The Stories So Far...

I thought maybe it might be time to do a little round up of my dates so far, a little potted version if you will, just in case you were wondering what happened after we'd said our respective goodbyes on the illustrious first dates. So here we go...


Mr #1 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011_06_05_archive.html


Not long after we'd said goodbye that night, well, 50 minutes to be precise, Mr #1 texted to ask me out again. I politely declined, and Mr #1 was rather surprised, but didn't push any further.

Mr #2 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011_06_12_archive.html


Since this is the most covered story of the entire 52 First Dates challenge I think you probably know the outcome of this more than any other. But rest assured there is still work being done in the background, and as and when this is resolved, I'll be able to update accordingly.


Mr #3 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011_06_19_archive.html

Mr #3 texted me within around 5 minutes of our parting to suggest a second date. Although I'd had a surprisingly pleasant evening, I just didn't think there was an awful lot there romantically. When I replied saying that perhaps it'd just be 'just friends', Mr #3 was incredibly sweet about everything, and just thanked me for being his first ever online date, and for not being a total fuckwit. Bless.

Mr #4 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011_06_26_archive.html

The update for Mr #4 is the simplest yet - I never heard from him again. And I am in no way disappointed.

Mr #5 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011/07/5.html

Ah, Mr #5, what a sweetie! He was actually my first ever second date. We finally met again,went for a rather lovely Italian dinner. He insisted on paying, so I took him for dessert at my favourite ice cream parlour, and we sat outside drinking wine until the wee hours. I had a delightful time with him, we got on really really well, but I just didn't detect any sniff of romance there. There was a suggestion of a third date, but for whatever reason it just hasn't really emerged, and I think it's probably too late now. Nevermind. He was reassurance that there were nice boys out there, I just had to rootle them out a little bit.

Mr #6 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011/07/6.html

I think it goes without saying that I never saw Mr #6 again. Since he knew about the blog and that he'd be written up, once I'd given him the suitable character assassination, I tweeted him to let him know it was coming up. After reading it, he simply replied 'that's more like it'. This guy reinforces my overriding decision not to alert my dates about the write ups beforehand, as not only does it mean the date isn't genuine, but it also leaves great potential for being a hellish date.

Mr #7 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011/07/7.html

As expected, after he literally sprinted off for the bus, I heard nothing from him ever again. And not a day has gone by since that I've not lost sleep over this missed opportunity. Or not.

Mr #8 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011_08_07_archive.html

Mr #8 messaged me the same night to ask for a second date, and I did have to gracefully decline. He did say he was genuinely surprised that I didn't fancy him, because we had got on so well, and it occurred to me that I do tend to get on with pretty much anyone, whether they fancy me or not, and I think maybe sometimes it does give the wrong impressions. Which is really odd, as I'm the worst flirt known to man (or woman), but perhaps some men think that asking questions, showing interest and being able to bullshit about most subjects means I fancy them. Hmm, perhaps my technique needs honing somewhat.

Mr #9 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011/08/9.html

It goes without saying that I never heard from Mr #9 again. It seems our inconsolable differences over Marley and Me were too much for him to overcome. I can't say I'm terribly gutted...

Mr #10 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011/08/10.html

Mr #10 did actually text me the same night to meet up again, and once again seemed genuinely surprised that I didn't feel the same. And the temptation to tell him the myriad of reasons why he did nothing for me was almost overwhelming. There's always a chance he might know by now mind, since an hour after updating my blog, a friend messaged me on Facebook saying she thought she knew him from his description, and it turned out he did - he was her husband's cousin! I didn't feel remotely bad however, as it turns out she was entirely unsurprised by his behaviour, and said he really could be quite the knob...interesting!

Mr #11 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011/08/11.html

Ah, Captain Coriander! He was a nice, fun guy. And initially I thought I may see him again. But in retrospect, he was clearly only after one thing. Once we'd said goodbye at the bus stop, he messaged me all the way home saying how cold he was. He knew he'd have to go past my flat en route home, and I knew he was hankering for an intimate invite. He didn't get one. And I haven't heard from him since. Just goes to show that there are lots of guys out there only after one thing. I'll be more aware of that in the future.

Mr #12 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011_08_28_archive.html

Oh god, the brownest man in town! He's messaged a couple of times since to strike up conversation, and I just can't bring myself to reply. I just can't. And I know it's mean, but I just can't do it, I can feel small bits of my soul seeping away whenever he pops up in my inbox...

Mr #13 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011_09_11_archive.html

Ah Mr #13. Really lovely guy, and had I not had this other crap playing on my mind, I'd have been a lot more keen to arrange a second date. But I can't see that happening now, especially since through some presumably thorough Google-work, he found my blog after the write up. I have to say, I was a bit shocked he'd managed to find it, but I wasn't surprised, and it was only a matter of time before someone discovered what I'd been writing. And I'm pleased that it was Mr #13 of all the write ups, as it had for the most part been a flattering one. We messaged quite a bit after, and he's been incredibly encouraging with the project and said some very nice things about my writing. I have offered him the chance to turn the tables and write his version of events of the date, as I think it'd be fascinating to see and post up here. He's frighteningly busy at the moment so I don't think it's likely, but I've left the option open to him. I hope he takes me up on it, as I think it'd be brilliant. 

