Mr #30 - Captain Apathy

The preamble:  

There was pretty much no preamble leading up to my date with Mr #30, the reason being I had a bit of a panic! It was the start of a new year, I had a date lined up for the Saturday, and two hours beforehand the bugger texts to cancel on account of manflu. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't because I had been looking forward to this particular date for ages, but because I didn't have a back up! I couldn't find a back up! And after an desperate afternoon of trying to bag a date for the Sunday afternoon, I failed miserably, and the best I could do was for the Monday night. That would just have to do, and I'll have to find another one for later in the week to make up the quota. Sad, but true...

The man:
Age: 29
Profession: Works in social housing
Random factoid: Is the only person I have ever met whose favourite nut is the walnut. This in itself should have been a warning...

The date:
Mr #30 wasn't terribly forthcoming on the date venue front, so I took the plunge and plumped for a non-committal pub I rather like in Soho. We met outside the tube, and to be honest, I'd spotted him waiting there about five minutes earlier, and my precise thoughts were 'oh god, that's him isn't it! That's bloody him...' And it was. 

His pictures had been very kind. Sadly his actual real life face let him down. He'd turned up in a manky woolly hoodie, grubby jeans and questionable trainers, and seemed pretty quiet and not very forth-coming. This was not going to be easy. 

We ambled over to the pub, actually not the pub I originally had in mind, it was one a lot closer, to make things swifter. At the bar, he announced he was having a January detox, so we procured a couple of pints of OJ and lemonade and found possibly the draughtiest corner of the pub to sit in. 

I have to say, after getting over the fact that the world was going to end during 2012, he warmed up a little. Behind the snuffling into his sleeve and distinct lack of eye contact, the chat was reasonably entertaining: we covered nuts, more nuts in fact, religions, how he loves his job because he can argue with people, Tom Cruise films, Morocco and the fact that he once drank 20 pints of Guinness at a work do when no-one else was on the booze. 

I suppose one of the most telling things about him was that he gave up eating meat for a year. For why, says I? Oh because I could. I see. So for no good reason whatsoever. Well done you. 

Sadly, there were a lot of awkward silences, and I was aware I did have to pull some of my dickish surrealism out of my handbag in order to try and keep things going, which for the most part succeeded. And I spent the entire time trying not to look like I was on a first date as there were two very handsome guys sat nearby giving us the odd look. After a very long pint of something non-alcoholic, I had to make my excuses and head off to the bus.

Memorable Quotes:
'I don't get hangovers. Probably explains why I use and abuse alcohol so much. I'm detoxing now as I was on a bender for the entire of 2011'

'I dropped out of uni. I drop out of things a lot'

Events of note:
Probably the best event of the night actually was at my expense. I'd been curled up on the sofa with one leg tucked under me, and when nature called, I hopped up to answer, but sadly my foot didn't quite wake up in time, so I ended up performing some ridiculous fall slash limp on the lengthy walk to the ladies. By the time I reached the loo, my leg had almost returned to normal. I swear that's why Kaiser Soze's limp goes at the end of the Usual Suspects, it's nothing to do with the fact he'd been faking, he just had a dead leg! And before you get angry at me for spoilering the Usual Suspects, that was nearly 20 years ago. Bruce Willis is also a ghost in Sixth Sense. What of it?

Anyway, that's the last time I sit on my own feet on a date, that's for sure.

The Verdict:
Do you really need to ask? My initial thoughts were dread, they improved marginally, but at the end of the day he was far from the cute East London fop that his photos shows, his conversational skills required far too much coaxing on my behalf, and his general apathy towards life was somewhat sapping. Oh well, I thought things were going a little too well with Mr #29. Who is still away in Mexico, in case you were wondering. Still, no time to dawdle, I have a date to make up, so expect a Mr #31 coming your way shortly.

Mr #29 - The Man is the Moon

The preamble:
Mr #29 and I had been bantering to and fro by email and text for a few weeks, and despite slightly poor texting etiquette, on the whole we seemed to have a fair amount in common, he seemed like a good enough sort so we arranged to meet. Slap bang in the middle of Christmas. Pretty brave move, for both of us...!

The man:

Age:37

Profession: Freelance web designer for a TV production company

Random factoid: He had the roundest face I have ever seen on a real life human being. It was literally a perfect circle; the moon, with hair. Amazing.

The date:

We met outside the station and although we'd both clocked each other standing in the cold trying not to look conspicuous, we had to send the cursory identification text just to avoid that eternally embarrassing situation of 'Hi, are you Mr #29? 'No, I'm not'; stranger clearly knows you're on an interweb date; you die inside. 

Apart from his perfectly circular visage that I have previously mentioned, he also had an awesome head of curly hair and one very pretty set of  baby blue peepers on him. He was definitely a lot cuter than I had been expecting, even though he wasn't a lot taller than me, he was cute enough for that not to matter. 

We ambled off to one of my favourite pubs, although once in we did a prompt 360 when we realised a. there were no seats, b. it was playing Slade so loud our chances of conversation were drastically low and c. 90% of the revellers looked and smelt but a cider away from sick. Not to matter, the next pub along was both with-seat and without-cider-sick. Bonus. 

I have to say right now, this will be a relatively short write up. Not because he had nothing to say. Oh no. He had plenty to say. We covered everything from John Terry to Twitter, Mexico to Masterchef, and football to Facebook. But I have to say, I can't fault the guy. He was cute, polite, bright and really good company. We chattered non stop for a few drinks, time at the bar was called, and we went our separate ways, snog-free but smiling.

