13 January 2018.
(Aside) I haven’t posted for a while. I lost my dating mojo there for a while. It takes a lot of effort you know. Lots of swiping right and effort to be witty and charming and funny to agree a date. And when they show up and they’re a dick, or boring or not interested, it chips away at my mojo.
But it’s had a chance to recover, despite another disappointing date on Saturday.
The date didn’t really start well with a sub par choice of venue by the guy. What is it with guys and choosing crap venues? I usually let them organise the date because I don’t want to come across as a massive control freak. Perhaps this is where I’m going wrong. So far I’ve been left stranded outside a grotty closed pub feeling like a prostitute, sandwiched in between other people in a trendy bar on a trestle table (where i flashed my knickers to the guy next to me when i tried to awkwardly straddle the bench) and been somewhere with music so loud I could have sworn he told me a story about David Hasselhoff’s erection.
The initial place my mate suggested we meet was ‘Oxford circus tube’. Now this is Saturday night during the January sales and Oxford Circus is busy at the best of times, so this was a spectacularly shit idea. When I diplomatically pointed this out he suggested a local pub instead.
Unfortunately the first thing that hit me when I walked in the pub was the smell of stale sweat and the faint whiff of piss. The inside looked like it hadn’t been touched since the smoking ban and was sticky. Drinks were cheap. It was super popular. I arrived early, sighed, bought myself a drink and propped up the bar. I then got a text from my date saying he was outside and since the pub looked rammed how about we go to another bar across the road. I abandoned my drink in the hope of finding somewhere, well, less sticky.
The bar across the road was entirely personality free but at least we got seats. I thought it was a step up from the last pub until I discovered a piece of garlic bread stuck to the back of my chair. Amazing. I thought about throwing it at him. The urge passed.
We got talking and he was actually a lovely guy and very easy to talk to. We got through a bottle of wine without incident. It’s a shame then when I suggested we get something to eat that he admitted he’s already eaten. Schoolboy error. I was famished and ordered food. He basically sat there and watched me eat while I tried to answer his questions without choking on my food and spitting in his face. I could have forgiven him for his crap choice of venue and eating before the date, if I fancied him. But I didn’t. I like confident guys with a bit of vim and good banter. This guy was too quiet. So it was game over. And not necessarily because of the garlic bread.
So what did I learn from this? Maybe I need to channel my control freakery and be the first to suggest a venue. After all, I know loads of great places and secret bars tucked away all over London. This fundamentally reduces the risk of a disastrous date and will be one less thing to worry about. Then I can just focus on channelling my inner Beyonce and trying to be fabulous.