Catfish Strikes Back

Hello dear cherished readers of 52 First Dates. How are you all? Good? Lovely. So I’m writing this entry as means of an apology, as I have decided not to go on a date this week. The reason? Because I’m meant to be going on a second date with Mr 39 this Saturday. I know what I started out this dating challenge I proposed in a somewhat ruthless way that I would carry on with the first dates regardless of second and third dates. As it turns out, I don’t really like that idea at all, especially since Mr #39 was such a thoroughly lovely guy, and in the event that I should eventually come clean about my dating undertakings, I wouldn’t want to spoil things by having felt obliged to carry on my serial dating just because of some silly rule I made up myself to make the challenge more interesting. I know this feels like I’m being a bit of a party pooper, and maybe I am. But how would I feel if I knew he was carrying on dating in between our dates? Pretty shitty I guess, especially since things went so well on our first date, and I’d hate to do the same in return. And even if he does carry on dating, presumably I won’t know about it, so that’s fine, unlike here where it’s all terribly public. But fear not folks, if our second date doesn’t turn out well, I’ll go on two dates next week to make it up to y’all, can’t say fairer than that, no? But secretly (actually not so secretly) I hope I won’t have to.

But, in other news, remember the Catfish debacle of 2011? Well if you missed out on the weirdest experience of my dating life, perhaps you should catch up here. Or, if you can’t be arsed to read all that, here’s a potted version. In the third person, for some utterly irrelevant reason...

CTS meets Mr #2 online, and they embark on multitudinous chats and text exchanges.

CTS arranges many dates with Mr #2, but Mr #2 keeps cancelling slash standing her up.

Mr #2 arouses CTS’ suspicion, and through a bizarre chain of events involving sinister texts and a reflective perfume bottle, it turned out Mr #2 didn’t exist. Mr #2 is told under no uncertain circumstances to fuck off.

CTS posts vitriolic post and pictures on blog to expose the aforementioned Mr #2, aka Sebastian Pritchard-Jones

Detective friends identify the photos of the alleged Mr #2 as belonging to a Mr CT on Facebook.

CTS contacts CT about his stolen identity and freaks him the hell out.

CTS is then contacted by Miss D, who was on the verge of going away with Seb having embarked on a relationship with him, but after her mother’s suspicions were aroused that she’d never met him, stumbled across my blog. Miss D is understandably devastated, and invariably tells Seb to fuck off.

I think this is as far as you all know, yes? Okay.

Well whilst the latter part was going on, there were ongoing police investigations into Seb, but because the case was still active, I wasn’t able to write about it. As it turns out, stealing someone else’s photos and posing as someone else online isn’t actually a crime unless they defraud the victim out of money or murder them, essentially. But the one thing they could investigate were the mysterious threatening texts I had that one night, which could count as harassment. 

After months and months of investigation, the police were not able to pin anything on to Seb, but they were able to caution the owner of the phone that sent the texts...a lady whose name I had heard through Seb and other victims many times before, who was based in Wales. So that’s where it ended...my suspicions confirmed that Seb was responsible in some way for the nasty messages, but still none the wiser as to Seb was. Case closed. Or so I thought...

Last week I had an anonymous comment on my blog from someone claiming to be another victim of Seb. I was surprised that after 9 months that this had cropped up again, and initially I was suspicious it might be Seb trying to play games. I have no doubt that he knows I’ve been writing about him and has long since changed his name, but there will be other women out there familiar with his name, and I still hope to find more. I encouraged the commenter to email me, and sure enough, she did. So I was introduced to Miss M.

Miss M got in touch with me after watching a programme on teachers, and randomly Googling Seb’s full name. And lo and behold, she came across my blog. It turns out Miss M was Seb’s victim immediately before me. And her experience with this mythical beast was considerably worse than mine. She had been going through a terrible time personally, and when Seb popped into her life, he appeared to be her knight in shining armour, making himself totally available when she needed him, albeit only over the phone. Like he did with me, they’d speak for hours on the phone, he knew everything about what she was going through at that time and she thought she knew the same about him.