Memorable Quotes:

He was so nice and normal, I literally don't have anything to add here. Genuinely.

Events of note:

Again...he didn't fall over drunk, didn't spend the night talking to my chest, didn't offend me, had no errant bodily functions and didn't appear to have a criminal past. I think this is probably also notable in itself.

The Verdict:

Well 52 First Dates readers, I feel in some ways I've let you down here; by going on a date with someone rather nice, and not having some ridiculous anecdotes to take away from the evening. But for me, this just goes to show quite how many 'unusual' dates I have to go on to meet someone pleasant, and out of the 29 dates so far, he's one of only about 3. Those aren't great odds. So I suppose the question now is would I see him again? Yes. Did I fancy him? Yes, I think I probably did. Was he good company? Yes he was. Did we have any ROFL moments? No, sadly not. Was there chemistry? I don't know, I really don't know. But I'd certainly be up for meeting him again just in case. But the kicker is he's off to Mexico for 3 months next week, so whatever happens, I'll have to hang on a little bit and keep on dating and see what happens when he's back in Blighty. But I think this is where time really tells.

As I've mentioned before, I'm not going to be chasing anyone for a second date over the course of 52 First Dates, as I've done on many an ocasion in my undignified past. I'd like the guys I meet again to want to meet up enough to actually ask the question, which funnily enough seems to be rarer than you might think. I've had a few pretty successful dates before where they've just not been arsed to get in touch again which questions both their motive and I suppose also my view of how well the date went. So I guess for now, this is a 'watch this space' scenario. But if this is as far as it goes, I'd just like to thank Mr #29 for being nice, normal, and nothing like Mr #28. Faith in men once again restored. God bless 52 First Dates.

Mr #28 - Mardy Bum

The preamble:
Mr #28 was relatively quick off the mark to suggest a meet. But from his profile and the few emails and texts we'd exchanged, I thought he'd be worth sharing a couple of cheeky beverages with. He'd even texted me a picture of himself holding THE Olympic torch, which impressed me no end, so I was rather looking forward to the evening. Oh but how wrong I was...

The man:

Age:28

Profession: Works on the 2012 Olympics in something to do with IT, radio, I don't know actually, by this time I was busy working out what I could use in the pub to kill myself with. There was a noose above the bar. And I was very tempted...

Random factoid: Looked down my cleavage an average of 20 times per minute, which has got to be some sort of a record. A bad, bad record.

The date:

I met Mr #28 outside the tube, and what struck me was he was better looking than I'd anticipated. This, however, was soon to be entirely irrelevant, after what I can only describe as one of the most torturous hours of my life. 

We headed off to a pub of my choosing, he grabbed a couple of beers, and then sat and did the date. I'd detected en route to the pub that he was not only Northern but very dry. But on reflection, this guy's dryness had absolutely bugger all to do with geography, he was just a dreadful human being. I have to say, and I don't say this lightly, but this guy could well take the biscuit for being the worst date ever. 

I've already mentioned his predilection for my breasticular area. I'm the first to admit I'm not the most generously blessed in that department, but the way Mr #28 stared at them re-fucking-lentlessessly made me think he was trying some sort of Matilda-esque telekinesis to get them to grow. But, if there had by chance been any movement in my bra tonight, it would have been because he bored my poor bloody tits off.

He genuinely made me furious, and I've yet to experience such fury on a date. And it's not even as if he gave good chat to make up for the mammary fixation. He was the grumpiest bastard I have ever met in my life! First off, talking at me about his incredibly boring job and how shit it'll be when they're all unemployed after the Games are over. Then, he chose to bore the life out of me about his travel into work every morning, including listing every train between the times of 6.50am and 8am. Sweet Jesus. Really??? But it didn't end there. Oh no. 

Then came the infernal belly-aching turned to his landlady, the distribution of bills in his shared house, council tax traumas and the fact that the flat isn't double-glazed. Every one of these mind-numbingly boring anecdotes lasted about 15 minutes each, and it got to the point where I had to run and hide in the toilet for 10 minutes just so I could Tweet a cry for help to the rest of the human race so I didn't feel so alone. 

When I finally managed to steel myself to leave the solace of the facilities, I was elated to discover he'd finished his beer, and I was able to feign a phone call (the first time I've ever had to do that on any of my dates - an oldie but a goodie) and I was finally able to escape.

We headed back off to the station, and to add insult to bitter injury, whilst giving me a farewell peck on the cheek, he also tried to cop a feel of my boob. Even an hour after saying goodbye to the guy, I'm still fucking fuming about giving up an hour of my life to someone with the social skills of the contents of the pub's drip tray.

Memorable Quotes:

'I mean - am I heating the flat, or am I heating the entire street?'

Events of note:

Seeing the back of this awful bastard.

The Verdict:

There is no way on God's earth I would ever entertain the idea of seeing this guy ever again. If I ever hear a peep from this sorry sonofabitch, I'm going to tell him on no uncertain terms why he was possibly the rudest date I have ever had. He spent the whole night quite possibly trying to grow my breasts with the power of his mind, bored me borderline suicidal with his ridiculous whingy whiny rants and at no point during the entire night did he ask me a single question. Not one. Not even 'how was your day at work'. Literally astonishing. Instead he chose the night to bless me with the most self-indulgent and fucking boring lectures of my life. Why on earth would you want to go on a date when you have absolutely no interest in trying to be a decent human being? I'm genuinely baffled by what the whole point of it all was! If anything, to give me a whole new benchmark for all time dating lows. But that, I'm afraid to say, is nothing he need be proud of.