap, but he reminded me more of a character that a comedian would come up with rather than a real life human being. And I just couldn't be doing with anyone who uses the word 'babe' as punctuation, had arms thinner than my 9 month old nephew's neck and who's idea of an introduction is a full on tonsil invasion. He did message me on his train ride back to illustrious High Wycombe asking if I'd see him again, and I did have to gracefully decline.

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.