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.

Mr #31 - Smooth Criminal

The preamble:
Mr #31 was sadly another product of my post-Christmas date-lack panic, so once again there wasn't a tremendous amount of communication leading up to the date in question. But he seemed like a cheeky, chatty sort, and we had a few basics in common, taste in comedy included, so I said yay to a date.

The man:
Age: 37
Profession: Runs his own scaffolding firm

Random factoid: He's the first person I've ever met to own a Smart car. For some reason I'd always thought they were pretend...

The date:
I met Mr #31 outside the tube, and the first thing that struck me was that he was a textbook case for male pattern baldness, and that he'd been very careful to select only photos from his more hirsute days. 

That said, he wasn't unattractive by a long chalk, he had icy blue eyes and an excellent arrangement of gnashers. Well done him. 

We pottered off to a pub, he installed himself at the bar on a quest for wine, and twenty minutes later, yes TWENTY, he emerged with a bottle. I had had half an eye on him at the bar, and it was rather entertaining watching him get chatted up by some brassy blonde, and I'm pretty sure he slipped her his number as they were talking for a long time, and there was some mobile phone action.  

Once he'd returned with the booze, I very soon realised quite what an Essex lad he was, which made me feel incredibly posh, and I did try my best to de-plum so I didn't feel quite so self-conscious. The conversation was great. We covered the life and times of the Mighty Boosh, random inventions, the cats versus dogs debate, playing the piano, and had a lengthy argument about the Top Gun soundtrack. I even did the Marley and Me test on him, which he scraped past (he did say he would watch it if it was on, but wouldn't choose to). 

I couldn't help noticing the tattoo of a girl's name on his wrist, but didn't quite have the balls to enquire whether it was an ex, a daughter or a deceased pet. You can never tell these days. Before we knew it, we'd sunk a LOT of Sauvignon Blanc, it was time at the bar, and we had to go our separate ways. Not a bad evening. Or so I thought...

Memorable Quotes:
'Don't worry about needing to go for a wee, it happens to all of us.' Er, yes...yes it does.

Events of note:
So, all in all it was a rather pleasant night, no? Until it was time to say goodbye, when the following conversation occurred:

Mr #31: You getting the bus home then?

Me: Yes, the bus stop's just round the corner. You?

Mr #31: Actually my car's just parked round the corner

Me: Your car?

Mr #31: Yes

Me: But you're drunk

Mr #31: Yeah but I feel fine

Me: But you're over the limit

Mr #31: I'll be alright

Me: You shouldn't be driving. Why don't you hop on the tube?

Mr #31: I'll be fine, honest. I'll text you when I get in.

Er...that's not what I'm worried about! I'll tell you now, if I'd have seen his car, I would have rung up the police straight away and reported the fucker. Selfish, stupid, irresponsible bugger. With the benefit of hindsight I should have followed him, and I hate myself for that. In case you were wondering, he got in okay. Shame. I wish he'd been pulled over by the fuzz and taught a bloody lesson.

The Verdict:

Dare you need ask? Had he been a good boy and hopped on the tube home, I would have considered seeing him again. I'm sorry, but drink driving is a deal-breaker of the highest order. I'm not sure if I'll hear from him again, I suspect he's feeling pretty sheepish now and rightly so. But if he does suggest another date, I shall be gracefully declining, and telling him exactly why.

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.