Mr #14 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011_09_18_archive.html

Okay, now we're getting back on more recent territory. Mr #14 and I have been messaging regularly, and he's been really helpful and encouraging in my making over of 52 First Dates. And he is still determined to get me out for a glass of wine to work his Lithuanian charms on me again. But the jury is still out on this one at the moment...

Mr #15 - http://www.52firstdates.com/2011/09/15.html

I've not heard a peep from Mr #15 since the date, and the 'three day rule' that boys often play by elapses today, so I suspect I won't. I'm not very disappointed truth be told, it saves me from another awkward email.


Mr #16

The position of Mr #16 is still to be filled, as the current contender has just cancelled on me. So I guess I'd better get back to work!

Mr #15 - What's that coming over the hill, is it a whitehead?

The preamble:

Mr #15 came about through the usual online dating route. I rather liked the sound of Mr #15...he was remarkably eloquent-slash-literate, had a penchant for unusual clothing fabrics including the incredibly-underrated corduroy, and his profile photo looked like one of those seventies photos of a boy smiling, having completed his last exam in a school gym weathering nothing but a mustard-coloured vest. However the preamble was rather too lengthy, and it did have to get to the point where I emailed and said 'are you going to ask me out for a bloody drink, or what?'. As it turns out, that was just the virtual kick up the arse necessary to secure date #15. So we arranged to meet.

 

The man:

Age: 27

Profession: Freelance journalist

Random factoid: He was the inspiration behind a legendary Only Fools And Horses Quote. His mum, a teacher, used to bump into John Sullivan whilst doing the school run. One day, whilst asking what this lady did for a living, a three-year-old Mr #15 informed John Sullivan she was a teacher. When then asked what she taught, Master 15 replied 'children, mostly'. And so was born the immortal punchline to Del and Raquel's first meeting.

The date:

I met Mr #15 not too far away from work, with the premise that we were to go for a drink and then a 'stroll' down to the Embankment to take in the rather uncharacteristically tropical clime of London in late September. As it turns out, 'stroll' was one of Mr #15's favourite words ever, as he used it on no less than 11 occasions during the evening. I know. I counted. 

The first thing that struck me was the fact that he had claimed, on a number of occasions, to be a toyboyly 27 years old. However with the realisation of a rather prominent greying of a barnet that was well beyond the acceptable recession point for any man younger than 35, I suspected he had been more than creative about his date of birth. Especially since he threw 1984 into conversation with frighteningly-rehearsed ease. So we headed off to a certain blues-orientated bar, a bar I'm not entirely unfamiliar with, from date #13 to be precise, although fortunately tonight there was no live band, so at least we could hear things. Conversation kicked off with gusto. 

We covered all sorts: A levels, the fact that he lives with his parents rent-free (and hasn't offered financial compensation? Tut tut!), doing a Monopoly-themed pub crawl and Sheffield. Soon his obsession with strolling overcame him, so we headed off on a polite perambulation through Soho to get to his favourite wine bar near Embankment, a jauntily little joint with caves, a stinky cheese buffet and yes, you've guessed it, shit loads of wine. Bereft of somewhere to perch, we ended up stood outside in the virtual pitch black where conversation kicked up a gear: dropping the c-bomb, the EDL, Alzheimers, corruption within FIFA, Croydon, cricket, his favourite anti-fascist German football team, his paisley shirt, dubious hot tub incidents and Facebook analytics. 

Don't get me wrong, this guy gave good chat, nay escellent chat; he was exceptionally bright, and I found myself hearing my own cavalier use of the English language in his speech which oddly enough didn't really endear me to him, but rather put me off. As was the acknowledgement of unconsciously touching my own bum and realised that I had the gluteus muscle tone of a 60-year-old woman. Note to self, go to the gym, you don't want someone you fancy one day having to cup what feel like a bag of porridge. 

Self-realisation aside, and the overwhelmingly interchangeable odours of honky Camembert and sweet Branston pickle wafting over from the table we were sharing, soon enough it was time to call it a night. We wandered down to the tube together, and some rather awkwardly long yet desirably noncommittal words later, we went our separate ways.

Memorable Quotes:

'My area of historical expertise is actually the reformation of manors'
'Yesterday I wrote an article about a roundabout'
Something to do with 'jingoism'. I can't remember what the exact sentence was, but the fact he said the word 'jingoism' warrants note.

Events of note:

From the darkness of our outside position, watching the theatre of a man who, once sat cross-legged, foolishly attempted to walk across cobbles with no feeling in his lower extremities, and doing what can only be described as the 'dead leg limp' which would've won him a full time position in the Ministry of Silly Walks. That, and the six foot odd buff rugby lad who was wandering around on his own in what looked like a stolen schoolgirl's uniform.

The verdict:

Mr #15 was a really nice guy. His banter was brilliant, we reached new conversational ground, his choice of venue was good, and he was clearly a really bright guy. But I don't think I could get over the fact that he sounded irritatingly like a male version of myself and the fact he had flagrantly lied about his age. That, and the cheeky whitehead in the cleavage of his left nostril that I just could not take my eyes off, hoping that maybe my imaginary telekinetic powers might've popped. Whether he wants to see me again remains to be seen. 

All in all, I had a lovely and delightfully challenging evening...I for one didn't know I knew so much about the corruption within the various sporting industries...but the bottom line is I just didn't fancy him. Ah well.

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.