Miss M’s suspicions were first aroused by cancelled dates, and when she’d try and arrange spur-of-the-moment meets in London, he could never make them. She started to doubt he even lived in London, as he’d been claiming. But the rest of his life had been told to Miss M in the same frightening detail that both Miss D and I knew all too well, the dead ex, the niece, the job; a sickeningly well-rehearsed routine.

Despite many attempts to meet, Miss M was always stood up or had Seb cancel.. But Seb, the charmer he was, even sent a massive bouquet to the place she worked at at the time by way of apology, a seemingly sweet but sickeningly OTT gesture. All the while, he was trying to suck her in and mess with her head at a time he knew she was most vulnerable. He even tried to book a cab to pick her up and take her to meet him, as he tried with me, but of course she wasn’t having any of it. It seems Miss M was made of much tougher stuff than that.

Miss M eventually caught Seb out by setting up a fake profile on the same website, and giving him her flatmate’s mobile number. But the messages she received were seedy, sordid and explicit, nothing like the cheeky Welsh guy that all three of us had got to know. He also started to get aggressive and nasty, which isn’t a side we’d never seen to him. 

In the end, after a final attempt to see once and for all who the hell he was, Miss M arranged to meet him in London, but he never showed up. She never spoke or messaged him again.

 
The frightening thing is when Miss M and I compared dates, it seemed Seb had been lining me up as the next one even before things had ended with Miss M. And likewise, Seb had moved straight onto Miss D the day after I told him to leave me alone. There will have been more women before and after us. So if you or anyone you know has been duped by someone on online dating sites seemingly posing as someone else, male OR female, then please let me know. Seb’s used a woman’s name and photos before, and has no doubt changed his fictional name now, but there are only so many intricate lies you can weave, and he must still be using some of them. If these stories ring any bells for you then please get in touch. I thought this was over, but it’s not. And I am determined to find out more...

Mr #39 - Leap of Faith

The preamble:
There had been relatively little preamble between Mr #39 and I, but he had a great profile, liked lots of the same things I did plus many more I could be tempted by, and looked nice from the couple of profile pictures he had up on the dating site. So, since Mr #38 had pretty much fallen off the radar since last week which is a bit of a shame since there had been a certain amount of promise, I didn't think twice about accepting Mr #39's offer for a drink. There was a limited amount of text banter, but what I instantly loved about him was not once did he call me babe, he used full and proper English in his messages and he had a cracking sense of humour. All the signs pointed to a pleasant evening, regardless of chemistry.

The man:
Age: 34

Profession: Works in recruitment

Random factoid: Manages his own football team.

The date:
Sadly the day after the date I had to get up at stupid o'clock in the morning for a shoot, so I forewarned Mr #39 I wouldn't be able to stay out and play very late. I was also  unfortunately only able to meet him at 7.30pm, so he'd had to amuse himself in the pub for a couple of hours before I arrived, which is never a bad thing, I'm a big believe in beer goggles counting in my favour. 

I met Mr #39 outside a pub near Soho, and I was instantly struck by how handsome he was...not in the same way as his picture as he was dressed very differently and was wearing glasses, but he had a lovely manner about him and I liked his style, so immediately I was impressed. We headed off to a lovely little establishment behind Carnaby Street, he rustled up some drinks, and although there was nowhere to sit, we found a cosy corner to hide in and get acquainted.  

It soon transpired that Mr #39 and I have an awful lot in common, taste in music, film, comedy, cake and root vegetables, all the important things of course. In a short space of time we covered a lot of the essential big bases, work, home, singledom, religion, festivals and sport as well as some of the more not-so-essential topics such as murder, peanut butter, my Catfish experience, how he copes with his dog's menstrual cycle, my parrot's masturbatory habits, why no eating establishment should have a name ending in 'Zone' and  things you could legitimately combine with Marmite. 

Mr #39 was utterly charming and a real gentleman throughout the evening despite being a little tipsier than I was on account of his extended time in the pub, but it didn't matter a jot. What I really liked about Mr #39 was how up front he was about pretty much everything. As the evening wore on, I grew increasingly resentful of my impending early start as I was having one of the nicest evenings if not THE nicest evening of 52 First Dates, but by the same respect I also wanted to quit while I was ahead as it was going so well. 

