Mr #16 - Size Does Matter

The preamble:

I was originally due to meet Mr #16 a month or so ago, but on the day of our date, he cancelled for 'financial reasons'. Never good. He also had an old man's name which was somewhat off putting...you know the sort I mean, the kind of name you couldn't imagine calling a baby, and you certainly wouldn't dream of shouting out in the throes of passion. But as Juliet once rightly said, what's in a name? Anyway, a week ago, out of the blue, he got in touch again, saying that his foreign bank had sorted his money, and needed some sort of muck-spreading attack as payback. Foreign bank account eh? Also never good. But since being freshly stood up by a stand up comedian, an irony that is still not lost on me, I decided I'd honour my original word and go on a date with him.

The man:

Age: 34

Profession: Works for a company that install security systems.

Random factoid: Can identify any Dr Who episode at random from very few details. Yup, my thoughts exactly...

The date:

Late, snotty, knackered...from the off, this had all the making of a bad date. Not him, however, but me. I felt absolutely shocking and in no way enthused about this particular date. But since the poor bugger had travelled all the way in from Brighton for the occasion, I didn't cancel. 

We met at a location of his choice...WH Smith. The first thing that struck me about him was his sheer size, and not, I'm afraid, in a good way. I've been on dates where they've lied about their height and age, but this was the first weighty issue I'd encountered, if you catch my drift. In retrospect, the fact that all of his head shots on the site were rather tight should've been a warning sign. But he was rather cheery and incredibly forgiving of my shambolic state, and within no time we pottered off to a pub of his choice, although not before I'd managed to add to my every-increasing shambles by doing a Marilyn Monroe in the middle of the street thanks to the prevailing autumnal winds. Thanks wind. Thanks a lot.

The pub was quite a kooky choice, there was camouflage netting on the ceiling, and although my date did nothing for me looks-wise, the bar staff were hot so the evening was not without eye candy. He was a chatty man and conversation was interesting. We covered everything from  exploding pigeons, men who put their willies in hoovers, why Scouting For Girls should die, the bodily hazards of sandy beaches, bizarre ways people have died and why some companies install security systems to monitor staff toilet use. Take note loo-time skivers! 

He also had an impressive yet slightly unattractive talent of turning every subject round to sci fi, be it Dr Who, Star Wars, Star Trek the Next Generation or the Terminator. He was also a little too gleeful when I showed him my portable mobile phone charger and let him use it to pep up his flat battery. 

Tried as I might to be sociable through the lurg, three vodkas in and I had to make my excuses and go. At the station, amid an awkward adieu, he did plant the sloppiest of kisses on my cheek, one which I actually had to employ a sleeve to remove, but not until out of eyeshot. And then I was home.

Memorable Quotes:

'For some reason I bought a gas mask...'

I've seen a seagull as big as a domestic cat. You've got to respect them.

Events of note:

Seeing my date head off towards his platform, and then as soon as he thought I'd disappeared, he retreated and scampered off into Burger King. 

The verdict:

I think Mr #16 was genuinely a nice guy, but he was sadly a textbook example of the sort of man I often imagine hiding behind his computer more and more. I didn't find him particularly, and although he was pleasant enough, but not enough to make me want to pursue our correspondence any further. I know there's some sci-fi loving, seagull-respecting, gas mask-sporting lass out there to make him a very happy boy. But she ain't me. 

Five minutes after I left him at the station, he texted asking about meeting again. I suppose I only have myself to blame, I showed him my ass and let him plug his phone into my charger on a first date - no wonder he wanted to see me, and my snotty chops, again. But for now, I should gently and kindly put him out of his misery, and try and sort out a potential Mr #17. Note to self...fully body photos essential.

Update:
Oh dear. Since gently replying to Mr #16 saying thank you but no thank you to his offer of meeting again, it seems I may have unleashed something a little sad. He started up a conversation asking what it was that he'd done wrong, and when I said it was simply nothing more than chemistry and that he was all in all a nice chap, I ended up with a number of pitiful messages saying the chemistry line has been used on him an awful lot recently as he'd been on a number of dates, and that no-one seemed to fancy him. Sadly, I'm another one to add to the list. Once again, the pity returned, an awful feeling to have, but you can't see someone again just because you feel sorry for them can you? That's just cruel on both parts. I just couldn't bring myself to tell him that. I do sincerely hope he finds someone who's a little more his way inclined chemically. But once again, I can't stress enough, that person is not me. Nor am I going to be your dating agony aunt, so please stop texting me. Please?

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.