Mr #13 - Pint-Sized and Doe-Eyed

The preamble:

I'd been messaging Mr #13 for quite some time, and much like Mr #5, (remember, the one with the snow globe) I, had a good feeling about him and for some random reason knew we'd get on. I don't know why, but I'm starting to realise that my instinct on these things mostly isn't too bad, Catfish notwithstanding, as you'll find out. Anyway, after a couple of failed reschedulings for various actual work reasons, we were both still keen to meet. So met we did.

The man:

Age: 29

Profession:Trainee teacher

Random factoid: Changes his sheets once a month. Yes, I know...! He did redeem himself otherwise...

The date:

The first thing that struck me about Mr #13 was he was hot. Properly gorgeous. I've not seen eyes and the surrounding lashes like that in yonks. He was so cute, in fact, that I instantly put aside my heightist snobbery (he was only a couple of inches taller than me, which if you're familiar with my previous blog entries, you'll know I'm not terribly forgiving on the vertical front). 

This was one of the rare occasions that my date chose the venue, a rather quaintly cool jazz bar off the beaten track. We arrived, we perched, and then discovered we were sat about 6 inches in front of the live band and couldn't hear a bloody thing. Nice idea, but after him thinking I was talking about syphilis rather than my sister, we had to relocate somewhere quieter. Once re-perched and sat within audible earshot, I discovered he was funny, pleasant, and very easy going. Conversation covered all the essentials: favourite kids TV shows, pork scratchings, eighties films, urinal etiquette (what is it with dates and talking about pee-time politics?), taxidermy, pizza toppings, Valentine's Day, and that eternal dilemma - if you had to give up one meat forever, what would it be? Beef, if you were wondering...and pork would be the one I'd choose if I was left with only one. Of course.

Anyway the evening drew on, we were getting on swimmingly but both of us were stifling yawns, so we decided it was time to go our separate ways. Or so I thought. After a farewell hug outside the pub, slightly awkward and lingering, I said I was off north as he was southbound. But then, in an unprecedentedly unpredictable move, he changed his mind and decided he'd walk north to the tube with me, which made things even more awkward as we'd already said our goodbyes. 

And even more awkwardly, we had to say goodbye at the tube again, and then even worse, we had to sit on opposite sides of the platform and just style it out. I found myself trying to summon every vapour of my non-existent telekinetic power to make those trains come sooner. Seven minutes we were sat there. But it felt a lot lot longer. But retrospectively funny nonetheless.

Memorable Quotes:

'You just mentioned Gomez, they're my favourite band ever!!!'
'I know, you said about 10 minutes ago'
'Oh'

Events of note:

For the first time in my life ignoring my irrational elitist heightism in favour of a pretty face and a lovely personality. It seems I can still learn!

The verdict:

I had a thoroughly lovely evening with Mr #13 - he was hot, funny, bright, entertaining and we had a lot in common. Although we exchange a couple of messages once we got home, he wasn't immediately pressing for a second date, which left me feeling a little bit more keen. 

However, over the last few weeks behind the scenes of #52firstdates, there has been unexpected turmoil. A character I went on a date with way before the #52firstdates challenge started has surfaced again in rather significant style, and I'm afraid his resurgence has had an effect on how I feel about my current dates, especially Mr #13. If this new contender didn't exist, I would without doubt be hankering for date #2 with Mr #13. But as it is, he's gone and thrown me into temporary emotional turbulence, so I'm now not as sure about things as I ordinarily would be. 

So for now, the fasten seatbelt signs are on, I'm holding tight to my emotional sick bag to ride things out for rest of this short flight, and hopefully I'll be back with an update very soon.

Mr #12 - I'm Going Brown Brown Brown

The preamble:

There was a fair amount of messaging between Mr #12 and I, and for the most part it was tenuous, obscure, but vaguely interesting enough to make me think he'd be a decent craic over a cheeky vino or two. How wrong I was...

The man:

Age: 29

Profession: Massage therapist plus writer and poet. Apparently.

Random factoid: He's an avid festival goer. 

Well, he goes to the Isle of Wight Festival. 

Well, just the once. 

Back in 2004...

The date:

I was originally upposed to meet Mr #12 on Saturday, and I felt bad about having to rearrange because our family cat put our mother in hospital (true story), so I was keen to rearrange for tonight because Mr #12 had sounded so disappointed when I texted to cancel.

An hour before meeting, he messaged to tell me he was nervous, and I felt rather sorry for him, especially knowing I was the least scary person he could expect to encounter on a date. Anyway, I turned up and met him outside the tube, and instantly I knew it wouldn't be an epic evening, for which I was grateful considering I was still hanging from my date with Captain Coriander. A

Although I have nothing against balding men embracing their hair loss, I do have severe reservations about men who, in a fit of folliclular denial, grow their hair long but for the whacking great Friar Tuck bald patch on top to pretend its not there. And he was short, yet again, so I had an almost bird's eye view of said skin circle. Not my initial cup o' tea, I have to say, but nothing a good personality couldn't improve.

I also couldn't get over the fact he looked like he was dressed to go to the office in faecal-brown shirt and black trousers, even though it turns out he's currently unemployed. Anyway my date decided that we'd go to Cafe Rough (yes that is a typo, but I thought it most apt so I've let it be), mainly because we were stood right outside. Hmm. 

Anyway, the evening didn't improve from there. I had to explain the wine menu, to the point he had to ask 'is that red wine?' 'Is that a glass?' Er what??? I also had to endure some severe misquotations of Alan Partridge ('no, I'm terribly sorry, his name wasn't Mike, it was Dan. You know...Dan! Dan! Dan! Dan! Do I need to repeat it again so you remember? FUCKING DAN!,'  and listening about why he was bullied at school (at risk of sounding unsympathetic, because no-one deserves to be bullied, but perhaps first dates aren't the best place to let such skepetons out of your closet?), some random bullshit about the Waco siege and a very awkward 'I like your dress'. Er thanks, what, do you want to borrow it? Sorry, it's not brown enough for you. Or your boring brown soul. 

I literally had to ask question after question to break the awkward silences during which he just sat there. Just sat.  Comtemplating stuff. Probably boring brown stuff. I felt like I'd had to resort to Paxman mode to try and keep things going. 'Oh you do yoga do you? Tell me about that then' ...'yeah, I like it. It relaxes me. I once did a headstand at 3am when I couldn't sleep'. Never underestimate the power of the anecdote. Someone give me strength!  

With social skills like his, I genuinely was not surprised that he was an out of work massage therapist, because the thought of him being paid to provide such an intimate service genuinely makes me want to do a little sick in my hand.  Harsh maybe, but after such an exhausting squeezing of blood from stone, sadly very fair. 

Once I'd had to watch him chew through his large red wine, most of which he wore on his top lip like a toddler in a Ribena moustache, I had to call an end to it, I could endure no more. I can't believe I've had two 90 minute wonders in one week...and this one was just the one drink! 

I think I've hit a brand new dating low.

Memorable Quotes:

At the tube station 'if you'd like to meet up again, just email me'. Don't make me laugh!

Events of note:

The end of the date. I think I may have done a little relief jig on the escalator down to the tube.

The verdict:

Do I need to even fill this one in? Seriously!

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.