A couple of drinks in, Mr #39 asked me how my date was going, to which I replied 'rather well', and since he thought the same he asked there and then if he could see me again. Without hesitation, I said yes, and he then asked when was a day when I didn't have the Sword of Damocles of an early start hanging over my head, and it turns out a week on Saturday suits just fine. And that was that, second date already sorted! 

With date #1 in the bag and date #2 in the diary, we called it a night and headed off to the tube. As we headed down the escalators I was riddled with potential-snog anticipation, and when we said goodbye I won't lie, I was a little disappointed when it was just a peck on the cheek. But there's always the second date, right? Fuck me, a second date! Steady on CTS...!

Memorable Quotes:
'My dog is currently running around the house wearing a customised pair of mens' pants to stop her making a mess everywhere.'

Re my friend Louise's dessert making habits: 'Your friend mixed butterscotch and chocolate Angel Delight? She's single handedly responsible for the downfall of the economy...' Thinking back on timing, he may have been right!

'Blancmange - what the fuck's up with that?'

Mr #39: 'You don't like asparagus because it looks like a willy?'

Me: 'No...I said woody.'

Events of note:

Since this date occurred on the 29th of February, a leap year, the girls in the office were teasing me that I should propose to my date. So, after one drink, thinking he might find it funny, I brought it up. His answer? 'Well if it keeps going well, yes I'll marry you.' Well that was easy! Nice knowing you, readers...

The Verdict:

I don't think you really need to ask this question, since you already know I've agreed to a second date. Throughout the course of 52 First Dates, I've been pretty cagey about second dates if I've not felt something there, in fact I've only ever been on the one, which was with Mr #5. But a third date with him never happened, because he simply fell off the radar. I don't want someone who's happy to fall off my radar, I want someone who wants to be to be in full beam and making it beep loudly. And although 52 First Dates hadn't turned up the man of my dreams thus far, it has reinforced the fact that I know what I'm looking for and when I did finally meet someone right, I'd know about it. 

With Mr #39, something clicked for me, and very easily too. And without wanting to jinx things, it felt like something may have clicked for him too. I loved the fact that I didn't have to play guessing games, because I'm beyond shit at picking up subtle signals and the eternal overanalysis combined with my innate inability to flirt in return drives me potty. And the fact that he took my utterly foolish suggestion of a marriage proposal in such good humour counts for a lot. I say good humour, he said yes, so perhaps more fool-hardy than good-humoured. But there were no games here, he paid me very sweet compliments, was genuinely interested in me, and then asked me out again. And I have to say, not only am I really looking forward to seeing him again, but the butterflies in my tummy are too. At the moment nine days feels like an awfully long time to wait. Watch this space...

Mr #38 Comedy Threesome

The preamble:
Mr #38 is a very unusual case in 52 First Dates because he is the only date I've been on where I'd seen his profile online and sent the first message. I've not been proactive in messaging people online so far, because in the past, I've not had a very high success rate, very rarely they'd reply and I'd be left feeling pretty shit about myself. So for the most part my dates would be reactionary, depending on who'd emailed me, some might say leaving it up to fate, others laziness, and that would be fair. But I think you'll probably agree, that hasn't really worked for me so far, so from now on I'll have to be more proactive and will just have to get a thicker skin about the ones that don't see me fit enough to reply to.

I had messaged Mr #38 way back in November, because his profile was just awesome. He had a brilliant sense of humour, wrote really well, had the same sense of nonsense surrealism as I did, loved all things creative, and to top it off had a wicked mass of curly black hair. So I sent a silly little message, no sense in a great long persuasive introduction, and the banter started from there. We emailed for ages, and then over Christmas exchanged numbers. We would text regularly, about the most ridiculous things, and some sort of virtual relationship kicked off. In the past, this has been a dangerous tactic, building up so much pressure prior to the first date that it'd almost inevitably be a disappointment. Both of us we were well aware that this could happen, so a month or so before we met we'd agreed to carry on with the foolish banter regardless of the outcome of the date. Perhaps this was a wise idea, perhaps not. 

