Where we met: Tinder (obviously, only here would you find this breed of male.)
We matched a few weeks before (and somehow managed to keep dragging out the conversation). Every weekend he would send me updates on his favourite football team:
By the fourth weekend…
“You watching the game?”
For a good week I was convinced he was a catfish – no real person would send a possible date a “Victory” photo of them on another first date with their top off in the girls room (then cancel our date due to bad weather with the excuse: “I’m worried your face will wash off”).
Finally we agreed on a day which suited both of us, he seemed so excited! (“I don’t want to drag this out any longer.”)
Evening of the date
We decided to meet somewhere really iconic in London (unless its Buckingham palace or Harry Potter World – not a clue.)
I (obviously) got lost and arrived an hour late. He mumbled “hello” and continued mumbling for the whole walk to the bar.
“I honestly can’t hear anything you are saying!” – “I read some of your blog. It was my 11am shit indulgence.”
We reached the restaurant: “Are you guys ok to have a shared table?”
(GOD NO – I’d rather others didn’t witness this.)
Date: Yeah sure whatever (contain your excitement please.)
We took our seats and discussed his tinder profile which had said: Extreme sports business owner and part time surfer (this was all bollocks) “I work in finance.”
“Then why did you write that?”
“To attract the market”
“The Tinder market”
“When I went to LA, I was getting fuck all luck so changed it. Chopped so many birds.”
“We met Danny Cipriani out there actually. He hated me.”
“I asked him if Kelly Brooks vagina was loose.”
He continued talking (I missed the mumbling) “In Vegas I chucked a girl off the table because she was a four.”
But he did show his vulnerable side: “Sometimes I worry my arms are too big”
YES. You look like a fucking chipolata.
Date: “Waiter another bottle of red? That ones a bit expensive.”
“I want the one above it”
By this point I was honestly wishing my date would just pass out (and fortunately he nearly did.)
“Are you ok? You look a bit pale?”
“I feel fucking shit, got steamed last night – hit a trough”
Usually in this situation I would be understanding and say let’s call it a day (but my date was a cunt.)
“Waiter… can I get the steak please…”
“I need to go outside”
“Not to worry I’ll just wait here”
I sat waiting, (whilst watching my date vomit outside the restaurant for a good 10 minutes.) He briefly came back in just as my food arrived.
“I need to go outside again”
He briefly popped back into the restaurant and paid the whole bill!
“I need to go home now.”
We began walking back to the station together. Then I started walking a little quicker…and I just didn’t stop.
I jumped on the tube still buzzing with adrenaline and sat smiling at my victorious moment.
(Then realised I’d got on the wrong fucking tube going the opposite direction to EVERYWHERE I needed to be.)