Mr #2 - Stand Me Up, Buttercup

The preamble:
Mr #2 came about from t'interwebs, natch. But given my past experience in online dating, the email exchange from Mr #2 was brief to say the least. It went as follows:


Mr #2: Yeah you'll do. Now are we gonna mess about on here for weeks and gradually then upgrading to texting one another or are we just gonna meet up and go on a date?
Me: Well I was hoping with a little more small talk than 'you'll do' to be honest. Come on, give it at least half a decent shot to let me know you might be vaguely interested in more than just my picture...(which looks nothing like me, I stole it from someone else's page)
Mr #2: Impulsive. Spontaneous. Where did it go? Listen up, your pictures look hot, your wording is clever, you have a chops that likes to cheek - why deny yourself a date?!
Me: Fine. Be like that then. Just tell me your name, what you do, and where in Central London you'd like to meet next Monday.
Mr #2: Mr #2
Primary school teacher.
Anywhere central from 5pm next Monday.
0770 **** ****


And so texting commenced, including some rather bizarre picture messages involving rice cakes, origami birds and him being, well, topless. At one point I feared for the date after I managed to drop the ultimate clanger via text: 'so, is that why you're single then?' 'no, it was her breast cancer that is why I'm single'. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit! Fortunately he saw the funny side of it and was pleased we'd got that out of the way before we met. As was I! I am ashamed to admit that despite his brutal honesty, cavalier attitude to picture messaging and bull-in-china-shop flirting technique, my hopes were up a little on this one. He sounded like a lot of fun. And he seemed to rather like the sound of me too. Cue butterflies. Big ones, ones with wings so thick you might've mistaken them for moths if they weren't so colourful.


The man:
Age: 35
Profession: Primary school teacher and full-time Welshman
Random factoid: Last year he took a photo a day of random challenges, one of which was to wear a bra. Any excuse...

The date:
Monday rolled around, a couple of texts of anticipation exchanged, venue planned. Then an hour beforehand, he texts to cancel. Oh. The reason being a bad day at school, which later turned out to be disclosure on a pupil's parent. Fuck. That really IS a bad day at school. After considerable apologies accepted, the date was rescheduled for Thursday. The texting ensued again, the time and venue arranged, a knight in shining armour promised, and I had to dig out my second date dress of the week. An hour and a half before the date he rings to confirm everything, and then texted to tell me how lovely I sounded. Zoiks! He's keen! So I headed off the venue, ordered a drink, and waited. And waited. And waited. An unanswered text and an unanswered phone call later, I shame-facedly left the pub on my own and went home. In my 30 years on this earth I have never been stood up. And I won't lie, it didn't feel very nice. Someone I don't even know went and squashed my butterflies with their size nines.

The verdict:
All in all, this was a bad date. And it does still count as a first date because I turned up. It's just a shame he didn't...

Update:
In the last couple of hours my date has got back in contact with almost indecipherable painkiller-induced texts. It turns out I'm not a dreadful judge of character, nor is he a devious manipulating man-bait sort sometimes found lurking about on the internets, as I'd possibly thought. He managed to snap some cruicial cruiciate ligaments in football training and wound up wounded in A&E whilst I sat nursing a warming lime-laden beer. So tomorrow he goes under the knife, and I feel oddly smug that he hadn't spotted my idiocy early and bailed. But give him time, I'm sure if the date does finally go ahead, he'll work that out then. But until then, I'm golden...

Mr #1 - Don't Speak

The preamble:

I'll be honest, most if not all of these dates will have come about from the glorious t'interweb. I'd rather not think it's because I am totally incapable of snaring a date from being a real life person, but quite frankly, I think the virtual me has a lot more luck. Such was the case with Mr #1. Cue some marginally lengthy, rather friendly, relatively chatty emails and the date was secured. Simples.

The man:

Age: 30
Profession: Speech and language therapist
Random factoid: Went to school with Anthony Costa.

First of all, Mr #1 didn't lie about his height, which apparently in the world of online dating is unusual for a man. He is, however, case and point that when someone doesn't post pictures of smiling with teeth on show, there's usually a reason. I won't lie that I was also more than slightly baffled by the grey hoodie / brown pinstripe trouser combo, but hey, you can always change clothes right? He also had a nice friendly face, with questionable sideburns and a nose that had the rouge bespeckling of someone who may have more than once been well-acquainted with a robust Merlot or two. Odd that...as he was teetotal. Or perhaps that was why. I couldn't help thinking that with an ear of corn and some green cord trousers, he would have looked right at home aboard a tractor.

The date:

It's always a little weird when someone's first word to you is 'wow'. I don't know what he meant by that. Perhaps my virtual-to-real-life transition also wasn't as expected, and that's a good go-to to mask disappointment? As it turned out, despite my protesting against food (who wants to be tied down to a potentially guilt-tripping meal on a first date? Not me!), we ended up in Giraffe. I supped a couple of crispy Coronas. He had stir fry and apple juice. It's always awkward eating in front of total strangers, and all in all, he did very well, better than I would have done, that's for sure! That was, however, until he got bored of chopsticks, and went for the knife and fork option, which he held like a three year old in the first throes of cutlery-use. Who holds a fork so far down they're thumbing the duck? Hmm...

Conversation was for the most part good. We covered harps, War and Peace, Jeremy Kyle, I think I managed to escape with my potty-mouthery on this occasion, but as a note to self I might want to take heed of this in future. Also those frog welllies kids had at school in the eighties, phobias of flying, killer cucumbers (how very topical) and the phenomenon of the superinjunction (naughty Giggsy - Mr #1 disapproves), all of which were punctuated with 'ya' as opposed to my casual 'yeah' or more irreverently, 'fuck yeah'.

Memorable Quote:
'I do love trains...I really love train travel...especially now I'm earning good money I like to travel upper class'

Events of note:

A man in a blue Morphsuit walked past along the South Bank. On his own. Undoubtedly my highlight of the evening if nothing else.

The verdict:

All in all, he was a nice boy, with a good brain and plenty of interesting things to say, albeit with an aversion to alcohol and moderately questionable dress sense. However, a proposition of a second date within 50 minutes of parting was not quite so appealing. There was sadly no chemistry, he found me a little bit too funny (which unnerves me, I'm not a performing monkey folks!)... and seemed way too keen after a first date. So don't buy your hats yet folks, bring on Mr #2...whoever he may be.

Week One

The challenge has been set - I have to go on 52 first dates in 52 weeks. Date one is booked in for two days time. I don't know what I'm more nervous about, meeting Mr #1, or having to find another unsuspecting 51 single chaps...or maybe that funny feeling is something I had for lunch? Damn you work canteen...