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 #33 - Job Security

The preamble:
Mr #33 and I hadn't really spoken a tremendous amount, but from the few messages we exchanged I thought he sounded polite and sweet, and the fact he wasn't determined to take me out to get wasted was a bit of a bonus.

The man:
Age: 39
Profession: Security guard

Random factoid: Recently had to process 800 security passes at work. Mmm, riveting!

The date:
For once, this was a quiet Sunday afternoon date with coffee in mind, which was rather refreshing given how boozy some of my dates have been of late. 

We met at Waterloo, and my first thoughts were 'is that him, or is that an Italian tourist from the nineties?' He didn't look a lot like his pictures, which were obviously selected from about a decade ago. Let me paint the picture for you: flat top salt 'n' pepper hair. swarthy tan, leather jacket, Burberry scarf, those very contrived over-frayed jeans, gold chain and Timberland boots. Quite a picture. He also had some expensive-looking shades by some designer that I can only assume is entirely fictitious, and he picked them up on the market for a fiver. 

But he looked very nervous bless him, and for the brief walk to the coffee shop he was a little tricky to get chat out of. Once perched with froffee coffees he warmed up a bit after we covered his home town in great detail, as it happened to be where I went to uni which was a bit of a conversational godsend given his skills at making small talk. 

I'll be honest, he wasn't the brightest star in the galaxy, and it wasn't the most stimulating of chats, even though he was nice enough. We talked about Jack Russells, flatpack furniture, people being rude, supermarkets and bomb scares.  Oh, and he lives with his mum. At the age of 39. 

It was all very nice, but after one hot beverage it was definitely time to call it a day. We said our polite goodbyes and went our separate ways.

Memorable Quotes:
'I was talking to my daughter the other day...I mean SISTER!' Hmm...

'I've got a 40" telly in my bedroom'. Hmm again...

Events of note:
Trying to negotiate a cappuccino-tash. New territory. I think I won against the foam though...it's a shame he didn't...

The Verdict:

Nice guy, nothing in common, no attraction whatsoever, and I'm sorry, but STILL LIVES AT HOME? Nup, not for me thanks.

Mr #32 - First Impression Backtrack

The preamble:
Mr #32 claimed to be very new to the whole online dating malarkey, so was pretty upfront about about asking for my number...

'Hello. You're hot. Would you like to go for a drink with me?'

Well, if you put it like that, alright then. So I whizzed him my number and we arranged a date without knowing an awful lot about him. What then ensued was some rather bizarre texting etiquette. 

I have to say from previous experience, I normally try to limit the amount of texting before a date, as sometimes it turns out they just want some girl to message late at night or when they're bored, and sometimes hopes on either or both sides get built up out of all proportion. Mr #32's technique was somewhat more unconventional. He'd message a lot, and berate me for not wanting to engage in lengthy text banter. He'd also call me 'love' a lot, which is a proper pet peeve of mine, and I did have to pull him up on it as it was getting close to jeopardising the date. His idea of humour, was also incredibly questionable. 

An example:

Mr #32: So are we going to get pissed on Saturday then?

Me: I'm not sure about that, I don't like to get drunk on first dates... (not I didn't say 'I never')

Mr #32: Oh, we're going on a first date are we? Better wash my willy then

Me: *silence*

He'd also told me I would definitely fall in love with him, and would frequently text late at night complaining that he couldn't sleep LOL, another pet peeze of mine. If you need to write LOL at the end of something, it's clearly not funny in the first place. He'd also texted to warn me that his teeth weren't perfect, not goofy, but not perfect. He'd been systematically doing his utmost to give him possibly the worst first impression before I'd met him, but because I'd already committed, I went  ahead with it anyway. But I was not looking forward to it...

The man:
Age: 28
Profession: Works in finance

Random factoid: Once walked past Jimmy Corkhill from Brookside in the street.

The date:
I was absolutely dreading this date. I actually considered bottling it on the day, but since he was already in London for the football and was going to hang around to see me, I just couldn't do it. So I met him.

We met outside Covent Garden tube. I'll be honest, he wasn't very attractive. He was very tall, and was awkwardly bulky, although not fat. His teeth were in a little disarray but nothing major, but his face was covered almost entirely with what looked like shaving rash, even his forehead. His hair was gelled upwards into what I can only describe as a point, like a hairy little drawing pin. He also had tucked his rather baggy jeans into his boots in some sort of All Saints-esque apery, which to be honest he wasn't pulling off. Truth be told I was already thinking about a possible exit strategy in the event this was as bad as I thought it'd be. 

We ambled off to a pub of my choosing, settled in a well-lit corner, and set to with a date. I have to hold my hands up right now and say I think this is probably one of the biggest turnarounds from first impressions I had ever done. Turns out, he's really rather funny. REALLY funny. We covered work, the decline of ginger people, Youtube clips, Latin, Ethiopian cuisine, Mika, Tupperware, his Chinese flatmate and Blue Peter. 

We also had an awful lot in common - same taste in music, film and we both share a love of all things German. He also was pretty outspoken about how he felt about me, and kept talking about how he liked my hair and eyes, and when he found out that I baked asked me to marry him flat out. It was very amusing and rather sweet, if a little embarrassing as I'm not used to that sort of complimenting on dates.

Before we knew it, we were both giggly and tipsy, it was time at the bar and the pub was shutting up shop. So we headed off to the bus stop, said our goodbyes, and scampered off in opposite directions.

Memorable Quotes:
On leaving to go to the loo for the first time: 'there's a Snickers in my jacket pocket. I know it's there. Steal it, and I will hunt you down...'

'I once went to see Christina Aguilera at Wembley.'

Events of note:
Every time I went to the bar, he'd disappear off to the loo without saying a word. He was like the Dungeon Master, only three times the size and without the dubious hairdo. And the little Spanish barman in the background trying to catch my attention with his bar juggling skills.

The Verdict:

This genuinely was a revelatory date. Never before have I had such a poor impression of a guy before meeting him, and never before have they totally turned it around, and then some. Personality-wise, he was spot on - he was funny and irreverent enough for my taste, we liked loads of the same things and I had a really enjoyable evening with him. The only downside is there was just absolutely zero physical attraction there from my side, and I mean not even a glimmer, which is just such a crying shame as he was awesome company. I know they say attraction is about the whole package, but this one I just couldn't get past the wrapping.