Mr #38 was not the most forth-coming in suggesting a meet, but I rather liked that. For once, this would be a date that had taken a natural path, rather than something hurried to meet either my dating quota or their impatience. Finally, after three months of preamble, we met.

  

The man:
Age: 30

Profession: Theatre technician and stand up comedian.

Random factoid: Makes music using the Nintendo Gameboy.

The date:
As we both shared the same appreciation of comedy, Mr #38 volunteered a stand up night at a pub south-side for our first date, which was an excellent suggestion. This was one of the few dates I've been on that I was properly nervous, real stomach-churning, toxic-butterfly nerves, the sorts of nerves I used to get before dates prior to 52 First Dates. Because my hopes were really up, I wanted to like him and I wanted him to like me. I even took him a little bag of home made chocolates, as he'd become a bit fascinated by my domestic undertakings, so I thought I'd see if I would win over the stomach as well as the man. 

I turned up at the pub and he was perched in the corner. He looked exactly as I expected, tall, slim, with the same amazing shock of black curly hair, smart glasses and a textbook beard. He stood up to greet me and was an absolute gentleman, taking my coat and popping to the bar to buy me a drink. He was a really nice guy, delightfully geeky, bright and funny. But there was one thing I wasn't expecting about our first date - and that was his best mate.

It turned out his friend was doing a set at the pub that night, and within 10 minutes of us being sat down, this character clad in an aubergine trenchcoat wafted in, introduced himself, and sat in the corner rehearsing before his stint. We only had about half an hour before the comedy began, during which time we covered musical instruments, retro computer games and novelty cookery. We were then ushered into the back room, where the comedy began. 

It was a novices night, so anyone who fancied themselves as a little bit funny could put themselves up for doing a short set, so from the get go I wasn't expecting Billy Connelly. Mr #38's friend was first up, and I did feel sorry for him as the compere had done a rubbish job of warming up the spattering of humans in the crowd. Eleven acts later (ranging from 'pretty funny' to 'was that actually comedy or just a guy whinging about his water bill'), I'd still not spoken to Mr #38 an awful lot, so we grabbed some more drinks and tried to continue the date. With his mate, now buoyed on whiskey, also in tow. 

We carried on jabbering on dissecting comedy techniques, Dungeons and Dragons, Dr Who, Roland Rat. After one drink, his friend decided to call it a day, leaving Mr #38 and I to try and carry on with our date. The poor guy was riddled with cold, and he kept apologising for not firing on all cylinders. We got on really well, and although there was the odd pause in conversation, it didn't feel that awkward. By the end of the next drink though we were both flagging, so we wandered off to the tube and headed home.

Memorable Quotes:
'What actually goes on in the apocryphal hole in the tube map above Tower Hill? I've always wondered...'

Events of note:

The compere chatting to one of the old locals about their Valentine's Day plans. It turned out one went on an internet date with a woman he'd met online. I could've sworn he was one of the fifty-somethings that has tried their luck with me online. The compere then asked the crowd if anyone had done online dating, Mr #38 and I both went red and looked at each other awkwardly, and our psychic connection agreed to confess to nothing.

The Verdict:

This was a really unusual date, mainly for the fact that I wan't just meeting Mr #38, but his partner-in-comedy crime too. He was exactly as I expected, and I thought he was really cute, I really wanted to ruffle his great big barnet, so I was far from disappointed. My main concern was the fact that maybe we'd gone beyond the window of romance and had got ourselves into the friend zone, which can be very hard to come back from. But I was left thinking I'd really love to see him again, just the two of us, so he could feel like he was on form, and we could get a bit irresponsibly drunk and see how the chemical side of things worked between us. There certainly wasn't that instant thunderbolt of clothes-ripping chemistry, but there was something about him that fascinated me. I really hope he felt the same, and that he wants to see me again too. We'll just have to wait and see. Yikes!