I should mention that I’m not trying to protect the identity of first date number 13; I just can’t actually remember his name. I may have repressed it. I should also state that I am not going to mention individuals in this blog – that is, unless they are total weasels.
This was one of the worst online first dates I’ve ever been on. Nothing too dramatic, just plain old unpleasant.
Firstly, he looked nothing like his picture. His hair was totally white, rather than brown, as advertised. (I think his online photo might have been ten years or more out of date.) He insisted on a pub near his house (which is totally fair enough), but then turned up a good 15 minutes late, without messaging. I bought myself a drink and hovered nervously at the bar, trying to look casual (unfortunately I am now a total expert at this).
He rocked up without apology and bought himself a coke. A coke is never a good sign from someone you know does drink and doesn’t give a reason for not drinking (a sad state of affairs perhaps, but true). It was clear he already wasn’t remotely interested and wasn’t going to waste more than £2 on this evening. I should pause here and state that to some extent this is also fair enough. If you’re just not that interested, personally I would rather know straight off the bat. Obviously, it isn’t a whole lot of fun to be on the receiving end of this though.
We chatted for a bit, almost exclusively about his job in the film industry, which, I admit, did sound really interesting. He then excused himself after about 30 minutes. Needless to say, I left feeling pretty rubbish about the whole experience. I should mention that the vast majority of first dates I have been on have been a million times better than this, even if one or both parties was just not that interested in the other. On the whole, people are really pretty decent.
Not #13 though. A few days later he messaged me at around 6pm, asking if I wanted to go to a film premier with him that evening (at around 7pm). He took pains to explain what a great honour it would be for me. Naturally I didn’t reply. So he sent me a number of progressively more irate messages over the next 3o minutes, scolding me for my failure to reply and my bad manners. Did I not understand that Judi Dench would be there?
Little did he know that Judi and I go way back (well, I have met her before, anyway). And that he couldn’t be less appealing a prospect if he tried. What a sexist, misogynist dinosaur (or whatever M would say).